THE JOKE'S ON MR. MORALITY

Bennett's Slot Woes May Make Virtue A Tough Sell Bill Bennett

WASHINGTON -- A general in the culture wars is caught doing something legal
but embarrassing.

His supporters cringe. Gleeful opponents rejoice. Comedians go to town.

Ordinarily, morality czar William Bennett would be all over TV, twisting
the knife, scoffing at privacy arguments and wagging his finger at lesser
mortals. Except this time, it was Bennett who was exposed.

Since Washington Monthly and Newsweek magazines detailed his $8 million in
slot machine losses, Bennett has been very quiet amid a flood of cackling
editorials on the "wagers of sin" and Jay Leno jokes about Gambino family
values.

His only comment was that his gambling days were over - in a statement
issued right after his wife, Elayne, gave an interview leaving the distinct
impression she was stunned by the monumental scale of his losses.

He had one public appearance last week, speaking to Rotarians in Green Bay,
Wis. It was at a hotel-casino.

A spokeswoman for Oneida Bingo & Casino said she wouldn't be able to
comment on whether Bennett availed himself of the slots.

Painful Laughter

Bennett did nothing illegal, and most people outside the religious right
don't consider gambling sinful.

But the flap may cripple Bennett in another sense: People are laughing at
him now, and nothing punctures a sermon as effectively as a snicker.

Sex columnist Dan Savage is selling a $10 deck of playing cards featuring
Bennett's mug, suggesting they be distributed throughout Nevada so people
would recognize Bennett if he stepped into a casino. The cards have a
drawing of a scowling Bennett under the words, "If you see me gambling,
please alert my wife."

Noting that Bennett used the address of his conservative foundation on
casino forms, one Washington insider chuckled, "What if he couldn't cover
his debts? Do Moose and Rocco show up at the door of Empower America
looking to break some legs?"

The glee was palpable - and widespread, judging from the torrent of letters
to the editor in newspapers across the country - at the discovery that
Bennett had a shameful secret, after his years of condemning the personal
failings of single parents, working mothers, divorced people, gays and
anyone else who doesn't meet his standards.

Supporters point out that Bennett has never criticized gambling - which
proves he's not a hypocrite.

Detractors argue that lambasting every vice but your own is pretty
hypocritical in itself.

Gambling guru John Grochowski, author of "The Video Poker Answer Book,"
calculated that if Bennett recycled his winnings from the machines, it
would take him 800 to 1,600 hours of continuous play to squander $8 million.

"That's a lot of play," he said. "It takes a lot of money to lose this much
money."

Bennett could absorb the huge losses because, so far, the virtue business
has been lucrative for him. He commands $50,000 per speech and probably
makes 30 or 40 a year, an income of about $2 million on top of his book
royalties and triple-figure salary from the conservative Heritage Foundation.

But there are two startling new images of him that may cut into his speech
making.

One is of the morality maven sitting alone in the wee hours, pumping tokens
into a slot as waitresses in short skirts flit by with free drinks and
piped-in soft rock mingles with the rings and blings of the casino din.

Hungry For Jackpot

At Caesar's Palace in Atlantic City, Bennett obsessively played a
$500-a-spin slot machine tucked away in the high-limit room, trying to get
a trio of sevens to line up right for a half-million dollar jackpot. Video
of him at the slots, looking like he'd been up all night, shot on the day
former President Bill Clinton's impeachment trial began, aired on "Inside
Edition" last week.

The other is the thought of the author of "The Book of Virtues" living the
high life in Vegas, where the swanky Bellagio casino laid on free limos,
ringside fight seats and a $6,000-a-night villa with 24-hour butler, chef,
private pool and spa.

The Presbyterian Lay Committee, a conservative organization that featured
Bennett at its national meeting, called the news "a tremendous shock."

The committee said "his protestations that gambling have never been a moral
issue with him" sound like the moral relativism Bennett despises and "evade
responsibility for his actions."

Several conservative groups, such as Concerned Women for America, urged him
to get help.

Ken Connor, president of the Family Research Council, scolded the scold.
"As the nation's leading critic of America's virtue deficit, Mr. Bennett,
like it or not, bears a greater burden regarding his personal conduct than
the average citizen."

'A Cancer On The Soul'

James Dobson, founder of Focus on the Family, said he was praying for his
fellow morals crusader. Calling gambling "a cancer on the soul of the
nation," he praised Bennett for vowing to quit "what appears to be a
gambling addiction."

Bennett has insisted he is not compulsive, that he has won as well as lost
and is "pretty close to even" - a statement widely scoffed at by experts.

"In the short term, anybody can win," Grochowski said. "But if you keep
playing and keep playing, the house will take its percent."

Fudging the truth about gambling winnings is considered a major warning
sign by experts on compulsive gambling.

Bennett's spokesman wouldn't say if his boss is going to seek professional
help, saying it was a private matter.

Slot machines - and especially video poker machines, which Bennett also
favored - are the hardest to give up.

"Poker machines, they're the worst for addiction," said University of
Nevada at Las Vegas Prof. Bill Thompson.

"Gamblers Anonymous says only one in 10 can stay away for a year," Thompson
said.

Bennett may be tough enough to do it. When he became drug czar in the first
Bush administration, he successfully kicked a two-pack-a-day Marlboro
habit. And if he slips and sneaks into a casino, someone is guaranteed to
drop a dime to "Crossfire."