Bingo's fun can have a price

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Bingo started as a way for Rosie Cardona to unwind. To take a breather from cleaning house, changing diapers and cooking.

But the 23-year-old admits the game is turning into an expensive routine. Cardona said she plays four or five nights a week, spending $300 to $400 a month at halls in Ceres, Modesto and Turlock.

Recently at Bet-Nahrain Assyrian Cultural Center in Ceres, Cardona hunched over a line of bingo sheets and clutched her "Betty Boop" marker.

"I'm waiting for 57 or 75," the Ceres woman whispered, clicking her marker on the table, poised to blot her lucky number.

Instead, 54 is called and a man on the other end of the room yells "Bingo!"

Cardona sighs, crumpling her number sheets and slumping in her chair. "This is why I get frustrated," she said. "I wait for one number over and over and over."

Recently at her birthday party, she found herself itching to go to a Sunday bingo marathon rather than sit down to dinner with family and friends.

"Yeah, I could say that I'm addicted. I come no matter what, even if I don't win," Cardona said. "There are a lot of people really addicted to it."

Bingo players are not the stereotypical gamblers. No icy poker faces. No aces up their sleeves. Still, their willingness to pay to play provides the bread and butter for several local nonprofit organizations.

A typical bingo operation produces millions of dollars over the course of a few years, according to Ceres police Sgt. Hollie Hall, who oversees the two operations in that city.

Most players say they don't go to bingo seeking riches. They come to socialize or to escape loneliness. Some come in search of entertainment.

But in every gambling hall, there are those who have a hard time walking away.

"If you want to spend all your recreation time gambling, then guess what? You have a problem," said Merle Jewett, who has facilitated Gamblers Anonymous meetings in Modesto for a decade. "Even if you can afford it."

When behavior turns addictive

Typically, an addiction results in dishonesty and manipulation of family and friends as a compulsive gambler struggles to hide the habit.

"When you're gambling, that's all you think about. It's all that matters," said Jewett, a 58-year-old recovering gambling addict. "You're not giving your family any attention because gambling is the focus of your emotions."

Jewett said one big win is enough to hook some people. "When you're gambling, you have no worldly worries. No demands. No troubles," he said. "It's a comfortable place to be."

Until the losses are counted. That's when the high gives way to devastation, Jewett said.

The U.S. Department of Public Health estimates the number of compulsive gamblers in the nation at nearly 6 million and rising.

Americans legally wagered $550 billion in 1995, compared with $10.4 billion in 1982, according to statistics by the National Coalition Against Legalized Gambling. That figure includes bingo, which is legal in 46 states.

The number of American Indian casinos in the Central Valley and bingo halls locally mirrors this growth.

In the Modesto area, six nonprofit organizations host bingo, several nights a week, relying on the game as their main fund-raisers.

The Bet-Nahrain Assyrian Cultural Center on Central Avenue in Ceres took in almost $1.4 million in bingo revenue in 2001, netting $380,544, according to organization's 2002 tax documents.

St. Thomas Assyrian-Chaldean Catholic Church on North Berkeley Avenue in Turlock raised $88,122 from the game in 2003, according to records kept by the Turlock Police Department.

Financial information for the three other operations was not available despite requests to the Internal Revenue Service, police departments and the organizations.

The other operations are Assyrian American Association on Yosemite Boulevard in Modesto, the Assyrian American Civic Club on North Golden State Boulevard in Turlock, and the Assyrian Club of Urhai on Central Avenue in Ceres.

Hall, of the Ceres police, said there needs to be greater oversight and accounting of money pouring into bingo halls.

State law mandates that revenue generated by bingo operations go to charitable causes. But state authorities rarely police it, he said, leaving it to local jurisdictions.

For eight months, there's been no inspection of bingo halls in Ceres because the Police Department is short-handed, Hall said.

"Bingo is usually put on the back burner," said Hall, who just returned from an eight-month leave of absence. "It's awful hard to take a detective off homicide, rape and robbery cases to go enforce bingo."

