Somewhere in his little corner of heaven where the horses are running and the dice are still hot, Philip “Pacey” Silbert is no doubt looking to take a little action. Pacey always knew a sure thing when he saw it. Right now, he’d be betting on the arrival of slots in Maryland at the earliest possible opportunity.
The economy shudders, and Pacey looks to make the angels blush. From his heavenly perch, wagering against the legalization of slots in next month’s state referendum looks strictly like a sucker’s bet.
In Annapolis these days, Gov. Martin O’Malley examines his budget and reaches for headache pills. He may have to cut money for schools, for health care, maybe even for cops. For a politician, this is like setting yourself on fire. But what are his choices when the state’s economy reflects the nation’s, and both are in deep trouble?
One choice is slots. They couldn’t arrive in time to fix this fiscal year’s troubles, or next year’s. But, pretty soon, they could bring in all kinds of money, in a time when O’Malley’s thinking about cutting nearly $400 million from a general fund budget of $14 billion.
How much difference could slots make? Analysts at the Department of Legislative Services estimate 15,000 machines might bring in $87 million by 2010 and grow to about $600 million a year by 2013.
Minus, of course, certain expense. How much would added crime and addiction cost? How much for new roads and upgrades for infrastructure? Right now, there’s talk about locations in Anne Arundel County, Baltimore, Cecil County, Worcester County and Rocky Gap State Park in Allegany County.
In his little corner of heaven, Pacey Silbert hears this conversation echo across the state and laughs ruefully. The argument was different in his day. He was one of Baltimore’s great numbers operators when all gambling (except horse racing) was considered a high crime, and vice squad cops built prosperous careers while real crime such as house-breaking and car theft and homicide went through the roof.
The cops tailed Pacey everywhere. Once, he decided to spend a few weeks vacationing in Florida. He walked outside his front door and approached a cop sitting in an unmarked car. He knew the guy so well, they were practically pals.
“How about giving me a lift to Penn Station?” Pacey said.
“Sure,” the cop said.
Later, when he discovered what had happened, the cop went back to Pacey and laughed aloud.
“My lieutenant told me, where you go, I’m supposed to go,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to Florida. I could have used two weeks there.”
In other words, even the cops understood the hypocrisy of the gambling laws. But, in 1972, Pacey was sentenced to 12 years in prison for taking numbers bets. He did business from the 1940s deep into the 1970s, with time out behind bars, until the state muscled in with its own game and gradually put all the street numbers guys out of business.
The cops said Pacey was taking in $2 million a year. They said this was a terrible thing, right up until their own game commenced and was taking in maybe $2 million each day.
But the thing that would strike Pacey’s fancy today is the argument. In his time, it was all about morality. Gambling of any kind, we were told, was bad for the soul (unless it was church bingo). Those who ran the gambling were considered unfit for polite company.
Nobody in government or law enforcement makes such an argument today, and if they did they’d be laughed out of the room. You walk into a drug store, and lottery machines await you. You have Keno games all over the place, and horse racing for those still paying attention. What’s a slot machine but a variation on a theme?
Today, the argument’s mainly about money. Delaware and West Virginia are raking it in from slot machines, and building schools and paving roads with the money, and some of that money comes from Maryland folks who drive there for a few hours of play.
Robert Ehrlich wasted his four years as governor pushing for slots but couldn’t get it past House Speaker Mike Busch and a reluctant legislature. Until last week, O’Malley’s been more circumspect. Now he says the state needs slots.
Money’s tight, and nobody knows when it’s going to loosen up. Slots are coming. In his little corner of heaven, you can picture Pacey taking all action. Even the angels understand.
