DIE 10 BESTEN Hotels in Atlantic City 2021 ab 36 ...

Sanders shames Donald Trump and buddy Carl Icahn by holding rally on Atlantic City Boardwalk next door to now-shuttered Trump Plaza hotel and casino.

Sanders shames Donald Trump and buddy Carl Icahn by holding rally on Atlantic City Boardwalk next door to now-shuttered Trump Plaza hotel and casino. submitted by coretj to politics [link] [comments]

@BW: A 1999 Trump Hotels & Casino Resorts stock certificate that’s in “practically pristine” condition, featuring a head-and-shoulders portrait of the Donald hovering over the Atlantic City boardwalk, is available on EBay at a buy-it-now price of $800 https://t.co/M1Faz8tcK8 https://t.co/GPad1aD3l3

submitted by -en- to newsbotbot [link] [comments]

Atlantic city... I wanna book a casino hotel on the boardwalk. Experienced but want to try something new.

Let me start with I've done this several times before for at Ballys and I wanna try a different casino/hotel. I checked all my special promos for room deals with total rewards (harrahs/caesers/showboat/ballys) and have ruled them out for now.
I've only ever booked through totalrewards.com for those deals or over the phone for the same. But I'm willing to try a hotel where I'm not already a member of. I'm currently looking on tripadvisor.com for the broad info but I bet there's special deals out there somewhere. Aiming for Monday 6/17->6/20, checking out thursday morning. I want to be frugal about it but Not cheap. I want a clean room with ~500ft2 and a large bed. I was about to book Harrah's (~45$/night in their premium room with these requirements) until I saw they were very far from the boardwalk.
Any suggestions? I've done some googling but it's tough to know what deal will give me the most bang for my buck. Willing to group a deal with a dinneshow or something since it'll be a 'romantic' trip.
Any tips very much appreciated!
submitted by dossier to Frugal [link] [comments]

Rise of Hellion ch13 ( Barry Pepper fanart fiction inspiration)

Rise of Hellion ch13 ( Barry Pepper fanart fiction inspiration)

Rise of Hellion ch13 ( Barry Pepper fanart fiction inspiration)

