My redacted version of a deposition Seminole Gaming CEO James Allen gave to the state hit my Inbox at 6:48 p.m. Friday, and I just now finished the 144-page Q-and-A lawyers conducted with him April 27 in West Palm Beach.
The Seminoles are suing the state, claiming racetrack casinos violated the tribe’s exclusivity twice. First, racinos offered a specific digital version of blackjack, and second they allowed banked card games in poker rooms, disguised as “designated player” games.
Only one page of the deposition is redacted. Politico obtained an unredacted version from the state’s Division of Pari-Mutuel Wagering recently, and the Seminoles filed suit to block publications from that page, arguing it contained trade secrets and their agreement with the state allows those to be redacted. Politico went ahead on Friday and published an article leading with the redacted material – namely that the tribe makes $2.2 billion per year via gambling, a number the state has already used for computing future taxes – and the Seminoles then dropped the suit.
As far as depositions go, I wouldn’t be writing anything if it weren’t for the lawsuits. But because it became news, I thought I’d give it a read and pass only to my dear readers.
Here are my takeaways from the entire document:
Allen worked his way up. Lawyer Anne-Leigh Gaylord Moe asks Allen several questions about how Allen started in the business. We find out Allen’s first job was at age 13 as a dishwasher after his father passed away and he also washed the boss’ car for $20, applying mink oil inside. In the restaurant, he innovated an efficient way to balance profits and food costs, was placed in a manager trainee program around 1979 via Bally’s Park Place in Atlantic City and took off from there, having never graduated from college. We also learn he worked for Donald Trump in the early stages of Atlantic City growth and Sol Kerzner as he put together Atlantis, Paradise Island. He’s also very proud that the Seminoles were the first to work with major slot manufacturers to obtain Class II versions of popular Class III titles – i.e., offer a game that was still legally bingo, yet entertaining to patrons, which catapulted the Seminoles’ business.
Allen claims that a form of electronic game, called DigiDeal, violated the compact. The racetrack casinos in 2009 had already begun electronic blackjack, with images of busty dealers cooing to patrons. In 2011 Mardi Gras Casino billboards promised “live blackjack,” a game in which live “dealers” took orders from players to hit, stand or double down. The dealer then pushed a button and the electronic cards were dealt. (Note DigiDeal still has my article on its site, misspelling “SunSentinel” at http://www.digideal.com/articles/03302011_SunSentinal.php)
Excuse me while I go on a personal rant here. DigiDeal was a TERRIBLE game. Either play live blackjack, with a dealer, or play electronic. (Do you tip a guy who pushes a button?) The game lasted maybe four months at Mardi Gras, near the Seminoles’ Hollywood palace. You’ve never seen the game come back here, and you never, ever will. DigiDeal, based in Spokane, Wash., last posted on Facebook and Twitter in 2014. It’s the weekend, and to their credit their number is still working, but to try to hang a lawsuit on a game that can only be described as putrid is one of the rare times I shake my head at Mr. Allen. The other half of their suit, though, is a good case. The Seminoles argue that the state incorrectly allowed poker room versions of 3-card poker, Ultimate Texas Hold ‘em, Casino War and Pai Gow, which are conducted in blackjack pits at most other casinos.
The summary glossary at the end also contains about 25 word redactions. Between “gambling” and “games,” “litigation” and “live,” “model” and “Mohegan,” “payment” and “payout,” “tribes” and “tried,” “unsure” and “updated.” Word detectives, get to work.
