Casino Dreams

In one of the early James Bond movies, a SCUBA-equipped Sean Connery plants an underwater bomb, fights off enemy frogmen, emerges from the Mediterranean in a wet suit, unzips it to reveal white-jacketed formal wear, and walks into an elegant casino where everyone else is well-dressed, fit, and well-groomed. This was the image of casino life that I carried with me for forty years. It was reinforced when casinos came to Atlantic City. All the TV commercials showed supermodels in slinky attire seductively lounging around the gaming tables. I never made it to Monte Carlo or to Atlantic City for that matter which was just as well since my white dinner jacket has been at the cleaners since that unfortunate episode at the Senior Prom. How could I fit in with the Beautiful People at the baccarat table when I couldn't dress the part?

The first indication that a trip to the casino wasn't exactly a night at the opera came when "slots parlors" came to Pennsylvania. I joined the denim, "#1 Grandpa" sweatshirt, and John Deere hat-clad crowds. There was nary a slinky Woman of Mystery or dashing secret agent in sight, but that was understandable. These are only slot machines after all. Wait until table games come to our local casino. That will surely draw The Most Interesting Man in the World.

Yesterday, my dreams were shattered. We stopped at Hollywood Casino near Harrisburg. There were blackjack tables, craps tables, and funky Oriental gambling games aplenty. Surrounding the tables were what appeared to be the Dauphin County Senior Citizen's Brigade and several local motorcycle clubs. I realized that it is impossible to be underdressed at a Pennsylvania casino. Polyester stretch pants, appliqued sweatshirts, and velcro walking shoes were the uniform of the day. The level of grooming was somewhere between "I just rolled out of bed" and "If I comb my hair, I'll just have to do it again tomorrow". Fashion accessories were oxygen tanks as opposed to Gucci handbags. The clientele consisted of Ma and Pa Kettle rather than Sean Connery and Ursula Andress.

It is a relief to know that I don't have to break out that white dinner jacket to go gambling in the Keystone State. I would have to lose a few pounds to fit into it anyway. Still, I dream of vanquishing an Evil Genius at the baccarat table and driving my Aston Martin into the night with a Bond Girl at my side. It just won't be in Grantville, PA.