Southern Maryland's legalization of slot machine gambling in 1949 also brought hordes of tourists to the neon lights along Route 301. The strip got a nickname: "Little Nevada." The White House, with its cupola-crowned, three-story central office, had slots machines then, as well as a restaurant featuring the popular crab cakes, and red rose bushes that lined the swimming pool by the highway.
"All the tourists stopped there because the food was really good," said Millie Marsh, 77, a former White House manager. "It didn't look like it does now."
Steven Stinger, 9, shares a rare quiet moment with infant brother Brandon at the White House Motel, where their five-member family shares a one-room unit in Charles County.
(Photos Michael Williamson -- The Washington Post)
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But in 1968, the neon went dark: Slots were outlawed that year. Three years later, the opening of Interstate 95 between the Washington and Baltimore beltways sucked travelers off Route 301. Restaurants and nightclubs, once flush with tourist dollars, began to go broke.
In the past decade, several historic motels in Charles closed down. The Stardust became an apartment building. The Heidelberg was replaced by a Home Depot. The Martha Washington and the Parkway were shuttered.
"For these old places, the ground became worth more than the motel," said Carl Baldus, who, with his partners, opened the Holiday Inn in Waldorf in 1979, pushing old motels further into obsolescence. "They started to tear them down and build other things."
When businessman Frank Monopoli bought the White House in 1990 for $630,000, one-fourth of the rooms were uninhabitable, he said. The swimming pool was filled in, the restaurant closed, the rose bushes long gone.
"It was in real bad shape," he said. "There were holes in the walls, plumbing and heating problems, rugs deteriorated, missing furniture."
He put in new drywall, fixed the septic problems, replaced the siding. Now the roof shingles are being repaired. Although he hopes to return to nightly rentals someday, Monopoli knows the long-term renters provide a steady stream of business that otherwise would be absent. Other motels along Route 301, such as the Thunderbird and Town 'N Country, serve a similar clientele these days.
Some tourists still come for bass fishing tournaments on the Potomac or for motocross races at Budds Creek racetrack in the summer, but Monopoli has rooms to fill year-round.
"People passing through want top-notch motels. They'll wind up down at the Holiday Inn or the Hampton Inn, not at my place," Monopoli said. "And if I said tomorrow, 'Move out or rent by the night,' you'd have a lot of people on the street."
An Unsettled Scene
On a recent night, being a mother in a motel had Terry Stinger at her wits' end. For five months, she has shared a room with her husband and three sons while looking for another place to live.
Calm is rare when the children are home from school. Stinger's 9-year-old, Steven, jumped around the room like Spider-Man, pretending to shoot webs from his wrists. Cursing from a couple next door mixed with the crying of Stinger's infant, Brandon, who lay sprawled on the bedcovers.
The family is waiting for better days. Stinger's husband, Joseph, is due to get a raise at the Beretta factory in Accokeek. He makes $300 a week, more than half of which goes for rent.
"I'm going to help my dad when I grow up. Get a mechanic job," Steven said. "We're going to get a house."
On a hot plate back by the bathroom, the pork chops needed tending. Stringer grabbed the frying pan. "Y'all are plucking my last nerve. . . ," she said. "This is what I deal with every day."
Staff researcher Bobbye Pratt contributed to this report.
