August 2, 2005

Who's the addict?

The bookie is the counselor

Oregon offers free assistance for problem gamblers, but it’s far easier to find a place to play video poker

Stories by Chris Honoré and Andrew Scot Bolsinger
Ashland Daily Tidings

Ten bars in Ashland offer video poker, usually accompanied by an ATM. The dim ambiance and flashing lights and constant sound are designed to keep people playing. However, only one office in Ashland offers help for problem gamblers. Orville Hector | Ashland Daily Tidings

An Ashland resident, sensing perhaps that gambling has become a problem, can drive south from downtown, turn onto Ashland Street and soon come to a moment of truth.

The South Valley Community Human Services office, where help awaits, is in the Ashland Shopping Center. According to Sheila Canal, community resource coordinator, residents are evaluated and then likely referred to OnTrack Inc., which has a free gambling addiction treatment program at several sites throughout the Rogue Valley.

A few minutes past the help center, there are at least two local establishments with video poker machines available (there are 10 such places in Ashland alone).

The glaring contradiction is made plain by the ease with which one can find a lottery outlet. The state is the source of the addiction, but also the hope for a cure.

Lottery officials work so that the gambler will show up at that local cafe or bar and bet hard-earned dollars in a steady stream. Residents are encouraged to open their wallets, put a card into an ATM and place a bet. Or two, or 20 — next time, maybe you’ll get lucky.

The state is also in charge of treatment of gambling addicts. It uses a minuscule percentage of revenue to offer treatment for an addiction that it fosters.

The bookie and the counselor are one and the same.

Out to get you

Gambling outlets speckle the state in communities as different as Salem and Shady Cove. But in most outlets, a common environment is created, one that offers encouragement for gamblers to keep pumping the money in.

A local establishment in Ashland where state-sponsored gambling is allowed is a study in contrasts. First, while the light outside is intensely bright, the video poker area of the bar is muted, the light dim, the smell of smoke and alcohol pervasive. The bar has a number of scattered tables and multiple stools. Even in mid-afternoon, many are filled, the conversations animated. In a small alcove off the bar are five video poker machines that maintain a steady stream of customers throughout the day.

Sitting next to one of the video poker machines is another machine: an ATM. A beer advertisement hangs above the machines. Everything is at hand, including a bartender ready to make drinks, video poker against two walls and instant cash for players.

This day, two women are playing.

“Gail,” 39, is seated playing video poker as rows of cards appear on the angled screen. She’s a pleasant-looking woman with a ready smile; her long brown hair is pulled back in a pony tail. She works full time, is married, and plays at least five times a week.

When asked how much she spends monthly on video poker, she laughs and says, “I don’t want to go there.”

Pressed, she guesses about $400 each month.

When she wins, she finds it very difficult to walk away before the “earnings” are stuffed back into the machines.

“I’ve played all of my life,” she said, “even when it was illegal. I’ve had several addictions in my life; smoking, drinking. This is my last addiction. I know it’s stupid, but you’ve got to have something in your life that’s an addiction.”

Next to Gail is “Mary.” She’s 79, with short, gray hair, conservatively dressed and very slim. She is judicious in her play. While she gambles monthly, she never spends more than $20 a month and has no problem cashing out if she wins a small jackpot.

For Mary, gambling is entertainment, not an addiction. In addition to video poker, she gambles at casinos like Seven Feathers, often playing for seven hours at a stretch.

“There are times when I have a certain feeling about a machine and I’ll use the ATM if I need a little extra cash,” she says while playing a nickel game in Medford. “Usually my feelings about a machine are correct and I’ll keep playing. But I have no problem getting up and leaving, either. It’s important to be aware of what you’re doing, of what’s involved. I’m just here to have a good time.”

Kelly Jeffries, a certified alcohol and drug counselor with the Addiction Recovery Center, said many gamblers are taken completely out of reality.

“They have no thoughts, no feelings and no problems while in the action,” Jeffries said. “Gamblers have reported gambling over eight hours straight without food, water or even a bathroom trip. Most gamblers say they have a split personality: one that gambles, one that does not. I believe that gamblers get addicted to the numbness and escape. Gambling is not about money for a compulsive gambler.”

“Jane” is a poster child for the damage this addiction can bring.

A resident of the Medford/Ashland area, Jane is 54 years old and enrolled in treatment for chronic gambling problems. Her marriage of 10 years is close to ending because of her gambling; she has felt suicidal, lost her home, and is preparing to file for bankruptcy. She’s facing legal charges for theft, but that may not be the worst of her problems. She recently started using methamphetamine. She is in danger of losing her job of more than 15 years.

