I had a meeting with Dan Nita this week. Dan is the chief of the four Harrah’s properties in Atlantic City, and he mentioned that it was 30 years this week since Caesars opened. I was surprised but I guess I shouldn’t have been. After all, last year we did a complete story about the 30th anniversary of gaming in Atlantic City and Caesars (as the Boardwalk Regency) opened one year after that. And I was there….

I was an original dealer at Caesars. I went through the training and the orientation (no mustaches or long hair, please). I was all ready to go, but something funny happened. The New Jersey Casino Control Commission didn’t issue me a license in time. Of course, it was a 2-inch thick document that asked about the genesis of your great-grandparents. For me, that meant figuring out what part of Ireland they came from. But I’m sure it was the year I spent in Argentina from 1972-73 that threw them. So when the doors opened to the Boardwalk Regency on June 26, I was not on the floor waiting for the first players. Two months later, the license finally came through and I began my casino career.
The early days of Atlantic City and Caesars were very exciting. People don’t realize that we worked 9 or 10 hours a day. The casino was open either 18 or 20 hours (on the weekend) so there were only 2 shifts, day and swing (no graveyard). I worked swing right away. Day shift was very desirable since it was close to a “normal” life. And since dealers split tokes equally no matter what the shift (not the case in Vegas), it didn’t matter which shift made more money. Dealers worked an hour on and 20 off, when you were expected to eat, visit the facilities and whatever you need to accomplish. Sometimes, the casino was so busy (mostly on holidays or special events) that it took so long to walk to the dealers lounge, that most dealers simply just sat in the pit for 20 minutes until it was time to go back to work.
There was a regulation in New Jersey at the time that required that a casino offer a specific percentage of $2 and $5 minimum games in order to allow all people to play. Since I started working after everyone else, I was one of these “lucky” ones who were stuck on these games night after night.
One night, I was dealing to a typically full 7-spot game. There were stories of people relieving themselves at the table to avoid missing any action, but that never happend at my table. But this night, one of the players was obviously not feeling well. I had to prompt him to play his hand several times. Suddenly he stood up and keeled over. Flat on his back. Someone jumped into his seat and he was passed out on the floor. I was concerned, so I stopped dealing and I called my supervisor over. He just said “deal the cards, he’s probably OK.” In a few minutes, security showed up and carted the guy away. I never knew whether he was OK or not, but the game went on.
Every night after work, we’d head to some local bars. The father of one of the dealers had opened a bar a block away. Called “Timmy’s Last Shoe,” it was a hole in the wall, but all of Timmy’s friends showed up night after night. A block further was “Brajole,” something that would be considered an “ultralounge” in today’s parlance, but attracted most of the supervisors. I remember perfecting “Pacman” during those nightly visits there. But DeFeo’s, just across the street from Caesars became our home. It was across the street from the former site of the 500 Club, where Sinatra, Jerry Lewis, Dean Martin and other great stars performed. But for us, DeFeo’s was a cold beer after a hard shift.
During that time, I lived in a neighborhood called Bungalow Park in Atlantic City. Unless it was 10 degrees or pouring, I rode my bike because employees had to park outside the city to be bussed to work. To get to work, I had to ride through the Inlet, which in the late 1970s was like the South Bronx. It was dangerous to drive in that neighborhood, much less ride your bike through it.
Work was a grind. In addition to the 9 or 10 hours, we also worked six days a week for the most part because it was so difficult to find people who could deal and who could get licensed. No quarter was given. We were not allowed to wear black sneakers to keep comfortable or to grow any kind of facial hair. Casino manager Jezz Lenz told us during one meeting that when he grew a mustache, we could too. The problem was the Lenz didn’t look like he could even grow a substantial mustache or any kind of facial hair.
I was ready to quit. But then I was approved for a baccarat class and everything changed. Dealing baccarat to the high rollers instead of blackjack to the fleas was like night and day. I still worked the same hours, but it suddenly became bearable. I was able to see the meaning of the gaming industry. I was able to understand the motivations of the players. And it all started to make sense. And I became interested in the business. And the rest is history. All because of a job I got 30 years ago at the Boardwalk Regency…..