Jim Fuller sells hot dogs from a stand shaped liked his product, an oversized wiener on wheels with painted golden buns and enough room inside for a steam cooker and condiments.

Fuller sets up every day at the foot of Canal Street, a location that once pleased him no end. He is just down the street from the up-and-running Flamingo Casino, and directly across the street from the construction site of Harrah’s Casino, which was supposed to be the largest land-based casino in the world.

So Fuller figured he’d sell a lot of hot dogs. Some to gamblers. Some to construction workers. But he soon learned to ignore the stream of visitors coming to and from the Flamingo Casino.

“The people going to the casino, they don’t give a hoot about a hot dog,” he said. “The people coming back, most of them couldn’t afford to buy one anyway.”

Then Fuller’s construction trade went bust, too. The day before Thanksgiving, Harrah’s Casino New Orleans filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection. More than 3,000 Harrah’s employees and construction workers were thrown out of work.

All of which has shaken Fuller’s faith in the gambling trade, shaken the entire city of New Orleans. Indeed, as Florida braces for a fresh casino debate in 1996, Louisiana’s experience serves as something of a cautionary tale.

“It hasn’t made me a damn dime,” Fuller said. “When gambling comes into a place, all you hear is that it’s going to help education, pay your taxes, be a bonanza for everybody. It hasn’t been a bonanza for me. It hasn’t been a bonanza for New Orleans.”

Support quickly waned

Louisiana turned to gambling in the early 1990s. The oil business had dried up, the state needed cash, and nobody was in the mood to pay higher taxes. So in less than two years – from 1990 to 1992 – the Louisiana legislature approved 15,000 video poker machines, riverboat gambling outfits like the Flamingo and, finally, Harrah’s.

“When I came here, the only thing you could bet on was two roaches running down the street,” said Walter Miles, a cabdriver. “All of a sudden, you could bet on everything.”

By this summer, Louisiana residents had begun to sour on the gambling experiment. Riverboat gambling operations kept going under. Two federal investigations produced evidence suggesting the video poker industry was riddled with corruption.

A July poll indicated that, if given a chance to vote gambling up or down, 58.5 percent of Louisianans would oppose it and 35.1 percent would favor it.

“That’s why just about every gubernatorial candidate and every legislative candidate who won ran against gambling,” said Timothy Ryan, dean of the University of New Orleans business school. “There was a very strong perception that gambling was not a good idea.”

In the meantime, work continued on Harrah’s. The place was to be an $820 million gambling palace. Six stately columns marked the entryway. Banners proclaimed a glittering future.

“Uninterrupted gaming!” said one. “Opening here in summer 1996!”

This casino closed

C.B. Forgotston never believed them. He never believed Harrah’s, which projected hundreds of millions in annual revenues. He never believed the politicians, who saw casino gambling as a partial solution to the state’s fiscal woes.

“I don’t think gambling provides anything for this state,” said Forgotston, a New Orleans lawyer, lobbyist and critic of the gambling industry. “It makes poor people poorer. It’s another quick fix for our economy. And it’s been a disaster.”

Harrah’s plan was simple enough: Build a gleaming new casino at the foot of Canal Street; help pay for construction by renovating the old Municipal Auditorium on Basin Street and opening it as a temporary casino.

The problem: The temporary casino didn’t pull in nearly enough business. Harrah’s projected it would gross $33 million a month. But in six months of operation, it never grossed even half that.

Just before Thanksgiving, Harrah’s tried to tap into a $175 million line of credit from Banker’s Trust. The bank refused to release the money unless Harrah’s guaranteed the entire amount. Harrah’s balked.

So at 3:45 a.m. Nov. 29, a Harrah’s official announced over the loudspeakers at the temporary casino that the doors would close in 15 minutes. Bettors cashed in their chips; bartenders took a last round of drink orders; visitors were justifiably bewildered.

Casinos never close. They are 24-hour operations. But this time, in this city, Harrah’s looks to be different.

Harrah’s has no plans to reopen the temporary casino; work on the permanent building has been suspended; lame-duck Gov. Edwin Edwards has declined to help Harrah’s, and governor-elect Mike Foster has said he doesn’t think the state should step in.

Florida is watching

George Greene is delighted by New Orleans’ struggles. Greene is managing director of No Casinos Inc., the Florida lobbying group that has defeated three separate initiatives designed to bring casinos to the state. Another initiative is expected to be on the ballot next year; Greene is already looking for an edge.

“We’re glad they’re having problems,” Greene said. “We will tell the New Orleans story.”

The details of the story vary depending on the narrator. Ryan, the business school dean, calls it a bad business decision. Instead of sticking with their original plan to renovate an existing building – the handsome and historic -Riv-ergate convention center – Harrah’s decided to raze the Rivergate and build a gaudier, pricier structure.

“They ended up with an $800 million albatross,” Ryan said. “Harrah’s original bid was for a $200 million to $250 million casino project. If they had stuck with that, I believe they could have been successful.”

Forgotston dismisses such talk. He thinks he has found a larger truth, one that applies as easily to South Florida as New Orleans. Casinos do best in places like Las Vegas or Mississippi, Forgotston says, not in already lively and attractive tourist centers.

“There used to be an assumption that if you take a casino and put it in a place where there are a lot of visitors, whether it be New Orleans or Florida or wherever, it will be a success. That assumption does not hold true.

“The only good thing about our situation is that we proved that. And we probably kept places like Florida from making the same mistake.”