Across Enemy Lines

Casino-Free Philadelphia tries to beat the house in Chester.

by Daniel Schwartz

Daniel Schwartz CASINO FULL: More than 100 people descended on the Chester Harrah's this weekend to ... not gamble.

[ department of david vs. goliath ]

Jethro Heiko tapped at a neon-splattered slot machine. He had inserted a $5 bill and was slowly reading the instructions flashing across the digitized screen when a worker for Chester's Harrah's Casino approached him. The guard told Heiko that if he wasn't "actively playing," he wasn't allowed to sit at the machine. Heiko, a founding member of Casino-Free Philadelphia, looked surprised. He asked how Harrah's defined "actively playing." The guard didn't have an answer, but he had a mandate. Heiko begrudgingly vacated his seat and walked to a different part of the casino. On his way, he passed dozens of other Casino-Free members sitting politely in front of slots, not playing.

Earlier that morning, participants had gathered at Casino-Free's Center City headquarters for a briefing on the battle plan.

Kathy Dilonardo, a Queen Village resident, pointed to an itinerary written in red marker on a large piece of paper. "We'll arrive at Harrah's at roughly 2:15," she explained. Activists would come wearing Beat the House T-shirts under other clothing. In pairs, they would sit at slot machines, insert $5 and talk about "community improvement." At 2:30, they would remove their outerwear, revealing the white shirts with large red lettering that read, "You Won't Prey on Us." They'd wait until 3:30, cash in their $5 voucher and march single-file out the front door to a rally across the street.

All of this, they explained, was lawful, and all participants were asked to sign a binding contract promising to stick to the plan. They'd answer any questions asked of them — whether by security personnel or patrons — as politely as possible, but always try to initiate a conversation about predatory gambling. For example, said Paul Boni, Casino-Free's attorney, "A bipartisan congressional commission recommended that casinos restrict the placement of ATMs. Why are there so many ATMs throughout casinos like Harrah's?"

The goal here, Heiko explained later, was to raise awareness of the anti-casino argument. Casino-Free believes the only reason a majority of Philadelphians are not anti-casino is because most Philadelphians don't know enough about how they work. "The people inside the casino already know how predatory the industry is. We're doing this to send a message to people who don't understand that yet — people like many of the politicians in our city, state and across the country."

I crawled into a minivan belonging to the Rev. Robin Hynicka of the Arch Street United Methodist Church. With us were Ellen Somekawa of Asian Americans United, Les Bernal of the national organization Stop Predatory Gambling and a recent Penn graduate named Laura Jones.

It was a diverse group, as is the expanding anti-casino movement. But, though casino opponents have made progress building alliances, the gambling industry has moved forward aggressively: Just last month, the Pennsylvania Gaming Control Board granted the SugarHouse Casino an extension on its slots license. Slot machines are now scheduled to arrive in Fishtown a year from now. And all across the country, from Pittsburgh to Polk County, Iowa, states and municipalities are turning to casinos as an "easy" solution to tax revenue problems, without thinking hard about repercussions for their communities.

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"This is the No. 1 sleeper social-justice issue in America," Bernal said, turning around in his seat to face me. Balding and clad in khaki pants and a white button-down shirt, he looked like he was off to a business meeting. He turned around and stared at the corroded industrial landscape passing us as we left the city.

The Harrah's building is huge, a sprawling racino (that's a casino plus a race track) with 2,700 slot machines on more than 100,000 square feet of space. It's open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year.

Immediately we noticed the security. As I approached the roped-off entrance to the slots parlor, two looming guards stepped in my path and demanded that I check my camera bag with the valet. Inside the slots area, there seemed to be two dozen guards clad in yellow polo shirts; another dozen in dark suits with slicked-back hair, roaming around with walkie-talkies; plus state troopers strolling among the slot machines. Capt. Tim Allue of the state police's Gaming Enforcement Office confirmed that authorities had brought in extra manpower in anticipation of the protest.

At first I had trouble finding the activists. Thousands of slot machines, interspersed with ATMs and check-cashing booths, created a labyrinth of light and sound. But then, according to plan, dozens of people took off their shirts. The security guards slowly began to circle them. Some protesters, like Heiko, were asked to leave for not "actively playing" (they noticed some signs, which appeared to have been hastily erected, announcing this rule; Harrah's declined to comment on when the rule had been made). Not surprisingly, none of the guards, and few of the patrons, engaged in a dialogue with the protesters about gambling. One casino janitor stood to the side criticizing them for wanting to eliminate jobs.

Within an hour, almost half the activists had been quietly asked to exit. The biggest drama of the afternoon came when security guards shoved down the microphone of a KYW radio reporter who was interviewing a protester outside the Casino's doors. Harrah's staff told her she was "uninvited." They agreed to let her retrieve her car from the parking deck. Four guards accompanied her.

The rally outside was loud and cheerful. Casino-Free organizers were relieved that the action had gone off without any arrests or serious conflicts. They held up signs reiterating the day's slogans, "You Won't Prey on Us" and "We Beat the House." They shouted at cars driving by, eliciting cheerful honks, mild confusion and only one case of heckling.

People began to disperse from the sidewalk around 4 p.m. and pretty soon I was back in the reverend's car, headed back to Philly. I tried to evaluate how successful the action had been — or, put another way, whether the activists had in any meaningful way "beat the house." Heiko would later tell me that "the press, whose attention we wanted to grab and keep, now know how belligerent the casinos can be and how scared they are of reporters." What they would really like, though, is for some politicians to take notice. "I think we [Casino-Free] understand the nature of the gambling industry better than any politician in the state," he said. The goal of an action like this is simply not to be ignored.

(editorial@citypaper.net)