previous: https://www.reddit.com/BarryPeppecomments/koihsy/rise_of_hellion_ch12_barry_pepper_fanart_fiction/
The flight touched down, under the early morning sky. I could practically taste the Cinnabon frosting. It had been over a decade since I’d been on an airplane but I loved hanging around the terminals for the delicious overpriced food.
Baron placed his hand upon my shoulder. “What happens in Jersey stays in Jersey,” he said with a laugh.
“I thought you’d be bitter.” I leaned on his shoulder as we waited for the seatbelt light to turn off.
“You thought I’d be bitter about flying as a passenger instead of a pilot?” Baron shrugged, as he stretched his arms over his head. “I’ve always loved Alaska Airlines. And if I was flying the plane, I wouldn’t have been able to spend time with this little guy.” He tickled little Abby’s chubby arm causing the baby to smile.
“I can’t disagree.” In the weeks following our arrival at Dr. Toki’s DC bunker, Baron grew close to my son. The three of us shared a room; two cots on the floor with a padded plastic box for the baby. Like all babies little Abby cried; for food, diaper changes, or just out of loneliness. Nine out of ten times, I would awaken to find Baron holding my son. Sometimes he’d walk around the small room, other times he would sit cross-legged on his bed, but every night was a different story about Noah. I learned things I knew I was never meant to know about.
In the years they spent traveling the world as renowned criminal masterminds, Noah and Baron had become more than friends. They fell in love.
“You daddy was the greatest person I ever knew,” Baron often said as he rocked my son in his arms. “He was the last person I ever truly loved.”
I listened as Baron, by the light of the moon, told my infant son stories about his many adventures with Noah and Nash. Some boarded on the obscene; drugs, weapons trafficking, and all manner of sex. He never outright said they were lovers, only that they trusted each other with their mind body and soul.
“It tears me up inside knowing he’s gone. I know this is all my fault, his blood is on my hands. We should have died together. Noah died the way he lived; with honor and integrity. But then I never would have met you.”
That was how I knew Baron could be trusted; he loved Abby with every fiber of his soul.
“Yo, Nicki,” Baron said, tapping my arm. “The plane’s empty, time to go.”
“Oh,” I took a quick breath, forcing myself back to reality.
Baron grabbed our one piece of luggage, a plain black backpack with a limited number of supplies. Axel had passed it along to us before going through security, so I had to assume it contained no weapons.
We walked down the corridor to the gate at Atlantic City international airport. “Can I hold the bag?” I asked, since he was already holding the baby.
“Sure.” Baron took off the straps and tossed me the bag. It was lighter than I thought it would be. Inside was a lot of fabric; some rolled, some folded and some pieces were clearly hiding items made of plastic or metal. I figured I shouldn’t be examining its contents right away but with the chill of the airport I wanted to see if there were any extra clothes for my baby.
No, Abby was our baby. Seeing Baron holding the child in his arms, all I could feel was love. “Oh look!” I fished out a blue, baby t-shirt with a happy dolphin. “Let’s put it on him!”
Baron did as I asked, maneuvering Abby’s wiggly little body. With his fresh new shirt, he looked like a cute little tourist baby. In fact, we looked like a typical vacationing couple traveling with their newborn.
I knew that Axel and Dr. Toki were monitoring us from the safety and comfort of an unmarked medevac vehicle somewhere within a six-mile radius. Ideally, they would follow us, observe from a distance. If and when we found Tony, we could get the hell out (to the nearest TAC bunker.) Until then Baron and I were to look for clues along the boardwalk.
“Should we get a hotel room?” I asked.
“Certain military leaders didn’t give us any money, so unless you have a credit card?”
“I could probably pick pocket one.”
“Way to blow our cover,” he said with a laugh. “Nah, we can deal with the issue of housing when we need to. With any luck Axel and Dr. Toki have plans to get us out, so we don’t have to sleep on the streets with a baby.”
We walked a further, to the land of sun, sand and casinos, stopping to rest on a bench. “Let’s see what’s in the bag.” There were more shirts, pants, a few flattened bottles to collect water, or maybe even breastmilk. I placed each of the items neatly on my lap, hoping that I would not miss anything important. However, in the end, the only item of importance was a package of baby wipes. There wasn’t even any diapers. I had to assume, if I needed to change my baby, I was meant to use the extra clothing. (Same for first aid, due to lack of bandages.) “You really don’t have any money?”
“We can always shoplift,” Baron said cheerfully as he tossed the baby in the air.
Abby squealed with joy.
I could feel my heart flutter with joy. “That’s the New Jersey spirit!”
“There has to be a Walgreens around here someplace.”
We easily found a corner store with the iconic red signage. Baron picked up a basket and headed to the food section; packaged drinks, dried cereal, candy, etc.
“What do you think happened to Anya?” I asked, following close. “Since you’re the last person who saw her.”
“She’s going after Axel,” he answered casually.
“And you’re ok with that?”
“It’s her deal, her quest or whatever.”
“Or whatever?” I asked. His tone was really starting to piss me off. Axel was my friend, a human being. But so was Anya. And that was why my soul was being torn in half.
“Anya’s going to do what she has to do but for the sake of all of us she’s going to act alone. That way the blood will be only on her hands.”
I saw his point. If and when the time came, we were under no obligation to choose sides. “How thoughtful.”
“You need any diapers?” Baron asked. He was holding an open package of men’s shaving razors. Grabbing a single replacement head, Baron somehow managed to break the plastic apart without wounding his fingertips.
I assumed he was going to cut open a package. “No, I’m good. He has on a cloth diaper and I have enough supplies to make an extra. But I could use some soap.” I grabbed a package of off brand bar soap with an image of a happy Asian baby. Ideally, I could use this for washing both skin and clothing.
After easily leaving the store with everything we needed, we ran in the direction of the beach, hoping to get lost in the crowds. Suddenly out of nowhere the sky darkened and the clouds swelled with rain. The storm came down hard and fast, transforming from freezing rain, to pin-sized hail. In the distance there seemed to be a homeless encampment. Without any words spoken, we both knew to make a run for it.
The tent city consisted of a series of tarps connecting individual homes. There were a few spots that had people huddled around campfires. Men, women and children sat wrapped in dirty, wet blankets, as they struggled to stay warm. Not wanting to take any of their limited resources we walked until we found a sparse area with just a tarp surrounded by barrels and broken pallets. The space was just enough for Baron and I to sleep side by side, resting the baby on his chest.
“Here,” he said, sliding the backpack in my direction. “You can use the bag as a pillow.”
“Thanks.” Unable to comfortably sleep I found myself staring up at the blue tarp. As my mind started to float away my mouth spewed out the words that I thought I’d never say. “What happened between you and Noah?”
“What do you mean?” Baron asked in a whisper. He knew perfectly well what I meant.
“Feng told me he gave Noah the same opportunities he gave you. Yet somehow you ended up as his right-hand man with full access to his arsenal of weapons guns and even his appointment book.”
Baron swallowed a lump in his throat. “Your point?”
“Why didn’t you convince Noah to come with you?”
Baron went silent. He held the baby close, shivering. “You don’t think I tried?” He blinked tears from his eyes.
If he’d been angry, I would have continued the conversation; I would have wanted to know why he had the right to mourn the father of my child. But Baron wasn’t angry, he was in pain. “I think we should get some sleep.”
“Yeah, totally.”
I knew better then to try to ask for my son back. Abby was an emotional support baby and Baron needed him more. I made myself comfortable on my bed of plastic and leaves, pulling the tarp over my body for warmth. “Good night.”
There was a moment of silence before we were awoken by Abby’s cries. Baron sat up, rocking the small baby, attempting to keep him warm. “I think he’s hungry.”
“Give him here.” I had gotten better at breastfeeding, but with how cold it was I would have preferred to keep as covered as possible. “Can you help me with my tarp-blanket?”
“Sure.” Baron helped cover my body, allowing the baby warmth and privacy.
“Thanks.” I looked at Baron with genuine love in my heart. “Thank you for being my friend.” I couldn’t stop the tears from falling, mixing with the freezing cold rain. “Thank you for everything.”
Baron blinked tears from his own eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You really want to know what happened to Noah?”
“Yeah, I do.” I looked down at Abby, who opened his eyes as he nursed. He had Noah’s courage and strength. “I can still remember that night. Even if it was for just a moment, I felt like I had friends, a real connection. That was never something that came easy for me.” Not that it mattered. It was yet another fleeting moment of happiness in my shit-show of a life.
Baron lowered his shirt, revealing his upper chest. “Feng gave me an augmentation; I have an inorganic core made of some kind of plasma. I used to think it was radioactive but I have reason to believe it was created as a means of unlimited projectiles.”
“And it keeps you warm?” That explained why Abby loved being held by him.
“Well, the power came with a complimentary suit of armor that allowed me to be the perfect little henchman.”
“You mean body guard?”
Baron shrugged. “I assumed that was Feng’s original plan.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, mentally preparing for the worst. “And Noah?”
“He wasn’t down for it. The only reason he surrendered to Kitsune was to allow you and Anya time to flee.”
“Oh.” I felt like my heart stopped. I should have realized it from the beginning; that was the only reason we were allowed to live, because Noah truly loved me.
“We were turned over to Feng. I could only assume she thought Feng had the ability to extract Noah’s mind; his intellect, his secrets. But he didn’t. Feng needed Noah to volunteer information.” Baron paused, blinking tears from his eyes. “That was the difference between us. My most valuable asset was my combat ability, maybe my strategy skills. All I had to do was pledge my loyalty, and wear the armor, to gain Feng’s trust. For Noah, that was asking too much. His mind contained secrets that could change the world; info that could never and would never fall in to the hands of tyrannical psychopaths.”
“And that’s why he had to die.” Since I was finished breastfeeding, I handed the now happy, content infant back to Baron.
“Although if it was up to Feng (and it was) well, you’ve seen his set up.”
“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “I’m going to see that until the day I die.”
“All of his prized victims are kept alive, conscious as their forced to exist as hood ornaments. Feng wanted them to suffer for all eternity, or until their brains turn to pea soup.”
“Now I have a craving for split pea soup.” We laughed through our tears. In truth, I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing Noah’s remains.
“You hungry?” Baron dug in his pocket, producing a smashed-up Snicker’s bar.
“We can split it.” With food in our stomachs, we fell asleep to the sound of calming rain. For the first time since he’d been born, I had a vision of my son as a full-grown man.
The sound of rain grew louder, gradually transforming to gunfire. I awoke in what appeared to be a WW2 battle scene. Thankfully I was transparent; bullets passed through me like a virtual reality game, and the area around me felt comfortably warm despite the fact I was standing in snow. In the distance I could see a man leaning on a tree.
Eyes closed, he held a cross in his hand. I watched as he kissed the rosary pendent and said a simple prayer. “Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teaches my hands to war, and my fingers to fight.”
As I came closer, I could see he was gripping his shoulder while doubled over in pain. That raised the question: why was he reciting the prayer of a sharpshooter?
He moved his hand to his waist, slowly retrieving a pistol. “My goodness and my fortress.” He held the gun under his chin, cocking the barrel to his throat. “My high tower and my deliverer. My shield, and he in whom I trust.”
“No!” The sound came from behind me.
I turned to see a figure wearing pink-purple armor. It was in the same style as what Baron wore. And he or she wasn’t running, they were flying.
“Abby!” A female voice cried.
I followed as fast as I could, as she rushed to the man’s side.
“Lieutenant?” The man muttered, coughing up blood.
I now had a good view of his face. It was my son and he was dying. Before I could reach out my hand, the armored woman flew through me.
She fell to her knees, ripping off her helmet to reveal a young Hispanic face framed by lots of curly black hair. “Abby, Sir, I’m here. It’s going to be ok.” She pursed her lips, smiling at him, through visible tears.
Abaddon lowered his weapon. “You need to flee.” With trembling fingers, he lifted his free hand to cup her face. It was obvious that leaving was the last thing he wanted. “This is a battle we cannot win.”
“Not alone, Sir,” the soldier replied with confidence.
Why was she calling him Sir? I could barely make out a patch on his arm. It was possible he was an officer.
The young woman lifted his arm, adjusting him over her shoulder. “I’m not leaving you behind. The nearest medic station is about six kilometers south of here. We can make it.” Before he could reply, she lifted his broken body in her arms, flying off into the night.
The world started to spin as the scene changed.
We were now in a poorly lit underground hospital. I could tell it was underground since every few seconds the room shook with the sound of gunfire and other (louder, more violent) explosions. Abby was laying on a cot with his bare chest exposed. He had several fresh bullet wounds, as well as deep scars.
The woman was by his side, having taken off her armor she rested her head by his shoulder, holding his hand. “Why do you call me by my rank?”
“What should I call you?”
“My name is Sundra, but my friends call me Sunny.”
“Is that because you sparkle like sunshine?” he asked with a subtle smile. Abby moved his free hand to her cheek, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to stay, Sunny.”
“I want to stay. Call it my street gang code of honor; a little something, I picked up from my grandma.” She turned her wrist to reveal a tattoo. It was a stylized diamond with the words, ‘Lucy in the sky.’ Sunny started to softly hum the melody of the famous rock song. “Lucy in the sky with diamonds. Sorry, the title is the only part I know.” She kissed Abby on the forehead. “My papa’s name was Denny. He was the first of my family line born in America. You really remind me of him.”
A gang member named Lucy with a son named Denny? That couldn’t be a coincidence. I moved closer, to get a better look at her face.
She kissed Abby down his nose to his lips.
There were tears in his eyes. “I’ll never forget you.”
Sunny turned, briefly glancing in my direction. “Do you think she’s here, in the room?”
“I know she is,” Abby replied, looking up at the ceiling. “Even as a child, I could always feel my mother’s spirit watching over me.”
“Can she hear us?” Sunny asked, still looking in my path but not actually at me.
“If the calculations and the technology are correct.”
“Do you think she can save us?” Her large, emotional eyes, blinked back tears. With every blink she started to disappear, vanishing from reality like a spirit lost to time. When Sunny was completely gone, all that was left was my adult son. His arms were wrapped around the empty space.
All around me I could hear sobbing. I assumed this meant I was going to wake up. My baby son was probably crying for food or maybe because of the cold: but I was going to wake up. Right? I wanted so badly to wake up. Wake up! Wake up!
I felt a sharp pain. I awoke with a jolt under the tarp, to the collapsing of our little shelter. Touching my hip, I felt blood and splinters. All around me all I could see was tarp. I wanted to scream. Where was my son? Where was Baron?
I needed to calm down; breathe, just breathe. I opened my hands, placing them palms down as if I was going to attempt a snow angel. There was a secret, a lock. There had to be. I felt a strange crack in the pavement. Digging my fingertips in, the piece seemed to transform into a handle (or a lever.) Even if it was just a hand hold, it would be my ticket out of the tarp since I could use it to keep myself grounded in place (as opposed to flopping around like a dying fish.) Turns out, it was a handle. I found myself falling down a slide. At the bottom I finally managed to get free of the tarp.
Baron was sitting in a dark corner with a finger to his lips. “Shh, follow me. This is a mezzanine level.” He motioned towards what looked like a second series of tunnels. “I’m not sure how deep it goes. We’re not going to slide: we’re going to crawl. I’ll go first and you follow close. Do not lose sight of me. Understand?”
“Are you holding the baby?”
Baron nodded. “If shit goes bad, I want you to find my body. I’ll protect him with everything I have.”
I knew what he meant, and trusted him fully, but I was still afraid. “You’re a better fighter than me.”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m going to hold the baby.”
“Ok.”
Baron and I snuck down the tunnels, we emerged in an underground factory facility. “What is this place?”
“Trash processing facility,” Baron replied. “You head left I’ll head right.”
“Sure, I guess.” I went left until I saw what appeared to be a light source.
I passed between several cargo boxes, emerging in an open area. There was a series of large vats, bubbling with hot oil or (more likely) acid. “Acid?” I had never seen acid before but the scene looked like something out of a comic book.
“It is acid,” said a voice from a nearby balcony. “the typical use is to process heavy metals and other non-recyclable materials.”
“Faust?” I couldn’t actually see his location.
“Today we’re disposing of inorganic material of a different kind.” He hit a button causing a limp body to start to descend. It was clearly Tony, but I couldn’t tell if he was even alive. “Are you willing to make a deal; trade his life for the contents of the battery?”
“I don’t even know if the copy I have is real.” And there was also the fact that the infamous flash drive was in a van, in the care of Axel and Dr. Toki.
“The one that Baron put on the dark web? Trust me it’s the real deal.”
“So, what’s on it?” I blurted out the words, although I wasn’t expecting any kind of logical answer.
The man snickered. “Does it matter?”
“Yeah, kind of.”
“Look, do you want to know my entire evil plan or will you be a good girl and save your beloved boyfriend’s life?”
I looked over at Tony. I had no way of helping him. If he was still alive, he was more then capable of saving himself. I had to believe that. “Is it time travel?”
“What?” Faust asked with a laugh. “Seriously, what did you just say?” With a flash of light, Faust teleported, placing himself in front of me. He stood tall, in a tailored suit, staring me down with his creepy metallic eyes. “Answer me, little girl.”
Why did he look so much like the adult version of my son? Because he was a shape shifter? Or was there something else? “Time travel?”
The once stern man cracked a smile. “Time travel is the stuff of movies and fairytales. The contents of the battery will bring this world to its knees.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard.” I blinked my eyes as the pieces fell into place. There was a reason why my son had been able to communicate with me so clearly through dreams. “Selective telepathic time travel.”
Faust was no longer smiling. “Would you prefer that power fall to the hands of Kitsune? She and her brother, they’d use it to cause a gang war; an apocalypse of weapons and drugs. You wouldn’t want that blood on your hands.”
We he seriously trying to appeal to my humanity? “What about you? What’s your plan, to go back in time to give Hitler a migraine?” I knew what his plan was. Or at least I think I did. There was something about Lucy or maybe Denny. What I knew for certain was that the final goal was Sunny; her existence held the key.
“You’re not alone, are you? Such a pity.” Faust teleported off, in a blast of blue light.
I already knew where he was going and there was nothing I could do. Faust landed on top of Baron as he attempted to free Tony’s body. Both men were knocked in to the acid. There was no sound; no screams, or even cries.
Where was my baby?
Faust teleported in front of me, holding my son in his arms. “You might not have been willing to save your boyfriend, but perhaps you will be willing to trade for your child.”
My back hurt, my arms hurt and my head was pounding, but I ran straight at him, charging like a football player going in for a tackle.
I was blinded by a familiar blue light. We had teleported, but to where? I could hear Abby crying. He was alive and that’s all that mattered. I blinked my eyes once then twice.
“Fire?”
submitted by dourdan to BarryPepper [link] [comments]

