Monday, April 17, 2006
It is pleasingly comical to watch as what passes for political leadership in Western New York clambers aboard the anti-casino bandwagon. One might ask where they've all been: I've gone through three "No Casino" lawn signs in the time it's taken them to figure it out, but that seems a harsh thing to say to someone who has seen the light. The whole thing is very revealing. I'd have been happier about Byron Brown if he'd have said that he thought a casino was bad last November, but I think what we are going to find out about Mayor Brown is that he is unlikely to take a strong position on anything much. Joel Giambra, who probably ate paste through the eighth grade, (and may still sneak a taste from time to time) has awakened to the reality of the situation. The Common Council have circled their unicycles and apparently also recognized that a great big casino will take dollars away from the people who contribute to their campaigns.
There are so many reasons that a casino is a bad idea that you wonder that these people couldn't have stumbled across one before now. The social ills associated with gambling is a good argument against, even if it is the one favored by parsons and old ladies. The fact that gambling attracts other vice is a good one too. I'm fond of the argument that an Indian casino takes money away from businesses that pay taxes, but the best reason to oppose a Seneca casino in downtown Buffalo, to my way of thinking is this: casinos are for hicks.
It's true, and don't give me James Bond playing baccarat as your retort: that just means you haven't actually read "Casino Royale". Las Vegas is where carneys go instead of heaven: the marks are plentiful, and ripe for the plucking, and from what I could see the plucking of marks is the entire culture of the place. Atlantic City is where they go instead of Purgatory. There's nobody you'd meet in Monaco that you'd introduce to your worst enemy from high school-- not even if he was Joel Giambra, The Paste Eater. And those are the "classy" gambling destinations. Let's face it, for all their many contributions to cosmopolitan urbanity, like lacrosse, our brothers the Native Americans aren't really the first people that come to mind when we think of suave sophistication. To be sure, the delightful irony of a race that sold Manhattan Island for $24 bucks getting some of its own back from the Budweiser-bloated Bermuda shorts set is not lost on me, but that's not the sort of city I want to live in. Let the chumps go somewhere else to be fleeced. Let them go to Biloxi, or Davenport. Duluth, or Thackerville. There's no shortage of places to go to gamble, a fact that speaks volumes about the credulity of the American public-- we really don't need to have it here.
For myself, I'd prefer it if the city where I live was known for something other than the per capita distribution of chumps to citizens. Is that really so much to ask? Even Mayor Brown and Paste Eater Joel have awoken to the realization that an Indian casino is a bad, bad plan. Who wants to be stupider than they are? (Besides Tony Masiello?)
There are a lot of things to like about living in Buffalo. We have clients come here from all over and they are always impressed by how attractive the architecture is, and by our rich cultural life. These are sophisticated people-- they've been to Biloxi. Why should we hold ourselves out as a bunch of rubes, rustics and paste-eaters?
With any luck my present "No Casino" sign will be my last.
There are so many reasons that a casino is a bad idea that you wonder that these people couldn't have stumbled across one before now. The social ills associated with gambling is a good argument against, even if it is the one favored by parsons and old ladies. The fact that gambling attracts other vice is a good one too. I'm fond of the argument that an Indian casino takes money away from businesses that pay taxes, but the best reason to oppose a Seneca casino in downtown Buffalo, to my way of thinking is this: casinos are for hicks.
It's true, and don't give me James Bond playing baccarat as your retort: that just means you haven't actually read "Casino Royale". Las Vegas is where carneys go instead of heaven: the marks are plentiful, and ripe for the plucking, and from what I could see the plucking of marks is the entire culture of the place. Atlantic City is where they go instead of Purgatory. There's nobody you'd meet in Monaco that you'd introduce to your worst enemy from high school-- not even if he was Joel Giambra, The Paste Eater. And those are the "classy" gambling destinations. Let's face it, for all their many contributions to cosmopolitan urbanity, like lacrosse, our brothers the Native Americans aren't really the first people that come to mind when we think of suave sophistication. To be sure, the delightful irony of a race that sold Manhattan Island for $24 bucks getting some of its own back from the Budweiser-bloated Bermuda shorts set is not lost on me, but that's not the sort of city I want to live in. Let the chumps go somewhere else to be fleeced. Let them go to Biloxi, or Davenport. Duluth, or Thackerville. There's no shortage of places to go to gamble, a fact that speaks volumes about the credulity of the American public-- we really don't need to have it here.
For myself, I'd prefer it if the city where I live was known for something other than the per capita distribution of chumps to citizens. Is that really so much to ask? Even Mayor Brown and Paste Eater Joel have awoken to the realization that an Indian casino is a bad, bad plan. Who wants to be stupider than they are? (Besides Tony Masiello?)
There are a lot of things to like about living in Buffalo. We have clients come here from all over and they are always impressed by how attractive the architecture is, and by our rich cultural life. These are sophisticated people-- they've been to Biloxi. Why should we hold ourselves out as a bunch of rubes, rustics and paste-eaters?
With any luck my present "No Casino" sign will be my last.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Judge Skretny has ruled that the Seneca's downtown Buffalo Buffalo casino was not properly authorized by the Department of the Interior to run gaming operations-- the land is theirs, and it is "Indian country" but it is not "gaming eligible". In order for the Buffalo property to have been gaming eligible under the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act the Buffalo parcel had to have been acquired pursuant to the settlement of a land claim, but the Seneca Nation Settlement Act was not enacted to settle a land claim. It was never disputed that the Seneca owned the land where the City of Salamanca is located; the SNSA was enacted to make up for the fact that the 99 year lease was a poor deal for the Seneca. Background here; decision (long, long pdf document) here.
I've followed this pretty closely, and even made a presentation to AHIA on this topic. I think this decision is correct on the law, although the Seneca Nation Settlement Act could have been better written to have made this clear from the get-go. From the quick look I have been able to give the opinion, it seems to me that the Second Circuit is likely to find little to quibble with-- in the manner of District Court decisions there is a pretty comprehensive record. I am very pleased with this outcome. I have no doubt that quite a few people will be upset, notwithstanding the fact that the casino as it exists has provided no benefit whatsoever to the city-- just as the Niagara Falls casino has in its community.
If I were the Seneca, I'd go full steam ahead on building the hotel. The location-- near the waterfront, near the area-- is a good location, and the property could easily supplant the Convention Center for the meetings and convention business that comes to Buffalo. The Niagara Falls casino does a solid business. It has the best spa in the area; books musical acts that appeal to our demographic (not mine-- never even been tempted by Blood, Sweat and Tears, but people go); and it seems as though it does well on that basis alone, leaving the gaming aside. A first rate hotel and convention cneter in Buffalo would be competing against properties that are faded at best. The Mobil Guide gives the Hyatt three stars, the Adam's Mark two. That's pretty low-end. I've been wondering for years why the local hotel industry hasn't been more visible in its opposition to the Buffalo casino. Perhaps it was because they reckoned they were not in competition for the same business. A proper convention hotel would attract outside money, and, unlike a casino, would benefit other businesses. A casino is a gesture of contempt-- it tells the people in your neighborhood that you view them as chumps. If the Seneca are hell-bent on fleecing marks, they can run a jitney to their Falls establishment-- even at $4.50 a gallon they'll make money.
