Epilogue

It is 18 October 2017. The front entrance of the five-star Sofitel Hotel in Darling Harbour, Sydney, reminds me of Canterbury League Club. There are palm trees, a large porte-cochère, and a large revolving glass door, but no extravagant tropical garden complete with a waterfall. I walk in and head to the classy but cookie-cutter hotel bar on the left of the foyer, confident I won’t get kicked out here. I order a beer to steady my nerves, and take a seat on one of the grey-leather couches. The bartender delivers my drink, along with a complimentary bowl of nuts. As I wait for Ross Ferrar, the CEO of the GTA, to arrive, I sit back and listen to the relaxing lounge music playing through the speakers.

Ferrar and I have history. In January 2016, early in the course of research, I emailed requesting a face-to-face interview with him to discuss poker machines and the industry in Australia. As the head of the organisation representing poker machine manufacturers in Australia, I figured he’d be a good person to speak to. He replied soon afterwards, saying he would prefer it if I emailed him specific questions. I reluctantly agreed and sent through a list of questions, most of which were focused on the functionality of poker machines. They included: How are the machines programmed? What is the Random Number Generator and how does it work? What function does sound play in EGMs? What function does artwork play in EGMs? What makes a particular EGM game successful?

A week later, Ferrar replied. ‘Your questions aren’t very balanced. I’m not sure that I want to respond.’

The accusation was confusing. I read back through the list of questions I had sent through, but could not see any that seemed ‘unbalanced’. I replied, asking if it would be possible to speak over the phone about his concerns.

‘No, count me out,’ he replied.

It was shortly afterwards that I registered to attend the Australasian Gaming Expo in Sydney but then received an email from Ferrar informing me that my registration had been deleted because I was not an industry representative.

After this, there was virtually no communication between us. Then, following a press conference Ferrar gave outside the Federal Court of Australia on the first day of the trial involving Crown Casino and Aristocrat, I decided to introduce myself. I was nervous as I approached. A jolt of recognition passed through him as I said my name. We shook hands.

‘It’s nice to finally meet in person,’ I said. ‘It’s a shame we weren’t able to sit down and chat properly before.’

He smiled politely, then said, ‘I’m happy to talk to anyone about poker machines.’

I smiled politely, and said, ‘Good luck with everything.’

‘And to you,’ he said.

As I walked off, Ferrar’s consultant handed me his business card. ‘Give me a ring if you need anything else,’ he said.

Despite being so close to deadline, I figured I might as well try one last time to speak with Ferrar. I rang the consultant the following day and asked for an in-person interview. He said he would see what he could do. Given what had already transpired, I wasn’t holding my breath. But a couple of days later, when I saw the consultant in court, he informed me that Ferrar would be happy to meet in Sydney in a few weeks once the trial was complete and his schedule wasn’t so busy. I was frustrated that Ferrar was going to speak with me only now, after I’d almost completed this book. But I was also excited for the opportunity. For the next four weeks, I wondered what questions I would ask him and how I would ask them. Should I play hard, or play along? I also wondered why, after refusing to even answer questions by email, Ferrar was now agreeing to meet in person and give an on-the-record interview. It seemed very strange. What could he possibly gain from speaking with me now?

I’m halfway through my beer when Ferrar and the consultant arrive at the bar in the Sofitel Hotel. Ferrar, a short man with neatly combed grey hair and red, veiny cheeks, is dressed casually in navy trousers, blue sneakers, and a light-blue-and-grey striped business shirt, the top button undone. The consultant is dressed more formally in a blue suit and tie. It’s just past 4:30pm. I stand up to say hello. Ferrar smiles, and makes friendly small talk as he shakes my hand. He and I sit together on the couch. The consultant sits in the armchair across from us, and takes out a pen and notepad.

It has been a busy day for the two of them, but neither want a drink. They’ve been in continuous meetings for the GTA since 8.00am, and have a few more to attend in the early evening. No celebrations with colleagues are planned for afterwards, however. ‘We’re not doing any of those dinner things,’ Ferrar says with a smirk. ‘We don’t do that. Most of our guys are family people, and they like to get home to their children and their wives. I know that sounds corny, but it’s true.’

I eat a handful of nuts.