The next Detroit: The catastrophic collapse of Atlantic City

With the closure of almost half of Atlantic City's casinos, Newark set to vote on gambling and casinos or racinos in almost every state, it seems as if the reasons for the very existence of Atlantic City are in serious jeopardy.
Israel Joffe
Atlantic City, once a major vacation spot during the roaring 20s and 1930s, as seen on HBOs Boardwalk Empire, collapsed when cheap air fare became the norm and people had no reason to head to the many beach town resorts on the East Coast. Within a few decades, the city, known for being an ‘oasis of sin’ during the prohibition era, fell into serious decline and dilapidation.
New Jersey officials felt the only way to bring Atlantic City back from the brink of disaster would be to legalize gambling. Atlantic City’s first casino, Resorts, first opened its doors in 1978. People stood shoulder to shoulder, packed into the hotel as gambling officially made its way to the East Coast. Folks in the East Coast didn't have to make a special trip all the way to Vegas in order to enjoy some craps, slots, roulette and more.
As time wore on, Atlantic City became the premier gambling spots in the country.
While detractors felt that the area still remained poor and dilapidated, officials were quick to point out that the casinos didn't bring the mass gentrification to Atlantic City as much as they hoped but the billions of dollars in revenue and thousands of jobs for the surrounding communities was well worth it.
Atlantic City developed a reputation as more of a short-stay ‘day-cation’ type of place, yet managed to stand firm against the 'adult playground' and 'entertainment capital of the world' Las Vegas.
Through-out the 1980s, Atlantic City would become an integral part of American pop culture as a place for east coast residents to gamble, watch boxing, wrestling, concerts and other sporting events.
However in the late 1980s, a landmark ruling considered Native-American reservations to be sovereign entities not bound by state law. It was the first potential threat to the iron grip Atlantic City and Vegas had on the gambling and entertainment industry.
Huge 'mega casinos' were built on reservations that rivaled Atlantic City and Vegas. In turn, Vegas built even more impressive casinos.
Atlantic City, in an attempt to make the city more appealing to the ‘big whale’ millionaire and billionaire gamblers, and in effort to move away from its ‘seedy’ reputation, built the luxurious Borgata casino in 2003. Harrah’s created a billion dollar extension and other casinos in the area went through serious renovations and re-branded themselves.
It seemed as if the bite that the Native American casinos took out of AC and Vegas’ profits was negligible and that the dominance of those two cities in the world of gambling would remain unchallenged.
Then Macau, formally a colony of Portugal, was handed back to the Chinese in 1999. The gambling industry there had been operated under a government-issued monopoly license by Stanley Ho's Sociedade de Turismo e Diversões de Macau. The monopoly was ended in 2002 and several casino owners from Las Vegas attempted to enter the market.
Under the one country, two systems policy, the territory remained virtually unchanged aside from mega casinos popping up everywhere. All the rich ‘whales’ from the far east had no reason anymore to go to the United States to spend their money.
Then came the biggest threat.
As revenue from dog and horse racing tracks around the United States dried up, government officials needed a way to bring back jobs and revitalize the surrounding communities. Slot machines in race tracks started in Iowa in 1994 but took off in 2004 when Pennsylvania introduced ‘Racinos’ in an effort to reduce property taxes for the state and to help depressed areas bounce back.
As of 2013, racinos were legal in ten states: Delaware, Louisiana, Maine, New Mexico, New York, Ohio, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, and West Virginia with more expected in 2015.
Tracks like Delaware Park and West Virginia's Mountaineer Park, once considered places where local degenerates bet on broken-down nags in claiming races, are now among the wealthiest tracks around, with the best races.
The famous Aqueduct race track in Queens, NY, once facing an uncertain future, now possesses the most profitable casino in the United States.
From June 2012 to June 2013, Aqueduct matched a quarter of Atlantic City's total gaming revenue from its dozen casinos: $729.2 million compared with A.C.'s $2.9 billion. It has taken an estimated 15 percent hit on New Jersey casino revenue and climbing.
And it isn't just Aqueduct that's taking business away from them. Atlantic City's closest major city, Philadelphia, only 35-40 minutes away, and one of the largest cities in America, now has a casino that has contributed heavily to the decline in gamers visiting the area.
New Jersey is the third state in the U.S. to have authorized internet gambling. However, these online casinos are owned and controlled by Atlantic City casinos in an effort to boost profits in the face of fierce competition.
California, Hawaii, Illinois, Iowa, Massachusetts, Mississippi, Pennsylvania and Texas are hoping to join Delaware, Nevada, New Jersey and the U.S. Virgin Islands in offering online gambling to their residents.
With this in mind, it seems the very niche that Atlantic City once offered as a gambling and entertainment hub for east coast residents is heading toward the dustbin of history.
Time will tell if this city will end up like Detroit. However, the fact that they are losing their biggest industry to major competition, much like Detroit did, with depressed housing, casinos bankrupting/closing and businesses fleeing , it all makes Atlantic City’s fate seem eerily similar.
submitted by IsraelJoffeusa to u/IsraelJoffeusa [link] [comments]

Atlantic City offering bidders a chance to blow up former Trump casino.

This is the best tl;dr I could make, original reduced by 52%. (I'm a bot)
Atlantic City Is Offering Bidders The Chance To Blow Up A Former Trump Casino The Trump Plaza in Atlantic City, N.J., is scheduled for implosion next month, but the right to press the button is still up for grabs.
For about six years, the ghost of the Trump Plaza Hotel and Casino has haunted the boardwalk in Atlantic City, N.J., its lingering vastness vacant of life.
"We are selling the experience to push the button to implode Trump Plaza," says Bodnar's Auction, an independent auction house that the city has hired to collect bids for the building's planned implosion on Jan. 29 - just nine days after President Trump's term come to a close.
City officials say that proceeds from the auction will benefit the Boys & Girls Club of Atlantic City, a nonprofit organization dedicated to providing services for the city's young children and teens.
"Some of Atlantic City's iconic moments happened there, but on his way out, Donald Trump openly mocked Atlantic City, saying he made a lot of money and then got out," Mayor Marty Small told The Associated Press.
While Trump's other major Atlantic City properties - the Taj Mahal and the Trump Marina - have revived with changes in name and ownership, the Trump Plaza has languished in disrepair for the better part of a decade.
Summary Source | FAQ | Feedback | Top keywords: City#1 Trump#2 Atlantic#3 Casino#4 Plaza#5
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submitted by autotldr to autotldr [link] [comments]

My PCM-related Dream

I must be spending too much time of this sub, because I actually dreamt in the form of a PCM meme last night. I was at some kind of hotel or casino in someplace like Atlantic City, wearing a cheap suit, as libright as you could imagine. When you looked at the back of the building from the beach or boardwalk, different rooms and floors were highlighted according to their quadrant. Most were yellow naturally (no purple, luckily), there was some green, no red, but I saw a tiny room that was blue. Curious as to what an auth-right casino would be like, I hopped in an elevator and as soon as I stepped out on to the right floor, I set off an alarm and was detained by security. I don't know what else I should have expected.
submitted by SeefKroy to PoliticalCompassMemes [link] [comments]

Cheapest way to experience the boardwalk

Im a broke ass college student in Connecticut who wants to surprise his gf with a night or two in New Jersey. She used to take trips to the boardwalk with her family as a kid and absolutely loved it, plus i have genuinely always wanted to experience it. What’s the cheapest way to go about this? Would a hotel like 10-15 miles out cost a ton? If not are there any nice but not too expensive hotels(like $150 is my budget per night)? Besides that I’d appreciate any advice on things to do and how to make this special.
submitted by wazamatter to newjersey [link] [comments]

To stay safe in Atlantic City, do you need to be right on the boardwalk, or the boardwalk AREA?

I've never been to that area before, I've thought about arriving there and staying there without a car, by myself, and doing some walking around before deciding on a (cheap) hotel. By any chance, could the boardwalk take you into some pretty safe towns nearby, or is the touristy part of Atlantic City just surrounded by a slum.
submitted by userish to newjersey [link] [comments]

Ranking All UFC Events Via Their Reported Attendance Numbers!

Ranking - Event - Location @ Venue - Attendance

These Events Have No Reported Attendance Record

submitted by GypsyGold to MMA [link] [comments]

After winning $1.3 Million at a Casino, Why does a man cover himself in Gasoline and drop a lit Match?