Obviously this is an argument that is far from over, but the result today is an opportunity for the Seneca to demonstrate that they meant it when they told us that they wanted to contribute to the local economy. Handled properly this can work to everyone's benefit.
I've followed this pretty closely, and even made a presentation to AHIA on this topic. I think this decision is correct on the law, although the Seneca Nation Settlement Act could have been better written to have made this clear from the get-go. From the quick look I have been able to give the opinion, it seems to me that the Second Circuit is likely to find little to quibble with-- in the manner of District Court decisions there is a pretty comprehensive record. I am very pleased with this outcome. I have no doubt that quite a few people will be upset, notwithstanding the fact that the casino as it exists has provided no benefit whatsoever to the city-- just as the Niagara Falls casino has in its community.
If I were the Seneca, I'd go full steam ahead on building the hotel. The location-- near the waterfront, near the area-- is a good location, and the property could easily supplant the Convention Center for the meetings and convention business that comes to Buffalo. The Niagara Falls casino does a solid business. It has the best spa in the area; books musical acts that appeal to our demographic (not mine-- never even been tempted by Blood, Sweat and Tears, but people go); and it seems as though it does well on that basis alone, leaving the gaming aside. A first rate hotel and convention cneter in Buffalo would be competing against properties that are faded at best. The Mobil Guide gives the Hyatt three stars, the Adam's Mark two. That's pretty low-end. I've been wondering for years why the local hotel industry hasn't been more visible in its opposition to the Buffalo casino. Perhaps it was because they reckoned they were not in competition for the same business. A proper convention hotel would attract outside money, and, unlike a casino, would benefit other businesses. A casino is a gesture of contempt-- it tells the people in your neighborhood that you view them as chumps. If the Seneca are hell-bent on fleecing marks, they can run a jitney to their Falls establishment-- even at $4.50 a gallon they'll make money.
Obviously this is an argument that is far from over, but the result today is an opportunity for the Seneca to demonstrate that they meant it when they told us that they wanted to contribute to the local economy. Handled properly this can work to everyone's benefit.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
To the oral argument of the Citizens Against Casino Gambling v. Gail Norton, et al matter this afternoon. I'm going to talk about this lawsuit at AHIA next week, so I wanted to be as current as possible. This meant that I ended up sitting in court until about six, which was not something I'd planned on, but the arguments were interesting, and the level of advocacy was pretty high.
The story goes like this: Salamanca, New York is a city near the Pennsylvania border that sits on land that was leased from the Seneca 99 years ago. (Actually, in 1890.) When the lease was running out Congress realized something was going to have to be done. The deal that had been struck back in the day was pretty unfair in the waning days of the 20th century, and the Seneca had made it clear that they intended to make up for it this go-round. John LaFalce was the congressman for the area at the time, and after some wrangling a deal was cut, and the Seneca Nation Settlement Act was passed. The statute provided that the Seneca would get $45 million bucks from the feds, and $24 million from New York State. The Seneca would negotiate new leases with the people who lived in Salamanca, or owned buildings on the land. The statute provided that the Seneca could use the money to buy "Land within its aboriginal area in the State or situated within or near proximity to former reservation land".
This land could acquire "restricted fee status" unless the Secretary of the Interior made a determination within 30 days after the comment period that such lands should not be subject to the provisions of section 2116 of the Revised Statutes (25 U.S.C. 177)". Governor Pataki then cut a deal with the Seneca which was intended to allow the Nation to acquire property in Niagara Falls and Buffalo, with the idea that they would develop it into casinos. There were payments negotiated and whatnot, none of which were particularly favorable to the cities or counties where this land was being taken off of the tax rolls, but there was a popular school of thought that casinos in those cities would be a good vehicle for economic revitalization. Buffalo's mayor, Tony Masiello, was a huge fan.
There have been all sorts of lawsuits, and efforts to stop the Buffalo casino since. The casino in the Falls is up and running, and although Niagara County and the City of Niagara Falls haven't seen any of the revenue that they were promised-- yet, I guess, giving the venture the benefit of the doubt-- the casino itself seems to be prospering, which makes it unique in that sad, blighted community.
There's a lot of technical stuff about when Indians can have gambling on their land. It boils down to whether it was land that they held before 1988, or if it is after-acquired land purchased or otherwise acquired as settlement of a land claim, subject to approval by the Secretary of the Interior. Today's argument was whether the property in downtown Buffalo can be considered "Indian Land" as defined by the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act. There were some collateral questions as well-- the Seneca wanted the right to file an amicus brief, and the federal government-- which is the party being sued here, since the Seneca have sovereign immunity, argued that the whole thing should be dismissed, but the real, bottom line question is whether the purchase of property pursuant to the Seneca Nation Settlement Act--property which has the restrictions on alienation that characterizes property that is immune from taxation-- is "Indian Land" within the meaning of the IGRA.
One argument that I liked was that the legislation was not intended to settle a land dispute, because there was never a question that the Salamanca property was the Seneca's. Maybe so, but the statute does provide for a means for the Seneca to acquire land, and for that land to acquire restricted fee status. Why?
The case presents a close question, I think, and one of the reasons I think so is the ham fisted way John LaFalce drafted this particular example of the sausage maker's art. He sat in front of me, mugging and shrugging and shaking his head, but the fact is that none of the other land settlement statutes in Article 25 have language like this one, and it looks to me like it was written to keep the possibility of a Buffalo casino open. "Near proximity"-- what the hell is that supposed to mean? One of the things that wasn't really mentioned was the Niagara Falls casino-- it is a lot closer to aboriginal land, but I'm sure there are other issues.
There were a lot of people there I know, and inevitably one of them introduced me to LaFalce, who was, I think, curious about why I was there. I was not dressed in lawyer drag, just a jacket, tie and khakis, but I was not a reporter he knew. "I have an academic interest," I said, whenever someone asked why I was there. "I'm thinking of writing something about this." That seemed to satisfy LaFalce, and although I wanted to ask why he'd drafted the legislation the way he did, I held off. Once the wheels were in motion on the Buffalo property he'd tried to get the brakes applied-- the public record is full of correspondence to Norton objecting. I suppose it's possible that the Seneca put one over on him, and he really was all good intentions. It could be, but I think my theory is probably closer. Still and all, now he is on the anti-casino side for real, and that means I shouldn't cross-examine him in public. Even I'm that polite.