As well as being busy, today hasn’t been particularly ideal for the two of them — or for anyone else involved in the gambling industry. It was earlier in the day that explosive allegations against gambling giant Crown Casino made by three former employees were tabled in federal parliament under parliamentary privilege by independent MP Andrew Wilkie. Many of the allegations, which Crown strenuously denied, concerned illegal tampering with poker machines to encourage people to gamble longer and with higher amounts.

The whistleblowers alleged, for example, that casino staff were instructed to disable low-betting options on multi-line poker machines so people would be more likely to place larger bets; reset poker machines’ memories to ensure the lowest possible RTP; and shave buttons on poker machines, using a file or pocketknife, to create a gap for a small wedge that would make possible the banned practice of continuous gambling — that is, gambling without having to press the button. They also alleged that Crown turned a blind eye to illicit drug use in its VIP rooms; instructed staff to use different player-identification cards when processing transactions over $10,000 to avoid reporting to Austrac, Australia’s anti-money-laundering agency; failed to appropriately care for people who had attempted suicide on the premises after gambling and losing heavily; provided clean clothes sourced from the lost property department for people who had soiled themselves while gambling so they would not have to leave the casino; and failed to take appropriate steps when dealing with incidents of on-premises domestic violence.

One of the former employees explained, ‘So what they’d do is just get a room for the wife next door or upstairs, or downstairs, so in the vicinity but separate them for the night. If you alert the police the patron will either ask to leave, or they will not be allowed to gamble.’

Ferrar’s consultant says a little about the news and how, while it doesn’t directly involve the GTA, it will still be ‘interesting’. He also says that he and Ferrar ‘really appreciate’ my efforts over the last year or so ‘to make the time to talk to us’. Ferrar nods in agreement.

I’m confused by this flattery. It hardly seems sincere, which makes me wonder where it is coming from. What are Ferrar and his consultant trying to achieve by saying they ‘really appreciate’ my efforts to speak with them? Are they hoping I’ll suddenly forget about what happened in the past? Are they only now taking me — a young journalist with a relatively small media profile — and the book I am writing seriously? Are they now worried?

‘No worries,’ I reply flatly. I take a sip of beer before asking Ferrar to tell me about his background in the industry.

His career in the gambling industry, he tells me, began back in 1979. He has worked in casinos, clubs, and hotels in varying capacities, and has held a number of industry representative roles. He has been the CEO of the GTA going on 16 years now. I ask what has kept him motivated during his time in the industry.

There are a number of factors, he says, sliding his business card across the table to me. One is seeing the satisfaction people experience from gambling. He says he first noticed this in his early days working at Wrest Point Casino in Hobart, when he saw people ‘really enjoying’ going to the casino and ‘it being a good night out’. Wrest Point in particular, he adds, was important to local Tasmanians, as ‘they had what they saw as a slightly prestigious venue’. He breaks out into a laugh that sounds almost like rapid gunfire: Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh. He continues, ‘They dressed up, they made an occasion of it. They really enjoyed that.’

A second motivating factor for Ferrar is ‘the economic contribution that the venues make to their local communities’. A third factor is ‘the social contribution that the venues make to their local communities’. He elaborates on this: ‘It’s not just about money going into the community. It’s about the efforts that people make to provide food for disadvantaged people, to provide shelter in disaster situations. You know, it’s really important to communities that they have these places.’

I eat another handful of nuts, then ask Ferrar whether he plays poker machines.

He chuckles. ‘That’s like asking a … what is it?’ He searches for the right analogy. After a second or two, he finds it: ‘A cobbler’s children never have new shoes.’ His whole body shakes as he laughs again: Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh. Then, seriously, he says that he regularly plays poker machines in the showrooms of manufacturers and at gaming expos, but only ‘occasionally’ at actual gambling venues. On those occasions, he has an ‘entirely different mindset’ than when he is seeing how they operate in a professional setting. ‘Because it’s part of fun. I don’t go to work when I’m going to a club or hotel or a casino with my wife. We normally go somewhere to eat and to catch up with friends, and someone will say, “Let’s play the pokies for a while.”’

Ferrar believes that for most people, poker machines are, as they are for him, just fun. ‘To me — and I’ve regularly said this — they’re a bit of fun with a chance of winning. When people ask me about playing poker machines, I only ever have one piece of advice, and it’s keep your winnings.’ Ferrar smiles as he says this.

I think of Doug and all the other gambling addicts I have met, and suggest this advice might be difficult to follow, given that every aspect of a poker machine is carefully designed to keep a person gambling for as long as possible.