Myra Kindle is an independent investigative reporter.
Her other reports:

Boardwalk Attraction

What drives a person to cover themselves in gasoline and drop a match by their feet?
That was the question that ran through the minds of many in a crowd outside the Borgata Hotel and Casino in Atlantic City, New Jersey on March 23rd, 2019.
At approximately 7:45PM on that cold spring eve, a Mr. James Ferdini, age 47, covered himself in gasoline and was prepared to drop a match in the fuel.
As the crowd shouted for him to stop and several witnesses called the police, Mr. Ferdini reportedly stood unfazed, simply grinning and appearing to revel in the crowd’s shock.
“It was a suicidal action but it didn’t look like a suicidal person,” says Sam Kenset, an eyewitness to the incident. “I guess I don’t really know what a suicidal person looks like, but his movements and the way he was talking -- he just didn’t seem like a man down on his luck.”
Ms. Kenset is quite astute in her observation -- Mr. Feredini was certainly not down on his luck. In fact only moments before covering himself in gasoline, Mr. Ferdini had cashed out more than $1.3 million in winnings from the Borgata Hotel and Casino, making his suicidal action all the more puzzling.
However dangerous, Mr. Ferdini’s gasoline soaked stunt would not lead to his death on March 23rd, but his life was not long for this world either. Three days later on March 26th he would be found dead from an entirely different cause.
In Mr. Ferdini’s incredible winnings and suicidal tendencies leading up to his unusual and grizzly death on March 26th, many questions remain. Who was James Ferdini? What happened to his more than million dollars in winnings? And what was the lead up of events that caused his demise?
Based on interviews with management at the Borgata Hotel and Casino, local police and investigators, and corroborated with eyewitness accounts, independent investigative reporter Myra Kindle, for the first time, brings you a report on the man who nearly bankrupted a casino, and whose luck seemed to make him invincible until his highly improbable death.

What are the Odds?

As the match fell to James Ferdini’s feet outside the Borgata Hotel and Casino, the crowd stood agasp as they waited for the inevitable fire and horrible death of a gas soaked man. This moment would never come however, and the match reportedly landed in the puddle of gasoline meeting it as though it were water.
“The crowd started to look away the moment he dropped the match,” says Matthew Gershowitz, a witness to the event. “I couldn’t though -- I needed to see what would happen. I mean we all thought we were witnessing a suicide or something, but the guy was jovial, happy, making jokes with the crowd before he lit the match. And then when it hit the gas, it just burned out, and the man started laughing. We were all amazed. It was like a miracle -- we thought he’d die for sure.”
While it’s quite understandable that the crowd believed they had witnessed a miracle when James did not burst into flames, professor of organic chemistry at Villanova University, Marcy Li, says the odds of Mr. Ferdini’s death were far less than certain.
“Gasoline is certainly flammable, but not like in the way shown in movies and TV,” says professor Li. “It’s the layer of vapor above that gasoline that is most likely to combust. There could be a number of factors like wind, humidity and temperature that improved Mr. Ferdini’s chance of avoiding being burned alive. I would certainly say he’s lucky, but I wouldn’t say it’s a miracle he didn’t burst into flames.”
If Mr. Ferdini relied on luck that day to survive, it would appear to have been with him in spades for quite some time.
Having just come from the Borgata casino floor, James was reportedly on a ‘hot-streak’, winning tens of thousands of dollars an hour over the preceding two days.
“You have to imagine we were pretty happy when he left the casino,” says Richard Markelson, a floor manager at the Borgata. “Normally we want customers to stay as long as possible so the house can win our money back, but Mr. Ferdini never had a bad roll, spin, or lever pull the whole 40 consecutive hours he was gambling at the Borgata. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Mr. Markelson was able to confirm through cash-logs and casino surveillance that Mr. Ferdini had indeed won big at the Borgata, and records show his total winnings amounted to $1,348,427.
Mr. Markelson said of the winnings: “It was enough of a loss over a short period of time that the owners of the casino were worried our insurance premiums were gonna jump. A casino in Atlantic City simply doesn’t lose that much money in such a short time, at least not to a nobody, and Mr. Ferdini was certainly a nobody.”

A Career Loser

While management at the Borgata Hotel and Casino did not know Mr. Ferdini prior to his 40 hour lucrative gambling binge, many on Atlantic City’s boardwalk have been acutely aware of James for years.
For example after James’s stunt with the gasoline, he was arrested and taken to the Atlantic City jail and held on the possible charge of disorderly conduct, but was released after the charges were dropped. The reason? The police had a long record of interactions with Mr. Ferdini and thought of him only as a minor risk.
“We were more worried about the guy’s mental health than him causing a scene on the boardwalk,” says Atlantic City officer Paul Stevenson. “We’ve known James for years -- I mean he’s a loser. Is it a shock to me that he would try and commit suicide like that? Absolutely not.”
When asked why the police did not opt to commit Mr. Ferdini to a hospital on a psychological evaluation, officer Stevenson replied: “The plan was to have him committed, but some lawyer showed up and we didn’t want a legal fight, so we decided to release him instead. I felt a bit mixed about it. I mean the guy was clearly suicidal -- why else would you douse yourself in gasoline?”
When told that Mr. Ferdini was reportedly jovial and happy during the gasoline incident, and that he had in fact won more than a million dollars immediately prior to the event, officer Stevenson struggled with the narrative: “That doesn’t sound like the James Ferdini I know. He’s always been a depressed gambler, and never won a game in his life as far as I know. He couldn’t win a hundred bucks, let alone a million. I can’t even believe they let him into the Borgata in the first place, but I guess the cash winnings explains the lawyer.”
Officer Stevenson asked if I could confirm the details of the winnings and that Mr. Ferdini was in a jovial mood during the gasoline incident. When I showed documentation of Mr. Ferdini’s winnings provided by Mr. Markelson and relayed several eyewitness accounts as to his temperament, officer Stevenson replied: “I don’t get it. So, why’d he try to burn himself alive?”

The ‘Cooler’

Perhaps no individual has a better sense of who Mr. Ferdini is and what happened to him than the floor manager at the Borgata, Mr. Markelson.
For 40 hours prior to the gasoline incident, Mr. Ferdini bet heavily at the Borgata casino, and Mr. Markelson was in close proximity for much of his hot-streak.
“I was actually supposed to be on vacation that week,” says Mr. Markelson, “but I got called in because the other cooler was sick.”
A ‘cooler’ as Mr. Markelson explained, is a relic of old casinos that today is rarely used, however some establishments still invest in what could be called ‘charms’ to bring bad luck to high rollers.
“I got hired because I’m unlucky,” explains Mr. Markelson. “I can do the job of floor manager just fine -- don't get me wrong -- but it was my knack for bad luck that got me the job for sure.”
A cooler operates by simply being present around those that are on a run of good luck. In Mr. Markelson’s account, he says that being around him will bring such bad luck to any gambler that their cards will go cold, their lever pulls result in no winnings, and their wheel spins doomed to lose money.
“It’s a talent I’ve had since, well, forever,” says Mr. Markelson. “If I just stand near someone, they’ll start to have bad luck like me. I know it sounds crazy, and sometimes I don’t believe it myself, but it’s true. I mean, like I said, I think that’s why the casino hired me. They could count on me to go onto the casino floor and bring bad luck to anyone that’s winning a bit too much. Best part, since it’s based on superstition, it’s completely above board.”
With James Ferdini, Richard Markelson found that his power did not work however.
“I don’t know about before I showed up, but for when I was watching him, that man could not lose. The casino made me stay multiple shifts, I’m talking nearly 40 hours to watch him and were hoping I’d bring him bad luck, but it never happened. He just kept on winning no matter what game he played.”

An Escalation of Bets

In attempting to find James Ferdini’s state of mind prior to the gasoline incident, floor manager Richard Markelson provided unfettered access to video of the casino floor, even though he realized he could be breaking several state gambling commission laws by allowing a reporter to look at such surveillance. In fact, more than taking the risk, it was Mr. Markelson that called me and led me to this story in the first place.
“The police didn’t send him to the hospital after the gas thing I’ve been told. I figured the truth has to be somewhere and when police won’t do their job, I guess it’s reporters that have to step in,” says Mr. Markelson. “The most important thing to be me personally is finding out why he died just a few days later in that horrible freak accident -- the one on March 26th.”
When asked if Mr. Markelson had any interest in finding Mr. Ferdini’s still missing $1.3 million, he replied: “Of course, but that’s not my primary concern here. I just want to know what the fuck happened. How does a guy who should have felt on top of the world go to dousing himself in gasoline, and then ends up dead a few days later? I really want to know.”
In the video access provided by Mr. Markelson, I managed to find new clues that might be able to explain Mr. Ferdini’s downward spiral.
It could best be described as an escalation of bets that appeared to take place soon after Mr. Ferdini began his run of good luck. According to video of the casino floor, around the time manager Richard Markelson appeared, Mr. Ferdini started his miraculous winning streak.
The video shows Mr. Ferdini starting with craps, moving to baccarat, then slot machines, and followed by a long run at twenty-one. He continues to gamble for 40 straight hours, much of it with Mr. Markelson in close proximity.
“I was the only cooler around, so the higher ups at the Borgata made me stay the whole time. I got a lot of overtime that week,” says Mr. Markelson.
Curiously, the video shows that at around the 25 hour mark Mr. Ferdini attracts something of a crowd. While the video offers no sound, it appears as though Mr. Ferdini is making several wagers with his new found groupies.
At first a few in his new entourage gamble him directly in casino floor games like Texas Holdem, but it appears as though they make several bets outside of the casino games as well.
In one instance Mr. Ferdini appears to bet that he can drink boiling hot water. The video shows him drinking a scalding hot cup and immediately receiving a small payout from several people he was talking to before beginning the stunt.
It became clear to me after reviewing the video surveillance that for this story, I would need to speak to at least one of the people who witnessed Mr. Ferdini taking on these non-casino game bets. Thankfully, with Mr. Markelson’s help I was able to track down Maria Nowak, who in the video appears to spend several hours with Mr. Ferdini.
A resident of Atlantic City, Ms. Nowak was able to confirm that Mr. Ferdini was taking part in what she describes as “extreme behavior”, and that he was seemingly willing to bet on anything and everything. Even games that were clearly not of chance, like drinking boiling hot water.

”For $500, Right?”

