In 1992, Diana won $5,000 playing slots at the Menominee Casino in Keshena, Wis. The high she got was like the rush from a first dose of heroin – and just as impossible to recapture.
“I lost it as quick as I won it,” Diana admits.
Gambling has been called the hidden addiction. “There’s more secrecy about it,” says Rose Gruber, executive director of the Wisconsin Council on Problem Gambling. “We understand alcohol and drugs, but gambling is considered more of a weakness.”
But those who’ve had multiple addictions say gambling is harder to overcome than drugs or alcohol.
“You take coke or heroin, and a chemical flows in your brain,” says Bill, a Racine man who lost $100,000 gambling online. (All gamblers interviewed were offered anonymity.) “We stick money in a machine and the chemical flows the same way.”
In 2008, the state council’s help line received 12,946 calls, a whopping 40 percent jump from 2007, with one-third coming from this metro area. By contrast, the National Council on Problem Gambling saw only a 5 percent increase in calls last year.
Why the rise here? Gruber points to increased public awareness of gambling addiction in general and the Wisconsin Council in particular.
More opportunities to gamble might also be a factor. Helped by a new expansion that opened last June, Milwaukee’s Potawatomi Bingo Casino drew 4.8 million visitors in 2008, up from 4 million in 2007. Add to that another 17 Native American casinos, one dog track and the lottery – not to mention online gambling, sports books and other illegal activity – and Wisconsin boasts plenty of action.
Ironically, the slumping economy may be helping business. “People who are already gambling may see it as a way to supplement their income,” says Gruber.
For Diana, gambling stopped being fun when she began going without her friends and lying about it. “But I couldn’t stop,” she says. Her debts mounted rapidly. She stole from her workplace, was caught and convicted, but still hadn’t hit bottom. It wasn’t until her husband caught her raiding his bank account and filed for divorce that she sought help.
“[At first] I was so angry at the casino, because they caused all my problems,” Diana says. “But that’s like an alcoholic being mad there’s a bar on the corner.”
“It does us no good to have problem gamblers,” says Potawatomi assistant general manager John Phillipp. To that end, the casino helps fund the state council on gambling (which maintains strict neutrality on whether gambling should be legal).
But spotting a compulsive gambler is hard, says Phillipp. A bartender can cut off an obvious drunk, but “if I watch someone gamble, I don’t know what their income level is.” The casino does display business cards in its restrooms offering the help center phone number and self-diagnosis questions.
Julie, an Oak Creek woman, would see those cards but didn’t think they applied to her. She amassed $50,000 of debt in less than two years. “I couldn’t sleep anymore,” Julie says. “I was physically sick. I couldn’t live like that.” She had herself banned from the casino, another form of assistance offered by Potawatomi.
When Diana began going to Gamblers Anonymous seven years ago, the metro area had five meetings; now there are 14.
“It’s a disease,” says Bill. “We go to the meetings and get our weekly shot.”