Ferrar brushes this suggestion aside with practised spin. ‘At the end of the day, if you take $20 and put it in a poker machine, what I’m saying is that you need to be prepared to spend that $20. And if you win $100, that’s okay. Take the $100. It is about how you use the poker machine, and for me, they are about fun and entertainment — with a chance of winning.

‘My father used to say that,’ he continues, chuckling. ‘Maybe it’s his fault. And he literally used to take $20 to the casino, and if he won, great, and if he didn’t, that’s it.’ He laughs: Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh. ‘He would not spend more than $20 if he won or lost. And I’ve known many hundreds of people, maybe thousands of people over the years, who have had the same attitude.’

I recount to Ferrar our earliest correspondence and how he refused to answer my questions because, as he said, he did not think they were balanced. I ask if this was the actual reason, or whether there were other factors at play.

‘The beginning of last year is a hell of a long time ago, to be blunt with you,’ he says. ‘We’ve had a lot of things happen since then. I remember feeling that they weren’t balanced. I remember feeling, if there’s a spectrum of anti and pro’ — he makes a spectrum in the air with his hands — ‘I felt they were a bit across that side,’ gesturing to the anti side. ‘You know, there’s a lot that happens in my professional life. And that is what I decided at the time. Frankly, I’d rather talk like this.’

I take a sip of beer, before pointing out that’s what I initially requested.

Ferrar apologises for what happened in the past. ‘But we are where we are now,’ he says, laughing: Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh.

I ask what explains the sudden change of heart.

‘Not a sudden change of heart,’ he replies quickly, raising his finger. ‘The trigger was that I saw you in Melbourne.’ He chuckles. ‘And I met you.’ He chuckles again. ‘Perhaps you’re such an amiable bloke that one just is automatically drawn to you and wants to talk to you.’ He laughs loudly: Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh.

I eat another handful of nuts. This really wasn’t how I had expected the interview to play out. Given our earlier correspondence, and what I had seen of him at various press conferences around the time of the court case involving Aristocrat and Crown, I had expected to encounter a combative man, and had prepared myself for a tense, tough clash of horns. But, instead, Ferrar is matey. He seems to be trying as hard to make peace as he is trying to be funny. I wonder whether all of this is a deliberate tactic to charm me. Or perhaps I’ve got it the wrong way around. Perhaps in our earlier exchanges — and the times I had seen him front the media— he was acting tough and putting on a powerful face that is required by any head of industry, and now I am seeing the real Ferrar. I genuinely don’t know. I’m thoroughly baffled. What the fuck is going on?

As if sensing and trying to allay my confusion, Ferrar says, smiling, ‘You know, I’m joking. Please forgive me. But meeting you did trigger, Oh, hang on. That’s the guy that I had that exchange with.’ He smiles. ‘In my mind, I went, Oh no! No! Where we left it wasn’t a good place.’ He makes a pretend sad, regretful face, then smiles. ‘So, like I said, forgive me for that,’ he says seriously. ‘That’s not the way we operate. That’s not the way I operate. I hope that’s obvious now.’

I remind Ferrar that he also denied my request to attend last year’s AGE.

Ferrar defends this decision. ‘Having worked in the industry for a long time, I usually feel like I have a reasonable sense about whether someone ought be denied access to the trade show or not,’ he says. ‘At a technical, legal level, it’s a private event.’ He adds that the ‘number-one priority’ of an exhibitor is ‘a combination’, before realising what he’s just said makes no sense. ‘This is like Monty Python.’ He laughs: Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh.

I eat another handful of nuts, then take a sip of beer as Ferrar continues laughing.

He calms down, then continues what he was saying about exhibitors. ‘Their number-one priority is brand awareness. And their close second is to generate new leads. And the trouble when someone does something like, wants to interview them, or wants to point a camera in their face, and they’re in the middle of trying to talk with one of their potential clients, it can get very difficult.’

I ask Ferrar whether he thinks recent events, like the court case against Crown and Aristocrat, and the damning allegations against Crown today, have seriously damaged the gambling industry’s public image.

‘Look,’ he says, seriously, ‘we see, like anyone else who reads the newspapers sees, that occasionally there are surveys about what are the issues that concern people in society. Normally, you will find gambling in the thirties. First, there’ll be troubles like health, safety, housing.’ He leans forward to exaggerate his point. ‘Usually, you won’t find gambling — well, never will you find gambling in the top ten.

