Pa. gambling lessons from a great educator

Octogenarian lawyer Richard A. Sprague delights in filleting witnesses. But last week, he was the one getting grilled.

A committee of state lawmakers called Sprague and others to Harrisburg to explain what the Pennsylvania Casino Association is all about.

To some, the organization he started in 2007 looks a lot like a lobbying firm. If so, that could pose a problem: The PCA didn't register, as lobbying firms must under Pennsylvania law.

Surely a superlawyer such as Sprague would never skirt the law. If anyone knows the law, it's Dick Sprague.

Just ask him. When State Rep. Curt Schroder (R., Chester) questioned why Sprague didn't seek guidance from the State Ethics Commission on whether to register, Sprague shot back, "I think I'm a better lawyer than they are."

Sprague jousted with lawmakers for more than three hours. He said the PCA was formed to educate the public about the gaming industry. The testimony detailed how that education process worked.

First, Sprague got three of the state's slots parlors to pony up a total of $1.6 million for the PCA. Gambling Lesson One: Ante up.

Then the group went looking for a topflight, ah, educator. The search turned up a well-qualified candidate: Stephen A. Zappala Sr., the former chief justice of the state Supreme Court.

The PCA initially paid Zappala $275,000 a year to be its chairman. It also hired Zappala's daughter as director of operations for $65,000 a year. You just can't have enough Zappalas on the payroll.

Stephen Zappala didn't seem to know his job title when lawmakers asked him. But he's sure he didn't stoop to lobbying. Rather, his role was to give Sprague advice and information "anywhere, anytime, anyhow." In other words, nice work if you can get it.

The PCA also made Lisa DeNaples, a principal at Mount Airy Casino in the Poconos, one of its directors. Folks who are "educated" about the state's fledgling gambling racket will recall that she took over the slots parlor after her father, Louis DeNaples, was indicted for allegedly lying to state gaming regulators about his mob ties.

Those charges were dropped. In return, Louis DeNaples, who has a previous felony conviction unrelated to gaming, agreed to turn over control of his slots parlor to his family.