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

For several months prior to the 1974 referendum, New Jersey’s clergy went to their pulpits each Sunday and preached against the evils of gambling. The ministers and priests were tough adversaries and their dire warnings of moral decay had a heavy impact, especially among the senior citizens, most of whom went to the polls to oppose casinos.

In a stroke of genius, as clever as anything conjured up by Nucky Johnson, McGahn and Perskie wrote language into their proposal that would not only win the support of senior citizens, but eventually neutralize the churches’ opposition as well. The language of the second referendum required the tax revenues generated from Atlantic City’s new casinos to be earmarked for a special fund. The money would be used exclusively for subsidizing the payment of utility bills and property taxes of New Jersey’s senior citizens and handicapped persons. On the second time around, a vote against casino gambling would be more than a vote against moral decay and special treatment for Atlantic City; it would be a rejection of aid to the elderly and the disabled. The old and the handicapped would be used as a rallying cry in the campaign. Atlantic City couldn’t have anyone better to run interference.

There was a sense of urgency to the second gambling referendum from its inception. It was like nothing else in the Atlantic City’s history. When the pro-casino forces proposed a second run at New Jersey’s voters, long-time residents viewed it as a life or death proposition, and it was. This was their town’s last hope to keep from sinking into oblivion. If Atlantic City failed again, there wouldn’t be a third chance.

Packaging and timing are everything in politics. McGahn and Perskie decided 1976 would be the year to make another pitch to the voters. Presidential elections traditionally draw more people to the polls, and the pro-casino forces were confident that a larger turnout would benefit their cause. Politicians know there is a class of voter who typically abstains from state and local elections, choosing to vote only for national office. This voter is generally uninformed, having no real grasp of most campaign issues, the kind of person who probably didn’t even know about the ’74 Casino Gambling referendum. A well-delivered message to such an unsophisticated group could make a difference in the outcome of the next election. In 1976 this block of voters totaled nearly three-quarters of a million persons. When combined with more than one-quarter million senior citizens and handicapped voters, the pro-casino forces had the basis for a turnaround on the second referendum.

The only other ingredients needed for success were money and a well-engineered campaign. By reframing the issue from government-operated to privately owned casinos, financing was no longer a problem. In the ’74 campaign there were only eight large contributors of $5,000 or more. In 1976 there were 33 such contributors. More importantly was the amount of new money coming from outside of Atlantic City. The total of out-of-town contributions exceeding $100 in the first referendum was a mere $10,150. In the second referendum drive that class of contributors donated more than $518,000. Some 43 percent of the money raised came from out-of-town businesses speculating on what casino gambling could do for them.

The largest single financial source was a little-known firm based in the Bahamas, Resorts International, which contributed more than $250,000. In all, the pro-casino forces more than doubled their campaign fund, from less than $600,000 in 1974 to more than $1.3 million in 1976. With that kind of money available, there would be no difficulty finding a slick promoter to peddle Atlantic City’s new package to the state’s voters.

The search for a professional campaign strategist began in earnest once the legislature approved the final wording of the ballot question in early May. With commitments for the necessary financing assured, a steering committee was appointed. Within a week’s time it evolved into the Committee to Rebuild Atlantic City. There were no dilettantes among the members of “C.R.A.C.,” as it became known. It was a talented group, which quickly became a potent force.

In addition to McGahn and Perskie, some of the people included in this bipartisan alliance were James Cooper, a respected attorney and the president of Atlantic National Bank; Murray Raphel, a former county freeholder and merchandiser par excellence; Charles Reynolds, publisher of the Press and a shrewd and capable person, whose newspaper was the second-largest contributor at nearly $50,000; Mildred Fox, a long-time hotel operator and one of the original proponents of casino gambling; Pat McGahn, the senator’s brother, who had contacts of his own in Democratic circles statewide; Frank Siracusa, an insurance broker who could hold contributors by the ankles and shake loose every last dollar; and finally Hap Farley, who had been shut out of the ’74 campaign.

Hap became involved with C.R.A.C. in an unlikely manner. Steve Perskie reached out to Atlantic County Republican Chairman Howard “Fritz” Haneman, son of Farley’s friend and ally, retired Supreme Court Justice Vincent Haneman. A date and time for a meeting between the three politicians was scheduled by Fritz Haneman. At the last moment, Haneman was ill and, knowing the importance of getting Farley involved in the campaign effort as early as possible, Perskie went to meet with Hap on his own. Farley received Marvin Perskie’s nephew better than Steve Perskie had hoped. “He was most gracious and advised me that we should let him work where he could help the most—behind the scenes, working privately with his contacts throughout the State.” Perskie and C.R.A.C. were only too happy to have Hap’s help. This time around, Farley hosted dozens of private meetings, placed scores of phone calls, and made many one-on-one visits with political leaders of both parties from throughout the state, calling in IOUs he had built up during 34 years in the legislature.

The ’76 effort would be led by a powerful nucleus. Once the key players were assembled, C.R.A.C.’s first job was a national search for someone to manage their campaign. Their choice was right on target.

Sanford Weiner was a modern-day Captain John Young. Like Young, he could sell anything. Rather than pandering to the tourist trade, Weiner made his living packaging candidates and causes. Located in San Francisco, he had been introduced to C.R.A.C. by Pat McGahn, who knew of Weiner through his efforts for Congressman Paul McCloskey of California. McGahn and McCloskey were old Marine buddies. It was Weiner who engineered McCloskey’s upset victory over Congresswoman Shirley Temple Black. Now, rather than destroying a fantasy, Weiner was being called on to create one.

At the time, there were few people equal to Sanford Weiner at manipulating the electorate. In 18 years as a political consultant he had orchestrated 172 campaigns, all but 13 of which were successful. On 54 political referenda his record was perfect. An incessant chain smoker, his speech was rapid but deliberate. Weiner was a brilliant strategist capable of pushing aside generalities and focusing on what it took to get his message across to the masses. Sanford Weiner was the professional needed to tie everything together for C.R.A.C. A reporter who covered Weiner’s role in the 1976 referendum campaign observed:The challenge, when Weiner took it on, was a heavy one: to repeddle a tired and unpopular cause—tainted still further through its image as a loser—and to present it somehow as fresh and palatable. But this is where Sanford Weiner has earned his stripes: in altering attitudes, manipulating appearances, reshaping realities to reflect the positive. He is a master of the science of collective persuasion. His success at it suggests a modern axiom: that the public can be induced to swallow any pill, so long as it is skillfully coated.