EPISODE 5 | Playing Against the Paradigm

Coin In, Coin Out

[Slow, lullaby-like synthesizer plays in the background]

DAYVID FIGLER (NARRATION): I not only grew up in Las Vegas, I grew up immersed in its gambling culture. The apartment complex where we lived until I was 13, shared a block wall with the Riviera Hotel and Casino. My father walked to his job, which was dealing cards at the Sahara hotel. Because I spent so much time in those casinos, I remember the interior of all those joints better than any of the parks, libraries, roller skating rinks, movie theaters or arcades that were also part of my life. 

We’d go to casinos for dinners, for shows, to pick up my dad from work, to track down my dad when he didn’t come home from work, to meet up with visiting friends and family, or just to hang, in or around, while my parents gambled, mom mostly bingo, dad mostly craps. Vivid childhood memories.

[Sound of rapid knocking on a door swells into a menacing, musical rhythm]

But I have other memories, too, of my parents “discussing” gambling. I recall those as being “really loud” -- scream-fests actually -- to the point where I had trained myself to quickly fall asleep on first scream or at least try to, more loudly, think about something else. 

[Electronic music, reminiscent of a dungeon arcade game, plays in the background]

When my dad won, he was lauded as the greatest hunter and gatherer in the city. Sometimes stacks of cash would be spread out on the tables. 

Invariably though, the celebration would devolve.

It was, of course, worse when he lost. Then, my mom would chide him as a fool who put us all at risk; those “talks” lasted well into the night. 

And when, on occasion, my dad disappeared for extended periods, there was never much doubt where he was, and the solo screaming was aimed at the walls, ricocheting into oblivion. 

[A scream joins the sound of the music]

If all this sounds frantic, it was. Just not obvious to me. Because despite these emotional fluctuations, my parents were good at making everything seem more normal. Dad’s benders aside, my parents never missed any of my recitals, award ceremonies, parent-teacher conferences, or Cub Scout outings. 

We never went hungry, though [short laugh] we had more than a healthy amount of impractical meals in casinos: shrimp cocktails, prime rib the size of a small pony and cream pies galore, all “comped” by the pit boss. Mom got adept at balancing the unbalance-able ebb and flow of winnings and losses, and dad always had a backup paycheck coming in to keep the family afloat. We were never evicted, and, to my knowledge, they never stole as so many problem gamblers do; no one injured themselves, or to my knowledge, had those sort of dark thoughts. 

Still, as I came to realize that what I considered normal was not everyone’s normal, I knew I had to leave my hometown, to experience other ways of living, to do something “reputable” like... law school?... to get far away from the tumultuous world of gambling.

Now, in my 30th year of law practice, my parents long passed away, I find myself immersed in lives impacted by gambling, anew, and “normal” is the last word I’d use to describe it.

[Slow, lullaby-like synthesizer plays in the background]

FIGLER: So, why don’t you start, Nann, by telling me your name and then why don’t you tell me how we met?

NANN: My name is Nann. I’m a person in recovery from problem gambling. I work at the Nevada Council on Problem Gambling as the operations manager. 

I’m 58 years old and the first time I met you, I was incarcerated. I was starting, it was in my first year of a 4 to 10, and I had called and asked to see if I could hire you about a law I’d heard [of] after I came to prison that involved problem gambling. 

FIGLER: Once I got into it, I pretty much figured out that you didn’t get the appropriate treatment from the court that the law said that someone in your position should have. I remember you asked me if I could find out more to see if we could bring the matter back before the judge who sentenced you to prison for a period of time, between 4 and 10 years.

And then, we embarked upon that adventure together. 

FIGLER (NARRATION): In addition to Nann, I know and represent many people who have committed very serious criminal offenses that would have never have happened but for a verifiable psychological condition that puts them at grave risk. People with disrupted executive functioning; people who risk more than money when they gamble; people who stop seeing money as money, but just a means for escape. People like my parents who went a step beyond. 

NANN: Gambling was something that was a fun thing, that we’d go out and do with my mother-in-law. Done it for years. It was fun. It was structured. There was very little money to play with, and I stuck to that. As the years went by, life changed, things changed. You’re raising a blended family. The kids are getting older. Life just takes hold. Things get harder. 

My parents had became ill. There was a lot of traveling back and forth with that. 

