ALBANY, N.Y., June 25 (UPI) -- "I hate to interrupt this lovefest," said Cornelius Murray, as he interrupted this lovefest.

Neil Murray was the odd man out at the New York Gaming Summit, his white hair sticking straight up from his head like an exotic bird, showing up to announce his intention to continue suing the pants off the state of New York in an effort to stop the expansion of legalized gambling.

"I am no moral purist or absolutist," says Murray, who was eyed warily by all the casino companies, Indian tribes and slot machine manufacturers in the audience. "I like to go to Las Vegas and Saratoga with my wife. But the issue here isn't my particular perception of gambling or yours. People say commercial gambling is not evil--but our state constitution treats commercial gambling as evil. If it's not evil, why does our constitution prohibit it?"

Strange words in these times--and inconvenient ones. But unfortunately for those who are frothing at the mouth to get casino gambling installed in the Catskills as quickly as possible, Murray is not just a crackpot. He's a veteran Albany litigator who has already beaten the state of New York twice on gambling issues, and he represents a broad coalition of individuals and organizations who dislike the new gambling bill for a variety of reasons. His new lawsuit--attacking the bill passed last October to legalize six Indian casinos, slot machines at eight race tracks, and a multi-state lottery--may be a case that ends up before the Supreme Court, and if so it's going to upset a lot of Indian-gaming advocates.

I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that what happens in New York state may define gambling in America for the next century or so. There haven't been this many dollars at stake since Atlantic City legalized gambling in 1978, but this time, if New York has its way, many other states are likely to follow, and we could end up with a nation in which no one lives more than 90 minutes from a casino.

That's why Murray's pending court cases are intriguing. Indian casinos have been challenged before, but they've never been quite this vulnerable. The legislature acted in clear contradiction to its own constitution, ordered that the right to run the casinos be reserved to Indians only, and passed other measures that were thinly disguised efforts to shift the difficult business of taxation policy onto the backs of gamblers.

As in most states, it was a trend that entered by the back door. Casino gambling started so quietly in New York state that many New Yorkers still don't know it exists. In 1993 Turning Stone Casino, near Syracuse, was opened by the Oneida Indians after they reached an agreement with Governor Mario Cuomo. That led the St. Regis Mohawks to seek a similar compact, and in 1999 they opened their own tiny casino in an out-of-the-way town near the Canadian border. Governor George Pataki altered the original Cuomo compact to give the Indians a better deal, and it was around that time that Murray filed his first lawsuit.

The New York state constitution explicitly forbids "commercial gambling," although it has been altered at times to allow pari-mutuel betting at race tracks, small bingo operations by non-profits, and a state lottery. But the governor had no right to enter into agreements for full-fledged casinos, argued Murray. Only the legislature could do that. And eventually two judges agreed with him. It was the beginning of what he calls his attack on the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act of 1988, the enabling legislation that has resulted in the Indian casino boom throughout the nation. (Ironically, he will now argue to the court that the legislature doesn't have the authority, either, and that only a people's referendum can legalize casinos.)

"Does federal law supersede New York state law?" asks Murray. "Is the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act a national regulatory bulldozer? The IGRA is not unequivocal. If gambling is absolutely prohibited in a state, then the Indian tribes have no right at all to do it. You're dealing with a gray area here, because some gambling is allowed in New York--the lottery and pari-mutuel betting and non-profit bingo. Does that open the door to all gaming? Some courts have tried to address this, but not the Supreme Court. Since it's ambiguous, and since people have ambiguous feelings about it, why not put it to a referendum? Why shove the constitution aside and just ignore it?"

But them's fighting words in Albany, where the cash-starved legislature is looking to gambling to solve a great many of its problems, and several people at the Gaming Summit wondered aloud just why Murray is doing this and who he's really working for.

"I have no connection to Donald Trump," he says, answering the unspoken assumption. In fact, Trump, owner of three casinos in Atlantic City, has a similar suit pending against New York state, making most of the same arguments Murray makes, but the cases haven't been linked in any way. "It would be politically unwise to take money from Donald Trump," says Murray, "but the principle of the case is the same no matter who's stating it."

The plaintiffs in the case are actually a grab bag of people who don't have much in common except their dislike of gambling. One is Republican State Senator Frank Padivan, who considers gambling a "regressive disguised tax on the poor." "Fifty per cent of the money bet in the lottery," says Murray, "is wagered by 5 per cent of the people. And those are the economically distressed, trying to hit it big. The lottery is very attractive to pathological gamblers. And even though they say it's earmarked for education, it's not like it's supplemental. They aren't fully funding education and then adding the lottery money to that. It's really just a tax."

Another plaintiff is Bill Parment, the state representative from Jamestown, New York, home district of the Seneca tribe. The Senecas stand to benefit most from the gambling bill passed last October, as they've been promised three casinos in western New York--one in Niagara Falls, one in Buffalo, and one on their ancestral tribal lands. But Parment is disturbed by the way the gambling bill was passed.

It was approved by the legislature on October 23 or October 24--no one is quite sure, because it happened in the dead of night--after the bill was placed on members' desks with a note from the Speaker and the Governor telling them the state needed emergency passage. They even had to end-run the law to push it through. To avoid the normal three days a bill has to be on members' desks, the governor wrote a "message of necessity."

"It was a farce and an insult to representative democracy," says Murray. "Three people meet in a room. The bill is drafted and placed on the legislators' desks, a bill that they never saw. And then they're told by the leaders of both houses, 'Vote for this bill, you've got two minutes.' And the majority leader says, 'I want your vote.' And using September 11 as the rationale for ignoring the law is just unmitigated baloney."

Perhaps the oddest Murray plaintiff is Joe Dalton, the president of the Chamber of Commerce in Saratoga, New York, famous as the home of venerable blue-blooded Saratoga Springs Race Track. "Joe feels like casinos should be outlawed because they're different from racing," says Murray. "He's opposed to the garish neon-lighted forms of gambling."

Add to those plaintiffs a number of anti-gambling coalitions that object to it on moral and religious grounds, and you have the makings of a monster court case.

"As a practical matter, we know the courts probably won't shut down the casinos that already exist," says Murray, "but we think we could freeze everything where it is. At least the opposition would have to start a movement for a constitutional amendment. And that takes approval by two successive legislatures plus a referendum of the voters."

Meanwhile the Indian tribes have made no secret of their dislike for Murray. Speaker after speaker at the Gaming Summit rose to deny that their proposed casinos fell under the definition of "commercial gambling." They would be nothing like Atlantic City, they all said. Murray seemed amused by their protestations.

"I respectfully but vehemently disagree that this is not commercialized gambling," he said.

Equally vehement was Lorraine White, general counsel for the St. Regis Mohawks. "When we talk about the evils of gambling," she said, "let's also talk about the evil reality of living in the Mohawk nation. We are empowering ourselves."

To which Neil Murray would probably say, maybe and maybe not. The next hearing is in July, and so far everything has gone in Murray's favor. If he keeps winning, those Catskills casinos-- estimated to be worth about $1.5 billion to the New York economy- -and the new upstate casinos--estimated to be worth $800 million- -could be a long way off.

© Copyright 2002 United Press International and Joe Bob Briggs

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