Sarah Koenig

At Caesars, he typically worked the high-limit room.

Depending on the night, he was in charge of anywhere from 30 to 100 dealers.

I asked him about Loveman's quote.

So when he says we do everything we can to identify, our objective is to try to identify addicted gamblers as best we can and encourage them to seek treatment and help.

That's not true?

Kunder says the way it was supposed to work was that a designated person, called a casino ambassador, would respond to any gambler showing a potential sign of addiction.

So if a dealer or a floor person heard someone say, how am I going to feed my kids, or I just lost my house, they were supposed to call over the ambassador, who would then give the player some addiction literature, Kunder remembers a pamphlet called When the Fun Stops, and a phone number to call.

But in practice, Kunder says, it didn't happen.

The only exception, he said, was if someone was suicidal.

And anyway, there's no guarantee that a word of concern would make any difference.

The former host at the Isle of Capri in Iowa told me things worked differently at his casino.

A handful of times, he did try, gently, to help addicts, to talk to them about it.

Each time, he said, it was received very badly.

Imagine, he said, going up to a drunk in a bar and suggesting he ought to get himself to an AA meeting.

It's not going to go over well.

Still, in Christian Kunder's mind, there's one case that shows how flagrantly the casino ignores the policy that Loveman claims to live by.

In 2007, Kunder witnessed the most spectacular losing streak on record, the case of Omaha businessman Terrence Watanabe.

Watanabe lost about $200 million in a year-long binge.

Until he collapsed into debt, he was the company's most valuable player.

Kunder says a picture of Watanabe hung in the serving area of the bar to make sure every employee knew who he was.