I went to Atlantic City this weekend with the significant
other to see Tony Bennett in concert.

And strange as it may seem, I have never been to Atlantic City.

We were greeted by a dazzling city of lights, excess and
fantasy – a cross between Las Vegas and Disney World.

Entering the Caesars Casino and Hotel lobby I soon
discovered this was not your typical family vacation hotel.

A multi-story statue of Caesar Augusta dominated the entire
marbled lobby while statues of goddesses playing ancient instruments looked
down from a domed ceiling. Was this our hotel lobby or Grand Central
Station? 

To get to our elevator lobby, we were directed along a
walk-way through one of the casinos. Bells and tunes emanating from the slots
created a constant din as we walked passed hundreds of mesmerized players,
intent on feeding machines with insatiable appetites for more money.

Our room held surprises too.

The large mirror over the bathroom vanity contained a flat
screen TV that emanated from inside the mirror. Awesome!

But that night at dinner, my rib eye at a high-end steak
chain cost $42 and was not even tender or done to my liking. I’ll take my Glen
Mills Outback any old day.

And Sunday morning, not wanting to spend $12
for pancakes in the hotel we decided to walk down the boardwalk to The
Country Kitchen. They definitely need Hanks Place in Atlantic City.

I'm going to pontificate at this point.

As we walked though the casino to the hotel lobby at 8 a.m. Sunday morning, there were people already,
or perhaps still, playing the slot machines. And from the looks of them they
were spending money meant to pay their electric, phone, medical
or food bills.

And here's a message for those poor souls. Despite the
occasional teaser from your friendly slot machine, with which you have
developed a close personal relationship: At the end of the night, the House
always wins.

Always!

Guess where the over-the-top opulence in the hotels comes
from. Your money!

Sadly, the same senior citizens and the poor, which tax
revenues on gaming were supposed to help, are being enticed by slick marketing
campaigns and are arriving by the bus loads to lose their social security
checks to the proverbial one-armed bandits.

That afternoon, we walked down the Boardwalk past the Taj
Mahal Casino with its golden domes and majestic white elephant. 

But we also saw something else.

People with dirty clothes
sleeping on benches; an old man in a wheel chair begging for money; an
older lady with her tambourine singing a hearty version of when the
"Saints Come Marching In" with a cup for money next to her.

Earlier at Harrah's a troubled man who seemed to
be experiencing a challenge with some substance was causing a commotion
with the guests waiting for the inter-casino jitney.  The general manager of Harrahs came out and told him in no
uncertain terms if he did not vacate the premises he was calling the police to
have him arrested. 

I had a great time on the whole, but the juxtaposition of
extravagance and want reminded me of a story in the book of Genesis about a
certain two cities that God destroyed for their wicked ways.

I think I'll stick with Cape May and Chincoteague
Island.