Addicted gambler recovers 'one day at a time'

Denise Jewell
CNHI News Service

LOUISVILLE, KY May 17, 2006 02:23 pm

— Jim Chesser says there were early signs, when he was a young man, that he had a problem with gambling.
Like the lies he told his wife about casino nights at the local golf club. Then losing his entire bankroll on what was supposed to be a fun Las Vegas vacation.
But it wasn't until Indiana allowed riverboat casinos to operate on the Ohio River within driving distance of Chesser's Louisville, Ky., home in the early 1990s that the former bus driver became hooked on blackjack.
Within two years, Chesser says, he was in so deep he spent 27 hours straight at a blackjack table, chasing a winning streak. He borrowed $2,000 against his life insurance policy to gamble and had racked up several thousand dollars in debt. He says he thought about suicide but sought help instead.
Now 55 and a recovering gambling addict, Chesser wears a gold cross around his neck and regularily attends the Northside Christian Church in New Albany, Ind. His deeply furrowed brow offers a telltale sign of his past anxiety.
It was eight years ago March 20 that Chesser says he placed his final bet at a blackjack table in Bay St. Louis, Miss. It amounted to $200 and was the last of $2,000 he had borrowed against his life insurance policy to pay for the trip.
Chesser lost the bet, and when he confessed his bad luck to his wife, she threatened to divorce him if he didn't quit. In addition, he was $4,000 in debt from gambling. So he called Gamblers Anonymous.
Chesser was not a high roller, but he estimates he lost as much as $200,000 throughout his gambling career. He considers himself a lucky "high-bottom gambler," someone who got scared off before he lost it all.
Gambling was always a part of Chesser's life in Louisville. His father took him to Churchill Downs and other racetracks. His mother loved bingo halls. He saw the thrill of winning everywhere.
Like many compulsive gamblers, Chesser recalls, betting was not about the money for him. It was the high he felt sitting at the blackjack table; the looks of approval from others when he triumphed over the dealer.
"The euphoria is so high that I could be around 500 people and all I could see would be me and that dealer across the table and that money in front of him," said Chesser.
And the low?
"When I walked out after losing," he said. "I would get physically sick in my stomach, and say 'I will never, ever do that again.'"
Mental health experts who treat problem gamblers talk about the stages that addicts like Chesser go through. It starts with the winning stage, advances to the losing stage and ends up with the desperation stage. Then, for some of the luckier ones, a recovery stage.
For Chesser, the winning stage started on his very first bet. He turned a silver dollar at a blackjack table into a $35 gain. From then on, he says, he could feel the anticipation of the cards.
"If I know I'm going to gamble, 24 hours before that my train starts running and it runs until I leave," said Chesser. "Broke most of the time."
Because the odds favor the house, the longer a person gambles, the more likely they are to lose over time. And that's when the compulsive gambler moves into the losing stage, piling up one loss after another.
As they become more desperate, pathological gamblers begin chasing their losses by betting more. The addiction is often marked by a need to bet more and more to get that same high. Soon, they are in the desperation stage.
"Their brain has been wired into the big win as solving all their problems," said George Brenner, program director at Gallahue Mental Health Center in Indianapolis.
Recovery has not been easy for Chesser. But he overcomes the urge to gamble by attending Gamblers Anonymous meetings twice a week, and helping others go through the organization's 12-step rehabilitation program. One day at a time.
Since his dark days, Chesser says, he has remarried and runs an ink jet recycling business with his fourth wife. He swears by Gamblers Anonymous and has never felt better about life.
"In our book, it says we have three options: prison, insanity or death," said Chesser. "None of them appeal to me today. I have life today. When I was gambling, I just existed for the next bet. That's all that mattered."
Denise Jewell is a CNHI News Service Elite Reporting Program fellow. She writes for the Niagara Gazette in Niagara Falls, N.Y.

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