Atlantic City Christmas

As a Jew, I grew up inferring the magic of Christmas morning through movies and TV, but since meeting my wife (who was raised Catholic), I’ve come to appreciate some of the rituals first-hand; waking up, wishing each other a sleepy “Merry Christmas” and lumbering out of bed to coffee, a giant breakfast and hours of presents and lounging—all in your pjs. I get what the romance is about.

This year was a bit different—we hit the buffet at the Borgata Hotel and Casino in Atlantic City. We weren’t the only ones. The line snaked back and forth like a security checkpoint, and we waited as long—upwards of 45 minutes—to sit. The company was no different and food was fine, so I’m not really complaining. But there’s something about getting pushed out of the way by an old lady heaping a giant pyramid of mussels on her hotplate that puts a damper on things. A casino is sort of a grim place to celebrate a family holiday.

Nevertheless, on December 24th my wife and I headed out from New York to celebrate Christmas with her family. Her grandfather was born, raised and became a prominent restaurateur in Atlantic City in its more glorious heyday, when the city was filled with conventioneers, stars, mobsters (and in the summer, hordes of vacationing families). Since gambling was legalized in 1976 he noticed his patrons spending more freely, but he’s also seen enough people lose enough money that he rarely steps inside a casino.

So, our family is here. But I’m curious: who else goes to Atlantic City on Christmas? Jews, like me, of course, and other non-believers. But who else, especially in these lean economic times, when prudence might dictate hip-pocketing savings and staying out of gambling halls?

On the bus from Port Authority, I sat across the aisle from Laura Brown, an elderly African-American woman from New York. Dressed casually in a camouflage winter jacket, she said she was “over” buying presents for her extended family and since losing her son eight years ago, didn’t want to stay at home and cry. So, she, her sister and sister-in-law left for two nights at the Showboat (and two more at the Taj Mahal) for nickel and quarter slots and some relaxation. Brown spent 27 years working for the New York Department of Labor, and between her pension, Social Security, and the mass-mailed discounts sent by the Showboat, was not fazed in the least by the economic climate. She snapped in a Temptations CD as the Atlantic City skyline began to silhouette against the Jersey marsh.

If you’re spending your time gambling in Atlantic City, the Borgata is the place to be. It is the most Vegasy casino in a city that is fairly regarded as Sin City’s homely twin. Since opening in 2003, it has been A.C.’s hippest, most successful destination—and taking a walk through the Dale Chihuly-adorned lobby and elegant casino floor (and table drinks in real glasses!), you kind of forget where you are. But how is the hotel, financially ahead of the local competition in the five years since it opened, holding up against the recessionary tide?

Recent economic news has not been kind to “America’s Playground”; even the stout Borgata had to lay off 400 employees—five percent of its staff—last month. A temporary smoking-ban repeal, while adding some character back to the casinos, provided little, if any immediate stimulus.

The friendly, Italian-accented man at the front desk assured us they were almost at capacity (even though rooms cost half what they did last Christmas), but we soon heard from a cocktail waitress that it’s been “dead” the last few months. And the free Christmas party was nowhere to be seen. At 6 p.m. we found most of the tables closed (except for the poker room, which was 2/3 full) and I thought I had my answer early on.

But by the end of dinner the blackjack tables were packed, and we had to hunt for a seat. My wife, brother-in-law and I eventually slid into a $15 table beside a petite Asian woman clearly in her third trimester. Within minutes, my $100 self-allotment was gone; my nickname (The Cooler) safe, and I retreated to the background to let the table heat up.

Bruce, the man who took my seat, is a New Jersey elementary school principal, and he, my family and the pregnant lady were soon on a roll. Bruce was dressed comfortably in a grey fleece and had a large pile of green $25 chips on the table. He has been coming to Atlantic City on Christmas for 20 years. He said it used to be dead but about 5-7 years ago he saw business picking up later Christmas day, observing that people would come to spend their cash gifts. He’s noticed a drop off in business since other casinos have opened in Pennsylvania, and especially in the last six months. However the recession hasn’t kept him from the casinos—he moved his savings from a 401(k) to money market funds in time. “When everybody was making their millions, I was struggling,” he said. “Now, I’m in the best position.” The Borgata comped his room.