Why did Mr. Ferdini cover himself in gasoline and drop a match? It’s a question essential to understanding his mindset, and one for which the answer appears to be quite simple.
After tracking down Ms. Nowak, a long time resident who often partakes in long gambling binges herself, she claims Mr. Ferdini covered himself in gasoline and dropped a match in the fuel simply because of a wager.
“We had been doing side bets for hours,” says Ms. Nowak, who agreed to meet me at Hayday Cafe, a local coffee shop. “I was with a group of friends and we noticed that this guy [Mr. Ferdini] had not been losing any bets for hours. The guy was pretty much throwing money around and that type of attitude attracts the crowd I was with. So, we started making small talk and then made a few bets, dumb, small ones to start.”
When asked what bets her group made with Mr. Ferdini, Ms. Nowak replies: “At first it was things like, how many casino chips he could fit into his mouth. But then it escalated pretty quickly, like soon we were betting on how much money he could win in an hour. Then a bit after that he did this really stupid boiling hot water challenge -- he simply bet he could drink boiling hot water without having to go to the hospital. The bet didn’t make any sense, but like everything else, he won.”
“The gasoline challenge was the craziest though,” she continues. “It was clearly a joke when my friend suggested it, but James took him up on it right away. The challenge was, like, ‘can you cover yourself in gasoline, drop a match, and survive?’ James said he would do it for $500, and we just assumed he was kidding, but sure enough he was dead serious.”
Ms. Nowak claims that she too was present in the crowd outside the Borgata when Mr. Ferdini made good on the gasoline bet, and that immediately prior to him dropping the match, he said to her and the rest of the gambling entourage, “This is for $500, right?”
“He said it but I’m not too sure how many people heard it,” Ms. Nowak says. “I mean the whole crowd was screaming for him to stop. They all thought the guy wanted to kill himself. I guess one of us nodded our heads to James’s question, and then he dropped the match. I’ll be damned, but he won that bet too. We gave him $500 alright, not that he needed it after making all that money at the Borgata.”
When asked if Ms. Nowak saw Mr. Ferdini after he was released from the police station, she responds: “Yea, we hung out for the next two or three days -- all of us -- the gambling group that had formed at the casino, James Ferdini, and then, oh yea, that guy Richard Makel-something. I think he worked at the Borgata but he hung around with us for a couple days while we partied at a different hotel. It was around the time Richard and the rest of us left that James was in that freak accident.”

Richard Markelson

The details of Ms. Nowak’s account have confirmed two things to this reporter.
One, Mr. Ferdini’s suicidal gesture to cover himself in gasoline was nothing more than a bet to earn more money. Feeling high from his good luck at the casino, it would appear Mr. Ferdini thought himself invincible and was willing to take on any challenge, even if it put his life on the line.
Two, Borgata floor manager and ‘cooler’ Richard Markelson has not been fully forthcoming in his account of what happened. For example, he never mentioned spending time with Mr. Ferdini after leaving the Borgata.
Confronting Mr. Markelson, I ask him for a more accurate account of what happened after Mr. Ferdini’s gasoline soaked stunt. Mr. Markelson is nervous in his reply, realizing he’s been caught withholding valuable information.
“You have to understand that James is not particularly good with money,” starts Mr. Markelson. “I know I’m saying that having really only met the guy at the Borgata casino, but you could just tell he was something of a loser. Maybe other people told you that too, I don’t know. My point is James was destined to spend that money on drugs and alcohol, and well, we all kind of just tagged along for the ride.”
Mr. Markelson goes on to describe a drug fueled binge that lasted from Saturday March 23rd until sometime before Mr. Ferdini’s death on Tuesday, March 26th.
“James and I had been awake for more than 40 hours when he left the casino, and I was going to go to bed, but somehow I got roped into his entourage he found at the Borgata when he was raking in cash. I would’ve gone home, but free cocaine is free cocaine. I’m not particularly proud of saying that, but it’s true -- I really like the drug.”
Richard Markelson says that in addition to drugs, Mr. Ferdini hired prostitutes and strippers for the group’s amusement.
“I’m not into all the seedy stuff, but we had been awake for a long long time and on so much shit. I mean we were taking meth rips and stuff. Yea, it’s weird now that I look back on it, but a binge can be like that sometimes.”
The most important question to this reporter is what happened in the final hours of Mr. Ferdini’s life. In this respect, Mr. Markelson claims to know nothing.
“I left before he died on Tuesday,” says Mr. Markelson. “It doesn’t surprise me that he died though. The gasoline bet was just the beginning of it. That girl, Maria Nowak, the one that told you I was hanging out with the impromptu entourage -- it was her boyfriend that really stepped things up in a pretty violent way in terms of betting.”
When asked what he means by “violent”, Mr. Markelson responds: “I mean they were actually gambling on Russian roulette in the hotel room when I left.”

That Other Roulette

Once again reaching out to Ms. Nowak, I ask her about Mr. Markelson’s description of partying and gambling in a hotel with Mr. Ferdini.
It was at this point that Ms. Nowak declined any further questions, only providing the statement: “I’ve said everything I’m going to say.”
While this seemed like a certain dead end to discovering what happened in the final hours of Mr. Ferdini’s life and also possibly to tracking down what happened to his $1.3 million in winnings, I by luck received a phone call shortly before I was ready to call it quits on this investigation.
The phone call was from one Mr. Samuel Howlser, boyfriend to Ms. Maria Nowak.
Mr. Howlser said he wished to speak with me to clarify a few details that Ms. Nowak had shared with me and to dispute any “lies” stated by Mr. Markelson.
“Me and Maria didn’t steal nobody’s money and we’re not gonna get in trouble for what Richard Markelson or anyone in that entourage might be telling you,” Mr. Howsler said to me in a phone interview.
When asked about details of the drug fueled gambling binge shared by Mr. Markelson and Ms. Nowak, Mr. Howsler mostly confirms their accounts, however his description of floor manager Makelson is less favorable than what Mr. Markelson told me himself.
“He was the craziest fucker of the bunch, definitely,” says Mr. Howlser. “He knew the hookups for the crystal and coke, got us ketamine too. But the nuttiest thing about him is what the fuck he’d bet on. Like if Ferdini thought he was invincible, doubly so for that manger from the Borgata. Markelson was the one that brought out a revolver for Russian roulette too, and they played like dozens of games.”
Russian roulette, a lethal game of chance that has the player hold a loaded pistol to their head and fire, is an extremely dangerous game that has been popularized in media and fiction for decades. The game requires a loaded revolver to have at least one bullet chambered before firing, with the odds of death usually being one in six.
“It was fucking crazy when Markelson said he’d play it, but the dude was having as good luck as Ferdini so he thought he could do it,” says Mr. Howlser. “So they load a pistol with a bullet and start playing each other cause they were the only two fuckers crazy enough to do it. They play one round, but no winner so they go again. Second round, no winner so a third. Eventually they play enough rounds where they figure they gotta up the odds. So instead of loading one bullet, they load two. They play round after round with two out of six chambers loaded with bullets, spinning the revolver cylinder each time before they pull the trigger. This goes on for a while right, and then they load another fucking bullet. Each round now these guys have a one-in-two chance of blowing their brains out, but they keep playing.”
In Mr. Howlser’s recounting over the phone, I hear he is deeply disturbed by this story and ask why him and everyone in the gambling entourage continued to sit in the hotel room. In response he says, “We had been up for days smoking crystal and doing other shit. We were fuckng zombies. It’s only looking back now, sober, that I can see how crazy it was.”
But the game of lethal roulette was not over yet. Mr. Howlser claims that Mr. Ferdini and Mr. Makelson continued to play round after round, occasionally loading another bullet until finally the revolver was fully loaded.
“With six out of six chambers loaded, the odds of them dying on the next trigger pull was 100%,” says Mr. Howsler. “And I’ll damned, but they both went, and they both fucking lived. Somehow, they both got dud cartridges. After that, they both just had huge laugh for a while. A little bit later, Richard Markelson leaves and James Ferdini and the rest of us stay doing drugs for a bit until the rest of us guests leave too.”
Before Mr. Howlser ends the phone call, he stresses again the reason for contacting me.
“What happened is a messed up story, I know, but the point is that me and Maria don’t know anything about James Ferdini’s death or where his money is. Once we were sober enough to leave that seedy hotel outside Atlantic City, we left along with the rest of the people that were following James. And when we left, he was alive, and he had his money.”

Bad Luck

While Mr. Markelson, Mr. Howlser, and Ms. Nowak all say they only know the most basic details of how James Ferdini died, his death has actually been well documented by investigators and the coroner's office for Atlantic City.
Prior to this report, it was the mindset of Mr. Ferdini that was previously unknown. Sill up in the air is the whereabouts of his $1.3 million. But from what I've found, the report on his death is fully accurate, and even clears any of the entourage that was following him from being involved in any possible wrongdoing related to James Ferdini’s death.
On Tuesday March 26th at approximately 4:30AM, it would appear Mr. Ferdini’s luck simply ran out.
In that early morning hour, someone on Mr. Ferdini’s floor had ordered room service. As the porter was delivering the food, he slipped and fell outside of Mr. Ferdini’s room.
The noise from the fall awoke Mr. Ferdini who opened his door to find the porter picking up a tray of food in the hallway.
Upset at the disruption and the clanging of silverware outside his room, Mr. Ferdini proceeded to yell at the porter, pushing him against the wall in the hallway.
The confrontation ended when Mr. Ferdini told the porter that he was so upset that he was going to go down to the lobby and speak to management about the disruption.
Heading to the elevator, the porter told Mr. Ferdini that it was out of service. Frustrated, he turned to the stairwell and began walking downstairs.
Mr. Ferdini would never make it to the lobby however.
What Mr. Ferdini didn’t know was that the porter had also used the stairs to walk up to his floor, and that along the way he had spilled a small dish of ketchup.
When Mr. Ferdini walked across the spot where the porter had dropped the ketchup, he slipped and fell, falling down the stairs and knocking himself unconscious on the ground floor.
While in bad shape, investigators say that Mr. Ferdini was still alive at this moment, but what came next would be the fatal blow, or series of blows.
With the elevator out, the stairwell was the only way up and down the hotel floors. While Mr. Ferdini was unconscious on the ground, he blocked the entryway to the stairwell from the ground floor. A guest a moment later would attempt to open the door to the stairwell, but found that it was blocked by some obstruction that he could not see. Bothered and wanting to get to his room, the guest then started slamming on the door, thrusting it open with all his energy. He did not realize it, but the door he was thrusting over and over was slamming into the left side of Mr. Ferdini’s temple. The heavy metal door banged away over and over again, causing Mr. Ferdini’s brain to hemorrhage, and eventually doing enough damage that it would kill him fully.
The guest only stopped thrusting as the porter came back down the stairs to see Mr. Ferdini with his head being repeatedly bashed in by the door.
The porter screamed and soon the guest was made aware that he had accidentally killed Mr. Ferdini.
In this unusual and grizzly death, a confluence of bad luck came together to end Mr. Ferdini’s life.
If the elevator had not been out. If a guest on Mr. Ferdini’s floor had not ordered room service. If the guest had not ordered a dish that came with ketchup. If the porter had not spilled ketchup in the stairwell or dropped plates outside Mr. Ferdini’s room. If Mr. Ferdini had not waken up. If he had not confronted the porter and decided to go down to the lobby. If he had not slipped in the stairwell. If a guest on the ground floor did not repeatedly try to enter the stairwell. If any of these things had gone slightly differently, Mr. Ferdini would still be alive.
It could be said that Mr. Ferdini had finally found a run of bad luck, and incredible bad luck at that.

