Once a Quirky Attraction on Highway 15, Primm, Nevada, Now Lies Abandoned as a Ghost Town

PRIMM, Nev.—Visitors were drawn by $1 shrimp cocktails and extravagant hot dogs, $15 hotel rooms, and the world’s tallest roller coaster—many looking for their first taste of adventure or a last chance for redemption.

For decades, a trio of hotel-casinos in Primm, Nevada, just over the California state line and about 40 miles outside Las Vegas, enticed gamblers with low prices and family-oriented activities—during a time when an arcade inside a smoky casino was still considered fun.

Now, Primm resembles a ghost town; two of its three casinos and an attached mall sit empty, while the third remains hauntingly half-alive, bustling only on weekends thanks to a concert venue.

The road leading there has also seen better times.

Once a thoroughfare traveled by generations of Southern Californians—from Rat Pack legends to retired slot enthusiasts—Interstate 15 has recently become a procession of roadside relics: abandoned gas stations, dilapidated motels and restaurants, closed mine shafts, and desolate water parks.

The border town and the highway narrate a tale of decline, hastened during the COVID-19 pandemic but rooted in a history of stagnation.

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Kathy Ragancarter and Rosie Arguilles have been coming to Primm for nearly five decades. The lifelong friends would take a tour bus from Los Angeles, getting off with their children to enjoy rides on a monorail that connected the three casinos.

“It used to be crowd-packed. We shared such wonderful memories here,” she reminisced. Her children particularly loved the log flume ride, featuring impressive rock formations and mannequins that still course through Buffalo Bill’s casino. The roller coaster, monorail, and water ride have been out of commission for years.

Primm is more of a pit stop than a town, breaking up the vast expanse of the Mojave Desert, signaling that you’ve reached the border and Las Vegas is close by.

Once the peak roadside attraction for those traveling the I-15 from Los Angeles to Vegas, the site is now a remnant of a bygone era, a late 20th-century commercial monument to faded Western glory, with other, mismatched elements scattered throughout.

Given its location—both remote and pivotal—Primm’s destiny is intertwined with the solitary road that cuts through it.

The interstates endure, but the lifestyle they fostered is waning.

With affordable airfares, rising gas prices, traffic congestion, mobile gambling options, and high-speed rail on the horizon, what incentive is there to drive to Vegas anymore?

New roadside attractions have emerged: a towering 70-foot ice cream sundae sculpture promoting a vast candy shop, and a beef jerky establishment designed to mimic an alien spacecraft. A sculpture garden dedicated to victims of communist China is a recent addition, but imposing “mind virus” exhibits and a pyramid of skulls topped with a hammer and sickle lack the quirky charm of classic roadside Americana.

“I want you to know that we’re on our way to Las Vegas to find the American Dream,” Hunter S. Thompson wrote in “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” (1971). “That’s why we rented this car. It was the only route to do it.”

Traveling the I-15 in a gas-guzzling red Chevy is still a possibility, yet it feels less instinctive or meaningful. Vehicles are now more trustworthy, and the journey is more self-sufficient; one can make the trip from Los Angeles to Vegas while easily consuming a podcast or two, without needing many stops or being much aware of the distance.

Having reopened and renovated following the COVID-19 pandemic, operators of Primm have set their sights on adapting amenities to “better align” with their “current and new patrons,” hinting at a blend of nostalgia and modernity.

During a visit to Buffalo Bill’s in early January, the atmosphere felt somber. Employees exchanged whispers about the closures.

“Because they’re not making sound decisions,” one worker said concerning Whiskey Pete’s closing. “They’re focused on Primm Valley and Buffalo Bill’s, but Whiskey Pete’s is a landmark. We have loyal customers who have frequented here since the 1970s.”

Despite the downturn, regulars like Ragancarter and Arguilles continue to reunite in Primm every few months, making the drive from Barstow and San Luis Obispo in California to spend a few days together.

“We’re still the best of friends,” Arguilles affirmed. “We just click.”

Another employee dismissed the notion that Primm Valley casino, adjacent to Buffalo Bill’s, was closed for renovations. “Ha! We don’t need that. We need to get back to business,” the worker remarked.

Gaming is entirely digital at Buffalo Bill’s now, and one gets the distinct impression that the AI-driven dealers are closely monitoring everything.

Next door at Primm Valley Resort, where all the lights are on yet the floors remain empty, a gentler ambiance existed amid the polished analog slot machines.

Buffalo Bill’s reopened following extensive renovations amounting to millions in 2023, yet many rooms on the mostly vacant floors are grungy, with years of neglect evident. A new chophouse aimed at immersing guests in the “Tuscan countryside” remained closed, as did the entire food court and all restaurants—except for a Denny’s.

Outside the visual and auditory clamoring of LED slot machines, an unsettling silence loomed, along with a feeling of emptiness—both boundless and gravity-bound. Was it despair? The only refuge seemed to lie in a stroll through the nearly deserted mall—save for an upscale thrift store—where wide walkways and storefronts were taken over by an expansive mural installation.

Beyond its outlaw mystique, Primm carries a darker past, including horrifying child murders—one in the late 1990s and another in the 1980s for which the perpetrator remains unknown—as well as the mysterious disappearance of a truck driver.

Such tragedies have intrigued internet investigators, leading to an alternative form of tourism.

“Numerous murders, countless suicides,” remarked a director from an “independent film crew,” wearing elaborate facial hair and dressed in a beret and neckerchief, who traveled from the East Coast to film the exterior of Whiskey Pete’s.

During a bleak 24-hour stay—amplified by a sandstorm—few travelers from Los Angeles appeared to stop in Primm. The parking lots were largely deserted, except for one store on the California side of the border selling lottery tickets, indicating a greater flow from Las Vegas than in the opposite direction.

If the high-speed rail, which runs parallel to I-15, becomes operational as scheduled in three years, there may be even less reason to travel by car than ever before.

Some former customers reminisced about the grimy good old days of Whiskey Pete’s—when its sleazy charm was part of the adventure and no one dared to imagine it as anything else.

“It was the dirtiest place, even as a smoker—sniffing the pillows at Whiskey Pete’s was unbearable. Everyone was filthy; everyone was broke. They had 25-cent tables,” recalled one Los Angeles native who frequented Primm years ago.

Once, after being cleaned out in Vegas, he recalled arriving at Whiskey Pete’s with just a nickel. “I put it into one of those silly slot machines and won $250,” he said.

If you found yourself wiped out in Vegas, Whiskey Pete’s was a last chance to redeem yourself before heading home.

“I can’t leave with nothing! I have to win something,” he insisted. “Whiskey Pete’s was always that place.”