Tommy's dog track take: $280,000 to $409,000

Stories always get better over time, at least in memory, I guess. After 16 years, my recollection was that Tommy Thompson had raised somewhere between a half-million and three-quarters of a million dollars from dog track interests in his 1990 campaign.

I stand corrected. The figure reported by the Milwaukee Journal in 1990 was "only" $280,000 from dog track interests.

The Tom Loftus campaign, which did its own research, set the amount at $409,000.

Whatever the number, it clearly is more than the Journal Sentinel reported on Sunday, when it claimed Thompson had received only $200,000 from gambling interests during 15 years as governor.

Here's the story, which features his young campaign manager, Scooter Jensen, defending Tommy:

Thompson has received $280,000 from donors linked to dog tracks

The Milwaukee Journal
September 16, 1990

By STEVE SCHULTZE and CRAIG GILBERT

The state's dog track industry has provided what appears to be the largest special-interest donations to any single state campaign in Wisconsin history, funneling more than $280,000 into Gov. Tommy G. Thompson's re-election treasury.

A review of Thompson's campaign finance reports, based on both public records and a computerized analysis of those records conducted by his opponent, Assembly Speaker Tom Loftus, shows contributions since 1987 from more than 200 racetrack owners, investors and others who stood to profit from the tracks.

Wisconsin's racing law, some of it shaped by Thompson's vetoes, gives the first-term Republican power to appoint members to the Racing Board and to appoint the board's executive director.

There is nothing illegal about the contributions. Until now, however, their full extent had not been measured. They form part of the $4.6 million Thompson has raised so far in his campaign against the Democrat from Sun Prairie.

To the governor, they suggest nothing improper, and are no more noteworthy than his opponent's acceptance of money from the state's powerful teachers union.

"I don't look at who sends in money. I never have. I couldn't tell you at all who the key financial supporters of Tommy Thompson are. I never look at the financial records, reports. There's no pressure whatsoever on people to send money to our campaign," the governor told a reporter recently.

But to Thompson's challenger, the infusion of tens of thousands of dollars in racetrack money represents a disturbing trend in the state's political scene.

"That is an amazing impact on Wisconsin politics," Loftus said. "And you can see that it won't take too many elections before they will be the major players, in the legislative races and governor's race.

"By far, they are the largest player ever in the history of Wisconsin, in any race, for any post."

Loftus, who has raised $740,000 for his campaign, said his treasury would not include contributions from anyone who fell under his sweeping definition of dog track interests. Some $2,700 that was received has been or will be returned, he said.

The Racing Board licensed tracks on May 19, 1989, in Kenosha, Delavan, Wisconsin Dells, Kaukauna and Hudson. The tracks began opening this spring, and all but the Hudson track, scheduled to open in June 1991, are up and running.

Racing industry experts expect the tracks to be cash cows, producing huge profits for owners. Dairyland Greyhound Park at Kenosha, the largest of the state's five tracks, is expected to pull in $350 million in bets and $20 million in profits annually.

Dog track money is scattered over thousands of pages of individual contributions in Thompson's campaign finance reports.

A Journal examination earlier this year, reported Aug. 5, found $97,050 in dog track contributions to Thompson, chiefly from major investors in those five tracks.

A new examination by The Journal puts the figure at $286,000. That represents new contributions from investors as well as contributions from non-owners who have a large financial stake in the tracks, such as J.P. Cullen, president of the firm that is the prime contractor on the $35 million Hudson track. Cullen contributed $3,450.

About half of Thompson's racetrack money, $140,599, came from track owners and close family members. The rest included in The Journal analysis came from track developers and builders.

Figures Differ

Loftus' aides come up with a higher amount they say is linked to dog tracks: $409,676.

The Journal's estimate was lower because it excluded contributors without clear and substantial ties to the tracks, and firms who had done minor work for the tracks but might have had several other reasons for giving to Thompson.

For instance, The Journal list includes $3,000 in donations from Tommy Bartlett, owner of several tourist attractions at the Wisconsin Dells and a part owner of Wisconsin Dells Greyhound Park. Loftus' list included additional contributions from employes of Bartlett.

Scott Jensen, Thompson's campaign director, argued that Bartlett, while a part owner, should not be counted among dog track interests because he had been a consistent and longtime contributor to Thompson.

