When Luck Beats a Lady

MAY 3, 2007 — -- Cascadia in Oregon is one of the largest gambling addiction clinics in America. But at one group counseling session, many of the voices we heard were not the ones typically spotlighted when discussing this disease. Women.

At Cascadia, some of them said:

"I lost a home. But the thing I lost that's the hardest thing is my relationship with my children. I know they still love me, but they don't like me anymore."

"When I was losing, I was thinking about how I could get money. And when I lost, I thought about the lies to cover up the losses."

"I did this because it was an addiction and I didn't know it was a disease."

Watch this story tonight on "Nightline" at 11:35 p.m.

Twenty years ago, only a handful of women sought treatment for gambling addiction across the United States. Today, of the estimated 6 million to 8 million gambling addicts in the United States, half are women.

Elizabeth Kato is one of those women. She became addicted to video poker, a game that is part of the Oregon state lottery.

"Now what runs through my mind is the amount of money that I've lost at those machines, and the hours and hours I spent at those machines and not with my family. I've lost my marriage. ... I've lost my children's home."

Too Painful to Shed Tears

Kato, along with "Nightline," went back to visit her old home in Oregon. She is struck with grief as she remembers what was lost.

"Both the kids grew up here," she said. "My son was 3 when we moved in. He had to take swimming lessons because we have a pool back here.

"It took about four years for me to blow enough money to lose my home," she said. "It didn't matter if the bills got paid. And that is what happened: They didn't get paid. It's hard, because I know I caused it. My addiction to gambling caused it."

Kato said she doesn't cry and that she hasn't for years. The memories hurt too much, she said, and if she starts, she won't stop. But how did it ever get this way for Kato?

"Gamblers become very good liars. My husband didn't know I gambled," said Kato. "I didn't know I was a compulsive gambler until my kids convinced me I couldn't kill myself because of the pain."

One of Kato's usual gambling scenes was at Dotty's Deli, a chain with several state-lottery-owned machines, many which feature video poker games.

"We're on 181st in front of one of the Dotty's I used to gamble at," said Kato. "It's not a bar situation, so women feel more comfortable coming into it."

While Dotty's is required by the state to carry a liquor license, the chain does not sell alcohol. In this particular Dotty's, "Nightline" observed most of the patrons gambling were women.

"Dotty's is actually a deli," said Kato. "I've never actually eaten at a Dotty's."

The State's Response ...

Casinos outside of reservations are banned in Oregon.

"We work with our retailers to ensure the primary purpose of their business is not gambling," said Carole Hardy at the Oregon state lottery board. "They are required to sell other products."

State law requires that a retailer's main purpose be something other than gambling. "Nightline" went to five of Dotty's 26 stores in the Portland area. The exterior of the stores visited screamed gambling, not grub.  And in all the locations "Nightline" observed, activity at the gambling machines overshadowed the sluggish business at the snack counter.

Dotty's has been investigated twice by the Oregon state lottery, in 1997 and 2001. Both times, its revenue from gaming machines exceeded the state-set limit. The chain has not been audited since.

But Dotty's has recently changed hands, and the new owner told "Nightline" he believes his company is in compliance with the law and has begun to make some minor changes to emphasize the food menu.

Hardy also heads the $10 million advertising campaign for the state lottery. "If you look at the Oregon lottery's primary mission, it is to maximize revenue," she said.

The lottery spends just over a million dollars in advertising urging female gambling addicts to seek help.

"We try to maintain a balance," Hardy said. "In actuality, the money that we've invested in gambling outreach has increased year over year."

Yet the odds are against female gambling addicts like Elizabeth. There are more than 11,000 gambling machines in family restaurants, delis and bars in Oregon.

"I think a lot of it is a state problem," said Kato. "They help with recovery, but if they didn't have video poker and line games on every corner, I wouldn't have become an addict."

Hardy said the Oregon lottery is there to serve the people.

"They voted for us," said Hardy. "We track favorability and the majority of Oregonians want a lottery."

Oregon has no state sales tax and uses the state lottery to help fund schools and parks. The state is projected to make half a billion dollars from the lottery this year alone.

"If we're making money for the state, if there are people that have problems, we reach out to help them," said Hardy.

But gambling addicts like Kato want to see more changes, like flashy advertising and other triggers removed from places like Dotty's.

'An Emotional ER'

While Oregon state's lottery funds treatment for gambling addicts, the state continues to roll out new video games.

"We're going to start seeing more women gamblers," said Peter Walsh, head of treatment in Cascadia, "because spring of last year the state brought in slots or line games in addition to video poker. Traditionally, slots or line games have been more favored by women."

"When they come to me they are desperate," said Marcia Mattoso, a gambling counselor at Cascadia. "The devastation of gambling is an incredible thing. I tell people. We are an emotional ER."

Mattoso said that while men tend to gamble for the thrill of the win, women gamble to block out emotional pain. Cascadia has helped these women get back on their feet.

Kato said she hasn't gambled since May 18, 2005.

"I came to Cascadia instead of killing myself," she said. "It made me a person. It made me realize that I am worth something."