DAILY MAIL CAPITOL REPORTER
In 1986 the West Virginia Lottery was about the biggest thing thestate had going for it.
Like a sports team, the lottery had a furry-faced mascot loved bykids and adults alike. People who got a chance to spin the state'slotto prize wheel got their photos on the front page of local papersalmost every week, and their feats provided water-cooler fodder fordays. The lottery's signature game show drew a crowd of 25,000 whenit was the showcase affair at the Charleston Sternwheel Regatta.
Today, even the most devoted players buy Powerball tickets withlittle more enthusiasm than they pick up a gallon of milk. Winnerssometimes don't find out they've come into a fortune until days aftera drawing, when they happen to think to check winning numbers online.
Twenty years after its inception, the state lottery is no longerregarded by most as an awe-inspiring chance to change one's fortunes.Now, it's just another part of life in West Virginia.
Some people win, and some people lose.
The state Lottery Commission is spending the year celebrating twodecades in business.
There are milestones in the agency's history that some think mightbe better forgotten, such as the trials and convictions of formerlottery director Butch Bryan and former lottery attorney Ed ReBrook,who spent time in prison after they were accused of insider tradingconnected to the state's burgeoning video lottery business.
There also were the moments that marked the lottery's majorsuccesses. They highlighted the good things that proponents saidwould come from the little scratch-off tickets and prize drawings.
When Lewisburg grocer Roger Boone won a $24 million jackpot in1995, he was able to bail out his struggling business, one he saidhad almost been undone by an employee's embezzling. Years later whenhis store burned to the ground, Boone's lottery wealth allowed him tokeep paying employees who were off work for months while the businesswas being rebuilt.
Some winners became media-shy millionaires whose newfound wealthprovided welcome relief to them and their communities. Others wentinto a tailspin of sought-after or unwanted publicity and a flurry ofunchecked spending.
Lottery games have allowed the state to flourish - or at leaststay above water - in ways that might not have been likely otherwise.But the lottery also has changed the financial landscape of WestVirginia and spurred controversy over how much of the economy hereshould be grounded on gambling revenue.
The early days
People who helped get the lottery off the ground in the early1980s and turned it into a full-fledged industry remember that eventhe highest expectations were anything but accurate.
"The proponents of the lottery were running around exclaiming overthe fact the state could earn as much as $8 million a year," saidNancy Bulla, a spokeswoman for the lottery who has been with theagency since it began. "Our first real news headline was that we'dhanded over $20 million. And that was after six months. No one hadany idea what it would become."
At the beginning, though, the lottery wasn't meant to holdtogether the state's failing economy.
After 18 months of sales, ticket revenue amounted to $70 million,and the state's coffers swelled by $28 million after it received itscut. All the money went into the state's general revenue fund, whichwas about $1 billion at the time.
"It was a drop in the bucket," Bulla said. "I'd get calls frompeople who knew Pennsylvania had a lottery and that people inPennsylvania had free bus rides (public transportation). They wantedto know why the lottery didn't pay for that here. My standardresponse was that the lottery was never intended to be a cure-all. Itwas just a contributor."
This year, the state's budget has grown to $10 billion, and itsshare of lottery revenue this year amounted to an estimated $446million, with $89 million set aside to help offset deficits in theteachers' retirement system and for other legislative appropriations.
The lottery now provides the third-largest source of staterevenue, right after sales and personal property taxes.
Starting from scratch
When it was beginning, the lottery's bread and butter were thescratch-off tickets that could, in seconds, put thousands of dollarsin a player's pocket.
Each time a new game was unveiled - there were nine introduced thefirst year alone - it was a big deal.
Games such as "The Sky's the Limit," "3-of-a-Kind" and "SurprisePackage" became huge hits.
On the first day tickets were sold, lottery receipts totaled $1.5million.
It would be seven years before video lottery would be legalized atthe state's racetracks and more than 15 years before gray machines,as they were called, would be acceptable in convenience stores, barsor pretty much anywhere that would pay for a license to lease videoslots from the state.
What kept customers clamoring in 1986 were the scratch-offtickets, and the lottery's weekly Grand Prize Show televised by WSAZ-TV.
West Virginia's version of "The Price is Right," the show'spremise was simple, but for five years it was a favorite of in-stateviewers.
The lottery drew the names of a handful of players each week fromthose who sent in thousands of scratch-off tickets from around thestate. Winners were brought by bus to the studio in Charleston totake their turn spinning a wheel for a chance to rack up more money.
The tears and hysterics often displayed during tapings made somepeople look more like they'd been pulled on stage at a rock concert.
