Boardwalk Empire: The Birth, High Times And Corruption of Atlantic City (34 page)

Another pitfall was the specter of Atlantic City becoming a “Las Vegas of the East” with a casino on every corner and slot machines in supermarkets, drugstores, and gas stations. Somehow, Atlantic City was supposed to be better than Vegas. The reputation of mob influence and the garishness of Las Vegas were something to be avoided in a statewide campaign. With an almost fairy tale quality, Atlantic City’s leaders hoped to present a more dignified image. They talked of gambling in terms of class and elegance comparable to the low-key operations in the Bahamas and Monte Carlo. According to its supporters, Atlantic City was above doing business like Las Vegas. There would be no glitz or glitter or slot machine grind joints. Upon gambling being legalized, it would be quiet and sophisticated—civilized games of chance for gentlemen and ladies only.

A final concern for gambling proponents was the fear that were it limited to Atlantic City alone, other communities in the state might resent it and sabotage the referendum. The resort was prepared to share the opportunity with other communities in the hopes no one else would be interested. In an attempt to neutralize potential opposition, McGahn and Perskie proposed a referendum that would permit gambling casinos throughout the state. Upon approval of the initial constitutional amendment, gambling could be permitted in any community where the voters of both the municipality, and the county in which it was located, approved a second referendum. To prevent mob infiltration, casinos would be owned and operated by state government; no matter that no one in state government was experienced in operating a casino. They would simply adopt regulations and everything would go smoothly. As for new private construction, there wouldn’t be much. Casinos would be located in existing hotels or state-owned properties. Additionally, advertising would be prohibited and only properly attired patrons would be permitted to gamble. By creating such a frame in which to view their proposal, Atlantic City’s leaders hoped the opposition would have little basis for an attack.

In the report of a study released by the staff of the Senate Conference Committee in May 1974, the Byrne administration’s view of how casino gambling should work was outlined for the legislature. It was envisioned that the first casino would be built on the Boardwalk at the state’s expense. Following the initial casino, two others would be located in space leased from existing hotels. The hours of operation would be from 8:00
P.M
. to 4:00
A.M
. The sale of alcoholic beverages would be prohibited as would credit for betting by casino patrons. Private investment of any kind would be prohibited. A rosy picture typical of government, it was assumed the casinos would be staffed and operated by state employees—just one more task for the bureaucracy. The potential of gambling everywhere didn’t have the initial support of Governor Byrne and as the constitutional amendment began making its way through the legislature, Byrne made his thoughts known. Prompted by his Attorney General William F. Hyland, Byrne questioned the language of the referendum.

The governor suggested that gambling should be limited to Atlantic City. He went so far as to threaten opposition to the referendum legislation if gambling was permitted anywhere other than Atlantic City. Some observers believe Byrne was looking for a face-saving way out and hoped that by limiting gambling to the resort, he would alienate other regions of the state, killing any chances of the referendum’s approval. The resort’s leaders were beside themselves, but Steve Perskie refused to quit. Relying upon his personal relationship with Brendan Byrne, Perskie launched a private campaign that resulted in the governor’s modifying his position. Byrne agreed to support the referendum as proposed, provided that for the first five years after its approval, casino gambling would be confined to Atlantic City alone. It was a major concession, which only Perskie could have obtained.

With Byrne’s support, McGahn and Perskie were successful in obtaining the legislature’s approval for a constitutional referendum. In all, it took less than five months to get the question put on the November ballot. While McGahn and Perskie made their moves in Trenton, the folks back home did nothing. When the year began, the pro-gaming forces knew they would have 10 months to organize their campaign for the November referendum. They also knew they could expect opposition.

The
New York Times
and
Wall Street Journal
, together with most of the local newspapers throughout New Jersey, as well as the New York and Philadelphia television networks, had editorialized against legalizing gambling. Senior U.S. Senator Clifford Case, State Senators Anne Martindell, Raymond Bateman, and John Fay, and Assemblymen James Hurley and Thomas Kean had all fought the question whenever it was discussed in the legislature. Kean, the Assembly Minority Leader, was a vocal opponent. “You are talking about changing the very character of New Jersey. Gambling would become our primary business, we would become known as the gambling state, and all legislation would be discussed in terms of how the gambling interests feel about it.” Additionally, the state’s two highest law enforcement officials, Attorney General William Hyland and U.S. Attorney Jonathan Goldstein, spoke against the measure.

Jonathan Goldstein was a forceful spokesman for the opposition. Together with clergymen from the New Jersey Council of Churches, he spoke at hundreds of gatherings throughout the state. Goldstein barnstormed across the state with the local newspapers and radio stations spreading the word. Everywhere he went he warned that the only group that would benefit from the legalization of gambling was organized crime. “I am concerned that the very same interests which have allowed Atlantic City to deteriorate will be those who will be the sole beneficiaries of casino gambling.” Goldstein was one of the prosecutors of the Atlantic City Seven, and he had a keen grasp of the traditional partnership between local politicians and the racketeers. He played on the suspicions of the average voter that all gambling was controlled by the mob. To the average person, Goldstein’s comments had a ring of truth and with the exposure they received, it damaged the resort’s cause.