Double Negative

I cannot speak to Mr. Ferdini. He died long before I came to Atlantic City. For this story I’ve had to rely on the video surveillance from the Borgata casino and several eyewitness accounts of the drug fueled binge at the seedy hotel outside Atlantic City.
In those accounts from Mr. Ferdini’s hotel room, I’m left with conflicting views and shattered narratives.
It is clear to me that Ms. Nowak, Mr. Howlser, and Mr. Markelson cannot be trusted to give a full accounting of what happened. In my mind, the clearest liar of them is Mr. Markelson, who both omitted his story of seeing James after the gasoline incident, and also whose story is in direct conflict with Mr. Howsler and Ms. Nowak. While Mr. Markelson claims it was Mr. Howlser that had a revolver to play roulette, Mr. Howlser and Ms. Nowak both say it was Mr. Markelson.
Embedded in these lies and less than full accounts is a still missing $1.3 million. Something I believe Mr. Markelson is desperate to try and find, and for which was his original impulse to contact this reporter.
Now with an understanding of James Ferdini’s mindset leading up to his death, I am left with the unanswered question of what happened to Mr. Ferdini’s missing money.
I head back to where this story started, the Borgata where the gambling binge took fold. I seek an interview with Bill Hornbuckle, President of MGM resorts and a majority stakeholder in the Borgata Hotel and Casino. He agrees to speak with me and provides a full record on floor manger Richard Markelson.
I start the interview by asking if he’s aware if Richard Markelson owns a handgun, and in particular a revolver. In response, he says: “Our records indicate Mr. Markelson has a concealed carry license from the state of New Jersey for a Ruger LCR Six-Shot revolver. We have this in our records because Mr. Markelson is authorized to carry the weapon on the premises.”
Mr. Hornbuckle asks if I believe Mr. Markelson was involved in Mr. Ferdini’s death, to which I tell him I do not believe he is. I give the accounts of Mr. Markelson, Mr. Howlser, and Ms. Nowak, and while Mr. Hornbuckle is disturbed by the story, he agrees that Mr. Markelson has done nothing strictly illegal outside of drug use. He does add however: “The story with Russian roulette, if true, would certainly make us reconsider allowing Mr. Markelson to carry a weapon in the casino.”
Confirming that Mr. Markelson was the owner of the revolver has led me to believe Mr. Howlser and Ms. Nowak’s account over Markelson’s. It seems likely now that like Mr. Markelson did indeed play a dangerous game of Russian roulette with Mr. Ferdini, and that it was he who provided the gun to use.
Before I leave the Borgata, I ask Mr. Hornbuckle about another detail Mr. Markelson told me that I am no longer sure is true. I ask if a ‘cooler’ is something casinos really use, and if specifically Mr. Markelson is designated as one at the Borgata.
His response is to laugh at first, but he goes on to say: “Yes, a cooler is a real term. I actually believe in them myself. Luck is real. It’s a tangible thing that follows people around -- good luck and bad luck. I believe coolers have saved my casinos a lot of money over the years, and Mr. Markelson certainly fits that role at the Borgata. He's terribly unlucky, couldn't win a game of cards if his life depended on it. Still, he's invaluable at cutting the luck high rollers short."
He pauses before continuing: “There is of course the problem of the double negative, or when two coolers are together. It happens when a cooler is around someone who has luck just as bad as him or her. Like two positive or negative charges on a magnet, they repel each other, and the cooler’s effect instead of bad luck is one of incredible good luck. I’ve never seen it myself, but I’ve heard that even the most unlikely people on earth can have incredible runs of good luck if someone as equally unlucky as them is near.”
I propose the idea that maybe Mr. Ferdini was as unlucky as Mr. Markelson, and that together they achieved this ‘double negative,’ bringing them good luck while they were together.
“Yes,” Mr. Hornbuckle says. “I suppose that’s possible. It’s a very dangerous situation though for an unlucky person to suddenly be met with non-stop good luck. It could make you think yourself invincible, unable to be defeated in any challenge. You might even start to take on bets on things that aren’t real games of chance, like harming yourself by drinking boiling water. There’s also the danger of what happens when the double negative effect is over. One cooler parts ways, then each would fall into their own run of terrible luck, not realizing that their hot-streak has ended.”
As the interview concludes and I leave the Borgata, I think about the good luck Mr. Ferdini and Mr. Markelson had. I consider the incredible odds that both survived firing a loaded gun to their temples only for each to find a dud cartridge. I ponder the unfortunate series of events that would kill Mr. Ferdini after Mr. Markelson left his hotel room.
Lastly, I think about Mr. Markelson’s own luck since March 26th. Maybe it hasn’t been as bad as Mr. Ferdini's, but I know he contacted a reporter and as a result management at his casino will be looking into his behavior. I consider and think, that is not too lucky.

Porter

What was meant to be a short report about an unusual death in Atlantic City has grown into something longer. This is now a meandering investigation with unreliable characters, newly discovered details, and a still missing $1.3 million.
Before I leave New Jersey and return to New York, I go to the seedy hotel where Mr. Ferdini and his entourage consumed drugs and played Russian roulette, and where he would eventually die. It is my hope that I can speak to the porter -- the last person to ever see Mr. Ferdini alive.
At the hotel I speak to the manager and ask her who was the porter in the early morning hours of March 26th. The manager tells me that the porter no longer works for the hotel, and that in fact he had quit the very same day Mr. Ferdini died.
“After the police left, he flipped us all off,” the manager says. “That son of a bitch quit in style, telling us he didn’t need to work here no more. He said he was set and that we can kiss his ass goodbye.”
I ask the manager if they knew where the porter could have gone, to which she replies: “No idea. After he was done talking to the police about the death in the stairwell, I think he was out of New Jersey for good. He used to live nearby so I saw him when he left. He was fully packed. Had all of his stuff with him and three really full duffel bags I’d never seen before. He really didn’t seem like he was coming back -- had everything with him.”
Like the porter, I load my bags and finally prepare to leave New Jersey. As I do a thought pops into my mind: Could the porter that night have discovered Mr. Ferdini’s $1.3 million in three duffel bags in his room? I consider and think, maybe, and if he did, maybe this porter is the luckiest man in Atlantic City.
Myra Kindle is an independent investigative reporter. She covers tech, law, politics, and other stories that would be impossible to write about in more traditional outlets.
submitted by crazyguzz1 to nosleep [link] [comments]

The night the Rolling Stones fired Donald Trump: Keith Richards once pulled a knife to get the GOP-frontrunner out of Atlantic City venue

This is the best tl;dr I could make, original reduced by 64%. (I'm a bot)
The American leg, named after their comeback album "Steel Wheels," began in August in Philadelphia and ended in December in Atlantic City.Advertisement: The final show, at the Boardwalk Hall, aired on pay-per-view and - like the Miss America Pageant, also held at the Hall - was to be sponsored by the adjacent Trump Plaza Hotel and Casino.
Even in the late-'80s The Stones didn't want to be associated with Trump.
"I run to the press room in the next building and what do you think is happening? There's Donald Trump giving a press conference, in our room!".
Advertisement: Thinking he'd extinguished the fire, Cohl returned to the dressing room only to get word five minutes later that Trump had found his way back to the mic.
"One of two things is going to happen," Cohl told Trump.
While literally telling Donald Trump "You're fired," Cohl noticed Trump's "Three shtarkers he's with, in trench coats, two of them are putting on gloves and the other one is putting on brass knuckles."
Summary Source | FAQ | Feedback | Top keywords: Trump#1 Cohl#2 building#3 going#4 leave#5
Post found in /politics, /politics and /Trumpisacunt.
NOTICE: This thread is for discussing the submission topic. Please do not discuss the concept of the autotldr bot here.
submitted by autotldr to autotldr [link] [comments]

Nicest beachfront hotel (with casino?) in AC?

