Slots at track are a bad bet
LINCOLN, R.I. -- It's not quite 3 o'clock on a summery Sunday afternoon when I wander through the front doors of Lincoln Park and roam up and down the rows of video slot machines peopled by gray-haired gamblers wagering money they probably can't afford seeking a jackpot they're never going to get.
The stale, hazy air smells like a Greyhound bus station, or maybe that's the nearby greyhound kennels.
The merry dinging and donging of the electronic games strikes a sharp contrast to the nervous and sometimes desperate-looking people watching their Social Security checks vanish before their eyes.
A bartender asks a customer if he'd like his chardonnay on ice.
All the while, one question keeps popping to mind: Have we gone completely insane?
You see, if some increasingly vocal Massachusetts officials have their way, this exact kind of sleazy slots parlor is about to infect a neighborhood near you.
As a matter of fact, just last week, the usually pragmatic Thomas M. Menino, the selectively moralistic mayor who won't allow the Boston Red Sox to sell beer directly to people in their seats, repeated his hope that Suffolk Downs in East Boston becomes a slots mecca.
In his push, he recites the same arguments that racing track owners have used for years: that it provides the government with a voluntary revenue stream, that the racing industry needs to be preserved for all its jobs, that tracks are the logical locale for slots, that too much Massachusetts money gets gambled in Connecticut and Rhode Island.
The word on Beacon Hill is that Senate President Robert E. Travaglini, who didn't return my call yesterday, is quietly pushing the same thing.
''It's not a gambling issue," Menino told me. ''It's an economic development issue. We're going to lose the millions in taxes. We're going to lose all those jobs."
He added: ''Racetracks are the place to go. They already have the facility, they have the parking, and the community has accepted the fact that they're there."
That's great, until you see the reality, and the reality is a pretty dismal sight.
Lincoln Park is not Foxwoods. It's not Mohegan Sun. It's not even close. There is no splash of glamour here, no spa, no table games, no chance that on any given night a few lucky gamblers might go on the run of their lives.
What Lincoln Park has is a warehouse-like atmosphere with carpet slapped on the floor, thousands of video terminals with nonsensical names like ''Horses for Courses" and ''3 Free Wild Bees" calibrated to make sure the house always prevails, and a Dunkin' Donuts on the second floor.
Oh, yeah, and there's still dog racing, though it's an afterthought at best.
It also has a clientele that makes Marian Manor look like a youth movement, so many of them chain-smoking cigarettes as they slide $20 bills into machines with indecipherable rules and low odds.
If there's a more depressing place in New England, I haven't seen it.
Fortunately, Mitt Romney has been a voice of reason on the slots issue.
Two years ago, amid fiscal crisis, he wanted to auction off licenses rather than hand them over to track owners.
Now, with the state on healthy fiscal ground, his spokesman, Eric Fehrnstrom said, ''It's not something we're promoting."
If Massachusetts decides to allow casino gambling, then terrific.
License a resort-style casino designed to compete with what's in Connecticut. Put it far from any urban center, so you're not tempting society's most vulnerable members toward compulsions that are hard to cure. Be proud of what we build. Don't launch a bunch of embarrassing second-tier slot parlors that will cause more problems than they'll ever cure.
Before he says another word, Menino ought to take a ride to Lincoln Park to see what he's wishing for. I'd even be willing to drive. This mayor's far too smart to want something this entirely dumb.
Brian McGrory is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at mcgrory@globe.com.