Aside from the crime issue, there was a second basis for opposition expressed by State Senator Anne Martindell. The resort didn’t deserve special treatment. According to Martindell, the State Constitution shouldn’t be amended to satisfy the needs of one city. Statewide referenda and the amendment of New Jersey’s most basic legal principles should be limited to issues of statewide concern. Martindell argued that if Atlantic City wanted to make a comeback, it should pull itself up by its bootstraps. Let it diversify its economy. Let it seek out light industry and commercial uses other than resort-oriented businesses. The resort wasn’t entitled to a quick fix. It should battle urban decay just as every aging city in the Northeast was battling to do. Speaking at a press conference on the Boardwalk several weeks prior to the referendum, Martindell stated, “I am concerned with the future of Atlantic City. I want the city redeveloped on a solid future, not the dangerous shifting sands of gambling. Plans, real plans, have to be made to attract a diversity of industry and investments in order to create new jobs to solve Atlantic City’s deep-rooted economic and social problems.”

To the resort’s leaders, Martindell’s comments read like something out of a fantasy. They understood their town’s singular purpose. If the resort didn’t have a gimmick to revive vacationers’ interest, all would be lost. Unfortunately, Martindell’s pitch appealed to voters throughout the state, especially those in New Jersey’s decaying urban areas. Many politicians from other cities could see no reason why Atlantic City should be the lone beneficiary of a Constitutional Amendment.

The opposition found the media sympathetic to their views and despite the lack of resources—the pro-gaming effort outspent them 20 to 1—Goldstein, Martindell, and others were able to spread their message without the need of financing. An example of the message sent to the voters by the New Jersey’s media is an editorial of the
Vineland Times Journal
, which was reprinted in newspapers throughout the state:

Once again the public is being conned, though this one must rank as one of the great con jobs of all time. What we’re being asked to believe is that by making it easier for farmers, wage earners, business owners, housewives, and retirees to lose their shirts at the crap table, the roulette wheels, the blackjack games, or slot machines (now, one must fly all the way to Nevada) this will be a stronger, healthier state, a better place in which to live.

The big promotion of this colossal swindle comes from Atlantic City, whose politicians assert with a straight face that a century of racism, political and police corruption, exploitation of the poor, prostitution, and general sleaziness all will be reversed by the installation of gambling. Why, the finest folks in the country will all flock to Atlantic City, and Absecon Island will be restored to the ranks of the noble and the pure and well-fed.

Ignoring such vocal opposition, the supporters of gambling squandered the first six months of the campaign. Despite the tinsel and glitter, and the hype and hustle of Atlantic City’s past, it was still a laid-back town. Seventy years of corrupt one-party rule had produced a complacent mentality; whatever the problem, the Republican machine, in partnership with the racketeers and hotel owners, would solve it.

Grassroots-level social activism was nonexistent in Atlantic City. As far as resort voters were concerned, politics was the work of professionals like Kuehnle, Johnson, and Farley. With the disintegration of the Republican political ward system, there was nothing to hold things together. With no one to take charge, Atlantic City couldn’t find its way.

When things finally did get organized in mid-July, it was a feeble effort. A pollster hired by the campaign organization warned that the election would be close, but no one was listening. The initial fund-raising goal of $1 million was never reached; half that amount was spent. A first-rate public relations firm to sell the issue wasn’t retained and, more importantly, a statewide, county-by-county organization was never formed. Steve Perskie, Joe McGahn, and others criss-crossed the state debating Goldstein and the ministers, like a traveling vaudeville show, but there was no follow-up. The audiences who attended the debates received no mailings or phone calls from the supporters of gambling. No doors were knocked on and there was no coordinated effort to get out the vote. The pro-casino forces didn’t establish a single campaign headquarters outside of Atlantic County. Finally, the campaign had no soul, no theme, no rallying cry. There was nothing to grab the voters to make them vote YES.

The referendum failed miserably. It was defeated by a margin of more than 400,000 votes, carrying only two counties, Atlantic and Hudson. The question was crushed everyplace else. It was like a kick in the ass to a tired old whore who had lost her charm. A wave of despair washed over the city. For many area residents it was hard to imagine a future for their town.

There were brave statements of how the resort would have to move onto other ideas, but for many of Atlantic City’s residents, the defeat loomed as the final chapter of their town’s history. Those who could afford to relocate their businesses and homes out of the area were making plans to do just that. It seemed all was lost. In the weeks that followed, a bumper sticker summing up the town’s plight became popular. It read, “Last one off the island, turn out the lights.”

10

A Second Bite at the Apple

It began to rain as she was getting off the bus, and her umbrella was at home. The walk was only two blocks, but her hip slowed her down and by the time she reached city hall she was drenched. Lea Finkler was a transplant from New York City, but everyone knew her and respected her commitment to Atlantic City’s senior population. Hunched over by age yet slender, almost petite, she was a frail, bespectacled, shabbily dressed woman with an ashen complexion and short gray hair. Despite her appearance Lea’s eyes gave her away; she was no one to mess with.