I know Atlantic City isn't what it used to be, but nonetheless, I'd like to go for a weekend getaway. I like the Borgata, but I'd like to be on the actual boardwalk. What's the nicest hotel casino, and if that's a tough ask, what's the nicest hotel without a casino that is on the boardwalk? Thanks!
submitted by YouBoxEmYouShipEm to AskNYC [link] [comments]

The creepy guy in the hoodie

Hi Coach!!! Im Baileigh and I LOVE your videos, but anyways here's my story. Back in May me and my cousin went with her grandparents to Atlantic City, New Jersey. Her grandparents were going to a hotel that's also a casino basically to gamble. So me and my cousin only being 19 kinda went off and did our own thing during this trip. Now mind you we went in mid May on the east coast, so it was not summer yet and the weather was still iffy. With our luck the weather we had during our trip was rainy and cold so we didn't spend much time outside. One afternoon we were walking along the boardwalk and were just looking around at the stores and such. But with me being an anxiety ridden, paranoid human I was watching my surroundings as well. During this time there was a lot of talk about human trafficking too, and us being young girls alone it was pretty scary. So we were walking there boardwalk on our way back to the hotel when I noticed this guy walking towards us with a hoodie on and the hood up looking down. I told my cousin and we kinda just kept an eye on him because he looked kinda sketchy. He then passed us and we were still weirded out. So we kept walking then I decided to glance over my shoulder to check if he was still walking. Thats when I noticed that he had turned around and started walking the same way as us. I hurried up and told my cousin. We then made the plan to head into the nearest store which happened to be a mall. This mall was kinda old and only had a few stores in it, but we noticed a Victoria Secret and booked it. We stood kinda outside the entrance of the store and watched the mall entrance (VS was closest to the entrance). You may ask why we went to like the first store but since it was a girly store we figured he wouldn't come in. So were standing there watching the entrance and we see the hooded guy start to come into the mall. We then walked into the Victoria Secret and pretended to shop, while we watched the entrance. We then saw the hooded man walk past and glance around probably looking for us. Once we watched him turn a corner we booked it back to the hotel. To the creepy guy in the hoodie, lets not meet.
submitted by BaileighJaee to cjades_scarystories [link] [comments]

Royal Flush General Registration Extended until April 28th.. and other exciting news!

Royal Flush at the Tropicana Atlantic City!
Welcome to Royal Flush, a Melee/Smash 4 tournament featuring $10,000 combined pot bonuses across both games! Held at the wonderful Tropicana Atlantic City. Tropicana offers a wide variety of food just a skip away from their gigantic ballroom. Check out the world famous Atlantic City boardwalk or hang at the beach just a few steps outside of the venue.
We will also be featuring a lucky number 7-minute timer for Melee. We're playing in a casino baby!
Schedule Here!
Royal Flush is also an Official FUSE Doubles Qualifier Event!
Free Shuttle Bus Service Round Trip to Venue from Philadelphia Airport!
Amazing discounts provided by shops in the Tropicana!
Smash Roulette Side Event open to all attendees, win prizes!
Hotel Rates only $99/night at the NEWLY RENOVATED TROPICANA!! The hotel is the venue! Rate is only good until May 5th!
Sponsored By: Tropicana Atlantic City, Melee Masters, and Mute City Customs
Streamed By: VGBootCamp & SmashStudios
Lead TOs: Reno, Splyce | Nintendude & VGBC | Tantalus
https://smash.gg/tournament/royal-flush/details
Follow: RoyalFlushSmash for updates! Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/events/1650184788610537/
Late Registration will start April 29th, and venue prices go up $10! Register now and save!
You will have an opportunity to request a later pool once the first draft of pools come up.
submitted by RenoNYC to smashbros [link] [comments]

Best cities to travel for summer gateways

1.Sonoma, California
Sonoma is a historic city in northern California of the renowned Sonoma Valley winemaking region. It is best known for its art galleries and the colonial-era Sonoma Plaza. A must-visit for destination for wine lovers, Sonoma boasts a bounty of wineries and vineyards and is described by U.S. News & World Report as “Napa’s rustic, less-refined and more-relaxed sister with its typical Mediterranean weather with hot, dry summers (although nights are comfortably cool) and cool, wet winters.” Sonoma is also ranked number one by U.S. News on its Best Small Towns to Visit in the U.S.A. ranking and second on its Best Places to Visit.
2.Steamboat Springs, Colorado
While Steamboat Springs might be known for its skiing activities, it’s ranked as the third best summer destination for the American travelers. The latter has 6 peaks including Mount Werner alongside the city’s geothermal hot springs are said to have therapeutic properties. Few of the more attractions known are the Yampa River Core Trail, provides beautiful views of mountains and hot springs including number of other outdoor activities to indulge in, from the Yampa River Botanic Park to the Strawberry Park Hot Springs. The best times to visit Steamboat Springs are between June till August and from December till the end of March.
3.Bar Harbor, Maine
This affordable weekend destination is perfect for all outdoorsy, especially with summer temperatures in the 60s and above. The town serves as a perfect gateway to the mountains and cliffs of neighboring Acadia National Park. One can enroll in kayaking, whale-watching and other activities it has to offer. Bar Harbor has been ranked U.S. News’ Best Cheap Summer Vacations, coming close to number 14.October is the ideal month for leaf peeping in Maine! while it is advisable to keep in mind that some areas and higher elevations may reach peak color in late September, but many parts of Maine are best in early to mid-October.
4.Cape Cod, Massachusetts
Cape Cod, popularly called a hook-shaped peninsula of the state of Massachusetts, is a popular summertime destination for all those who long to have a quintessential New England beach vacation. With approximately 40 miles of seashore to explore, filled with sun, sand, seafood and lighthouses etc.. To get a good feel of the area’s culture, visit Provincetown, for numerous art galleries, or Sandwich for glass-blowing. The popular Wellfleet Drive-In is an ideal way to spend a summer evening under the stars. However, the months that span Memorial Day to Labor Day fall within peak tourist season for this area, so plan on booking your stay in advance.
5.Shenandoah National Park, Virginia
Shenandoah National Park located about 40 miles northwest of Charlottesville, Virginia offers plenty of activities for a weekend getaway. It extends along the Blue Ridge Mountains in the U.S. state of Virginia with the Skyline Drive runs its length, and a vast network of trails includes a section of the wide range of the Appalachian Trail. For anyone looking for an escape from the hustle and bustle of the busy city life this summer, you can’t beat heading to a national park. Pack up and hike along the Appalachian Trail, plan a picnic and trek out to see cascading waterfalls and wildlife, or hop in your car for a scenic drive along Skyline Drive. With more than 200,000 acres of land mass and forest to explore, camping sites, dining and lodging, and ranger programs, the park offers an ideal respite away from the busy city network. June till the end of August is the busiest season for tourism in Shenandoah National Park, so lodging and other accommodations may cost more than your usual budget.
6.Washington, Connecticut
Washington is a rural town in Litchfield County of Connecticut which falls within the New England region of the United States. The town is beastly known for its picturesque countryside, historic architecture, active civic and cultural life with a total population of 3,578 as per the 2010 census. All the diehard fans of the hit TV series “Gilmore Girls” will love a weekend trip to Washington (approx about 50 miles west of Hartford), again one of the small New England hamlets that provided inspiration for the show’s fictional town. One can invest its days strolling along the quiet streets and stopping into local cafes and indulge in bookstores, and enjoy a silent retreat at night to the Grace Mayflower Inn & Spa to name a few. Mostly all the hotel and lodges houses a full-service spa and a well regarded restaurants, meaning not just the fans of the TV show will enjoy a hectic getaway to this idyllic spot. The best times to visit Connecticut for ideal weather are between May 7th to October 21st.
7.Atlantic City, New Jersey
Atlantic City is a resort city in New Jersey facing on the Atlantic coast that’s known for its numerous casinos, massive beaches and iconic Boardwalk. The city was established in the early 1800s as a health resort, today the city is lined up with glitzy high-rise hotels and nightclubs and many other night life activates. Addition to gambling slot machines and varieties of table games, almost all the casinos offer spa treatments, performances by famous comedy and music acts, and high-end shopping. Apart from casinos, miles of shoreline and a renowned boardwalk, the city is a great summer getaway from the nearby biggest manmade concrete jungle New York City. While one is not relaxing on the beach, take a 228-step hike up to the top of Absecon Lighthouse for panoramic views of the city and its surroundings. Kids will love a visit to the Atlantic City Aquarium and Storybook Land, and all ages will have fun at the Steel Pier, a nearly century-old amusement park with rides for young and old. It is always advisable to book your room in advance as because summer is the most popular time to visit. Hotel prices aren’t as high as they were in the city’s heyday as expected.
https://trivoyagefare.tumblr.com/post/182015590070/best-cities-to-travel-for-summer-gateways
submitted by trivoyage to u/trivoyage [link] [comments]

A Current List of the Casinos in Atlantic City

There are currently nine casino hotels operating in Atlantic City, New Jersey. The former Showboat Casino has been converted into the Showboat Hotel, the former Trump Plaza Casino and former Atlantic Club Casino are both awaiting development.
Ballys Atlantic City (609) 340-2000 1900 Pacific Avenue
Borgata Hotel Casino and Spa (609) 317-1000 1 Borgata Way
Caesars Atlantic City Hotel & Casino (609) 348-4411 2100 Pacific Avenue
Golden Nugget Atlantic City (609) 441-2000 600 Huron Avenue
Hard Rock Hotel and Casino (609) 449-1000 1000 Boardwalk
Harrahs Resort Atlantic City (609) 441-5000 777 Harrah’s Boulevard
Ocean Resort Casino (609) 783-8210 500 Boardwalk
Resorts Casino Hotel (609) 344-6000 1133 Boardwalk
Tropicana Casino and Resort Atlantic City (609) 340-4000 2831 Boardwalk
Atlantic City Casino list provided by Airport Chariot® Car Service and Limo
via https://www.airportchariotcarservice.com/list-current-atlantic-city-casinos/
Airport Chariot® Car Service and Limo provides car service,airport shuttle and limousine transportation to/from the Atlantic City, NJ area and all airports and destinations.
www.airportchariotcarservice.com
submitted by AirportChariotLimo to AtlanticCityTourism [link] [comments]

