Despite solid local support, willing developers and some high-powered political backing, the hall remains just a picture, though the basic deal was cut a decade ago.

In 1993, the state and federal governments settled a 150-year-old land dispute with the Catawba Indian Nation, restoring the tribe's federal recognition and granting it the right to operate two bingo halls with a "super-competitive advantage" in South Carolina.

Since then the Catawbas have learned that, ultimately, the house always has the edge.

In the past 10 years, the state slowly has eroded the Indians' advantage, expanding the rights of other bingo halls and then, in what the Catawbas say was the harshest blow, starting a competing gambling business, the S.C. Education Lottery. Since lottery ticket sales began in Jan. 2002, the Catawbas have seen their bingo revenue drop more than 60 percent.

Now, Gov. Mark Sanford and some lawmakers are blocking the Indians' efforts to open a second, higher-stakes bingo hall, a policy decision some lawyers and officials say could throw the state into Indian-friendly federal courts, expose South Carolina to millions of dollars in liability and open the door for the return of video poker.

At the heart of this conflict are a conservative, anti-gambling lobby and fears that the facility will pave the way for full-scale casinos in South Carolina.

State officials argue that the Indians are trying to change the terms of the 1993 agreement, and that the state should not allow it.

The Catawbas say the state changed the rules of the game, and they are only reacting. If they can't open a new hall with more high-dollar bingo, they might convert their Rock Hill hall into a "Cherokee-style" bingo and gaming facility and bring back video poker, which some legal experts think they have the right to do.

The Catawba Indian Nation chief says he doesn't want to bring in video poker but that his tribe is quickly going bankrupt and must do something to pay for the programs his people need.

"We feel like the state of South Carolina under the governor's leadership has undermined the settlement agreement," Chief Gilbert Blue says. "They've reneged on that agreement, in my mind. We don't have any choice but to try to proceed whatever way we have left."

As Blue sees it, this is a matter of survival.

LOSING NUMBERS

At 6:30 on a Friday night the announcer sets the ball machine in motion and the games are under way at Catawba Bingo.

About 250 people, mostly locals, have shown up for the Rock Hill hall's early bird specials, $5 games that pay $50 to the first bingo. They are simply passing the time, waiting for the Triple Nickel night specials, cards that pay out $555 a game.

It seems like a decent crowd only if you ignore the back half of the hall, where ropes cordon off hundreds of empty chairs and tables, spots that in the late 1990s were filled nightly.

"We used to have about 600 on a Friday night, and there were some when we had 800 to 1,000," says Julie Phillips, the general manager. "Now we might get 200 or 300."

After opening in late 1997, Catawba Bingo built its business to a high net profit of about $2 million in 2001. The next year, lottery ticket sales began and the bingo hall's profit dropped below $1 million. This year, the Catawbas have made about $600,000.

Gambling opponents blame the economy and the loss of video poker revenue for the Catawbas' declining profits, noting that the hall's most lucrative year was the one between the end of video poker and the start of the lottery, although that argument supports the Indians' case. There is no doubt what the Catawbas think has cost them the most. A sign on the wall of their bingo hall lists "Five reasons Bingo is a better bet than the Lotto." Among them: No senior discount and, most tellingly, the odds of hitting the lottery, 14 million to 1.

Many people in the crowd at Catawba Bingo say they spread their gambling allowance around. They concede their weekly lottery tickets have eaten into their bingo allowance, though they profess greater luck at bingo. Still, some of the gamblers say they are not really keen on the idea of the Catawbas reintroducing video poker to the community unless everyone can have it.

"It's not fair for them to just let the Indians have it," Grace Walker says between games.

That, however, was the spirit of the 1993 agreement.

In colonial times, the Catawbas agreed to give up their territory in exchange for a permanent 15-square-mile tract in what is now York County. In 1840, the Catawbas transferred that land to the state of South Carolina in a treaty signed without federal blessing. For more than a century, the tribe was without a home.

GOING TO COURT

In 1980, the Catawba Nation sued the state in federal court, claiming the land had been taken fraudulently. The state showed no inclination to negotiate, even after the Catawbas put a lien on most of the land in York County, a move that, among other things, made it nearly impossible for years for homeowners there to get title insurance.

With the courts leaning in favor of the Indians' claims, the state, federal and local governments put together a settlement that paid the Catawbas $50 million and gave them 730 acres for their reservation and the right to open two Class I bingo halls. One of the halls had to be within the boundaries of the tribe's original territory, basically York County, while the other could be anywhere in the state, as long as the local government agreed.

