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THE LAST WORD What, me worry? W e here in the great state ofLooziana have a lesson to teach you folks chasing video lottery, or video poker, as we've chosen to call it. It's a very simple lesson, and it goes like this: politicians are unpredictable. You already knew that? Let me be more specific: even after passage of a statute legalizing video lottery, don't be surprised if, down the road, there's a movement to wipe it out. Here's the story. Our illustrious governor, Edwin Edwards, has long contended that casino gambling is the one and only tonic to revive the state's ailing economy. Many questioned whether his motives were altruistic, believing that the silver fox simply preferred to lug suitcases full of cash to New Orleans rather than all the way to Las Vegas. When he lost the governor's mansion (I should be clear: it was lost via the election process, not in a bet) to Buddy Roemer in 1987, it was felt that the idea of casino gambling had been snuffed out along with the political life of Edwin Edwards. But like a Cajun phoenix, Edwards rose from the ashes and reclaimed the governor's office in 1991 , defeating David Duke in a race that pitted The Crook vs. The Klansman. (Boy, do we know how to generate favorable press down here?) During his campaign and up until the start of the 1992 legislative session, Edwards proclaimed that he was taking a hands-off approach to casino gambling. He wouldn't lobby for it, but should a bill reach his desk that PLAY METER 158 AUGUST1992 called for creation of a single casino in New Orleans-or one in every parish, one would believe-he'd sign it. But once the session started, it was vintage Edwards. When it appeared that a casino bill would not make it out of the House, he resorted to a tactic favored by the brothers Long, Huey and Earl: he promised recalcitrant legislators plenty of pork for their districts in exchange for a "yea" vote or, alternatively, threatened to sabotage a project earmarked for their backyards. After assorted shenanigans (call me if you want the scoop; I would need four pages to recite them am, the bill finally passed in the House and Senate. New Orleans would get a land-based casino at the foot of Canal Street. Legislators then juggled various amendments to the bill, most aimed at constitutionally limiting the number of casinos in New Orleans to one (the bill as passed had no such limitations). With only days left in the session, the House dropped a bombshell: it passed an amendment that limited the number of casinos in New Orleans to one, but it also repealed the video poker law passed in 1991 at the end of Roemer's tenure. Edwards has long expressed his distaste for the machines, so everyone knew where he stood. Many House members said they voted to repeal video poker because gambling had gotten out of hand in Louisiana, and it being the most injurious to poor, misguided souls, it had to go. Editorial writers and commentators cheered; the menace, if the Senate went along, would finally be removed. We could all leave our doors unlocked again. The Senate was set to vote on the House amendment the next day, only about 24 hours before the session had to close. The fate of a fledgling new industry, one fought for long and hard by a dedicated group of coin machine professionals, laid in the balance. Would the Senate kill video poker before it had a chance to prove itself? Thankfully, no, but that tense two-day period should serve as a lesson to all who strive for legalized video poker. This amendment came out of the blue; it was a total shock to everyone. Video poker was used as bait by some legislators to try to get their way on an issue much more important to them. It failed this time in Louisiana, but who's to say it won't happen again the next time the Legislature convenes? Don't think this can only happen in the banana republic I call my home, Louisiana. As long as there are backstabbing politicians in this land, no state's video poker law is safe. D Christopher Caire News Editor