Wayback Wednesday - The Heist

Since it was first commissioned in 1892, the Stanley Cup has taken on its own mythology. It's been to three continents. It's been beaten, dinged, kicked, thrown and abandoned.
It's been used as a baptismal font, ashtray, doggy dish, an on-stage prop for strippers, a bubble gum bowl, and – of course – a drinking vessel.
It's been left on street corners, left behind on frozen rivers, slept with, pried open by curious players, and found at the bottom of swimming pools.
There are many odd tales to tell about the most recognizable trophy in North American sports, but there's a really weird one I'd like to share with you today.
March 31, 1962 – dateline, Chicago. The Montreal Canadiens and the hometown Black Hawks (with a space) are deep into their semifinal playoff series. The Habs, at this point, are nothing short of a dynasty, winning four straight Cups from 1956 to 1960.
The Black Hawks broke that streak the year before, eliminating the Habs on their way to their first Cup since 1938. The Habs and their fans wanted revenge.
The Habs took the first two games of the series before heading south for games three and four. In those days, teams took trains from game to game and included a large entourage with the team on board. Coaches, beat writers, healthy scratches, and even a few lucky fans got to travel with the players.
One of the fellows on the Montreal train was a twenty-something super fan named Ken Kilander. Born and raised in Montreal, Kilander was a hockey player himself, but a lousy one. His boyhood dream of making the Habs dashed, he made a living as a pianist.
He travelled with the team on road trips frequently, hustling money for transportation and hotel rooms by playing the piano near the team's hotel. More often than not, Kilander would be wearing his cherished team jacket – word said he was given it by one of the team's players.
Kilander became loosely known to the players but was mostly known to the team's beat writers. They'd often socialize with Kilander on the train or after a few wobbly pops in a hotel lounge.
On March 31, the night before game three was scheduled, the group gathered in the bar of the team's hotel, the LaSalle, about a mile away from the raucous confines of Chicago Stadium. Kilander overheard one of the loose-lipped scribes saying that league officials had arranged for the Stanley Cup to be publicly displayed in the Stadium's lobby.
The drinks continued to flow until Kilander piped up. His exact words were lost to history and drowned out by whiskey years ago, but he said something like this:
“What would you all do if I found a way to get the Cup to the boys?”
The writers raised an eyebrow. After a one-beat pause, some laughed. One reporter, knowing the game would be played on April Fools' Day, said if Kilander could find a way to get the Cup to the hotel, he'd take a photo and send it back to his paper for publication.
Another reporter egged him on. Others said it would cause huge trouble, but it'd still be a good laugh. Apparently, one of them made Kilander a bet, that the pianist would earn $400 if he got the Cup to the hotel.
Don't make bets when you're drinking, people. Things get weird when you do. Things would get weirder the next day.
Game three started the next night just as many others had at the Stadium. Kilander made his way through the turnstiles and, to his amazement, saw that one of the writers was right. Sitting in a glass display case in the lobby, on a small wooden stand, was the Stanley Cup.
Kilander pondered it for a short while before heading to his seat.
For a hardcore Habs fan, game three wasn't a good night. Two quick goals made it 2-0 Chicago before the first period ended. By the time forty minutes had been played, it was 3-0 Black Hawks..
Distraught, Kilander left his seat and wandered down to the arena lobby. “My Habs were getting clobbered,” he said later. “I couldn't take any more of that.”
He walked through the now-empty lobby and saw the Cup, still standing on its wooden plinth near the rink's exit onto Madison Street. A small padlock held the case closed.
Kilander remembered the drunken wager the writer offered him the night before.
He knew what he had to do.
It's not really known how he did it – either he smashed the display case, picked or forced the lock open, or just so happened to find the lock already undone. The method isn't all that relevant – the end result certainly is.
Kilander wound up with the case open and the Stanley Cup right in front of him. No sirens or alarms went off. No security saw him. It was just the fan and the holy grail.
“I couldn't resist reaching in and taking the Cup in my arms. The Hawks were about to win, and who knew when I'd ever see it again,” he'd say years later.
Kilander held the Cup, then grabbed it fully, took it out of the display case, and beat feet out of there. If the Habs couldn't bring home the Cup, he'd damn well do it for them.
He made a quick dash for the exit, first trying to cover the Cup with his prized jacket. Realizing the Cup was too big to hide, he hoped he could sneak out the side exit and get onto the street, where it would be a fairly short walk to the team's hotel.
Kilander was steps away from the exit when he heard a voice behind him. “Hey,” it said. Sounded like some kid. Kilander turned his head back. It was a kid – a sixteen-year-old arena usher named Roy Perrell. Perrell had noticed the guy with the Habs jacket walking sneakily out of the building with hockey's most prized trophy and, shockingly enough, thought he probably shouldn't be doing that.
Perrell approached Kilander and asked him again, “What are you doing?”
Kilander thought of a quick reply; “I'm taking the Cup back to Montreal – where it belongs.”
Impressed with his quick line, Kilander kept walking. He only got a few more steps in before hearing another voice – this one, deeper than the last.
Chicago police sergeant Jerry Cortapessi was on the scene. Cortapessi asked the same question Perrell asked Kilander. He got the same response. It went over about as well as you'd expect – dead, hostile silence.
Kilander thought his goose was cooked but then remembered the bet - $450 if he could get the Cup to the hotel. Kilander mentioned the bet to the two and offered them both a substantial cut if they let him walk.
Cortapessi wasn't impressed. “Only if you're Rocket Richard and I'm the Tooth Fairy,” he reportedly said before grabbing the Cup from Kilander and handcuffing him.
So much for the hotel – Kilander would be sleeping in the hoosegow instead.
The next day, Kilander was taken to Chicago municipal court, still wearing his jacket. The Black Hawks, realizing this was all an ill-conceived joke – or maybe still satisfied after beating the Habs 4-0 - didn't press charges against Kilander.
Kilander told the judge he wasn't actually going to bring the Cup back to Canada, just to the hotel instead. The plan afterwards – what would he do with the Cup, if he'd return it, etc. - was kind of hazy after that.
He told the judge about the bet and that he offered the two arresting parties, Perrel and Cortapessi, a cut of his earnings if they let him walk.
That smells an awful lot like bribery, but the judge said the situation differently. Kilander was given a charge of disorderly conduct and was ordered to pay a $10 fine and court costs.
Just to cover his bases, the judge also told Kilander he had to promise he would never try to steal the Stanley Cup again. “I cross my heart and hope to die, I'll never do it again!” he said.
"He said to me, "You can go back to the Stadium tomorrow night and cheer all you want for your Canadiens, but the Cup stays here unless the Black Hawks lose, which I doubt very much they will," said Kilander years later.
Kilander did at least succeed in one way – the papers back home ate his story up. His attempted theft made the sports pages in every paper across North America. Habs coach Toe Blake weighed in, saying, “We want the Cup, sure! But we want to win it, not steal it.”
After game four, another Habs loss, Chicago police suggested firmly that Kilander catch the next train home. He did.
The Habs would lose that series in six games, blowing their shot and an almost-unprecedented dynasty. The Hawks didn't fare much better, losing to Toronto to create that ever-rarest of hockey flukes – a Cup for the Maple Leafs.
Kilander kept following the Habs for years after the attempted heist. He moved to Atlantic City for a while and tinkled the ivories in the city's casino haunts, later becoming – ironically enough – a security officer on the city's Boardwalk. He still found ways to make it to as many Habs games as he could.
Kilander was banned from seeing Rangers games in Madison Square Garden after the incident – even though the hapless Rangers had no reason to ever worry about the Cup ever being in their home rink. Nonetheless, Kilander met with Ranger GM Muzz Patrick to try and clear his name.
Patrick himself had a weird history with the Cup. When his father Lester had the Cup in his possession in the 1920's, Muzz and his brother both scratched their names into it with bent nails. Later, when he won it with the Rangers in 1940, Muzz and his teammates reportedly peed directly into the trophy's bowl, in what can only be described as the weirdest office team-building exercise in history.
Nobody really knows what happened in the conversation between the two, but between sharing stories of hockey games past and a short performance on piano by Kilander, Patrick relented and allowed him back in.
The Kilander fiasco had one long-lasting effect on the Stanley Cup. Ever since Kilander broke into the case, the Cup has been guarded like royalty, with security and police around it at almost all times and a pair of stewards always close at hand.
Part of the reason they're there is to keep the trophy looking good and shiny, to ensure the person holding it doesn't end up hoisting a rusty, bent bucket.
I think we can tell what another reason is – to keep the craziest fans around, the Ken Kilanders of the world, from trying to steal it.
If you want to read more about the weird, forgotten or amazing bits of hockey history, visit our subreddit at /wayback_wednesday. You'll find dozens of articles just like this one.
We'll be back soon with another article. If you have any ideas or information for later Wayback Wednesday posts, please don't hesitate to message me or comment below. I'm never too busy to answer questions about these.
submitted by SenorPantsbulge to hockey [link] [comments]

Atlantic City video tour Boardwalk - YouTube Atlantic City  Resorts Hotel & Casino Walking tour of the ... Atlantic City  Walking tour of the Atlantic City ... Atlantic City Casinos and Boardwalk - YouTube Atlantic City video tour Tropicana - YouTube Atlantic City Casinos, Hotels and Beaches, Boardwalk in ... A Tour of the Atlantic City Boardwalk - YouTube Tropicana Casino and Resort, Atlantic-city, USA - YouTube Visit Atlantic City Boardwalk Virtual Tour - YouTube

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Atlantic City video tour Boardwalk - YouTube

Today we are going to visit the Tropicana Hotel and Casino on the Atlantic City Boardwalk! The Tropicana is the southern most hotel and casino on the world f... Atlantic City Casinos, Hotels and Beaches, Boardwalk in Atlantic City, New Jersey Atlantic City is a resort city in Atlantic County, New Jersey, United State... Hi everyone! Today we are back on the Atlantic City Boardwalk to take a walking tour of the Resorts Hotel and Casino. This was the first legal casino to open... If you checked out the Atlantic City hotel and casino videos on this channel (and I hope you did), now you can walk the Atlantic City Boardwalk with me from ... Atlantic City Insiders tour of the A.C. Boardwalk. Original music, "Pop Rocks", used by permission from composer Andrew Wysong. Video by Michael Ein Casinos and Boardwalk in Atlantic City, New Jersey Atlantic City is a city in Atlantic County, New Jersey, a resort city in the northeast known for its casin... Tropicana Casino and Resort Address: 2831 Boardwalk, Atlantic City, NJ 08401, United States of America☑More info: https://top10hotel.info/tm-us-tropicana-cas... If you checked out the Atlantic City hotel and casino videos on this channel (and I hope you did), now you can walk the Atlantic City Boardwalk with me from ... This is a virtual tour of the Atlantic City Boardwalk in October 2019. In the video we walk from Hard Rock down towards Ballys Hotel along the Atlantic City ...

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