Feature Article |
Gaming the System
By Matthew Teague
THE CITY OF Philadelphia never did get a word in edgewise about its casinos. It did try, though.
In December 2006, just days after the group of Philadelphians tried to search the Gaming Board’s office for documents, Mayor John Street announced to the board that the city had some preferences regarding the casinos. Those preferences, of course, ranked Foxwoods and SugarHouse last. In answer, the board’s spokesman delivered an incredible verbal slap to both Street and the city he represented: “The time expired for public comment.”
Later, pushed by groups like Casino-Free Philadelphia, City Council voted unanimously to let the people of the city make their own decision, by placing a referendum on gambling on the May ballot. The Gaming Board sued the city, demanding that it drop the referendum. The state Supreme Court granted a temporary injunction to block it.
The city had no right to create a referendum, according to the board, because Act 71 supersedes the city’s authority. Meanwhile, as the Democratic primary approached, City Council pursued zoning bills designed to stop construction of casinos.
Gambling works on two principles: stakes and odds. There was never any question whether the stakes, in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, were high. They’re dollars measured in billions, enough money to forever change our political and financial landscape.
Meanwhile, Rendell and Fumo — in tandem with the casino operators themselves — worked to make sure the odds were good, and in some cases inevitable. They took money from casinos, traded casino money to other legislators in exchange for votes, and shut out the public at every turn. Legality and illegality became concepts for common people, not the powerful: You never have to cross the line, so to speak, if you’re the one who drew it in the first place. In the meantime, Daniel Hunter and Casino-Free Philadelphia said that even after all legal measures are exhausted, they’ll fight the casinos. As the activists proved by storming the Gaming Board’s lobby, they’re unafraid of confrontation or even arrest; Hunter said that when bulldozers show up on the riverfront, his organization’s members will be there, lying in the dirt.
If the group is successful, it will have beaten the odds. Because in the world of casinos, there is one iron-clad, immutable rule: You may get ahead temporarily, you may enjoy the free drinks, you may even make a score.
But in the long run, the house always wins.
In December 2006, just days after the group of Philadelphians tried to search the Gaming Board’s office for documents, Mayor John Street announced to the board that the city had some preferences regarding the casinos. Those preferences, of course, ranked Foxwoods and SugarHouse last. In answer, the board’s spokesman delivered an incredible verbal slap to both Street and the city he represented: “The time expired for public comment.”
Later, pushed by groups like Casino-Free Philadelphia, City Council voted unanimously to let the people of the city make their own decision, by placing a referendum on gambling on the May ballot. The Gaming Board sued the city, demanding that it drop the referendum. The state Supreme Court granted a temporary injunction to block it.
The city had no right to create a referendum, according to the board, because Act 71 supersedes the city’s authority. Meanwhile, as the Democratic primary approached, City Council pursued zoning bills designed to stop construction of casinos.
Gambling works on two principles: stakes and odds. There was never any question whether the stakes, in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, were high. They’re dollars measured in billions, enough money to forever change our political and financial landscape.
Meanwhile, Rendell and Fumo — in tandem with the casino operators themselves — worked to make sure the odds were good, and in some cases inevitable. They took money from casinos, traded casino money to other legislators in exchange for votes, and shut out the public at every turn. Legality and illegality became concepts for common people, not the powerful: You never have to cross the line, so to speak, if you’re the one who drew it in the first place. In the meantime, Daniel Hunter and Casino-Free Philadelphia said that even after all legal measures are exhausted, they’ll fight the casinos. As the activists proved by storming the Gaming Board’s lobby, they’re unafraid of confrontation or even arrest; Hunter said that when bulldozers show up on the riverfront, his organization’s members will be there, lying in the dirt.
If the group is successful, it will have beaten the odds. Because in the world of casinos, there is one iron-clad, immutable rule: You may get ahead temporarily, you may enjoy the free drinks, you may even make a score.
But in the long run, the house always wins.
Originally published in Philadelphia magazine, June 2007
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