The matter is before Judge Skretny, who I would characterize as "careful". He's probably inclined to give the government a pretty fair amount of deference, but I think he is also probably inclined to find the answer that the Second Circuit will agree with, too. Only chumps make predictions based on the questions asked at oral argument, so here are mine: he'll deny the Fed's motion to dismiss; he'll decline to rule on the environmental and National Historic Places arguments on the grounds that they are moot. He will permit the Seneca to file an amicus brief, but will reject the arguments made in it. And he will rule that the Secretary of the Interior failed to properly rule on the Seneca's application to acquire the Buffalo parcel.
Confidential to whoever that US Attorney was: the grain elevator that the Seneca tore down was an HO Oats elevator. It's pronounced "H" "O"-- not "Ho". A Ho elevator would be something else, I imagine.
The story goes like this: Salamanca, New York is a city near the Pennsylvania border that sits on land that was leased from the Seneca 99 years ago. (Actually, in 1890.) When the lease was running out Congress realized something was going to have to be done. The deal that had been struck back in the day was pretty unfair in the waning days of the 20th century, and the Seneca had made it clear that they intended to make up for it this go-round. John LaFalce was the congressman for the area at the time, and after some wrangling a deal was cut, and the Seneca Nation Settlement Act was passed. The statute provided that the Seneca would get $45 million bucks from the feds, and $24 million from New York State. The Seneca would negotiate new leases with the people who lived in Salamanca, or owned buildings on the land. The statute provided that the Seneca could use the money to buy "Land within its aboriginal area in the State or situated within or near proximity to former reservation land".
This land could acquire "restricted fee status" unless the Secretary of the Interior made a determination within 30 days after the comment period that such lands should not be subject to the provisions of section 2116 of the Revised Statutes (25 U.S.C. 177)". Governor Pataki then cut a deal with the Seneca which was intended to allow the Nation to acquire property in Niagara Falls and Buffalo, with the idea that they would develop it into casinos. There were payments negotiated and whatnot, none of which were particularly favorable to the cities or counties where this land was being taken off of the tax rolls, but there was a popular school of thought that casinos in those cities would be a good vehicle for economic revitalization. Buffalo's mayor, Tony Masiello, was a huge fan.
There have been all sorts of lawsuits, and efforts to stop the Buffalo casino since. The casino in the Falls is up and running, and although Niagara County and the City of Niagara Falls haven't seen any of the revenue that they were promised-- yet, I guess, giving the venture the benefit of the doubt-- the casino itself seems to be prospering, which makes it unique in that sad, blighted community.
There's a lot of technical stuff about when Indians can have gambling on their land. It boils down to whether it was land that they held before 1988, or if it is after-acquired land purchased or otherwise acquired as settlement of a land claim, subject to approval by the Secretary of the Interior. Today's argument was whether the property in downtown Buffalo can be considered "Indian Land" as defined by the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act. There were some collateral questions as well-- the Seneca wanted the right to file an amicus brief, and the federal government-- which is the party being sued here, since the Seneca have sovereign immunity, argued that the whole thing should be dismissed, but the real, bottom line question is whether the purchase of property pursuant to the Seneca Nation Settlement Act--property which has the restrictions on alienation that characterizes property that is immune from taxation-- is "Indian Land" within the meaning of the IGRA.
One argument that I liked was that the legislation was not intended to settle a land dispute, because there was never a question that the Salamanca property was the Seneca's. Maybe so, but the statute does provide for a means for the Seneca to acquire land, and for that land to acquire restricted fee status. Why?
The case presents a close question, I think, and one of the reasons I think so is the ham fisted way John LaFalce drafted this particular example of the sausage maker's art. He sat in front of me, mugging and shrugging and shaking his head, but the fact is that none of the other land settlement statutes in Article 25 have language like this one, and it looks to me like it was written to keep the possibility of a Buffalo casino open. "Near proximity"-- what the hell is that supposed to mean? One of the things that wasn't really mentioned was the Niagara Falls casino-- it is a lot closer to aboriginal land, but I'm sure there are other issues.
There were a lot of people there I know, and inevitably one of them introduced me to LaFalce, who was, I think, curious about why I was there. I was not dressed in lawyer drag, just a jacket, tie and khakis, but I was not a reporter he knew. "I have an academic interest," I said, whenever someone asked why I was there. "I'm thinking of writing something about this." That seemed to satisfy LaFalce, and although I wanted to ask why he'd drafted the legislation the way he did, I held off. Once the wheels were in motion on the Buffalo property he'd tried to get the brakes applied-- the public record is full of correspondence to Norton objecting. I suppose it's possible that the Seneca put one over on him, and he really was all good intentions. It could be, but I think my theory is probably closer. Still and all, now he is on the anti-casino side for real, and that means I shouldn't cross-examine him in public. Even I'm that polite.
The matter is before Judge Skretny, who I would characterize as "careful". He's probably inclined to give the government a pretty fair amount of deference, but I think he is also probably inclined to find the answer that the Second Circuit will agree with, too. Only chumps make predictions based on the questions asked at oral argument, so here are mine: he'll deny the Fed's motion to dismiss; he'll decline to rule on the environmental and National Historic Places arguments on the grounds that they are moot. He will permit the Seneca to file an amicus brief, but will reject the arguments made in it. And he will rule that the Secretary of the Interior failed to properly rule on the Seneca's application to acquire the Buffalo parcel.
Confidential to whoever that US Attorney was: the grain elevator that the Seneca tore down was an HO Oats elevator. It's pronounced "H" "O"-- not "Ho". A Ho elevator would be something else, I imagine.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
I'm not sure I know how to think about the most recent development concerning the Seneca Nation's downtown Buffalo casino project. The Seneca wanted the city to sell it a two block stretch of Fulton Street. The city wanted an enforceable contract promising 1,000 new jobs, a pledge to not expand the casino beyond the current 9 acres, and provisions pertaining to the hiring of women and minorities. The Seneca said it wouldn't sign, and is now saying that it will build a smaller facility. Details are hazy about how much smaller we're talking about-- I've heard it described as something like a doublewide with some cigarette machines and some slots, but I'm sure they have something bigger than that in mind. Even so, this looks like something approaching a win, and I can't figure out if it was designed that way, or if the city just wandered into it and got lucky. On the one hand, Richard Tobe is certainly smart enough to have engineered this. On the other hand, the Mayor is all over the record as favoring the casino. Why would he scuttle it in this sort of backdoor fashion? Although I yield to few in my admiration for Tobe's intelligence, this seems like a pretty high-risk way to go about busting a deal. The city's demands hardly look like dealbreakers-- what exactly is in there that made the Seneca push away from the table, and how could Tobe have known what the pressure points would be?
And then, of course, there is the burning, bottom-line question: will the city, with the wind at its back now, find a way to screw this up?
And then, of course, there is the burning, bottom-line question: will the city, with the wind at its back now, find a way to screw this up?
