Nelson Johnson - Boardwalk Empire - The Birth, High Times, and Corruption of Atlantic City

In an attempt to revive the resort’s sagging economy, advertising agencies for some of the hotels tried promoting Atlantic City as a “family resort.” The wide-open days were gone, and Atlantic City was now supposed to be a place where mom and pop could bring the kids. What a joke. People like Skinny D’Amato who could still remember Atlantic City in its glory days knew better. They understood their town could never compete as a family resort.

As early as 1958, the resort’s Women’s Chamber of Commerce, at the urging of local hotel owner Mildred Fox, had gone on record in support of legalized gambling. A feisty little redhead with an Italian temperament—she was Fox née Logiovino—Mildred was forever banging heads with the local power establishment. Politically active, she was a dyed-in-the-wool FDR-JFK Democrat, not a Farleycrat. Atlantic City was her home and she wasn’t leaving. Plucky but savvy, Mildred pushed the idea of legalizing gambling to anyone who would listen. “It was our only hope for saving the city. We were on our way to becoming a ghost town.” Fox, the mother of four, was the owner and operator of the Fox Manor, a small Pacific Avenue hotel specializing in honeymoon packages. At the time, there was still a small network of backroom gambling operations and for her efforts, Fox and her children received death threats. The FBI took the threats seriously and, with her permission, tapped her phone but were unable to trace any of the calls. For half the year special agents escorted the Fox children to and from school.

By the early 1960s, the gambling rooms were gone, and gradually there developed a mentality that argued that if Atlantic City was ever to regain stature as a national resort, it needed an edge, the only logical one being casino-style gambling. Las Vegas had casinos and look what they were able to do in the desert. Think of what could be done with gambling in a town with the ocean and the Boardwalk, or so the logic went.

Toward the end of his career when the idea was first suggested, Hap Farley refused to sponsor casino gambling. It may have been the only instance in which Farley put his political interests ahead of his city’s, or maybe he was weary with the battles to hold onto power and pessimistic there was any one cure. People intimate with Hap believe he was concerned over the scrutiny that would be brought to bear on his regime. Were the resort to become the Las Vegas of the East, state and federal law enforcement agencies would pay even closer attention to Atlantic City’s corruption, and Farley wanted none of that.

With Farley gone, Fox’s idea was able to surface. She and like-minded business people kept the hope alive. But bringing gambling to the resort was a major undertaking. The legalization of casino-style gambling could only come about by means of an amendment to the New Jersey Constitution, which required approval at a statewide referendum. And there could be no referendum without an act of the legislature and support from the governor’s office. That took serious clout, something Atlantic City was short on with Farley gone from the scene. To make matters worse, the governor’s chair was occupied by a priggish former Superior Court Judge who, as a criminal prosecutor, had established a reputation as a “Mr. Clean.” Brendan Byrne was hardly what Atlantic City needed in the way of a governor to help bring in legalized casino gambling.

Brendan Byrne’s first run for political office was his election to governor in 1973. Plucked from the Superior Court bench, he was the handpicked candidate of a group of wealthy North Jersey Irish Democrats, the same clique responsible for the election of two other governors. Byrne was the ideal candidate: trim, handsome, well-spoken, and well-connected; Princeton University undergraduate; and Harvard Law School. He was the antithesis of the Farley-style politician. Upon graduation from law school he served as a clerk to a Superior Court Judge. From there he became assistant prosecutor in the Essex County Prosecutor’s office and eventually prosecutor and judgeship. During his days as prosecutor, Byrne gained a reputation as a crime fighter and was referred to by the mob as someone who “couldn’t be bought.” He savored his reputation and effused self-righteousness.

With the traditional problem of corruption in New Jersey, Byrne would have been welcomed by either political party in much the same way Woodrow Wilson was 60 years earlier. The leading Democrats supported him and he won the primary easily. His campaign was short on substance and consisted essentially of a pledge to “restore integrity” to New Jersey government—a tall order for anyone. Byrne’s opponent was Congressman Charles Sandman of Cape May. Charlie Sandman was a perennial candidate and wannabe governor most of his career. In June 1973, he upset incumbent Governor William Cahill in a bitter primary dividing the Republican Party. Sandman would later be Richard Nixon’s most loyal supporter during the Watergate hearings, and his uncompromising conservative message had limited appeal. He was no match for Byrne and the election was a landslide. As Brendan Byrne began his first year in office, legalizing gambling wasn’t one of his priorities. It wasn’t even on his agenda.

But gambling was a priority for the resort’s legislative team. 1974 was the year Atlantic City was to begin its comeback. State Senator Joe McGahn took his cue from the local media as well as business and civic leaders. They had one item on their legislative agenda. This was the year casino gambling was to become a reality. For the first time in Atlantic County’s history, its legislative delegation was entirely Democratic and there was a Democrat in the governor’s chair. As the year began, hopes were high. The Atlantic City Press took the lead in expressing confidence: “Governor Brendan Byrne has said he is receptive to a referendum aimed at removing the present constitutional ban on gambling, and a newly elected legislature presumably is willing to vote it onto the ballot. Public approval is regarded as certain.” But Joe McGahn knew better.

Joe McGahn had spent most of his life watching his hometown crumble. Now as senator, he had a chance to reverse the downward spiral. While having none of Farley’s gifts as a horse-trader, he could think on his feet and had the personal maturity needed to stay focused on a single issue. McGahn’s partner, in truth the leader in pursuing a constitutional referendum, was Democratic Assemblyman Steven Perskie. On his first election to the assembly in 1971, at age 26, Perskie was the youngest state legislator ever elected from Atlantic County, having been swept into office on McGahn’s coattails in his win over Farley. Upon arriving in Trenton, the young assemblyman needed no one’s coattails and learned his way around quickly. Nephew of Farley nemesis Marvin Perskie, Steve Perskie was a third generation attorney from a family of respected lawyers, the son and grandson of judges. Of medium height and build with shaggy black hair and thick horn-rimmed glasses, he was the picture of intensity. Perskie exuded confidence—almost cocksure—and had an innate ability for the legislative process. Brilliant, fast-talking but articulate, and with an engaging personality, he was a tireless advocate of casino gaming and the resort’s best spokesperson for the cause. More importantly, Steve Perskie had ingratiated himself with Brendan Byrne. He was one of Byrne’s earliest supporters in the Democratic primary and raised the gambling issue with Byrne early on. After the election he visited the governor’s office frequently, building important ties with Byrne’s staff. Between McGahn and Perskie, the resort had as effective a legislative team as it could hope for.

As the city launched its drive for a constitutional referendum, the watchword was “don’t oversell our case.” The prevailing mentality produced a caution and restraint in presenting the case for gambling, which could come only from overconfidence. Atlantic City and its leaders felt all they had to do was keep a low profile and things would just fall into place as they planned.