By Chuck Darrow
For many in Atlantic City, this is a month that will always be tinged with melancholy as it was in February, 2012 that the city lost a true visionary.
When, at age 68, he died unexpectedly during a dialysis treatment on Feb. 23 of that year, Dennis Gomes left behind a legacy unparalleled in the local legal-gambling era. While he came to town from Las Vegas in the early 1990s to take over a floundering Trump Taj Mahal (now Hard Rock Atlantic City), he began to make his mark in earnest later that decade after assuming the CEO position at what was then Tropicana Casino Resort Atlantic City (now Tropicana Atlantic City).
Under his leadership, the Trop became a veritable petri dish of marketing innovation. For instance, he brought in several long-running public expositions, including those dedicated to the HMS Titanic and President John F. Kennedy, with each offering visitors a chance to eyeball scores of seldom-seen items. These two subjects were pretty much no-brainers (especially the former, which was staged in the wake of the release of the blockbuster film, “Titanic”). But another Tropicana exhibit was unlike anything a local betting parlor had ever seen.
In May 2001, a historical exhibition called “Torture Through the Ages” opened at the Trop. On display were dozens of authentic (and horrific) implements and devices, all designed to inflict maximum pain and death on those subjected to their use. It was a resonant and impactful presentation, but one not necessarily suited to a casino, where offering customers fun and games and the chance for a brief respite from reality are generally the goals.
But Gomes saw the importance of the thought-provoking and difficult-to-digest—but fascinating—collection, and it spent the summer at his property.
This is not to suggest he didn’t understand that fun was what people sought when they entered a casino. And he certainly went all-in on that when, in 2001, he introduced a Tic-Tac-Toe-playing chicken (patrons who beat the bird won $1,000, but that seldom happened).
The promotion garnered huge amounts of publicity (which was the point), but was quite controversial as animal-rights activists kicked up a fuss with claims the chickens were manipulated in ways that amounted to cruelty and abuse.
Ultimately, Gomes’ greatest achievement—and lasting monument–at the Trop was the November, 2004 opening of The Quarter, the bi-level retail, dining and entertainment space with a Havana-in-the-‘50s theme. To this day, it is AC’s only such complex. But Dennis being Dennis, he couldn’t resist having some fun with the project: Fidel Castro appeared on billboards advertising The Quarter.
Gomes’ final Atlantic City act began in 2010, when he and real estate developer Morris Bailey purchased what is now Resorts Casino Hotel. Not content with the status quo at the oldest legal gambling den outside Nevada, he was inspired by the set-in-Prohibition-era-AyCee HBO series “Boardwalk Empire” to re-brand the property with a 1920s motif. His out-of-the-box thinking for the property also included Prohibition, the first LGBTQ-focused nightclub ever established in a casino.
However, his time in Atlantic City was just part of Gomes’ extraordinary tale, which actually took root in the 1970s in Las Vegas.
Unlike most gaming-industry executives, who come from business-school and/or hospitality-industry backgrounds, Gomes first encountered the casino realm from an entirely different vantage point: He was an agent and division chief for the Nevada Gaming Control Board (and later served as the chief of the Special Investigations Division of the New Jersey Division of Gaming Enforcement). Most significantly, it was he who initiated the investigation of organized crime’s control of various Vegas casinos that formed the basis for Martin Scorcese’s acclaimed 1995 film, “Casino” (although the flick only credited the FBI).
The scene in which a high roller, who had won a couple-million dollars at the fictional Tangiers casino, is told the casino’s private jet has mechanical issues and can’t take him back to Japan–which forces him to return to the gaming hall, where he loses his winnings and then some– came straight from Gomes’ time running the long-gone Dunes casino on the Vegas strip.
His standing in the gaming industry was such that he was involved in 14 properties during his career. And he was considered by gambling-biz magnate Steve Wynn to be so valuable that when, in 1991, Donald Trump lured Gomes away from Wynn’s Golden Nugget in Las Vegas to run the Taj, Wynn sued Trump (an undisclosed out-of-court settlement was reached in ’94).
But what made Dennis Gomes special wasn’t his obvious brilliance as a gaming-industry executive. It was the way he presented and conducted himself that made his death such a huge loss.
For instance, he mostly eschewed the bespoke-suit style that most casino heads adopt as a uniform: One was much more likely to encounter him in a sweatsuit (even during business hours) than in a tie and jacket. And on a personal level, Dennis was a joy to cover, for he was never less than accessible, accommodating and happy to help this reporter. Because so many casino suits have been either uncomfortable with, or outright contemptuous of, the media, he was a breath of fresh air.
And it goes without saying his constant innovation and eye for the attention-grabbing stunt provided plenty of fodder for those who covered the casino beat back in the day.
But no one who knew him would argue against the proposition that most important of all was Dennis’ dedication to family—and make no mistake, anyone who worked for him was considered part of his family—and community.
As Jean Price, who spent 16 years as Gomes’ executive assistant, put it in an email:
“I had the privilege of working side-by-side with Dennis for 16 years, and saw firsthand his genuine love of his beautiful wife, Barbara, and family, as well as friends, employees and community.
“Whenever he was made aware of a dire situation, he immediately stepped in and made it a priority to help. Whether it was assisting a family with a terminally ill child or helping those facing difficult decisions and hardships, Dennis was always there.
“So many of his good deeds and acts of love and kindness were done quietly behind the scenes. Dennis had the biggest heart, and led his life daily with his philosophy: ‘Love is the most powerful force in the universe.’
“It truly made a difference. May God continue to bless Dennis as he is dearly missed by all of his family and friends. He was the best.”
Chuck Darrow has spent more than 40 years writing about Atlantic City casinos.