Thursday, June 27, 2013
The Seneca casino in downtown Buffalo has been an ongoing subject of interest at Outside Counsel: we like the interesting jurisdictional and statutory issues, and the backroom political intrigue, and-- of course-- the naked stupidity of doing a deal with a party against whom there can be no legal recourse. ArtVoice has a good Bruce Fisher piece about the present status of the matter. I was out past the site last weekend: the cranes are up, and there is a lot of activity. Like the camel's nose, once you have an Indian casino you are always going to have to live with it.
Friday, January 13, 2006
This Salon article about the difficulties a group of sexual harrasment plaintiff's are experiencing suing a Native American casino plays the story for its tawdry aspects, which is fine, because it makes it a good read. The point it is making, however, is an important point-- when you cede property to a sovereign nation, what happens there really does stay there. As it happens we represent a personal injury plaintiff in a claim against the Niagara Falls casino, and while I suppose their system would qualify as due process, it probably could be held up as an example of what the barest minimum for due process looks like. The system has short deadlines to make a claim, the rules are buried deep in the Seneca Nation's website, with no external links on the homepage; they are not to be found on Westlaw or in any library that I could locate. Claims are limited to provable economic damage only-- no pain and suffering, so too bad for you, retired people who make up the majority of the trade if you fall and get hurt. The opportunity to testify is at the sole discretion of the Seneca tribunal. I could go on.
I suppose its true that the Native Americans got screwed over, back in the day. Let me tell you, though, inch by inch they are going to get their own back. It'll take time, but we are just stupid enough to turn our cities over to them, and then all bets will be off.
I suppose its true that the Native Americans got screwed over, back in the day. Let me tell you, though, inch by inch they are going to get their own back. It'll take time, but we are just stupid enough to turn our cities over to them, and then all bets will be off.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
When Rob Rosenbaum is at his worst he is so insufferable that I wonder why I bother. Here, for example, he goes into rhapsodies over a song called "Choctaw Bingo". This piece nicely captures the Rosenbaum quirks that most annoy. The hyperbole, for example: Ron thinks this number is "New-national-anthem-level genius." The irrelevant self-aggrandizement: Ron wants you to know that, like James McMurtry, the songwriter under consideration, his mom was an English professor too. Then there is the wrong-headed pseudo-liberalism: "Now, I have a thing about Indian casinos. I'm totally in favor of them. I think they're a disguised form of reparations for the theft of Indian land. I'm glad the tribes are making billions taking the foolish white man's money. They deserve it." Easy for you to say, Ron. The Shinnecock who occupied the Bay Shore estuaries where you and I grew up aren't planning on building a casino on the Upper West Side where you live (although apparently they'd like to repatriate the Shinnecock Hills Golf Club).
On the other hand, because he is Ron Rosenbaum and can't resist self-referral, in his lede he links to a similar piece about Joni Mitchell's "Amelia", and although that article also falls into many of the same traps ("Bob Dylan once told me...."), the article nicely captures and explores the nuances of an appealing, complex song.
On the other hand, because he is Ron Rosenbaum and can't resist self-referral, in his lede he links to a similar piece about Joni Mitchell's "Amelia", and although that article also falls into many of the same traps ("Bob Dylan once told me...."), the article nicely captures and explores the nuances of an appealing, complex song.
Saturday, October 02, 2010
I hadn't realized that Carl Paladino owned the land the Seneca bought to build the Buffalo casino. Nothin' wrong with that, per se. It's just interesting. Wayne Barrett is shocked, shocked, that Paladino's campaign staff is full of dubious characters, but that's just Village Voice stuff-- nobody cares about that.
Nobody cares about the crazy, either. Getting up in the grill of a NY Post reporter? Bring it on, baby!
I've been thinking about some of the losers in this season's political follies. Back before Carl announced Erie County Executive Chris Collins was said to be toying with the idea of a run at the governorship. That ran aground when was reported to have said to a woman looking for a seat at the State of the State address,
Nobody cares about the crazy, either. Getting up in the grill of a NY Post reporter? Bring it on, baby!
I've been thinking about some of the losers in this season's political follies. Back before Carl announced Erie County Executive Chris Collins was said to be toying with the idea of a run at the governorship. That ran aground when was reported to have said to a woman looking for a seat at the State of the State address,
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Hey, the downtown Buffalo casino is open for business! I for one welcome the unparalleled times of prosperity promised by our Native American overlords. (Via Buffalo Pundit.)
Tuesday, November 05, 2013
# 27 at our polling place this morning at about 8:30. There are only three contested elections this go-round: Supreme Court Justice, Sheriff and Comptroller, and the choices are rather stark for the latter two. The current Sheriff runs a holding center that has got the county sued by the federal government, and which has a suicide rate that ranks with the worst in the country. You see his signs when you cross the city line, which is pretty awful. The Comptroller race pits the incumbent-- a former television reporter-- against Kevin Gaughan. On is hard-pressed to think of an office that Kevin hasn't run for, but that's besides the point: he will do a respectable job I think. He was at our polling place to vote this morning-- he may be the least natural politician I've ever seen, but he really puts his heart into it. The turnout will be key. Supreme Court Justice amounts to a choice of cats whose respective political parties reckoned they'd put in their time (and, I assume, their money). I hate judicial elections. Party affiliation is no sort of indicator. Both candidates have a background as local prosecutors; in my view that amounts to the same as saying that they've been the beneficiaries of an unfortunate local tendency to appoint ADAs on a patronage basis. It also means that they haven't done much time in private practice.
I like voting on Propositions, and the new fill in the dots ballot may mean that these get a little more attention that the old system, which involved looking up past the candidate lines and reading the Prop, probably for the first time, standing in the machine. A big No on the Adirondack propositions: Sorry, but "Forever Wild" means that. Yes on letting judges serve till they are 80. I suppose there is something to be said for giving someone else a turn, but since it isn't going to be me, I figure age is a pretty arbitrary reason to tell someone that they can't do something any more. Being a judge is a skill that it takes time to acquire. Once someone is good at it-- a skill that is attained at public expense-- they should be allowed to do it as long as they can. No to more casinos-- you'd think that by now people would have figured out that casino gambling is no sort of economic tonic at all, just based on experience, but apparently not. Here's the deal: Native American casinos are terrible. State run casinos are even worse.
Allowing municipalities to exclude debt incurred in constructing water treatment and sewage facilities to be excluded from their constitutional debt limits is a Yes. I understand why it is on the ballot, but seriously, how is that the sort of question lay people should be asked?
