Atlantic City's Last 'Low-Roller' Casino Busts
1/16/14 at 12:03 PM
The town is struggling to hold on even as
it faces an end to its gaming monopoly. Mel
Evans/Associated Press
A
few miles outside Atlantic City, signs along the highway greet gamblers by
talking about the people who will scrub their toilets, serve them cocktails and,
more often than not, deal them losing hands.
“Thank you to our
employees! For your dedication and service,” says one billboard for the Atlantic
Club Casino Hotel. “Just the best employees in AC” the next line says. “You’re
the heart and soul of this place.”
Five
days before Christmas, the Atlantic Club told more than 1,600 employees they
would soon be jobless. The Atlantic Club – the last casino in Atlantic City, New
Jersey catering to the “low-rollers” – announced it would close at midnight on
January 13, after 33 years in business. Many learned about their impending
unemployment in the newspaper or on TV. The club gave union workers $1,500 in
severance, plus pay for unused vacation days. The local union gave card-holders
$20 grocery store gift cards and help filing for unemployment.
The
shutdown of Atlantic Club will only exacerbate Atlantic City’s 15.1 percent
unemployment rate, said to be the worst in the state, and has spurred whispers
of more closings. Atlantic City gaming revenue has spiraled downward since 2006
– from $5.2 billion then to a $2.9 billion in 2013 –
because of increased competition from neighboring states. Atlantic City, which
now has just 11 casinos, down from 13 at its peak, is also running out of time
to maintain its gaming monopoly in New Jersey. In 2010, Governor Chris Christie
gave Atlantic City until 2014 to reverse its decline before he’d consider
allowing gaming elsewhere in the state. Christie’s initiatives to revive the
boardwalk by making it a family-friendly destination have mostly been a
bust.
At
Wonder Bar, a restaurant off the boardwalk that bills itself as the
dining destination for locals, employees gathered Sunday night to bid each other
a final goodbye. Many told Newsweek they weren’t in a position to hit the ground
running with regard to the job search because, what jobs? A casino in Maryland
hosted a a few job fairs the week before the closing, but only a few dozen
people got work. Besides, who has the money to move?
Worse, they said, is
that one of the things that helped keep the casino afloat – its close-knit,
comfortable, unchanging atmosphere attracted loyal regulars – makes its closing
all the more dire for the community. Atlantic Club felt so familial, employees
said, because so many families worked there, meaning entire households are out
of work.
One
married couple, who like most didn’t want their names used for fear of
jeopardizing their chances of getting new jobs, told Newsweek they didn’t
have a plan, or even a plan about how to come up with a plan for finding
work.
The
man, 60, who’d worked at the casino for 20 years, took small sips of beer as he
explained that they would file for unemployment the next day and apply for food
stamps. They had two adult sons, also out of work, to support, along with three
granddaughters and a daughter-in-law. “We have to provide for our kids,” his
wife, 57, said. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it.”
Their extended family
isn’t in much of a position to help them, either. The man’s 65-year-old sister
recently lost her grocery store job; though rehired elsewhere, she now makes 30
percent less. Another sister’s husband, who made ball bearings, lost his job
when the company moved to the South. His twin brother’s wife, a teacher’s
assistant, lost her job, too. Another sister (he’s from a big Irish family, he
explained) lost the same job twice. His youngest sister’s husband, who made
plastic parts for doors, lost his job when it was shipped to another
country.
“My
father always told me, ‘Life isn’t fair,” the man said, taking another swig.
Several blocks away,
back on the boardwalk, things seemed almost normal at the Atlantic Club, which
would be bolting the doors in a few hours. Sure, the club’s restaurants had run
out of food that afternoon and customers, scurrying to use their comp dollars,
drank the Dizzy Dolphin bar dry, but the casino floor buzzed and blinked busily,
as if midnight would never come.
One
woman at a baccarat table – who was down about $15,000 at 11:30 – wanted to keep
playing despite the time. She shouted and mumbled something about wanting her
money back, or at least the opportunity to win it back. A pit boss standing
behind the dealer joked: “I don’t have any money! I’m unemployed!” and a few
moments later, a security guard escorted the woman off the floor.
With
her exit, the feverish frenzy typical for a casino – even an ailing one– seemed
to deflate. Just before midnight, those present counted down from five, with
some singing “Auld Lang Syne.” The staff charged with seeing the shutdown
through then collected and counted all the chips one last time.
Dealers, faces
twisted and glistening with tears, hugged each other tightly. Some staff skipped
into what seemed to be an area set aside for high-rollers, asking a cop to snap
one last photo of them together, their broad smiles belying the mood in the
room.
As
stragglers and observers were corralled out the door and onto the sidewalk, some
dawdled in the hotel’s main hall, while others plucked plants from their pots
before leaving stepping out into the frigid night.
The
mirrors and columns and brass in the lobby spoke to the Atlantic Club’s bygone
opulence – when Frank Sinatra was on the marquee, not the struggling commuter
casino trying to lure slots jockeys with free parking.
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