The Catawbas say in exchange for "super-competitive" rights that assured them the best game in the state, they agreed not to be covered by the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act. IGRA is the federal law that controls what games various tribes can operate, from simple bingo halls to full-blown casinos.

Privately, some people close to the tribe say that opting out of IGRA was a bad deal. Once again, the Catawbas had been beaten at the table that counts, the bargaining table.

Catawba Bingo didn't come close to breaking even in the first year. According to the management company that runs the hall, it lost more than $200,000 in 1998.

DISTRACTIONS

Still, the tribe began to search for a site for its second bingo parlor, eventually settling on the tourist-rich Myrtle Beach area. Local governments on the Grand Strand opposed the plan, and eventually the Catawbas moved on. As Blue says, "We don't want to be bad neighbors."

For a while after those efforts, the Catawbas were distracted by a number of other problems. Delays in federal assistance threatened their health care program, dissidents tried to take over the tribe, and the nation struggled to adopt a constitution, a requirement of the settlement.

Setting up a second hall was not an immediate concern. Catawba Bingo in Rock Hill was doing well, clearing $1 million in 2000.

In the meantime, the state Legislature began to allow other bingo halls higher jackpots and longer operating hours, giving the Indians stronger competition. In an effort to supplement their revenue, in March 1999 the Catawbas added about 20 video poker machines to the bingo hall. In the year and a half before video poker was outlawed, the tribe made about $500,000 on the machines.

After video poker, the tribe's fortunes improved. In 2001, when bingo was the only game in the state, the Catawbas made about $2 million.

When lottery ticket sales began in January 2002, the tribe again considered a second casino but, worried by flagging profits in Rock Hill, thought a second Class I facility would be an unwise business move. Soon, the tribe was drawn to a failing outlet mall in Santee, potentially a resort town on Lake Marion near the intersection of Interstates 95 and 26.

U.S. Rep. Jim Clyburn and state lawmakers from the area were encouraging. Orangeburg County suffers from about 11 percent unemployment and some local officials felt the jobs and benefits offered by the tribe, including scholarship donations to South Carolina State University and using local schools for job training, could turn the area around.

'OUR BIG THING'

"This could be our big thing," state Sen. Brad Hutto, D-Orangeburg, says.

The Catawbas said in the climate created by the state lottery, they could not operate a profitable business without linking the hall to other bingo facilities around the country, increasing the stakes and the number of games. To do that, the tribe needed federal approval for a higher level gaming permit, Class II. That would allow electronic, interstate bingo, but not table games such as blackjack, roulette or poker. Clyburn agreed to sponsor legislation bringing the Catawbas back under IGRA.

"Without inclusion in IGRA, the Catawbas will not be able to compete with the South Carolina lottery nor will it be financially feasible for the tribe to build a second bingo facility," Clyburn wrote recently. "Since the lottery was established, it has robbed the tribe of more than half its annual revenue."

The rub is that protection under IGRA is the first step to gaining approval to operate full casinos, with table games and slot machines, something most state politicians vehemently oppose. Shortly after it was introduced, Clyburn's legislation was held up by Sen. Lindsey Graham and Nevada's senators, one of whom received a call from Gov. Mark Sanford.

"The governor called to let the senator know the state had an agreement (with the Catawbas)," Sanford spokesman Chris Drummond said. "He felt the federal effort was clearly an attempt to circumvent the process."

Sanford's efforts to stall the measure infuriated the tribe and officials with its property management firm. The Catawbas felt they had gone out of their way to keep all their bases covered, to keep all officials in the loop. Terry Collier, chairman and CEO of Southern Property Management, said Sanford was briefed on the situation five times during the 2002 campaign and three times after he took office.

Before the federal legislation was introduced, Sanford "expressed no opposition," Collier said.

'A REAL CANCER'

However, Sanford has made it clear to others that he opposes the Santee bingo hall. Last month, in a speech to Southern Baptists, Sanford called gambling "a real cancer in the state of South Carolina" and vowed to fight the tribe's effort to start an electronic bingo operation.

The governor met with Blue last week, but both sides say nothing much changed.

"The governor's position remains, if they want to make changes to the 1993 agreement, it has to go through the General Assembly," Drummond said. The Legislature had to sign off on the original deal.

Orangeburg officials say Sanford is going against the spirit of home rule. Not only does the legislative delegation favor the plan, but the town council of Santee and Orangeburg County Council voted unanimously to support the effort.

"I've heard it said that this is a states' rights issue, and any time I hear that term, some group is about to be done wrong," state Rep. Gilda Cobb-Hunter, D-Orangeburg said.