I like voting on Propositions, and the new fill in the dots ballot may mean that these get a little more attention that the old system, which involved looking up past the candidate lines and reading the Prop, probably for the first time, standing in the machine. A big No on the Adirondack propositions: Sorry, but "Forever Wild" means that. Yes on letting judges serve till they are 80. I suppose there is something to be said for giving someone else a turn, but since it isn't going to be me, I figure age is a pretty arbitrary reason to tell someone that they can't do something any more. Being a judge is a skill that it takes time to acquire. Once someone is good at it-- a skill that is attained at public expense-- they should be allowed to do it as long as they can. No to more casinos-- you'd think that by now people would have figured out that casino gambling is no sort of economic tonic at all, just based on experience, but apparently not. Here's the deal: Native American casinos are terrible. State run casinos are even worse.
Allowing municipalities to exclude debt incurred in constructing water treatment and sewage facilities to be excluded from their constitutional debt limits is a Yes. I understand why it is on the ballot, but seriously, how is that the sort of question lay people should be asked?
Wednesday, September 03, 2014
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
It's been about twenty years since I've been to the track. I suppose I could fix the date more firmly if I cared to-- we have photographs of EGA togged out in baby jockey silks, and as I recall she looks about two. It's been a while, in any event. I keep my hand in, more or less, by playing the Triple Crown races, and since my folks live in a place that doesn't have an OTB setup I play their picks too. Thus it was that I was in the OTB on Delaware in North Buffalo yesterday, cashing in my dad's ticket and musing about the Sport of Kings. I wonder if there is any future for it, and I kind of doubt it.
The scene at the same OTB two Saturdays was different from the quiet Monday lunch hour yesterday, of course. It was more crowded, naturally, and there were a number of people who were pretty obviously amateur handicappers like me, only there to bet one race. The parking lot was filled with beater cars, and the cars that were the closest to the entrance were almost exclusively American-made, and mostly ten years old or older. It is no longer true that when I walk into an OTB I'm the youngest person in the room, but I still look younger than most of the people there, and I'm likely to outlive most of the people who are actually younger. So that's the first issue-- who follows this sport? Once upon a time a day at the track could be a sophisticated outing. When I'd go with my dad and my uncle they wore sports jackets and hats. That's how I learned to read the Racing Form, having breakfast with my father at Saratoga. OTB changed the dynamic somewhat, I think. It used to be that if you were a horseplayer you either went to the track or you called your bookie from work, but when the OTB parlors opened they became a place for the sorts of characters who used to winter at Aqueduct to hang out. When I walked into the OTB yesterday my first thought was that there is no reason for the place to be as disgusting as it is, but then it dawned on me that the reason is simple. It smells like smoke because the people in there all smell like smoke. It's filthy and poorly lit because it is run by the State of New York, and everything the State of New York runs is filthy and poorly lit-- with the exception of the State Capitol Building, which they keep nice for themselves. Although casinos have the reputation of being luxurious the fact is that they mostly really aren't, and even to the extent that they are the people who frequent them don't really notice one way or the other, at least in the US. OTB parlors don't even pretend: they are all linoleum and cheap paneling, with smudged glass teller windows and betting slips littering the floor. What's the demographic that's attracted to this? I like horse racing because it seems less like gambling than casino games do-- I research my picks, then watch the ponies run, and watch my picks keep running, long after the other ponies are in the shower. Watching the cards turn against me doesn't offer the same thrill because I have a better understanding of the fact that the game is designed to beat me. When I watch a 20-1 shot finish down the track I just reckon I outsmarted myself. Saying it out loud sounds pretentious, but I've always thought that horse players were a somewhat more cerebral sort than other gamblers. At least there is evidence that they know how to read. The reality, of course, is different. Playing the ponies is just another gambling fix, and the endorphin rush that gambling provides is poorly supplied by watching the third race at Pimlico. The payout is lousy too, particularly at OTB. Do bookies even take horse racing action these days?
So I wonder: are the people who follow horse racing able to support the sport? Are there enough of them? Do they put enough dough in it to make it profitable for the tracks? I suspect not, but I'd be interested in reading something about the economic model for thoroughbred horse racing. It seems more likely to me that it is a sport on the brink of collapse, and that makes a kind of sense. In the heyday of the sport people were familiar with horses. The United States was predominantly rural, and horses were everyday transportation even in cities. The only horses I see in my everyday life are under cops. In the 19th century the most popular sports were horse racing and boxing. Boxing is nearly extinct-- is horse racing next?
The scene at the same OTB two Saturdays was different from the quiet Monday lunch hour yesterday, of course. It was more crowded, naturally, and there were a number of people who were pretty obviously amateur handicappers like me, only there to bet one race. The parking lot was filled with beater cars, and the cars that were the closest to the entrance were almost exclusively American-made, and mostly ten years old or older. It is no longer true that when I walk into an OTB I'm the youngest person in the room, but I still look younger than most of the people there, and I'm likely to outlive most of the people who are actually younger. So that's the first issue-- who follows this sport? Once upon a time a day at the track could be a sophisticated outing. When I'd go with my dad and my uncle they wore sports jackets and hats. That's how I learned to read the Racing Form, having breakfast with my father at Saratoga. OTB changed the dynamic somewhat, I think. It used to be that if you were a horseplayer you either went to the track or you called your bookie from work, but when the OTB parlors opened they became a place for the sorts of characters who used to winter at Aqueduct to hang out. When I walked into the OTB yesterday my first thought was that there is no reason for the place to be as disgusting as it is, but then it dawned on me that the reason is simple. It smells like smoke because the people in there all smell like smoke. It's filthy and poorly lit because it is run by the State of New York, and everything the State of New York runs is filthy and poorly lit-- with the exception of the State Capitol Building, which they keep nice for themselves. Although casinos have the reputation of being luxurious the fact is that they mostly really aren't, and even to the extent that they are the people who frequent them don't really notice one way or the other, at least in the US. OTB parlors don't even pretend: they are all linoleum and cheap paneling, with smudged glass teller windows and betting slips littering the floor. What's the demographic that's attracted to this? I like horse racing because it seems less like gambling than casino games do-- I research my picks, then watch the ponies run, and watch my picks keep running, long after the other ponies are in the shower. Watching the cards turn against me doesn't offer the same thrill because I have a better understanding of the fact that the game is designed to beat me. When I watch a 20-1 shot finish down the track I just reckon I outsmarted myself. Saying it out loud sounds pretentious, but I've always thought that horse players were a somewhat more cerebral sort than other gamblers. At least there is evidence that they know how to read. The reality, of course, is different. Playing the ponies is just another gambling fix, and the endorphin rush that gambling provides is poorly supplied by watching the third race at Pimlico. The payout is lousy too, particularly at OTB. Do bookies even take horse racing action these days?
So I wonder: are the people who follow horse racing able to support the sport? Are there enough of them? Do they put enough dough in it to make it profitable for the tracks? I suspect not, but I'd be interested in reading something about the economic model for thoroughbred horse racing. It seems more likely to me that it is a sport on the brink of collapse, and that makes a kind of sense. In the heyday of the sport people were familiar with horses. The United States was predominantly rural, and horses were everyday transportation even in cities. The only horses I see in my everyday life are under cops. In the 19th century the most popular sports were horse racing and boxing. Boxing is nearly extinct-- is horse racing next?
