Atlantic City

In November 1976, the state of New Jersey embarked upon a bold experiment when the voters approved a referendum to authorize casino gambling in Atlantic City. Expectations were high: the gaming industry could rejuvenate a dying city core, employment would swell, the tax base would broaden and welfare rolls diminish, tourism might spread through the state, and the cruel spectacle of a poverty-stricken community would be eliminated. The Atlantic City Gamble reports the results of this experiment and evaluates casinos as a tool for economic revitalization, a painless source of revenue. The casinos are enormously profitable--but for whom? The city has paid a huge toll in human and economic hardship. There are 30,000 new jobs, but little spillover into non-casino employment. Crime rates have skyrocketed. Housing has been priced beyond the reach of minority groups and the elderly. In 1982, the casinos paid more than $117 million in state taxes, but much of the projected bonanza to Atlantic City has been swallowed by the industry's need for expanded municipal services, such as police protection. Fears of the old connection between gambling and organized crime may be exaggerated, but few can deny that the gaming industry--with its immense daily cash flow--harbors a vast potential for corruption. The state promoted visions of a glorious rebirth, but it failed to provide a governing mechanism that could produce the promised rewards. Would better planning and research enable any government to cope with such instant large-scale business and the political clout it carries? Economic strangulation has motivated at least eight other states to think about letting in casinos. The decisions they make will have far-reaching social and economic consequences, and must be based on a set of facts as accurate and comprehensive as possible. In searching out the lessons of Atlantic City, the authors have provided a sobering glimpse into the intricacies of legalized gambling.

Atlantic City was born in the mid-nineteenth century and grew so big, so fast, that it captured the American imagination. It was 'the World's Playground'. Its hotels were the largest and finest, its nightclubs legendary, its boardwalk an endless promenade. And then, as it began to fade, the casinos came. And instead of reviving the city they killed it. Chief among the villains in this piece is Donald J Trump, who built his casinos on dunes of debt and bled them into bankruptcy. On the presidential campaign trail Trump boasted of his 'success' in Atlantic City, how he had outwitted Wall Street and leveraged his own name for riches. He would do for America what he had done for Atlantic City, he said. And so it came to be. Brian Rose has documented what remains of the city in the aftermath of the casino explosion. The images are haunting. Atlantic City may never recover. AUTHOR: Brian Rose studied at Cooper Union with photographers Joel Meyerowitz and Larry Fink. His documentation of lower Manhattan over a twenty-year period resulted in three books - Time and Space on the Lower East Side, Metamorphosis, and WTC, a chronicle of the Twin Towers and the rebuilding of the World Trade Center. His study of Berlin after the fall of the Wall led to The Lost Border, The Landscape of the Iron Curtain. His photographs are in the collections of the Museum of Modern Art and the Metropolitan Museum of Art. SELLING POINTS: * Powerful photographic record of the destruction of the USA's most famous resort town * Contains commentaries by news and broadcast media, juxtaposed with contemporary tweets by Donald Trump * Introduction by Pulitzer Prize winning author Paul Goldberger 60 colour images

ATLANTIC CITY features the High-Diving Horse, Mr. Peanut, Lucy the Elephant, and generations of Americans running amok under (and over) the Boardwalk.

In 1854, a group of engineers and railroad businessmen drew a straight line from Philadelphia to the New Jersey coast, built a railroad along the line, and created Atlantic City. From the 1850s to the 1950s, the city attracted the creme of American society and the working class alike and gave birth to the beauty pageant, rolling chair, boardwalk, saltwater taffy, jitney, and the successful Monopoly board game. But the onset of air travel in the 1950s and the aging grand hotels brought Atlantic City to its knees. The opening of Resorts International in 1978 and the prosperous gaming business that followed in its wake helped the city rise from its own ashes, and a year-round tourism industry exploded. Garish and opulent casino hotels replaced many of the boardwalk dowagers, and new palaces transformed the once desolate marina section into a vibrant destination.

During the Jim Crow era, a group of Atlantic City hotel owners and politicians agreed to designate Missouri Avenue Beach, later nicknamed Chicken Bone Beach, as sandy space where thousands of African American vacationers could enjoy the pleasures of family, friends, and summer fun annually. From the early 1900s to the mid-1960s, this space along the shoreline was occupied by local families and African American vacationers. Back then, Atlantic City was considered America's premiere resort. But off the Boardwalk between Mississippi and Missouri Avenues was where Blacks shared fond memories. The Northside, where local Black families lived, was where everyone from the East Coast and Midwest came to experience rhythm and blues and jazz at Club Harlem. Nearly every major Black artist and musician toured the Kentucky Avenue scene, and some even sunbathed on the beach. While the city remains an American cultural landscape, Chicken Bone Beach is a nearly forgotten landmark in the annals of outdoor leisure and recreation history.