Atlantic City, Sinatra, and the Games on Edgmont Ave

My son Anthony is always sending me throw‑back commercials, pictures, or songs from back in the day — usually something from my day. This morning he sent me a link to some 1983–84 Atlantic City casino commercials, including one with Frank Sinatra wooing customers to AC. I remember seeing those commercials in the 80s, but I can honestly say I never saw Sinatra or any other celebrities when I was in Atlantic City.

Las Vegas? That’s another story. But AC? Never.

What I do have, though, is a small collection of miniature samurai swords that belonged to Frank Sinatra. They came from an auction of items from his suite at the Golden Nugget. There’s even a video showing some of the things that were sold. I had my eye on the marble toilet with the gold seat, but that was a hard “no” from the household committee.

When gambling came to Atlantic City in 1978, it was a big deal. Suddenly people could throw down money legally on cards and slot machines, and the casinos were more than happy to take it. Before that, if you wanted to play big, you had to find a high‑stakes game that would let you in — and your money better be good.

Well, if you were in Delaware County in the 70s and you knew a guy named Boston Blackie, you might just get into a game.

Boston — the man I called Dad — held a game once a month or so in his newly renovated, exquisitely decorated home on Edgmont Ave. in Chester. With red carpets, gold fixtures, and custom curtains, you’d swear you were in a casino. There were regular players like my Uncle Frank or a guy named “Deadman,” and sometimes others I didn’t know. I never saw much of the action because I wasn’t allowed to hang around the house during the games. That was fine by me — I got to stay out extra late.

My sisters, though, were allowed to stay. One of them would get to “work” the game: serving food, grabbing beers, running to Hall’s Store for cigarettes. The longer the game ran, the more money they made in tips. I was jealous of how much they walked away with.

When the casinos opened, there was no shortage of players. But the “guys” running the casinos wanted some of the “guys” in the suburbs to bring “whales” — gamblers who wager big and get showered with comps — into Atlantic City. You can probably see where this is going.

The games at our house slowed down as my father brought his players to the casinos. It was a win‑win for all the “guys” involved. Not so great for my sisters, who lost their tip money. But if you happened to be in our kitchen on a Saturday morning when my dad got home from AC, you might find yourself on the receiving end of a $20 bill. He’d hand out money like it was candy, and it didn’t matter who was there.

As I got older, I took a lesson from my dad. I’m not much of a gambler, but some of my buddies liked going to the casinos. If we were sitting at Wallio’s Frog Pond and someone was up for the drive, we’d ask around to see if anyone wanted us to place bets for them. They’d give you a few bucks for going, and if they hit, you might get a nice tip. More than once, I remember having no money for the toll to get back into PA after a night in AC.

We did the same thing at Brandywine racetrack. It was closer, and a reliable way to make a few bucks for gas or beer.