Monday, May 09, 2016
Slow Roll got its start in Detroit, and has been rolling in Buffalo since 2014. It is a community cycling ride that typically takes place every Monday evening. My sense is that it was originally an awareness event-- a bunch of cyclists would ride en mass though the streets along a designated route in order to increase the visibility of cyclists, but has become bigger than that. Yesterday's roll started by the Marcy Casino in Delaware Park, and the streets-- including a section of the Scajaquada Expressway-- were swept clean and closed off for it. 2,180 people participated, and my phone says it was 10.2 miles door to door. Not a killer distance, but my first time on the bike this spring. It was a little too slow for comfort-- I am still very new on this bike and still getting used to it, but I am liking it more and more.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Reading the news accounts of Judge Skretny's decision in the Casino case I was at first inclined to think that he'd punted. Now that I have read the decision, I take that back. He got it right, I think, and has written a careful, narrow opinion that counsel for the Seneca ought to read carefully before doing anything else.
Monday, June 12, 2006
I thought I'd cross-train Sunday, so I got on my bike and rode to the river. For variety, I went over the rail bridge, then down to Ferry, along Niagara, over the trail that leads to Porter, then through LaSalle Park. I continued past the Largest Inland Naval Park in the Whole World, then into the Cobblestone District. The demolition of the HO Oats elevator was ongoing, a mobile crane with a weight shaped like an inverted "U" clanging into the concrete walls. They are working from what I think of as the back-- you can't see the demolition from the Skyway-- and I assume this is deliberate. The area is fenced off, with big purple signs that announce that this is sovereign territory. The mast of the crane flies a Seneca flag, and the whole thing looked to me like a big extended middle finger. "Our sovereign territory. Not your history. Our sovereign territory, to do with as we please."
I can't say that the elevators ever seemed like more than a monument to a bygone moment in the history of the city-- they outlived their usefulness, and were not especially attractive. Even so, they were interesting looking, which is more, I expect, than we will be able to say about the casino.
Everybody talks about this location as the Cobblestone District, by the way, and that is accurate enough, but it didn't close the circle for me. Where this actually is located is next to the Perry Street projects. People are often surprised that I am unsympathetic to Native Americans, but concerned and angry about the treatment that African Americans receive in our society. If this seems contradictory, perhaps it is: Europeans have screwed everyone they could for all of their history, but I'd have to say that if you'd like to see a visible example of how the North American native population got a better shake than the people that were brought here as property you could do worse than to hustle down to the corner of Perry and Marvin. On the one side there is a section of the City of Buffalo that has been ceded to a group that is acknowledged as sovereign. On the other is some of the most dismal, poverty blighted public housing I've ever seen anywhere.
I finished off my demolition tour by going down to the Larkin site. All that remains of the Administration Building is a section of wall. I've driven by it-- it is next to the railroad bridge that goes over Swan Street-- but I'd never stood next to it; I'd assumed that it was a portion of the building itself, but it is not. It is a fence pier, I think the one shown in the bottom right of this photo. Then I rode home.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
I suppose the vices we pursue are the vices we love best, but it is still fun, every now and then, to chip a little with a different vice. Still, I'm glad that my vices are more glamorous than gambling. Do you think that any of the people who want to see a casino in Buffalo have ever been in an OTB? My word, what a sorry assemblage of humanity congregates there! You'd figure that Derby Day is like the day after Thanksgiving at Fortunoff's in OTB land-- all the regulars are there, and all the amateurs as well. That's not how it looks, though. It looks like a cross between an unemployment office and the smokers lounge at a VA hospital. There is nothing even remotely glamorous about the OTB. Even a couple of guys in battered straw hats would spruce the place up. I don't know that I have ever been in a bar as divey as even a reasonably nice OTB-- I don't think a bar could be that divey, or an opium den, either. OTB is a step above crackhouse on the glamour scale-- barely.
Interestingly, it was not a stag crowd. The clerks are frequently women, of course, and a less maternal group you will never see, although I suppose it is possible that they are somebody's mothers. There was also a sprinkling of what I took to be wives or girlfriends, a talkative lot, who didn't seem to be talking about the ponys. The serious OTB patrons don't talk much at all, or when they talk they talk exclusively about who they like in the next race--and maybe sometimes why. Mostly they just sit at the tables and scribble bets, or stand on line to place bets, or stand under the television sets watching the horses they have bet on. They mostly watch silently-- there is very little joy in their spectating, from what I can tell. When a race is over, they turn away, and start studying for the next one.
Of course, I must have looked peculiar to the denizens of the Delaware Avenue OTB, togged out in tights, windbreaker and helmet. Bicycles are not unknown to this crowd, but usually a bike is a mode of transportation resorted to because a judge took your car keys. These guys didn't think I looked like Lance Armstrong: they may have thought I was Spiderman. "I see you're wearing your helmet," the punter who was sitting at the table I sat down at said in his rheummy voice. "Well, sure," I said. "You gotta protect your head." He nodded in agreement, then returned to his scratch sheet.
As I surveyed the field I became increasingly convinced that Andy's read is correct. Barbaro looks like the class of the field. WJA had called yesterday with instructions to play him across the board, no doubt getting the little tingle that comes from using an electronic device to place a wager over state lines. I put Barbaro in my boxed exacta with Point Determined and Bob And John filling out my ticket, then went with him one more time, on the nose. Captain X touted me away from Sinister Minister-- I may be back for him if he goes to Baltimore, but in this field I think he'll flame out down the stretch.
UPDATE: Barbaro paid $13.40 $7.60 $5.70. Thanks Andy!
UPDATE II: Adam Hofstetter nails the OTB experience in this Sports Illustrated piece. "Whoever said horse racing is the sport of kings has obviously never been to an OTB. Not a lot of royalty hanging out at the OTB on a regular basis. Unless, of course, one of those old drunk guys happens to be the Duke of Windsor. "I say, my good man, would you kindly fetch me my walking stick? I must make haste back to the manor before afternoon tea, as the Duchess will be most displeased with my losses this fine day." I hear that the good Duke prefers the George Washington Bridge Bus Terminal location."
Interestingly, it was not a stag crowd. The clerks are frequently women, of course, and a less maternal group you will never see, although I suppose it is possible that they are somebody's mothers. There was also a sprinkling of what I took to be wives or girlfriends, a talkative lot, who didn't seem to be talking about the ponys. The serious OTB patrons don't talk much at all, or when they talk they talk exclusively about who they like in the next race--and maybe sometimes why. Mostly they just sit at the tables and scribble bets, or stand on line to place bets, or stand under the television sets watching the horses they have bet on. They mostly watch silently-- there is very little joy in their spectating, from what I can tell. When a race is over, they turn away, and start studying for the next one.
