Hope may spring eternal for Bally’s Corp. in Virginia. The enterprising Virginia Mercury has been like a bloodhound on the tainted casino-award process for Petersburg and has dug up fresh dirt. We’ve already detailed the shakedown of Petersburg by state Sen. Lashrecse Aird (D). She made it pretty clear that, for reasons unknown, she wanted the casino concession awarded to Bally’s before any allocation was made by the Lege. Petersburg civic leaders, it is now known, caved to Aird’s extortionate demand. A damning letter penned by City Manager March Altman, but never sent to Bally’s, states that it had been tabbed as the preferred casino operator.
On the day the Assembly voted on the casino location, Altman indicated to Aird that Bally’s had received the nod. “I understand but we gavel in at noon so I really need [the letter] no later than,” Aird replied ominously, and the pertinent document quickly made it into her e-mail inbox. City fathers say, not incorrectly, that they were being shaken down and the letter was the price of getting any casino at all. Opponents say it was an “act of deception” designed to mislead the august and incorruptible Lege.
Quoth the newspaper, “The text messages, which appear to be an incomplete record due to the city’s scattershot approach to complying with FOIA, don’t definitively prove one story to be true. Instead, they arguably lend credence to both narratives.” What can be reconstructed is that Altman was instructed (or says she was) to sign the document and that all city councilors knew of its existence. “They wanted to know how they could provide an indicator to the General Assembly about what their intentions were,” March warbled to the Mercury.
As for Aird, she had the appearance of a quid pro quo with Unite-Here, which underwrote her election. They, in turn, wanted Bally’s to get the award—and definitely not the ultimate winner, Cordish Gaming. (Rush Street Gaming was also acceptable to the union.) Senate Finance & Appropriations Chairwoman Louise Lucas (D), meanwhile, evidently thought the fix was in for Rush Street. There’s also the small matter of Mayor Sam Parham, who’s facing a credibility crisis, claiming there were no text messages pertaining to the casino on his phone through the entire eight-day period in question. That’s laughable on the face of it. And city functionaries scrambled to conceal the Bally’s document from the Mercury when it threatened to come to light. So the city definitely had something to hide. And if it was under duress from Aird and Lucas, it also dealt with Bally’s rather shabbily.
At first glance, it looks like Bally’s has a good case for Petersburg having dealt in bad faith. It could—and probably should—sue for either the casino rights (which it needs) or compensatory money (which it needs a whole lot more). As for Aird, resignation would be the honorable course of action—for her and for others—but we’re not holding our breath.
Then there’s the shameless Yankee Andy Sanborn. This ex-politician hasn’t lost any of his slickness since going into the casino biz, running a “charity” casino in Concord. The state of New Hampshire would dearly like Sanborn’s license back but may be unable to prevent him for reselling it at a handsome markup. Why shouldn’t he? Perhaps because he bilked the federal government of $844,000 in Covid-19 relief funds, which he used to buy sports cars for himself and wife, House Speaker Pro Tem Laurie Sanborn (R). A reverse Robin Hood, Sanborn robbed the poor (i.e., taxpayers) to give to the rich (i.e., the Sanborns), including making rent payments on his casino … to himself.
Although he’s been under fire for the better part of a year, Casino Andy has received yet another extension on selling his temporarily defunct storefront gambling den (its license having been suspended). That gives time for Sanborn’s lawyer and prosecutors alike to further dissect the fine points of a new law that theoretically deprives Casino Andy of the right to convey lucrative historical horseracing (HHR) rights to the next buyer, rights that could make Sanborn’s Covid scheme look like petty cash. HHR machines are basically slots in drag, so their financial appeal should be obvious.
Not having learned his lesson, Casino Andy is angling for a new gambling den, described as “a 24,000-square-foot gaming room with 634 seats, the first phase of which includes an 8,500-square-foot restaurant and brewpub capable of accommodating up to 150 patrons.” If a big fish like Penn Entertainment or Delaware North bites on Sanborn’s Concord lure, he could reel in a huge payday to be reinvested elsewhere or perhaps enjoyed while thumbing his nose at the system, especially if (or, more likely, when) he gets the additional eight-week extension occasioned by a changeover in arbiters of his casino misadventure.
Mrs. Sanborn is no blushing violet, either. Her perch on the Ways & Means Committee means she gets to oversee all gambling-related legislation. Can you say “conflict of interest”? In addition to being in receipt of ill-gotten goods (an $80,000 2008 F430 Ferrari), Mrs. Sanborn has also been MIA as a legislator, reportedly missing “hundreds” of votes this session. At least she’s not running again. Be grateful for small mercies.
Prediction–Aird resigns under pressure, then sues everyone involved, alleging racism, sexism, etc. After all, it’s never a crook’s fault; it’s always “them”.