Donald's trump

For Lincoln Almond, lottery commissioner
Donald Wyatt is too valuable to let go

by Elissa Silverman

Donald Wyatt decided that he had played the role of Lottery

DONALD WYATT

Commission fool long enough. "There is an apocryphal story about a man who was asked why he was banging his head against the wall. He replied, `Because it feels so good when I stop,' " Wyatt began his June 24 letter of resignation to Governor Lincoln Almond. "I have decided it is time to stop banging my head against the wall, so I can feel better."

Wyatt's self-inflicted torture began a little over two years ago, when Almond, the newly elected Republican governor, appointed his good friend and political ally to an open slot on the state Lottery Commission. Almond had made gambling one of his no-nonsense issues on the campaign trail, declaring his opposition to both the introduction of casino gaming and the further expansion of casino-style slot machines and similar games of chance into the state lottery repertoire.

Naturally, Almond wanted his first appointment to the Lottery Commission to clearly send that message to its domineering -- and at times improperly extravagant -- executive director at the time, John Hawkins. Donald Wyatt was the perfect harbinger.

And for the last two years, Wyatt has dutifully fulfilled this role with a vengeance, speaking his mind to what he considers more often than not an unresponsive and, at times, downright hostile audience of fellow commissioners. "Certainly, I am accustomed to fighting the good battle and losing, but I refuse to subject myself to the ridicule and sarcasm directed at me in recent months," he wrote in his letter to the governor. Announcing that he refused to be the joker any longer, Wyatt respectfully resigned from the commission.

Was it sheer frustration, a persecution complex, or a publicity stunt that drove him to do so? Wyatt, it seems, has the temperament and motivation for all three.

"He sees it that all you guys are pro-gambling, but I'm good. I'm moral. It's hypocritical," says commission member and state Representative Frank Montanaro (D-Cranston). "He huffs and puffs in meetings, talking about grandiose schemes, slandering people, and muttering under his breath."

It's no surprise to hear, then, that many close to the commission silently applauded Wyatt's resignation. But others doubted whether the maverick was actually folding so easily. "Don't bet on the fact that he resigned," Raymond Grimes, deputy director of the Rhode Island Lottery, told the Phoenix on July 14. " A lot of things happen between the lip and the cup."

The most significant of which was that Wyatt's buddy, Lincoln Almond, would have none of it. He lobbied heavily for Wyatt to return to the commission, and after two weeks of pleading, Wyatt agreed to rescind his resignation in a formal letter dated July 15. But why?

"You don't want me, I'm opposed to gambling," Wyatt told Almond when the governor initially approached him about serving on the commission. But that was precisely the point. "The governor felt he needed to be aggressive," says Lisa Pelosi, Almond's deputy press secretary. "He knew Don would be a lone wolf. He [Wyatt] would have to be vocal to get his point across."

As a seasoned political operative-turned-local-newspaper-columnist in his retirement, Wyatt is not bashful. Even better for Almond, Wyatt isn't one of those holier-than-thou religious fanatics who opposes gambling strictly on morality. Though he is an observant Catholic, Wyatt's politics reflect that of a typically moderate Rhode Island Republican, which he himself describes as very Chafee-esque. That's no coincidence. Wyatt, after all, served as chief of staff for John H. Chafee almost three decades ago, when Chafee was governor. Later, when Chafee graduated to the US Senate, Wyatt continued the relationship as a staff assistant.

All in all, gambling is a thorny issue for Republicans. The religious right, of course, considers it a sin. But strict regulation of its legalized form would wreak havoc among the gung-ho free marketers in the party who are on an endless crusade to free us unsuspecting prisoners from the shackles of government. More important, lotteries dump a lot of money into state coffers, which means that elected officials have to raise less money from taxes -- pure manna for the GOP.

In the 1800s, lotteries financed specific projects, such as roads in Providence and buildings at Brown University. After a widespread period of prohibition throughout the US, lotteries resurfaced in the early '70s as a harmless way to generate revenue for the state. In Rhode Island, voters approved the lottery by referendum in 1973.

Along with the games, the state also established an autonomous Lottery Commission to regulate and set lottery policy. Revenue from the lottery went into the general fund, a catchall depository for state monies. In its initial year, the lottery's contribution to state coffers was a modest $5.7 million, but each year after that revenues crept up a million or two. Then, in 1993, the Lottery Commission boldly approved two new games, Keno and video lottery terminals (VLTs), and lottery revenues skyrocketed.

Unlike the pick-three or -four games drawn only once a day, Keno and VLTs offer instant chances to win or, in other cases, to lose, with an emphasis on the latter. Indeed, a recently completed audit reveals that after all the dollar bills and quarters are tallied up this year, the lottery contribution to the state general fund will total $99.96 million, nearly 6 percent of total state revenues -- the third largest source after sales and income taxes. "That funds a lot of projects that are beneficial to my district," says Montanaro.

While Rhode Island is only one of five states to approve the VLTs for use in the state lottery, Montanarao argues that the commission "is doing its job. We're making sound, reasonable, equitable business decisions to make revenue for the state." But others, including commissioner Wyatt, say that the slot machines veer dangerously close to Vegas-style casino games and encourage things other than high profit, such as problem gambling and addiction.