Loftus has been particularly critical of Thompson's receipt of racetrack money from out-of-state track investors. About 25% of Thompson's track contributions, or $71,986, came from out-of-state sources.

Thompson recently returned $2,000 of that amount to three of the four Alabama investors in Dairyland Greyhound Park who were accused by the Racing Board of fraud.

The largest chunks of out-of- state money to Thompson came from Florida investors in the St. Croix Meadows dog track in Hudson and Illinois investors in the Geneva Lakes Kennel Club at Delavan.

For example, the Antoniou family, which holds a major share of the Delavan track, gave 28,700. Florida partners in the Hudson track gave $16,500.

Loftus Cites Power

In Loftus' view, Thompson's power to appoint the state's racing regulators makes him a magnet for racetrack interests. Loftus goes so far as to refer to a "shakedown" for dog track money by the Thompson campaign, saying the governor's campaign methodically targeted dog track interests for contributions. To bolster his charge, Loftus points to his staff's analysis that shows contributions from various track interests cluster around dates of particular fund-raisers.

While Thompson declined to be interviewed specifically for this story, Jensen, the campaign director, said there was no systematic effort to collect track money for Thompson, although Jensen said he wasn't fully aware of all of the governor's fund-raising efforts.

It was only logical that a collection of racetrack investors should show up at certain fund-raisers, Jensen said. They probably wanted to attend along with other business people in a particular community, he said.

"We invited the entire business community when we held a fund- raiser in a particular area," he said.

Jensen also said it wasn't fair to include some of the money being counted as racetrack money because it was given by people with varied business interests, not just racetracks.

"I think there is a definitional problem here," Jensen said.

"If he {Loftus} says people are tainted the minute they make a dog track investment, that's just not fair to people who have been good corporate citizens for many, many years," Jensen said.

Teachers Donate More

The biggest formal special interest group spending in Wisconsin politics has been by the Wisconsin Education Association Council, the state's largest teachers union. WEAC gave $650,000 in 1987-'88, but it was divided among dozens of candidates. The figure comes from the State Elections Board's most recent biennial report.

Thus far, teachers have given $30,000 to Loftus for his gubernatorial race.

The board has not analyzed Thompson's money for dog track- related contributions, said Gail Shea, campaign finance administrator for the Elections Board.

Shea said she believed the method of analyzing Thompson's track money was legitimate. She warned, however, that "there is no fail-safe test that is going to completely define why people made a contribution."

. . .

Some Losing Firms Gave

Representatives of firms that lost bids for track licenses also gave to Thompson, Jensen said, arguing that showed that contributions to Thompson didn't matter when it came to awarding licenses.

Investors in a failed bid to win a license for a track in Beloit ruefully noted they made no contributions to Thompson and lost.

"They tried to be squeaky clean," a Legislative Audit Bureau investigative memo noted. The Beloit track investors told auditors "they suspect the principal owners of the Delavan {Geneva Lakes} track may have contributed to the Governor's Club," a fund-raising vehicle used by Thompson in which donors of $500 or more are given special access to and briefings by the
governor.

In fact, some Geneva Lakes investors gave many times the $500 it takes to get into Thompson's "Governor's Club." Andreas Antoniou gave $6,000, Anthony Antoniou gave $6,200 and three other Antoniou family members gave a total of $12,000.

Thompson campaign officials have argued that contributions made after the May 1989 track licenses were awarded couldn't possibly be construed as attempts to curry favor.

But Loftus said there were plenty of reasons. Thompson continues to play a key role in regulating tracks through his close working relationship with Racing Board Executive Director Terence Dunleavy, track licenses are subject to renewal, and those getting licenses have a vested interest in making sure nobody else receives one, Loftus said.

Investigator Aided Loftus

Along with the research Loftus campaign officials did on dog money, they also hired a private investigator from San Francisco to help them analyze racetrack records and make public records requests for them to the Racing Board.

Loftus consultant Michele Carrier said Saturday that the reason for having the investigator, David Fechheimer, make the records requests was that the Racing Board was not releasing all the documents it requested. Carrier said the campaign officials felt that if they were going to get cooperation from the board, the requests needed to come from someone who wasn't linked to Loftus.