Now that last week’s election dunked the racino and other forms of gambling in Washington County, have we seen the last attempt to place more slots in Maine?

Probably not, but Casinos No! and Dennis Bailey, along with Mike Peters and his perception of doom and gloom, did a good job.

As late as a few days before action at the polls, prognosticators were confident the Passamaquoddy Indians would prevail and Maine’s most eastern county would blossom with racino, harness racing and high-stakes bingo. They would provide an economic boost and a step in the right direction since the sardines swam away from the coastal canneries.

With enough money to do the job, easily outspending Washington County folk, Casinos No! led the parade with the buzzwords “another bad deal for the State of Maine,” while Mike Peters, a former member of Maine’s Gambling Control Board who opposed the referendum, confused us with oblique statements concerning off-track betting parlors and lack of control.

Marden’s, the salvage retailer at several locations, boosted the anti-gambling effort with a $10,000 contribution that’s still being talked about.

And it worked.

Gambling, in its many forms, is profitable only to those who run the games. Yet, it’s fun, and no matter the odds, attracts people in droves, from office pools to the tables at Foxwoods or Vegas. Bangor’s successful racino, expanding even more, reflects increased numbers.

Gambling, in its many forms, is recorded through history.

In the year 1000, the kings of Norway and Sweden settled a land dispute by a roll of the dice, since the question had not been settled by diplomacy. Norway won the territory and historians tell us that the two monarchs remained friends.

The most prevalent of all gambling efforts has, through history, been the lottery and, as such, has left an imposing mark. Lotteries have been a favorite in this country since Colonial days and helped establish several major colleges and universities, including the Ivy League schools Dartmouth, Harvard and Yale, and the College of William and Mary.

Congress established a private lottery in 1823 to beautify Washington, D.C. But it sagged when those in charge fled with the money and the winner was not paid.

My first awareness of gambling, or that elusive specter of taking a chance, occurred long ago when I was a student in grammar school. While my Dad walked his mail route, Max Glazier at Koritsky’s Store sold him the last remaining number in a World Series pool. It was No. 1.

Now, nobody wants No. 1 in a baseball pool. But that afternoon’s game ended at 1-0, and Dad won a fistful of money. Later, listening to Jack Armstrong on the radio, I thought that was a pretty neat trick.

Much later, along with pools of one kind or another, were the treasury balance tickets. Another form of various numbers games, this one played off the last five digits of the published U.S. Treasury balance. Tickets, neatly folded and stitched together, could be bought at several locations, and if your numbers, in different combinations, appeared in print, you were a winner – not much, but an ongoing enticement.

Cousin Jerry hit the treasury balance for a sizeable amount. He took an afternoon off from his mill job, went to Skowhegan Fair and lost it all at the pari-mutual window.

Harness racing, rich in tradition across the country, has long been a staple of county fairs. The sport has gotten a needed boost from the success of Bangor’s racino and could have enjoyed the same had a track operated in Washington County.

The symmetry of harness racing is fascinating even if you don’t bet. But a few bucks here and there heightens the excitement. Contrary to Mr. Bailey and Mr. Peters, the last I knew, it wasn’t against the law to have fun.

I have bet on the trotters and pacers, many times at many places. The first was some years back at Skowhegan Fair and my $2 went for Perry Nelson’s horse, Rowdy. The horse, scraggly stale-coffee brown, came thundering down the track the second time around and won the race. I collected something over $4 and nothing compensated for my swagger to and from the cashier’s window!

Mainers don’t gamble?

Clyde Richards is a freelance writer and Scarborough resident.