“By the time people come to us, their lives are pretty much in shambles,” said Kim Oveson, ARC’s human resources and quality assurance manager. “Many are on the verge of bankruptcy, and some considering suicide. It is a pretty awful disease.”

While Jane sounds extreme, her case is not atypical.

Consider “Bob:” He is a 67-year-old man, married with two grown children and four grandchildren. Bob is a business owner and successful at his trade. But his marriage of 40 years is on the rocks.

Because of the debt he has accumulated, Bob must postpone his retirement — he’s taken out a second mortgage on his home, and his children have distanced themselves due to his anger and frustration caused by gambling losses.

Though half his age, “Sue,” 32, has similar troubles. Sue lost her job because of her spotty work attendance and long lunch hours spent gambling. She is separated from her husband of 17 years. Her gambling debt topped $100,000.

Sue suffers from a long-standing medical condition that causes her chronic pain. Gambling became a release, she says, because when she gambles, she does not feel the constant pain. She is having difficulty quitting gambling for this reason alone. Her teenage children have chosen to live with their father because of her gambling-induced unstable lifestyle. Sue is also suicidal and cannot file bankruptcy due to a past bankruptcy and gambling debt. Though she is looking for work, she may soon be homeless.

With line games added into the mix on July 1, the potential for addiction is even greater. The machines are geared to draw you in and keep you playing.

Rep. Peter Buckley, D-Ashland, toured the lottery commission offices in Salem as a member of the House Trade and Economic Panel. The commission uses sophisticated marketing techniques to improve revenue — as well as to promote its public service campaigns for problem gamblers — and increase participation. The line games, Buckley said, are infectious.

“It’s kind of like video games for kids,” Buckley said. “They keep the music loop going that kind of hooks people in. You have a visual and audio that’s kind of addictive. You get into a world that’s created and you can lose a hunk of money really quick if you get sucked in.”

On the rise

Eighty-seven percent of Oregonians say they have participated in some form of gambling at some time. The majority of those have done so over the last year. Past-year participation is highest for the lottery, followed by casinos. The average amount spent by those who gamble is $43 a month, but 60 percent of people report spending less than $10 a month.

The speed of the play, low initial bet size and easy access to video poker make it the most popular of options available in the state. Video poker players spend an average of $29 in a typical month. For other lottery games, the average was $9 a month. For 71 percent of treated gamblers in Oregon, video poker is the game of choice.

Jeffrey J. Marotta, Ph.D., a problem gaming services manager with the Office of Mental Health and Addiction Services in Oregon, and business executive Thomas L. Moore teamed up for an exhaustive study of the impact of gambling in Oregon.

“It is estimated that there are some 35,800 adult Oregonians who are problem gamblers and an additional 23,000 who are pathological gamblers,” the report said.

The report estimated the Oregon’s socioeconomic cost from addicted gamblers at $361 million.

The most visible consequence of problem or pathological gambling is the devastating financial impact on the gambler and the gambler’s family. The gambling-related debt reported by clients was about the same as their annual household income, an average of about $23,000. More than 60 clients of the 1,504 surveyed by Marotta and Moore reported a debt of $100,000 or more, with six exceeding $500,000. The total gambling-related debt, according to the treatment sample from 2003, exceeded $29.5 million.

When Marotta and Moore profiled those clients who sought treatment, the data did not support the stereotype of a problem or pathological gambler as being someone existing on the fringes of society. Actually, at a glance, problem gamblers were remarkably average: 53 percent worked full time, their average income was $39,344, 41 percent were married, 41 percent also owned their own home, the average age was 44, and 87 percent were Caucasian.

However, other information gleaned by Marotta and Moore suggests that the rate of problem gambling is greater among ethnic minorities, and they conclude it is likely that minorities are accessing treatment services at a lower rate than Caucasians and the data reflects this.

But Sen. Alan Bates, D-Ashland, speaks for many in the Legislature who think Oregon’s gaming opportunities only siphon off needed public funding from dollars that would be headed to other gambling venues. That money is then turned back into state programs that improve the quality of life of all. Further, Bates says, the state spends more than $5 million annually for those who become addicted.

“We set aside a significant amount of money to help those that need it,” Bates said. “I guarantee you that Reno, Vegas and the mafia don’t do that.”