Of course, I must have looked peculiar to the denizens of the Delaware Avenue OTB, togged out in tights, windbreaker and helmet. Bicycles are not unknown to this crowd, but usually a bike is a mode of transportation resorted to because a judge took your car keys. These guys didn't think I looked like Lance Armstrong: they may have thought I was Spiderman. "I see you're wearing your helmet," the punter who was sitting at the table I sat down at said in his rheummy voice. "Well, sure," I said. "You gotta protect your head." He nodded in agreement, then returned to his scratch sheet.
As I surveyed the field I became increasingly convinced that Andy's read is correct. Barbaro looks like the class of the field. WJA had called yesterday with instructions to play him across the board, no doubt getting the little tingle that comes from using an electronic device to place a wager over state lines. I put Barbaro in my boxed exacta with Point Determined and Bob And John filling out my ticket, then went with him one more time, on the nose. Captain X touted me away from Sinister Minister-- I may be back for him if he goes to Baltimore, but in this field I think he'll flame out down the stretch.
UPDATE: Barbaro paid $13.40 $7.60 $5.70. Thanks Andy!
UPDATE II: Adam Hofstetter nails the OTB experience in this Sports Illustrated piece. "Whoever said horse racing is the sport of kings has obviously never been to an OTB. Not a lot of royalty hanging out at the OTB on a regular basis. Unless, of course, one of those old drunk guys happens to be the Duke of Windsor. "I say, my good man, would you kindly fetch me my walking stick? I must make haste back to the manor before afternoon tea, as the Duchess will be most displeased with my losses this fine day." I hear that the good Duke prefers the George Washington Bridge Bus Terminal location."
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
Your client was injured in the Seneca Niagara Casino. What do you do? Is there a claims procedure? Can you sue it? Where do you sue it? One of the invisible consequences of Governor Pataki's deal with the Seneca is that the answers to questions like these are harder to find than they should be-- and, I suspect, the process is a good deal less transparent than it should be. For starters, you can have a look at Appendix H of the Nation-State Gaming Compact Between the Seneca Nation of Indians and the State of New York. Do it before a year has run on your client's claim. I am particularly intrigued by the fact that this document is marked "Privileged and Confidential". What the hell is that about? Look, I understand about sovereignty (and can even pronounce it), but the New York State Executive Law provision pertaining to the establishment of casinos (Executive Law Sec. 12) states that the Nation is to provide "assurances that the Nation has an adequate civil recovery system which guarantees fundamental due process to visitors and guests of the facility and related facilities; and (iii) assurances that the Nation will maintain during the term of the compact sufficient liability insurance to assure that visitors and guests will be compensated for their injuries." I don't see how an Appendix to a confidential document accomplishes this, but I guess it's not so very confidential if it's on the internet. It's an interesting document throughout. "Damages" for example mean only medical expenses, lost earnings, "property lost and other economic harms" that are a direct consequence of an injury caused by the fault of the Nation. "'Damages' do not include non-economic injury." That lets pain and suffering out-- and I don't see anything about wrongful death in there, either. There is a $5 million dollar cap. With rules like those-- and control over the forum-- maintiaining adequate liability insurance shouldn't be too expensive.
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
So last week -- last Thursday morning, at about 3:30-- I woke up with serious abdominal pain. After I ruled out ectopic pregnancy I really wasn't sure what might be the cause, so I vomited for a while, and went to sleep in the back bedroom so my thrashing and moaning wouldn't disturb A. Of course, sleep was not in the picture, and in the morning I told A. that I'd be staying at home in agony. Naturally she wanted to be all helpful and stuff, but she also had a deposition to get to. I told her that if things took a turn I would either call her or die. I didn't die, although there were moments when I considered wishing for death's sweet release. Long story short, ER that night, and it was a kidney stone, which they told me I had passed. Friday I felt improved until about midnight, when I was revisited by the tortures of the darned. I'm not going to say that it was the worst pain I've ever experienced, but it was certainly an experience that I would wish upon a very select few people.*
(*Names available on request.)
I'm all better now, thanks, but the experience gave me a glimpse into modern American medical practice that I hadn't had before. The ER at Sister's Hospital, where A decided to take me ("What if I need an abortion?" I moaned) was the usual ER thing. Sisters is on the border of white/black Buffalo, so there was a pleasing demographic mix, and it's not the first choice for trauma, so there was nobody there holding cups of ice with severed pieces in them, which was also nice. They told me to follow up with a urologist, and that's where it started: the next day I got a call from the urology practice they'd recommended. They called me. I wasn't up for taking the call on Friday, but on Monday I checked in, and they gave me an appointment for that afternoon. That sort of alacrity in scheduling struck me as unusual, but if they had an opening I wasn't going to question it, so I made my way out to one of those big medical office buildings that one sees in first ring suburbs-- a fancy new building, with an attractive little coffee shop in the lobby. There were two or three practice groups in the building-- the urology group, an oncology group, and maybe one other, and it didn't occur to me til latter, but I'd be willing to bet that the docs who own the practices likewise own the building in some sort of real estate investment partnership independent from their practices. That nice little coffee shop is a cheery cherry on top of their return-- they rent the practice space to themselves, and get a little bonus every month in the form of the rent from the guy who sells sandwiches to the staff.
The parking lot was jammed. Seriously, I drove around three times to get a spot. When I got out of the elevator I saw why. The entire second floor was divided into two large spaces, on either side of the two elevators. On one side was a large waiting room, filled with sad men whose penises won't even piss any more. On the other side was a big circular reception desk, about the size of a circus ring, with white-coated women taking patient information. There were, I'd say, about a dozen of them. In front of each was an electronic signature pad. In between the waiting room and the desk there was a line with about twenty or so more of the sadly afflicted. It was a daunting picture-- I've walked away from movie lines that long, but it moved along briskly. As we shuffled toward the head of the line more white-coated women bearing clipboards would walk out past us in to the waiting room, call out patient names, and escort them back to the examining area. (Isn't it odd that the way you know who the doctor is today is that it's the person who is not wearing a white coat? )
At the desk you give your insurance information. They had my chart-- they had a copy of my ER discharge. I signed HIPPA stuff, and insurance stuff, and the rest electronically-- the reception person told me what it was, and I suppose if I'd cared to read any of it they'd have given me a copy to sit down with, but if that ever happens I'd fall over from shock. I was given a cup, and directed over to the right, where there were a half dozen lavatories. Inside the lavatories, of course, were more sad old men, struggling to produce urine-- the very reason they were there in the first place. When a room opened up I pissed into the cup, put the cup into the little automat door, returned to the desk and was given a clipboard and some paperwork to play with for a while. I was on the second page when a woman in a white coat who looked a little like Kristin Chenoweth called my name and took me to an examining room. Five minutes latter I was chatting with the doc, who thought the hospitality aspect of my practice sounded cool. He wanted to talk about some of his tourism adventures, so we worked that in with our discussion about kidney stones. My urine had already been analyzed. (There was still some blood, but nothing to get worried about.) We probably spent about 15 minutes together, and probably we spent that much time because we were enjoying our chat. I'm sure it was a happy respite from examining the parade of sad old man penises that comprise most of his day. Outside each of the examining rooms were computer stations, so that each doctor could complete his or her report on the spot. Since we were having such a fine old time talking about Scandinavian travel my guy filled out his while I was standing there. In that time I saw two other doctors writing theirs too, while their patients waited. I was sent to the desk again-- a different quadrant this time-- given a follow-up date, and sent on my merry way.
