JIM ALLEN, CEO of Seminole Gaming.

For these reasons, tribes claim, they do not release information about how much money the casinos bring in, nor how much money each Seminole receives in dividends. "It’s just pouring gasoline on the fire," Osceola says. "There are people who hate us just because we’re Seminoles. They call us ‘red niggers.’"

Tribes contend that some of this hostility stems from nonnatives who misunderstand how gaming profits are used. "Many tribes, even those involved in gaming, aren’t making so much money that they can pay out to members," says Liz Walker, a lawyer and government relations lobbyist working on behalf of several tribes that are seeking federal recognition, including some that want no part of the gaming industry. Walker explains that the poorer gaming tribes, those in the upper Midwest whose lands are located far from large metropolitan areas, make just enough to fund some healthcare services and educational opportunities for tribe members. "If people knew how hard it was to create an economy on a reservation, they wouldn’t be so critical," she says.

Tribal resources among the Mohegans first go toward paying for members’ healthcare. Bozsum explains that a baby in the tribe needs a heart transplant, which he estimates will cost $1 million—all of which the tribe will pay. "It’s one more Mohegan we can save," he says.

The Seminoles have their own police force and their own emergency medical services for reservation lands. They operate a school that teaches the Seminole way of life to 150 students. Like other tribes, the Seminoles are attempting to build a government infrastructure and multiple small revenue streams.

But some politicians rely on public misconceptions about Native Americans—and their wealth—when they challenge tribes for a greater cut of their profits, as several state governors have done recently. California governor Arnold Schwarzenegger announced in a 2004 state of the state address that "Indians need to pay their fair share" (meaning 25 percent of all slot machine revenues). At the same time, a coalition of non-Indian California card clubs and racetracks qualified an initiative for the November 2004 ballot, which became known as Proposition 68, the Gambling Revenue Act. Had it passed, the measure would have required all 53 gambling tribes to pay 25 percent of their net slot machine revenue to the state. Even though the tribes annually paid $130 million to the state, the saber-rattling worked. It forced the Pechanga tribe back to the table to renegotiate a better deal for the state. For years, Minnesota governor Tim Pawlenty has insisted that the Indians in Minnesota should "open their books to public scrutiny." Rumors have been circulating that the state might allow a competitor to build a casino near Minneapolis and St. Paul, which would cut deeply into the revenues of casinos built by natives in more-remote locations.

For 28 years, the Seminole tribe, with some 3,000 members, had been in the bingo business. For four years it has had its licensed Hard Rock hotel-casinos. Now, as Hard Rock owner, it ventures into the broader hotel and restaurant business, which doesn’t rely on the easy profits of gaming. But Osceola doesn’t seem concerned. He loves the attention the Hard Rock purchase garnered and the pride it brought to the Seminoles. Osceola recently took a phone call from his cousin, who works as a manager of a chain restaurant in Memphis. This cousin wanted to become manager of the Hard Rock Café in Memphis. "My goal is to become vice president of the café division," he told Osceola, who replied, "That’s great. It’s good to have a goal." Ultimately, the Seminoles aim for more tribal representation among senior managers of the gaming division and Hard Rock, but that will take time.

To speed the process, Allen created a mentoring program for young Seminoles with a high school education who want to learn the gaming business. Participants work in various areas of the hotel and casino business for three years. So far, only 22 young people have taken advantage of the program; five excelled enough to land on a management track. "I tell them, ‘You’ve got the best family business in the world. You want to be an accountant? We count more money than any bank. You want to be a chef? We got restaurants. You want to be in the music business? We’re in the music business,’" Allen says. "It’s a shame how few of them work here."

Michelle Seaton is a senior correspondent for Worth.

Additional Information
 Inside Straight
 Indian Gaming: How It Started