Casino proposal divides town

MIDDLEBOROUGH -- Like the town itself, Middleborough's Fourth of July parade is a quaint, little affair -- so small that it runs down Plymouth Street in North Middleborough, turns around, and comes right back.

But these are tense times in cranberry country. Where there was once peace and quiet, there is now simmering frustration and anger over the possibility of the Mashpee Wampanoag Indian tribe building a casino on more than 500 acres in town.

It is a huge project that would forever change this sleepy community of cranberry growers and commuters, 40 miles from Boston. But what is surprising is that the mere suggestion of a casino has already altered life in town, pitting neighbors against each other in a place that takes pride in offering small-town hospitality.

In recent weeks, people in Middleborough say there has been heckling, insults, and harassment between supporters and opponents of the casino proposal. Almost everywhere one goes, there are people talking about the casi no -- and often not agreeing about it. So it should come as no surprise that the casino debate managed to wiggle its way into the typically peaceful Fourth of July festivities last week.

A float, sponsored by a pro- casino group called Casino-Friend.com , rolled down Plymouth Street amid the war veterans and children waving American flags. And, as expected, not everyone appreciated it.

"We gave one little boy some candy. He was about age seven," said Helen Belmont , a Middleborough resident and one of the founders of the group. "And his mother looked at him and said, 'Drop it. Drop it. Don't take anything from them. They're bad people.' It was shocking."

Welcome to Middleborough, the town that bills itself as The Cranberry Capital of the World. It has been at least 2 1/2 years since the last murder. One claim to fame: General Tom Thumb, the 36-inch-tall P.T. Barnum circus performer of the 1800s, once lived here with his 33-inch-tall wife.

"It's a very quiet town," said Bill Marzelli , 65, a Middleborough native who kept the doors to his home unlocked until a few years ago. "There are not a lot of spectacular things that go on here."

But that might be changing. The Wampanoags do not want to build just a roadside slot machine parlor. They want to create a resort capable of rivaling Foxwoods and Mohegan Sun, the gambling Meccas booming in Connecticut. That means slot machines, table games, restaurants, and entertainment venues, along with a hotel and golf course.

Some believe this is exactly the sort of economic boost that is needed in Middleborough, a fiscally troubled town that has not had population growth other South Shore towns have experienced. Others, including members of the anti-casino group, CasinoFacts.org, say few things could upset the balance of life in Middleborough more than a casino, bling-blinging with lights and jingling with the sound of slot machines.

It is a debate that will come to a head on July 28, when Middleborough's 14,377 voters will have a chance to approve the terms of an agreement, still to be made, between the town's selectmen and the Wampanoags. Thousands of people may attend what will almost surely be the largest, loudest meeting the town has ever seen.

Some wonder how things got so ugly so fast. "It's become very nasty," said Cheryl Leonard , a self-described townie and Middleborough native. "People are calling other people names, hurling insults. And we just don't do things that way. That's not who we've been as a town before."

Leonard, 61, and her husband, Brad, also 61, are in favor of the casino. For them, and others in town, it comes down to money.

A casino could line Middleborough's coffers with millions of dollars annually, helping to lift the town out of a financial crisis that has left officials with no choice but to make budget cuts.

"We need a new commercial revenue source," said Marzelli, a casino supporter who recently posted pro-casino signs in his yard. "And I see this as a new revenue source. No more, no less."

It is an argument compelling to people who do not even like the idea of a casino. Sam Shields and his wife, Susan, operate the last dairy farm in a town once dotted with them. They are rural people, third-generation farmers with no need for a casino.

"It's not good for the quality of life. It's not going to be real beneficial," Sam Shields said last week, leaning against a hay baler on his property near the proposed casino site. "But what do we do? We're running a business here and we're not generating enough revenue to cover expenses."

For this reason, if the deal is right, Shields, 51, said he will vote in favor of it later this month. "You hold your nose," he said, "and you vote for it." But not everyone feels the same way. For many this is a sort of last stand: a chance to preserve what remains of rural Middleborough, a town that has been changing, locals say, ever since a commuter rail line linked the town to Boston a decade ago.

"I understand there's progress," said Judy Gibbs . But a casino does not fit her definition of what that is. A Neiman Marcus -- she would take. A Bloomingdale's -- that would be fine. But a casino?

She and others worry that it would increase traffic , put more drunk drivers on the road, and slowly whittle away at the reason why many live here in the first place: the peace and quiet.

"It's not what this town is about," said Annemarie Jacobson , a member of CasinoFacts.org and a mother of three. "It's a very rural community and the casino is just not a fit. It'll turn this little town into a city, one complex changing this community forever."

Casino supporters say that is overstating the potential impact. The Leonards point out that locals once dreaded the arrival of the commuter rail in Middleborough. "And now," said Brad Leonard, "everyone loves it."

But a casino, critics say, is like a commuter rail that never stops. And those live closest to the tribe's proposed site seem to have the best view -- quite literally -- of what is at stake.

"See where the trees change?" said Patricia Farrington last week, pointing to the tree line just south of her 18th-century farmhouse in Middleborough. "That would be about the position where we figure it would be."

As Farrington, 59, spoke about a future casino, one of her cows, Daisy, bellowed and stuck her head out a barn window. Farrington cooed . She said she finds cows soothing and wondered aloud what a casino so close would do to her life on the farm, to the deer that visit her fields, the fireflies that congregate at twilight, and her perfect view of star-filled skies.

These are things that cannot be replaced , Farrington said, and she had a word to describe what might be lost in the end.

"Heaven."