A Million Stories

Evan M. Lopez

Beware the hypnotic, trance-inducing, mind-melting powers of Councilman Wilson Goode Jr., which were in full, terrifying effect at a daylong hearing in City Council chambers Tuesday.

The subject at hand: a bill, introduced by Councilmembers Bill Green Jr. and Maria Quiñones-Sanchez, which would restructure the city's business taxes, eliminating the net income (profit) tax paid by Philly-based businesses and increasing the "gross receipts" portion of the tax paid by all companies that do business in Philly. The bill also exempts the first 100,000 of gross receipts — a concession aimed at small businesses. Even the city administration, which opposes the bill, acknowledges that as many as 32,497 Philly-based businesses would become exempt from the tax under the proposed change.

Goode, however, would have none of it. The councilman, who vehemently opposes the bill, let his feelings be known in such force that you could practically hear the crashing of giant gongs as witnesses invited to testify against it were rendered nearly speechless — just how Goode wanted them:

Testimony of accountant John Kostenbauder:

Goode: There are small businesses that would have their taxes raised and small businesses that would have their taxes decreased. Is that correct?

Kostenbauder: My analysis was there were more savings than costs.

Goode: That's not what I asked. The question I asked was, there are winners and losers among small businesses — is that true?

Kostenbauder: That's true. Gong!

Testimony of car dealer Anthony Tigano:

Goode: Should there be winners and losers? In terms of business taxation?

Tigano: I believe the way the system is set up is currently unfair. I think firms set outside the city ...

Goode: My question is, should there be winners and losers?

Tigano: I'm answering your question: The present system is unfair —

Goode: I have a second question, as well.

Tigano: OK ... I was just trying to answer your first question.

Goode: I'm going to ask you my second question. Do you support the land value tax?

Tigano: Uh ... I'm trying to answer a question on the [business tax]

Goode: When we consider tax structure we do not do it in isolation. Gong!

Testimony of City Controller:

Goode: There are small businesses that would pay more, small businesses that would pay less ... large businesses that would pay more, large businesses that would pay less ...Philly businesses that would pay more, and Philly businesses that would pay less. ... Gong!

—Isaiah Thompson

Blackjack

Our recent cover story detailing a sunrise-to-sunrise vigil at SugarHouse Casino, "24-Hour Party People," contained a brief mention that one of CP's reporters — this one, in fact — not only blew through his company-allotted $50 gambling stipend but also lost an additional $20 of his own money. Not mentioned was the game on which he lost it: the Shuffle Master blackjack table, a video console in which up to five players compete against one of four virtual (and buxom) dealers in blackjack. The loss, at the time, was chalked up to simple bad luck.

But since then, CP has become aware of a startling fact: Shuffle Master blackjack is not, in fact, blackjack: Indeed, confirms the Pennsylvania Gaming Control Board, it is "a slot machine."

The difference is downright existential. Though the game appears to offer a chance to exercise free will, that will is largely illusory: In real blackjack, skill makes a big difference; but Shuffle Master, by law, allows only a small element of human skill.

Unlike actual blackjack, the exercise of skill, acknowledges state director of gaming lab operations Michael Cruz, probably accounts for about a 1 percent to 2 percent difference in the average payout over time on a Shuffle Master: "With real blackjack, if you can count cards, if you know perfect strategy, you can actually tilt the odds in your favor," says Cruz. "You really couldn't do that with [Shuffle Master]."

For all the nuances of standing, hitting or doubling down on a play, the game is mathematically pretty close to yanking on the ol' one-armed bandit.

This means that Shuffle Master blackjack isn't just slightly different from the real game. Gambling expert Michael "The Wizard" Shackleford recently calculated the casino's advantage in blackjack — real blackjack, that is — under current Pennsylvania laws, at just 0.4 percent.

Slot machines, however, are allowed to hold back as much as 15 percent per bet. Not only is skill worthless, but the odds are much worse.

How useful is any of this to the average casino-goer? Oh, about a minimum $20 a play's worth, we'd say.

—Isaiah Thompson

Paper Fight

The Public Record, a particularly unique rag published by former Councilman — and author of Going to Prison?, an account of lessons learned from his 1991 sentence for racketeering and mail fraud — Jimmy Tayoun, has long been critical of city watchdog and nonprofit the Committee of Seventy. In July, for example, Tayoun called Seventy a "propaganda force" for various private interests (the Record itself has a healthy readership among the Teamsters, who oppose many of Seventy's reform proposals). That accusation was more hot air than hard data. But about two weeks ago, the Record launched a full-out assault on Seventy using cold, hard facts.

So it seemed, anyway. In an article titled "Committee of 70 Flunks Nonprofit Smell Test," reporter Tony West wrote that the political watchdog "fails to meet standards of basic transparency and trustworthiness commonly used by raters of nonprofit organizations."

Citing numbers purportedly from the Pennsylvania Department of State, the article said that Seventy had spent 61 percent of its budget on programming, 15 percent on administrative costs and 12 percent on fundraising in 2008. This is troubling (and not just because those numbers don't add up to 100), but because, West noted, "the Better Business Bureau's Standards for Charitable Accountability state a nonprofit should spend at least 65 percent of its total expenses on program activities."

The numbers weren't wildly far from the BBB's standards anyway, but maybe he had a point: Watchdogs should be model nonprofit citizens.

But when CP placed a call to the Department of State, the Record turned out to be wrong. According to state data, in 2008, Seventy spent 69 percent of its expenses on programming, 17 percent on administrative costs and 14 percent on fundraising. In other words, it passed the Better Business Bureau test. In 2009, in fact, the watchdog passed with flying colors: 78 percent of its expenses went to programming, 9 percent to administrative costs and 13 percent were for fundraising. Why the discrepancy?

"I was just reading off the state website," says West. "I have no idea how they come up with those numbers. Maybe they got it wrong."

"There are only so many hours I can put into the story," he adds.

—Holly Otterbein