Hall has called for a professional firm to audit the halls. But at a cost of $40,000, the audit is a tough sell during a statewide budget crunch, he said.

"We want a precise picture of where the money is going," he said. "Bingo is basically a volunteer-run operation that deals in cash, and so it's awful hard to catch any discrepancies. Right now, they just do internal auditing."

Hall said previous audits indicate the money usually goes back into the organization, to cover overhead, college scholarships, charity funerals and donations to other nonprofits.

Assyrian groups run local games

Some money goes to humanitarian causes in the Middle East, he said, adding that all the local bingos are run by Assyrian organizations.

Turlock police officer Dave Ranes said longtime bingo players regularly monitor the Turlock operation. They check whether jackpots exceed $250, the legal limit on nonprofit bingo prizes in California.

At the Mewuk Indians' Chicken Ranch Rancheria in Jamestown, however, the bingo jackpots grow until somebody wins, sometimes to as high as $30,000 to $40,000, according to Bob Watts, the Chicken Ranch bingo manager.

Watts said at least one-third of the bingo crowd flocks in from the Central Valley -- many riding Chicken Ranch buses that leave twice a day from Modesto and once a day from Stockton and Merced.

And while Indian casinos are becoming increasingly popular, bingo hall managers say they're more concerned about local competition.

One club to halt bingo

The Assyrian American Civic Club in Turlock soon will shut its bingo operation, first started in 1978, president Bill Julian said.

"In the last eight months, we haven't gained a penny," Julian said.

The club reopened its bingo in April after police closed it for a year and a half to conduct an investigation prompted by complaints about possible embezzlement of bingo funds, said Ranes, of the Turlock police. The club also lacked nonprofit status. Once the club applied for nonprofit status, the police allowed it to resume bingo.

But when the games resumed, the former flock of about 400 players a night didn't return. Crowds have dwindled to about 200 a night, Julian said.

Julian said the club can't keep pace with the competition's cheap rates -- five games for $10, prices so low players are flocking from Stockton and the Bay Area.

"We can't pay the overhead," Julian said.

That's how a lot of bingo aficionados feel.

When Renee Myers, 64, recently hit a $250 jackpot at the Yosemite Avenue hall, she clapped and shyly accepted a few congratulations from other players.

Wearing an ear-to-ear grin, Myers said she doubted she would report her good fortune to her husband.

"I'm not going to tell him. I'll save it just in case I run out of money," said Myers, who spends about $50 a week on bingo. The retired phone technician crotchets blankets, doilies, doll dresses and other decorations, hoping to sell them to build a nest egg for her hobby.

The key to avoiding addiction, bingo regulars say, is setting a firm limit on how much to spend. Once that money is lost, they walk away.

Before going to the bingo hall on Yosemite Boulevard. 64-year-old Edward Michael said he puts $24 in his pocket. That's all he can afford to lose per night, said Michael, who lives on a fixed income with his wife.

That buys him and his wife 20 games, a night's worth of entertainment, far from the drone of his hated television.

"As much as you bring, that's what you're gonna spend," Michael said with a firm nod.

Of course, most local bingo halls feature automated teller machines inside.

But Angelina Vasquez said she avoids the ATM at Bet-Nahrain.

The child-care worker cannot afford to drop more than $50, plus whatever she makes selling tiny silk roses each bingo night.

Vasquez, 54, said she reads the Bible and believes God frowns on gambling. She explained in Spanish that she doesn't play because she wants to. She said she goes because her husband does.

If she doesn't, he flirts with other women, she said, laughing with them, lending them money. "When I'm here, nobody asks him if they can borrow money," Vasquez said, eyeing her husband, Miguel, with a smile.

Still, Vasquez said she enjoys the fast-paced game of random numbers and chance.

"It's a nice distraction," she said. "When I come to play, at least I know my money's goes to helping the churches."

Source: ModBee.com