I realized that’s where the crack in the foundation began, was realizing I could lose my rocks, which are my parents. And so, gambling became an escape, and then it became the desire to do it more than just two hours on a Friday night.

FIGLER: How much were you gambling at your peak? 

NANN: Thousands. Thousands that I was fully aware of in the moment, but not until I ever went and got that statement that was printed out did I ever see a true figure of a year’s worth of gambling, coin in and coin out, was over a million dollars. That was sickening. 

FIGLER (NARRATION): Most of my legal career has involved advocating for those without a voice, helping the indigent, challenging the processes and harsh consequences of a problematic criminal-justice system. But since I met Nann, I’ve begun to question whether having legalized gambling is worth the risks despite it being responsible for so much of our state’s revenue.

[Thoughtful, videogame-like music plays in the background]

NANN: We have a phrase, “our brains are hijacked.” And so, what was a normal way of thinking is no longer a normal way of thinking. I’m sitting in front of a machine. I was no longer anyone’s mother. I was no longer anyone’s employee. I was no longer anyone’s wife. I was literally connected to that machine. And it was just a place I could sit that was me and only me. And the money going in, it was what was needed to continue to play. 

The guilt was so great; the lies were so great; the depth of which I was digging myself, burying myself in a hole, knowing that, someday, this had to stop; only knowing I couldn’t. 

FIGLER (NARRATION): Nann should have never gone to prison, but I get it. There was a lot of money involved and angry victims. 

But learning about the explicit details of Nann’s experience in prison, it is painfully and tragically clear that none of that matters; that, ultimately, our laws need to be reexamined to be mindful of helping people with mental challenges, addictions, and their own unique circumstances. When it comes to the outcomes and impact of gambling as it relates to criminal justice, Nevada is a real mixed bag. And as more and more states come to gambling, the same questions will arise. 

NANN: The amount that I am charged with, that I’m paying restitution on, is a half a million dollars. And I will never be able to pay that back in my lifetime; [emotion wells in her voice] as hard as I try, as much as I want to, it’ll never be paid back. And that’s an insane amount of money. And the realization of that figure, it’s very hard to understand that I’m associated with that kind of debt that came from theft. It’s just, I can’t.

FIGLER (NARRATION): I even understand the resistance to a gambling diversion law in a state where it is important to have as much gambling as possible, and where talk of consequence is virtually taboo. 

I’m proud of my work in helping establish the gambling court that, in part, needed to come into being to accommodate its first participant, Nann. I couldn’t be happier that more and more individuals are being admitted into it now that it exists, and the diversion law has been revitalized. 

But I’m worried, too. As states tighten their budgets and some expand gambling options to fill monetary gaps, funds for problem gambling are likely to be some of the first to be cut. Nevada is already below the national average. I’m worried that the positive trend of the casino industry working harder towards responsible gambling efforts loses importance when profits are again foremost to their bottom line.

But I’m worried, most of all, that people are still getting caught up in a system indifferent to the pathway of how they got there. That traditional risk/reward, crime and punishment models are absolutely obsolete; that problem gamblers, especially prone to mischaracterization as simply having “greedy ways” or “lacking personal responsibility,” get ground up in the bigger system; a system focused on the size of the financial crime more than the human behind it. 

NANN: Problem gambling diagnosis doesn’t define the individual. We’re so much more than a diagnosis, [emotion wells in her voice] and there’s some really beautiful people that had an addiction that took us across a moral line. And to spend the time in prison that some people are spending because of this addiction? Good people who are now waiting just to get out, to start their treatment, we’re talking years. 

It’s hard to understand the guilt that I’m here and they’re still there. It’s even hard because this is something everyone should have at least the advantage to have.

Not everyone has to go to prison. Not everyone deserves to go to prison because it is a diagnosable disease, and these are good people. 

I have found three women; we all are here because of our crime, which resulted from gambling. So this law keeps being brought up -- why didn’t any of us get this chance?

[Slow, lullaby-like music plays in the background]

FIGLER (NARRATION): As a Vegas kid, I finally understand that, while anything but normal, my upbringing prepared me to be where I am right now, in a city that can bet on itself to do better. 

Las Vegas is a place that will always be different, but against all stereotypes, I’m committed to it also being a place of thoughtfulness, compassion, and care.