If the Catawbas do not get approval for a Class II bingo hall, they likely will crank up some video poker machines in York County. Many people on both sides of the issue believe that, ultimately, this argument is headed to court.

The South Carolina Policy Council, a Columbia-based conservative think tank, recently enlisted Greenville attorney Wallace K. Lightsey to study the issue. He came to the conclusion that loopholes in the law allow the Catawbas to have video poker on reservation land.

The agreement, Lightsey says, "specifically states that the Tribe may operate video poker or similar devices in a county that prohibits such devices pursuant to state law."

Sen. Wes Hayes, R-Rock Hill, says the Catawbas and Lightsey are wrong, that the state should take steps to stop the tribe from operating video poker games. Hayes says the tribe's argument about competition isn't legitimate.

"We said they could operate two Class I bingo halls. We never promised them a profit," Hayes said. "I don't think there is a loophole in the law, but if there was, certainly I would work to change that."

Federal courts often have ruled in favor of Indians in disputes with the states, but that doesn't mean this feud will ever get beyond video poker. Lightsey also argues, as do the Catawbas, that nothing in the law allows them to open a full-blown casino. Even with the IGRA approval, the tribe couldn't open a casino without approval from the state.

SHOW OF FAITH

Blue said the Catawbas were willing to make a show of faith for Sanford and other state officials by amending the federal legislation to state specifically that no Class III casino can ever open in South Carolina. The deal was good enough that Graham said it might be the only solution to this "mess."

"The day we got in the lottery business, we became a competitor," Graham said. "We've got no one to blame in South Carolina but ourselves."

Graham said in August that his main goal is to keep Class III casinos out of South Carolina and that the Catawba proposal may be the only way to keep the state out of court.

"I believe the legislation now pending, with the additional language prohibiting Class III casinos, is the best way to protect South Carolina from an expansion of gaming while still allowing the Catawbas to conduct the profitable bingo business intended by the 1993 settlement," Graham said in August.

Since that time, the Catawbas and their plans have remained in limbo. If the proposal is sent to the General Assembly, it is virtually assured of failing. Most insiders say the Legislature is not about to expand gaming rights, especially in an election year.

The reservation is a rolling patch of rural countryside tucked away not far from the suburban development of Rock Hill. On this land, shortly after the 1993 settlement, the Catawba Indian Nation began to rebuild.

SAVING A HERITAGE

Basically, the tribe saved its heritage.

The Catawbas established a government in the Longhouse, a handsome though not ostentatious office building with a health clinic, fitness facility, meeting rooms and a day care center for members of the tribe.

The Catawbas set up a cultural center that attracts scores of school children and tourists who learn the story of the tribe through murals, exhibits and the occasional performance of tribal dances. On one wall is a portrait of Blue's grandfather, a chief of the nation in the early half of the 20th century.

Blue points out a display of the official headdress of the Catawba chief, a beaver skin with turkey feathers sticking out. Blue has one, but also has a long, flowing headdress, stereotypical of Indians, which he says he occasionally puts on "for the kids."

Education and keeping the tribe's culture alive are Blue's primary concerns. He drives the reservation in an old green pickup, stopping to chat with many members of the tribe, all of whom he can call by name.

There are about 2,500 Catawbas left, and 90 percent live in the area if not on the reservation. They live modestly; clearly no one is getting rich off the bingo operation. Blue says he and other nation officials don't get a dime of the money. They don't qualify for any assistance. But many others do. Although most tribe members agree the need for cultural preservation is of great importance, the most popular program among Catawbas may be the subsidized housing.

The tribe has built more than 100 houses and apartments on the reservation so far, and tribal members must get on a waiting list for one of them. Once accepted into the program, tribal members pay rent or a mortgage based on what they can afford.

As quickly as it can, the tribe is expanding its building program in a community called Green Earth, which features different styles of attractive homes on the north end of the reservation.

Although the project is financed in part by a HUD grant, the loss of bingo revenue has hurt the operation. The tribe fears it may have to slow progress considerably, putting the health clinic, the educational programs and even the day care center at risk of closing.

Looking out over the new construction, Blue, who is personally opposed to gambling, says the tribe must not stop. The Catawbas must be prepared to go to court or bring back video poker or whatever is necessary to keep the tribe flush.

That's what they are going to do, one way or another.

"We're not asking them to help us. We're asking them to allow us to help ourselves," Blue says.

CATAWBA BINGO HALL PROFITS

1998 $267,807

*1999 $116,688

**2000 $1,063,490

2001 $1,996,854

2002 $911,897

2003 $422,362 (first six months)

* 1999 includes $336,511 in video poker revenue

** 2000 includes $155,238 in video poker revenue

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