‘So if what you’re asking is: has this done massive damage to gambling? For the people that enjoy playing poker machines and do so recreationally and without harm, which is most of them’ — he smiles and chuckles — ‘no, it hasn’t damaged their perception.’

I ask him what he thinks about the potential damage to the industry’s reputation, not about what he thinks others think.

‘As you’ve identified, I’ve worked in this industry since 1979,’ he says. ‘And over that amount of time, you do get a little bit proprietorial about that industry. So, yes, it’s not a pleasant feeling when someone comes out with allegations about anything.’ Proprietorial. It’s a powerful word to use. Despite my confusion about much of what else Ferrar has said, I know by his tone that he means this.

Ferrar is confident that all of the allegations levelled at the industry in recent times are baseless. ‘Do I stand by the integrity of poker machines? Do I have experience about that? Yes, I do. Do I know about the standards and the testing and compliance and efforts that are put in to make sure the machines are robust and operate reliably and with integrity in the field? Yes, I do know that. So am I comfortable that there are people making allegations? No. Do I know those allegations are false? Yes.’

How can he be so certain?, I wonder.

I ask Ferrar whether he is comfortable knowing that people experience significant harm from poker machines.

His head jerks back, and his face contorts in shock at the question. ‘Am I comfortable? No, of course not. I would’ve thought nobody is. But the point is that help is available. And over the last few decades, there’s been what I regard as a significant elevation in the help that is available.’ As examples, he highlights the in-venue support services and the introduction of voluntary pre-commitment in some venues — despite neither of these measures having any evidence backing their effectiveness.

Ferrar then pre-empts my next question about the potential need for more machine-based harm minimisation measures, and points to the recommendation of the Productivity Commission report from 1999 — not 2010 — about the need for there to be more information given to gamblers about the cost of playing a poker machine. ‘So our association went to the regulators and said, “How about we put a dollar amount on the screen as well as the credit meters, and how about we put an on-screen clock?” It took them a while to decide what colour the font should be and where it should be on the screen.’ He smiles. ‘But now you will find, everywhere in Australia, every poker machine has a clock on it. And they all have currency meters. And not just the credit, but the currency meters are right before your eyes.’ He laughs: Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh.

Does Ferrar think that placing clocks on poker machines is all the industry needs to do? And also, what is funny about clocks on poker machines? This interview, I think, is indeed like Monty Python.

I ask Ferrar whether he thinks the industry will continue to exist in the future as it does now.

He chuckles, and says he has pondered this question before. ‘I think that unless there is an evolution of poker machines to match the then-current requirements of players, then they won’t be as popular as they used to be.’ He then attempts to explain why he laughed at the question. ‘Was there an Apple or a Microsoft 25 years ago? Will there be in 25 years time? So my first response to your question was, “I don’t know.” But it’s up to Microsoft and Apple to remain relevant. And it’s up to poker machines to remain relevant, isn’t it? Do you accept that?’

‘I guess’, I say, confused.

‘I mean,’ he continues, ‘if you are not relevant to people’s needs — and I say entertainment needs — then they won’t use them.’ He laughs: Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh.

I eat another handful of nuts, then ask if he worries about governments introducing further regulations on poker machines, such as $1 maximum bets.

He doesn’t directly answer the question, but, from what he does say, he doesn’t seem too worried. ‘The interesting thing for me — and I don’t really want to labour this — and what concerns us all is that there is problem gambling,’ he says.’ Why doesn’t he want to labour that fact, I wonder? He believes the industry ‘as a whole’ has ‘worked hard’ to address the issue through the measures he discussed earlier. ‘I know damn well that we’re doing the best we can, that we have the slowest machines in the world, that we have some of the lowest maximum-bet limits. You know, after we do a $1 maximum bet, what are we going to do — one cent?’

Ferrar’s consultant leans forward and apologises for interrupting. He says that he and Ferrar have to head off to their next meeting. I drink the last of my beer. The three of us stand and shake hands and say goodbye.

‘Good luck with the book,’ Ferrar says as he is about to walk off. ‘What’s it going to be called?’

‘One Last Spin,’ I say.

‘Oh, okay. Hence your question about the future. You know, I think I’ll still be going out with friends for a meal or to catch up, and I still think we’ll be playing the pokies, for as long as I’m here. And I intend to be here for quite some time.’ He laughs: Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh.