Nostalgia and forethought

By CHRISTOPHER FREY

Talk about mixed feelings! I grew up in Sullivan County and have first-person experience in the tourism business that fed and sustained us for generations. Without vacationers, we would have been either in serious trouble or forced to invent other ways to earn a modest living. However, we made use of what nature blessed us with—a beautiful, clean environment and proximity to a mother lode of potential visitors two hours away.

My grandparents converted a farm near Barryville into a boarding house and ran it for over 40 years. Guests came back year after year to escape the noise and filth of New York City—our guests deserved the break and all of us were proud to provide healthy and memorable vacations.

Ironically one of my fondest memories of the place is the magnificently ornate cast iron slot machine on its pedestal. The pedestal was, in fact, Aunt Minnie’s sewing machine cabinet, but it served the purpose.

We fed nickels into this whirring work of art and pulled expectantly on the gleaming handle—taking our turns together with the resort guests enjoying what I can only describe as our micro-casino. So I am no stranger to the allure of sudden winnings and of collecting money with no real requirement to work.

Lore and legend tells us that the slot machine came from the garage of a local man who was an expert in repairing them and whose customers were the illegal gambling syndicates that turned Elliott Ness into a household name. Supposedly, these unsavory characters brought them up from “the city” to be fixed, and not quite all of them made it back down to grace the green felt tables of the speakeasys and gin joints of that era.

So now it has come full circle. We seem to want to bring those machines back to our county by the truckload—in full operating condition. We also want to bring the card games and the roulette wheels, the voluptuous cocktail waitresses and the endless steam tables, and the temptation and excesses that are the hallmarks of gaming.

I have seen and/or worked in resort areas in many parts of the world—I have visited Reno and Atlantic City, St. Martin and the Canary Islands. I have been on the gambling boats off Florida and even pushed a few slot machine buttons on the ferry to Nova Scotia.

Ever since the push for gambling in Sullivan County began to intensify in the last decade, I have sought out casino experiences in Native American-run plastic palaces near Palm Springs, CA and on the fringes of the smelly swamps of Florida.

Nostalgic as I may be for the slot machine on Aunt Minnie’s sewing machine at Maple Grove Farm, I simply must say that casinos are a bad deal for just about everyone.

I have seen the glazed-over eyes and the shaky hands of casino addicts; I have shared second-hand smoke in bars and legion halls in the smallest towns of Alberta, Canada where VLT’s are visited more often than church confessionals. I have not seen one healthy thing about “gaming” that is worthy of the insinuation that it’s a game.

County residents, village fathers and mothers–do not fall for the fool’s gold of casino gambling. With apologies to Willie Nelson–Momma, don’t let your babies grow up to be blackjack dealers.

I am a passionate advocate of the hospitality business. It is what Sullivan County has been about in large measure, and it should remain part of the business mix as the region ensures its rebirth. It is an honorable profession and it brings good rewards; a fine restaurant is one of the great blends of art and commerce.

There are many wonderful aspects to hosting people on vacation and at leisure; we should honor those who work in the industry and find more reasons for folks to visit Sullivan County than the hollow promises of winning the big one.

On those long ago Saturday mornings at Maple Grove Farm, when we used to gather on the porch to ring handbells and send our guests off to the city after their week’s vacation, we were proud that they had all had a restful and memorable experience in the country air.

It’s not over until it’s over. Stay involved.

[Christopher Frey grew up in Barryville and presently lives in Naples, FL, where he is employed by Hyatt Vacation Club, a division of Hyatt Corporation.]

Also in this issue:

• It’s all in the numbers

Dr. Punnybone

Zero Hour