A Tribe Takes Grim Satisfaction in Abramoff's Fall

Since it opened 11 years ago, it has drawn gamblers, mostly Texans, and markedly changed the lives of the Coushattas.

Revenue from the operation is estimated to be about $300 million a year, and each tribal member is given a quarterly sum from the profits. Tribe finances are not disclosed publicly, but estimates of those checks per member have ranged from $30,000 to $40,000 annually. Members also receive free medical care and education, as well as financial aid to buy a home. Many have used the money for better cars and better homes. The per capita prosperity has also kicked off a baby boom, tribal leaders said, and today 342 of the tribal members are under the age of 18.

"We all stuck together this long, and now everything is a whole lot better than we ever had," said Curtis Sylestine, 51, a tribe member who works on the reservation's maintenance operations. He chuckled ruefully when asked about the Abramoff money.

"It's like the old days -- they're still robbing us blind," he said.

In conversation, many Coushattas compare the casino to "the golden goose" and say they were naturally defensive about other groups, Indian or non-Indian, seeking to open casinos that might cut into their market.

Abramoff and partner Michael Scanlon promised to ward off the competition by blocking their government approvals, using their political access to prevent the Interior Department from approving a casino for a rival Indian group, the Jena Band of Choctaws, and trying to stifle the approval of other state-controlled licenses.

Abramoff did provide some lobbying. To ward off the Jena Band, for example, Abramoff called on support from senior senators and congressmen, the deputy secretary of the interior, and evangelical leaders James Dobson and Ralph Reed.

But there are a number of other instances where, tribe members say, the services that were provided were unclear and some of the money simply went to the coffers of Abramoff's allies. The guilty plea this week will help them try to recover their money from Abramoff, Scanlon and the law firm Greenberg Traurig, with which Abramoff was working, lawyer Jimmy Faircloth said.

Because Abramoff has admitted to a conspiracy, "the only issue now is the amount of the damages," Faircloth said.

Coushatta and other Native American leaders say they and their casino operations probably have been hurt politically as well, because of Abramoff's close ties to the tribes. There is already considerable political and moral unease over the spread of gambling. Many of the highway billboards promising the excitement of gambling also ask, in smaller type, "Gaming Problem?" and recommend a toll-free number for counseling. A billboard facing Texas-bound travelers leaving the Coushatta resort is simpler: "TIRED OF LOSING?" it asks. "TRY JESUS CHRIST."

Even before the money in the scandal came to fund Abramoff's work in Washington, it belonged to people such as Marie Buckler and Walter Elliott, a retired couple from the Houston area, who arrived at the Coushatta resort this week on a bus with other retirees. Neither seemed terribly troubled about losing the money.

"Is that where our money went?" Buckler asked with a chuckle.