"At the time, it was all very exciting," said Rex Roberts, aformer lottery employee. "When we'd meet the buses you could seepeople coming from these little places around the state I had neverheard of. It was such a big deal back then for them to get a trip toCharleston. Everybody was very enthused."
Roberts now works the information window at Tri-State Racetrackand Gaming Center.
In 1987, he had a very different job, donning a cartoon-likegrizzly suit as the lottery's official mascot, Jackpot Bear.
Roberts toured with state officials for every important pressconference and announcement during the lottery's first five years.
Once a week he would help host the Grand Prize show.
"I think they should still do things like that," Roberts saidrecently. "People loved to come and watch, and it really got peopleinterested in what was going on. Everything now, the games, it's juston paper, and it's not the same."
The TV show almost crashed during the height of its popularity.
Part of WSAZ's studios burned down in 1988, leaving the lotterywithout a stage or equipment for the game to go on.
Pennsylvania lottery officials, who had a similar show, were quickto step in with aid, hauling down an extra wheel for West Virginia touse.
The growth of lotteries
Nationwide, states were starting to see lotteries as a possiblesolution to financial strains.
George Manahan, now owner of one of Charleston's largestadvertising and public relations firms, was a reporter for MetroNewsin 1986, covering the lottery's creation and evolution.
"Covering the passage of the legislation, watching them getting itup and running and the conflicts that occurred, between the churchgroups, between the politicians, it was so interesting," Manahansaid. "What we see today, the fight over gambling, it's similar, butthe tone has escalated."
Manahan became part of the story in 1986 when, during thelottery's first charity game, he scratched off more instant ticketsthan anybody else ever had, earning him the promise of a spot in theGuinness Book of World Records.
His name never actually ended up in the book; somebody beat hisrecord prior to that year's publication.
During a Grand Prize Show, he won $10,000 for West Virginia floodrelief.
"It was a small studio, and we were crammed in there with a lot ofpeople," Manahan recalls. "It was new for everybody and people werejust so excited. Anybody who got to do it, it actually was a coolthing."
Hundreds of people eventually got to spin that prize wheel beforethe show went off the air and the lottery moved on to biggerventures.
The winners
Before Powerball winner Jack Whittaker made international news in2002 with his record-setting $340 million win and the tragedies inhis life that followed, there were other big winners who helped laythe foundation for the public's interest in the lottery.
Many winners appeared to prefer staying out of the spotlight.
Of a dozen or so people who won jackpots or even big scratch-offprizes during the lottery's first couple of years, only a fewresponded to requests to talk by phone about their winnings.
Russell Husk, the Grand Prize Show's first winner, still lives inWood County. He has refused any sort of public attention over hiswin, and he has no intention of changing his ways now to tell thestory of how his $3.7 million did or didn't change his life.
Beckley's Grace Clifford, who won a $1.5 million jackpot on one ofthe early Grand Prize shows, now lives in Virginia with her daughter.She's going to turn 93 soon. Family members didn't think she'd wantto talk about her past lottery luck.
Joseph Settimio of Follansbee, who scored a $250,000 win in 1986,seemed surprised anybody was interested in him once hitting thejackpot.
He said his appearance on an early prize show didn't make him aninstant celebrity around his town, and he didn't try to hard torepeat his luck.
"I ran out of money, so I quit buying," Settimio said. It was hardto tell if he was joking.
"Most of the time, people were very humble and they really didn'twant a lot of attention," said Bulla, who helps coordinate pressbriefings for lottery winners. "The money usually doesn't changepeople. They're the same people after that they were before, whetherthat's a good thing or not."
Can the same be said for the state?
Reliance on lottery revenue
Lottery director John Musgrave, who's been at the helm longer thanany previous director, said lotto officials have tried to steerpublic leaders away from depending on lottery revenue to keep thestate's budget in the clear.
But the pot of money is there, and it's hard to ignore.
The lottery now is faced with the challenge of how to keep thatpot growing.
Scratch-off tickets just don't cut it anymore. Keno isn't enough.The fight over whether to add table games at the state's racetracksand casinos looks likely to continue, at least for a few years.
"We've in West Virginia sort of been on the cutting edge of what'shappened with the lottery nationwide," Musgrave said. "We've had allthe games, and we had a lot of them first. West Virginia has been onthe forefront. Other than table games, there's already talk of whatelse to do for the future. None of us are quite clear on what thatwill bring."
Contact writer Kris Wise at kriswise@dailymail.com or 348-1244.
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