"The commission is addicted to raising more and more money through gambling, no matter what the societal costs. It's irresponsible," says Wyatt, who has repeatedly asked the Lottery Commission to consider state funding for gambling addiction programs. And in fact, many state lotteries do sponsor gamblers anonymous-type programs with lottery revenues.

This week, after two years of preaching from Wyatt, the Lottery Commission did make one concession on the matter -- members charged a sub-committee to finally look into anti-addiction programs. What took them so long? "You just don't put a budget item in without figuring out first if there's a problem," says commission member and state Senator David Bates (R-Barrington).

But there's no question that the lure of easy money, and pressure to keep it flowing, has turned many of the lottery commissioners into promoters for the games rather than regulators. "It's not a business, it's a public agency," says Wyatt, complaining about this pro-gaming mentality.

"Donald Trump is not supposed to look out for people," says Bernie Horn of the National Coalition Against Legalized Gambling. "The government is."

But in the name of sound business decisions, the Rhode Island lottery keeps pushing the limits of the market, extracting as much demand for its product as possible. To that end, it spends close to $1.5 million dollars urging people to play more and more, mostly through radio and television spots.

And where is the greatest demand for dreams of becoming rich? Among the poor, of course. Although lottery agents are spread throughout the state, a good majority are clustered in poorer areas, most notably in Providence and Central Falls.

Of course, scaling back these games would force the state to find the money lost in other places, most likely sales and income taxes. And as everyone knows, taxes are hardly as "painless" a way to raise revenue as lotteries, especially for a Republican governor who vowed to bring tax breaks to his constituents. What's more, in the era of devolution, cash-strapped states can hardly ignore the magnitude of cash the lottery attracts.

Despite his principled stand, Governor Almond seems to have awoken to this reality. Indeed, when the Lottery Commission batted around introducing the Daily Millions game, a multi-state drawing, opponents argued that since the game represented a new type of gambling, state law required voter approval. But instead of bringing the matter to the state Supreme Court for a recommendation, Almond consulted his attorney, Joseph S. Larisa, who advised that a referendum was unnecessary.

The governor would eventually learn, though, that he couldn't have it both ways -- and that the Lottery Commission wasn't as under his thumb as he initially thought it would be.

Unlike other states, where commissions are composed exclusively of lay appointees, Rhode Island allows active legislators to serve as commissioners. Early in his administration, Almond attempted to wrestle control of the Lottery Commission away from the legislature by moving its functions to the state Department of Administration. While his attempts failed, they sent a strong message to legislators about the role Almond intended to play in commission decisions.

As it is configured now, six state legislators sit on the nine-member Lottery Commission -- three from the Senate and three from the House. Four Democrats and two Republicans -- Representative Christine Callahan (R-Middletown) and Bates, presently -- fill these six seats, and the remaining three are gubernatorial appointments.

With his three selections, Almond, in his early years, intended to eke out a 5-4 majority and to start putting the breaks on lottery expansion. But while Wyatt was the governor's opening salvo, Almond's successive appointments, businessmen William White and Robert Mancini, were much more moderate on the issue.

Last month, the situation became even more complicated when the Lottery Commission elected its chair. With his three appointments and two Republican commissioners, Almond had expected to exert some influence and usher his choice -- Christine Callahan, one of the longest serving members of the commission and an anti-gambling sympathizer -- into the position.

But at the last minute, a new candidate emerged -- David Bates, who immediately became the Lottery Commission's Benedict Arnold. With the four Democrats behind him, he easily won the chair.

Today, Bates maintains that his candidacy was nothing more than a bow to tradition -- it was time for a senator, even one without much experience, to have a chair on the commission. "I personally have never been to Lincoln or Newport Jai Alai," Bates admits. That's kind of like managing a baseball team without ever meeting the players, including your most valuable player.

Last year, Newport Jai Alai, one of two locations where VLTs are located, requested permission from the commission to install 800 more machines at their facility. But rather than put it up for a vote, the commission members stalled, saying they wanted to wait until the Newport facility completed a change of ownership.

But that switch was made months ago, and the commission has yet to vote on the issue. Lincoln Greyhound Park, the other VLT location, has another request waiting in the wings as well.

Steamed about the chairmanship, Wyatt pushed for the commission to consider the Newport issue at the same meeting in June. The commission refused, sending Wyatt into a diatribe. When he tendered his resignation days later, Joe Baker, a columnist at the Newport Daily News, issued a not-so-fond farewell.

"He [Wyatt] has become an anachronism," Baker wrote. "Every time Wyatt opens his mouth, other members groan -- including other Republican appointees . . . Decision-makers have to be flexible, if not in goals at least in tactics, to accomplish anything. Wyatt has shown he only knows one speed -- full ahead."

But ineffective as he was during his first years on the commission, Wyatt was the only one putting on the breaks, the only remnant of Almond's vow to keep gambling at bay. Almond's acceptance of Wyatt's resignation, then, would've be a sure-fire sign that the governor had not made the Lottery Commission -- and gambling -- a priority.

So after receiving Wyatt's resignation, Almond dialed up his old friend to explain his dilemma and persuaded Wyatt to stay. Today, Wyatt remains the only visible sign that Almond has remained true to his guns.

"When a governor asks you to stay on, you do it," says Wyatt of his change of heart. Let the head banging commence, and bring on the Tylenol.