Horror stories from the land of the casino

9/19/2003

By DONN ESMONDE

The grandmother stood in front of the large map. It was a map of Madison and Oneida counties, east of Syracuse.

There were red splotches on it, like bursts of acne on an unlucky teenager's face. The splotches, said the grandmother, cover land the Oneida Indians own. They bought it, 16,000 acres of it, in the past 10 years. All bought since the tribe opened Turning Stone Casino in Verona, the town in the middle of the map.

The grandmother, Judy Bachmann, lives six miles from Turning Stone. She has lived there for 40 years. The first 30 were happy. Then the casino came.

And now an Indian casino is likely coming to Erie County.

Bachmann says that with it, and with the 2,000 jobs it adds, will come unpleasant surprises.

"People think that if they don't go to the casino, it won't affect their lives," she said. "It's not true. It does."

She is 61, stands yardstick-straight and has the no-excuses manner of a stern schoolmarm. She'd rather be home playing with her six grandkids than trucking midweek to an anti-casino forum at the Buffalo Museum of Science. But she wants us to know what we could be in for.

Folks watched the Turning Stone story unfold in disbelief and disgust before acknowledging defeat. They watched the tribe buy vast stretches of land, all of it coming off the tax rolls. They watched the Oneidas open gas stations and stores, tax-free places no local business could compete with. Our laws -- from environmental standards to building codes -- meant nothing to them.

They built golf courses and hotels. But so much land became tax-free that -- even as the casino raked in $200 million a year -- towns had to raise taxes, to pay for schools that Oneida children went to. The towns, in a deal even worse than our compact with the Senecas, got no slice of the casino take.

Country roads became gridlocked. Bingo games that funded churches and firehouses shut down.

In fairness, Bachmann came here to share horror stories. Even as she conceded that the casino brought about 3,000 jobs, she noted that they came with no benefits or security. Even the silver cloud had a dark lining. But it was helpful to hear the worst, just to have some idea of it.

Rickey Armstrong, the Seneca Nation president, says it won't happen here. He says the Senecas have no plans to buy land in Erie County beyond what's needed for a casino.

"We might take a look at (buying) land around our existing reservations," said Armstrong. "But there's no talk of buying land elsewhere."

He said they're not looking to build gas stations or other businesses in the county.

"That's small potatoes compared to what you get from gaming," said Armstrong.

I don't doubt him. But things can change. There's nothing in writing that says the Senecas can't change their minds. Once they own the casino land, it's part of their nation. And they can buy more land if they want.

Bill Thompson, one of the country's leading casino experts, told me years ago: A casino doesn't hurt a community as much as critics claim, or help it as much as backers say. But he was talking about a private casino, not an Indian casino.

An Indian casino comes with added negatives. Cities get a much smaller slice of the profits than with a private casino (less than six percent, in our case). Casino land becomes part of a foreign country, a country whose empire can expand. We've got no control over what happens on casino property, or on any other land the Senecas could buy.

Bachmann said the Oneidas sometimes strong-armed those in their path. One time, a marina owner wouldn't sell. So the Indians opened a filling station on land they owned across the canal. The marina owner caved in.

I didn't have time to confirm the story. But one thing is certain: An Indian casino is a Pandora's Box. We don't really know what we're getting. And what we get could change.

That's why I think the best place for another one is in Niagara Falls. That's the tourist spot we're trying to buck up. Let Buffalo be the big city where visitors stay, or detour to.

We've heard the horror story. We don't want to see the sequel.

e-mail: desmonde@buffnews.com