The whole experience was polite-- even cheerful. The place was clean and brightly lit. Except for the sad old men (and their stoic wives) everyone was attractive and nice. It took less than an hour, but it didn't feel impersonal-- just mind-bendingly efficent. And that's what medical practice is today, I guess. The doc I saw-- very nice guy-- was an employee. Everyone I saw was an employee. It was not at all the way I'd thought an industrialized medical practice would be-- no concrete block walls or metal desks, nothing squalid or depressing, just a big machine for making money. It was completely different from the ER (Florescent lights, linoleum, concrete block walls), or my doctor's cheery little sole practice, or any other medical interaction I've ever had. It sort of reminded me of a casino-- there is a service being delivered, but the chief function of the place is to efficiently make money. Or maybe a better analogy would be some place like the Cheesecake Factory. I've never been, because I see no reason to go to a chain restaurant, but I understand the food is good, and the service is chipper. They have the restaurant experience defined down to the number of steps it takes to take your order, prepare the order and bring you your order-- really, down to the steps it takes to set up the mis en place. From what I have read the experience of a meal at the Cheesecake Factory is very nearly exactly like what one might have at an actual fine dining restaurant, except that as you are having your experience thousands and thousands of people all over the country are having the exact same experience. That's a bit unnerving.
(*Names available on request.)
I'm all better now, thanks, but the experience gave me a glimpse into modern American medical practice that I hadn't had before. The ER at Sister's Hospital, where A decided to take me ("What if I need an abortion?" I moaned) was the usual ER thing. Sisters is on the border of white/black Buffalo, so there was a pleasing demographic mix, and it's not the first choice for trauma, so there was nobody there holding cups of ice with severed pieces in them, which was also nice. They told me to follow up with a urologist, and that's where it started: the next day I got a call from the urology practice they'd recommended. They called me. I wasn't up for taking the call on Friday, but on Monday I checked in, and they gave me an appointment for that afternoon. That sort of alacrity in scheduling struck me as unusual, but if they had an opening I wasn't going to question it, so I made my way out to one of those big medical office buildings that one sees in first ring suburbs-- a fancy new building, with an attractive little coffee shop in the lobby. There were two or three practice groups in the building-- the urology group, an oncology group, and maybe one other, and it didn't occur to me til latter, but I'd be willing to bet that the docs who own the practices likewise own the building in some sort of real estate investment partnership independent from their practices. That nice little coffee shop is a cheery cherry on top of their return-- they rent the practice space to themselves, and get a little bonus every month in the form of the rent from the guy who sells sandwiches to the staff.
The parking lot was jammed. Seriously, I drove around three times to get a spot. When I got out of the elevator I saw why. The entire second floor was divided into two large spaces, on either side of the two elevators. On one side was a large waiting room, filled with sad men whose penises won't even piss any more. On the other side was a big circular reception desk, about the size of a circus ring, with white-coated women taking patient information. There were, I'd say, about a dozen of them. In front of each was an electronic signature pad. In between the waiting room and the desk there was a line with about twenty or so more of the sadly afflicted. It was a daunting picture-- I've walked away from movie lines that long, but it moved along briskly. As we shuffled toward the head of the line more white-coated women bearing clipboards would walk out past us in to the waiting room, call out patient names, and escort them back to the examining area. (Isn't it odd that the way you know who the doctor is today is that it's the person who is not wearing a white coat? )
At the desk you give your insurance information. They had my chart-- they had a copy of my ER discharge. I signed HIPPA stuff, and insurance stuff, and the rest electronically-- the reception person told me what it was, and I suppose if I'd cared to read any of it they'd have given me a copy to sit down with, but if that ever happens I'd fall over from shock. I was given a cup, and directed over to the right, where there were a half dozen lavatories. Inside the lavatories, of course, were more sad old men, struggling to produce urine-- the very reason they were there in the first place. When a room opened up I pissed into the cup, put the cup into the little automat door, returned to the desk and was given a clipboard and some paperwork to play with for a while. I was on the second page when a woman in a white coat who looked a little like Kristin Chenoweth called my name and took me to an examining room. Five minutes latter I was chatting with the doc, who thought the hospitality aspect of my practice sounded cool. He wanted to talk about some of his tourism adventures, so we worked that in with our discussion about kidney stones. My urine had already been analyzed. (There was still some blood, but nothing to get worried about.) We probably spent about 15 minutes together, and probably we spent that much time because we were enjoying our chat. I'm sure it was a happy respite from examining the parade of sad old man penises that comprise most of his day. Outside each of the examining rooms were computer stations, so that each doctor could complete his or her report on the spot. Since we were having such a fine old time talking about Scandinavian travel my guy filled out his while I was standing there. In that time I saw two other doctors writing theirs too, while their patients waited. I was sent to the desk again-- a different quadrant this time-- given a follow-up date, and sent on my merry way.
The whole experience was polite-- even cheerful. The place was clean and brightly lit. Except for the sad old men (and their stoic wives) everyone was attractive and nice. It took less than an hour, but it didn't feel impersonal-- just mind-bendingly efficent. And that's what medical practice is today, I guess. The doc I saw-- very nice guy-- was an employee. Everyone I saw was an employee. It was not at all the way I'd thought an industrialized medical practice would be-- no concrete block walls or metal desks, nothing squalid or depressing, just a big machine for making money. It was completely different from the ER (Florescent lights, linoleum, concrete block walls), or my doctor's cheery little sole practice, or any other medical interaction I've ever had. It sort of reminded me of a casino-- there is a service being delivered, but the chief function of the place is to efficiently make money. Or maybe a better analogy would be some place like the Cheesecake Factory. I've never been, because I see no reason to go to a chain restaurant, but I understand the food is good, and the service is chipper. They have the restaurant experience defined down to the number of steps it takes to take your order, prepare the order and bring you your order-- really, down to the steps it takes to set up the mis en place. From what I have read the experience of a meal at the Cheesecake Factory is very nearly exactly like what one might have at an actual fine dining restaurant, except that as you are having your experience thousands and thousands of people all over the country are having the exact same experience. That's a bit unnerving.
