Towns Struggle For Their Souls

The devil arrives in a baseball cap, or sometimes a fisherman’s sweater, or on occasion a business suit. Once the townspeople are disarmed by his friendliness, he extends a withered hand and makes the offer: Give me your town, and I’ll reduce your taxes.

Casinos and discount superstores, though very different operations, both serve as vehicles for the demonic takeover. They prey on places made vulnerable by economic hardship with the promise of jobs. They focus their pitches on the unsophisticated who value low taxes over all else. Some cities and towns that have succumbed to the devil’s entreaties now regret it. They are finding, however, that once they lose their soul, it is very hard to get it back.

Consider Atlantic City, N.J. Before the casinos took over, Atlantic City was an old seaside resort in decline. It still possessed fantastic grand hotels, a fine beachfront and a promenade. These are the same ingredients the French used to make Cannes into a world-famous tourist destination. Unfortunately, New Jersey’s economic development people, like many of their counterparts across the United States, figured the city was easier to replace than fix up. The appearance of gambling interests with fistfuls of cash and promises of more to come clinched the deal.

Never mind that the Jersey shore’s wide sandy beaches are far more splendid than the polluted strands along the Riviera. Our economic planners seem pretty good at turning silk purses into sows’ ears. The casino companies proceeded to dynamite the grand hotels and erect windowless gambling dens. This may be the only example in the Western (or Eastern) world in which developers purposely cut off a glorious ocean view.

In any event, the casino jobs went to commuters, the slums got slummier, and the tax revenues fell below expectations. Atlantic City now wants to recover by offering some non-gaming activities in an effort to attract families. The plan is to turn a weed-and-garbage-strewn piece of land behind the casinos into a green corridor. It would include a hotel, stores and amusement center and connect with a new convention center.

Representatives of the Bally and Trump casinos got themselves appointed to the authority overseeing the corridor project and proceeded to sabotage it. (Casino operators seem concerned that other activities will take tourists’ minds off dropping quarters into their slot machines.) While complaining that the financing for the amusement center and hotel was insufficient, Bally secretly bought the piece of land next to its casino that was to be used for the retail and amusement center.

All we can say to Atlantic City is, “good luck.”

In Nowata, Okla., Wal-Mart built one of its discount stores. As giant stores on a town’s outskirts usually do, this one ravaged retailing in the historic town center. One day, Wal-Mart decided to pull out of Nowata. With it went the jobs, the tax revenues and the selection of cheap imported goods. Nowata now has neither WalMart nor historic town center. Its identity is pretty much gone.

Americans may like low taxes and cheap imported goods. The question nevertheless remains: Why would people who value their way of life hand over their town for so little in return?

The answer is that ordinary, trusting people are an easy mark. If the town is economically desperate, so much the better. The audience responds well to the seductive portrait of a protective corporate giant with a small-town heart. Wal-Mart’s billionaire founder, the late Sam Walton, liked to be photographed in a baseball cap. Store propaganda constantly refers to family-this and family-that. “Greeters” are hired to stand at the door in smocks and welcome all to WalMart.

The moment the Nowata Wal-Mart no longer made sense to the corporate planning department, it was history. Nowata lost the taxes and the 70 jobs its biggest business provided. The town’s budget has fallen into a deficit, but its old small retailers - half of which closed after Wal-Mart opened - are too weakened to pick up the slack. The services of Earl Duvall, the greeter, are likewise no longer needed.

It took decades to build up Nowata’s small-town business district and only a handshake with a moneyed interest disguised in small-town clothes to trash it. Good luck to Nowata.

Hard-pressed municipalities need moral strength to turn down offers of lower taxes and seemingly no-lose economic development when that activity would harm the environment or the town’s traditional economy.

The fisherman’s sweater still shows up offering jobs if only he can build a waterfront refinery.

The feathered Indian headdress appears with blueprints for nature-oriented gambling.

The flannel shirt rides a tractor into town bearing superstore plans.

The struggle for the municipal soul continues.

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