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U.S. Casino Directory - Alabama
ALABAMA-COUSHATTA RESERVATION - For eight exciting months, the 1,000 members of the Alabama-Coushatta Tribe sampled the gambling bonanza that they had shunned during the 1990s.
Between Nov. 24, 2001, and July 25, 2002, an average of 3,500 gamblers a day played the 349 slot machines in the log-walled gift shop that the Alabama-Coushatta had converted into an entertainment center.
The tribe cleared "over a million dollars a month," said tribal council chairman Kevin Battise. The total profits exceeded the $10 million the tribe obtained last year from its only other major source of revenue, royalties from the dwindling production of its seven remaining oil and gas wells.
The casino had to be closed abruptly last July, after a federal judge ruled that the sovereign tribe had no right to operate a casino without permission from the sovereign state of Texas. The tribe is appealing.
The setback was especially hard on the 460 tribe members, including 114 with diabetes, living on the reservation 16 miles east of the nearest town, Livingston. Like American Indians on most rural reservations without gambling, their life never has been easy.
The economic expansion of the 1990s bypassed the Alabama-Coushattas. Tourists lost interest in its aging attractions: the Indian Village, the train that huffed its way through the Big Thicket National Preserve, the traditional dances, the fast food at the Inn of the Twelve Clans. All the ventures provided seasonal jobs, but lost money for years before the tribal council shut them down.
Unemployment rose to 11.2 percent, more than 7 points above the national rate, according to the Census Bureau. The real jobless rate among working-age adults was 46 percent, said Battise, who also counts stay-at-home parents and grandparents, people who ignore census forms and people too discouraged to look for work.
Median family income on the reservation was $30,000 in 1999, far below the national median of $50,046. The 23 percent poverty rate was more than 10 points above the U.S. average.
The septic systems in 8 percent of the houses have failed. Twelve percent lack phones, even though local phone service is available for as little as a dollar a month.
But at a meeting of the whole tribe in 1994, the members voted 70 to 30 percent against opening a casino. "People were worrying that it might bring in the Mafia, that there'd be prostitutes and drug dealers all up and down the road," said Sharon Miller, the tribe's public relations director.
For five years they watched as more tribes across the nation opted for casinos, and tribal gambling revenue grew to be twice the size of the federal government's Indian budget.
"We had a chance to see the new housing and roads and jobs on other reservations that did have gaming, but didn't have any of those horrid side effects," Miller said.
By 1999, sentiment within the tribe had reversed. By 70 to 30 percent, the members authorized their council to pursue gaming. The gaming hall opened the Saturday after Thanksgiving in 2001, but was shut down three weeks after the following Fourth of July.
The 287 casino employees, who included 75 tribal members, received three more months of wages and benefits. Then the tribe laid off all but six, who maintain the empty center, pay lingering bills and plan for a possible revival of gaming.
"A few found jobs, and some already had other jobs," said council member Cheryl Downing. "But from what I hear and see, about seven out of 10 people that we laid off still haven't found work."
While the casino was open, the 170-person staff of the tribal government had added another 50 employees, mostly members. They still have their new jobs. But that is almost sure to change, predicted tribal administrator James Richardson.
"Unless alternative revenues come to this tribe, some people within the tribal government are going to lose their jobs," Richardson said. "The bottom line: A beautiful spot within a poor but beautiful county will become poverty-stricken and isolated once again."
So far, the tribal council has set aside $1.8 million of its one-time burst of gaming money to extend its sewer system, $1 million for a youth center and $2 million for houses for the 40 families, including Battise and his wife, who are living in relatives' homes. An assisted living center for older members, who today are dispersed in distant nursing homes where others don't speak their language, has received "conceptual approval," Battise said.
The Alabama-Coushatta have joined the state's other two federally recognized tribes, the Tigua and the Ysleta del Sur Pueblo, in lobbying the state legislature to authorize casinos on their existing reservations. The fate of the proposed legislation is uncertain, mostly because Gov. Rick Perry objects.
The tribe is arguing that it could help ease the state's revenue crisis, which is forcing deep cuts in next year's budget. There are ways for tribes to slip a slice of their gaming profits to state or local governments without violating the federal ban on state taxation of tribal gaming proceeds.
