Amish Community and Locals Clash Over Upcoming Casino in Small Town - Blog

Yo, let me tell you about this little spot called TYRE, N.Y.—This place has been home to the Amish peeps for more than ten years, right? They've been nothing but chill, just doing their thing, cruising around with their horse and buggies, hooking us up with that farm-fresh goodness, and hey, they even pay their share of taxes without causing a fuss, even though they never cast a ballot.

But man, there's some drama brewing here now. They're talking about popping a shiny new casino right in the middle of everything, smack dab between Syracuse and Rochester. And guess what? It's got everyone all twisted up, putting a serious strain on the cool vibes between the Amish and the rest of us.

So, there's this guy, Bishop Daniel Schwartz, right? He's 43, and he's got this quaint little setup growing corn, tending to cows, and raising chickens just a stone's throw away from where they wanna build this casino. Dude's not having any of it. He's like, flat-out against the whole deal, saying it's either me or the casino. He's so serious that he's thinking about packing up his life and bouncing out if it all goes down. The Amish crew around here, a couple hundred strong, they're not usually the protesting type, but they're making their voices heard—showing up in court all silent but deadly-like, hitting up state hearings, and laying down their thoughts in good old pen and paper. They're trying to stop this casino in its tracks, and Bishop Schwartz, with his bushy beard and healthy glow, even sat down for his very first interview to throw down on the issue.

He's like, "Listen, gambling? It ain't cool with the Bible, and all it brings is trouble."

But the big shots in town, they're not buying it. They've got the higher-ups on their side and are all fired up about the jobs, the tourists, and the sweet upgrades that a casino could mean for us. The head honcho, the town supervisor guy, he's calling out the Amish, saying they're just being used as poster children for the anti-casino squad, blowing up how bad the casino would be for their lifestyle and acting like they're the big deal in Tyre—which, by the way, has like 950 people tops. “There's not gonna be some big drama with them leaving if we build the casino,” says Ronald F. McGreevy, the supervisor who's all in for the casino.

This whole mess in Tyre is just one piece of the puzzle. All over New York, folks are getting into it about where to drop these up to four new casinos. The State Gaming Commission's got a decision to make this fall, and they told all the hopefuls they better show they've got the locals on board. So all these contenders are hustling hard, throwing job fairs, making deals with businesses and workers, and talking up all the perks for the people. One of them is even dangling shiny new fire trucks in front of a town.

But there are those who are standing their ground, fueled by some deep feels. Environmentalists are throwing down lawsuits to stop a $1.5 billion project from this Malaysian casino company called Genting, cause they're worried it's gonna wreck a public forest in Tuxedo, Orange County. Then there's Kiryas Joel, this Hasidic village, also in Orange County, where they're all riled up about the effects of not one, but two different casinos. And let's not forget the folks in East Greenbush, near Albany, who are straight up accusing their leaders of playing dirty to make sure their casino developer got the thumbs up from the town.

So, all the folks suing have their fingers pointed at the local bigwigs. But let me tell you, they're not just trying to stir up noise for the heck of it. They want their roar to reach the big desks up in the state capital.

"We've gotta make some noise so the Gaming Commission sees that this whole shebang isn't as peachy as they think," Rodger Friedman shared with me. He's knee-deep in the fight against the casino they're tryna put up in Tuxedo.

Now, the mega $425 million venture in Tyre, they're calling it Lago, with a wink to the nearby Finger Lakes. This place is planning to be a mini-Vegas, brimming with slot machines, a giant theater, and a swanky hotel. The folks behind it swear it's gonna flood the town with cash. A place so tiny, you can't even find a post office!

Right now, Tyre's hustle and bustle is pretty much a truck stop. Can you believe their town court's squished in next to a dog pound? And they keep their community spot spick and span with money from BBQs and cashing in cans.

Their version of Main Street? It's just a handful of houses huddled by a creek leading to the Montezuma National Wildlife Refuge. It's gorgeous, but the money it brings in? Barely a drop in the bucket.

So, Governor Cuomo was all about boosting the upstate economy when he pushed for the casino laws. Mr. McGreevy from Lago told me they're gonna fix up the water, get the internet zipping along, and slash taxes. Heck, he said it's all about keeping Tyre from going under.

"Tyre's got a fighting chance," Mr. McGreevy, a fella who used to sell lawnmowers and now runs town biz from his spare bedroom, told me with hope in his eyes.

Lago's big boss is promising to pull a rabbit out of a hat with 1,800 jobs, which is almost double the folks living there now! You've got the county board, unions, the artsy crowd, and the business honchos all on board, not to mention the town board giving it the thumbs up.

But let's not forget the regular Joes and Janes – they're split right down the middle. Earlier this year, a group called Casino Free Tyre popped up to slam the brakes on the project.

They've hit a wall in court, sure, but they're not backing down. They're making their stand in Albany, ruffling feathers at the site, and going all out with petitions claiming the town board's been dazzled by the casino developers.

Now, these folks argue Tyre got picked for the casino 'cause the Amish in the area don't vote, and the country folk wouldn't stir up trouble. Casino Free Tyre, they're painting themselves as the knights in shining armor for the Amish and the old-timers who've tilled those lands forever.

There's this letter, scrawled by hand, from the Amish bigwigs pleading, "Please, don't let that casino rise up here." Signed by six earnest Amish fellas from a couple of their church districts.

James Dawley, one of the Casino Free Tyre originals, he's worried sick the casino's gonna scare off the Amish and the slice of heaven they bring with 'em.

"They're like our shield against the hustle of the world," he told me, his voice heavy with concern. "They keep us grounded with their faith."