These changes, however, were not sufficient to save the Kiwi. Its decline continued, albeit more slowly. In October 1988 Golden Kiwi staff numbers were cut in half. With sales one-twentieth of what they had been a decade earlier, the Commission decided to terminate it. The last $10 Kiwi was drawn in January 1989; the last $5 one in July and the final $3 one on 30 August. The bird had flown, but within Commission ranks there was little time for nostalgia. Many long-time tobacconists and their customers, however, quietly mourned the passing of this final draw illinoise lottery , one of the last in the world to close down. On a broader scale, this lottery had, since its beginnings in the 1920S, become a treasured cultural image. The art union and its successor, the Golden Kiwi, reflected the mood of a slower, more stable age, one not dependent on rapid technological advance for its pleasure. But in 1989 the Golden Kiwi had long been an anachronism in the world of lotteries. The surprise, in retrospect, was that it had lasted as long as it did. There were other, less obvious casualties. Charities were also feeling the pinch. During 1987 the New Zealand Society for the Intellectually Handicapped (IHC) ran four nationwide lotteries of it's own-ironically, because the lottery Board of Control had cut their annual allocation tenfold from $50,000 to $5,000 the previous year. The first three sold out, but the fourth, in September, made a net loss of $200,000. It would be unfair to blame the instant-win appeal of Lotto alone for the drastic reversal. The imposition of a Goods and Services Tax made punters wary, and the October share market crash and a December economic statement were soon to underline this trend. Other major welfare organizations and smaller community groups alike suffered from declining support for their appeals, raffles and cake-stalls in 1988 and 1989. As an example, the Royal New Zealand Foundation for the Blind''s income from its annual illinoise lottery fell to 10 percent of its usual $500,000 after Lotto was introduced. These organizations did have a saving grace. With more lottery profit in the hands of the Lottery Board, they could expect allocations well above those they had received in the declining days of the Golden Kiwi. New Zealand''s love affair with Lotto continued into 1988 and 1989. The game was catching up with horse racing in popularity. For New Zealand punters, 21-27 February 1988 was an epic week. Not only was there a Lotto Super draw, but Bonecrusher, New Zealand''s favourite four-legged hero, was being pitted against the rest of the country''s top thoroughbreds in the massively promoted Air New Zealand Stakes. New Zealanders laid out $25 million legal gambling money that weekend: $13 million on the horses, (including $1.1 million on Bonecrusher alone), $11.3 million on the Super draw and the rest on the also-rans-principally Golden Kiwi tickets, community raffles, housie and gaming machines. The more prudent among the populace could be excused their incredulity at this, for the country was gripped in deep recession with rising unemployment. Moreover, barely three months earlier, in October 1987, share-market aficionados, and the rest of the country, had watch in horror as paper companies worth millions collapsed like a pack of cards almost overnight. Was it a ''last throw of the dice'' mentality that was encouraging such recklessness in that February week, for the chance of a very distant return? Or was it just a lot of people having a lot of fun, oblivious to their own financial situation in a world increasingly bedeviled by lay-offs and joblessness? The real answer lay somewhere between these two extremes. But as some in society struggled to cope with economic hardship, there seemed no limit to the amount of money people would gamble. In the worst recession-hit areas such as Gisborne, Lotto''s brightly festooned stalls had even more appeal than in more affluent places. Within ten months, Lotto''s prize-money had topped $100 million and New Zealanders were spending $5 million on the game each week. Belying earlier concerns, betting on horses had also increased by 6 percent, and as the installation of gaming machines in hotels proceeded apace, so did their numbers of players. Within twelve months of Lotto''s inception, 60 percent of the population over the age of fifteen was playing the game and nearly half of them were watching the results on television. Canadian philosopher Marshall McLuhan''s most famous dictum was that ''the medium was the message'' Andy Warhol, the incandescent guru of American pop culture, believed people had ''a rampant desire'' to identify with events within their television world. It was unlikely the Commission''s marketing strategists saw either men as mentors, but the phenomenal success of Lotto appeared, in part at least, to bear out the relevance of their assertions. Moreover, the fact that so many people played the game, but their expenditure was so moderate (a weekly average of $4.63 per person), gave credence to Phillip Prosser''s contention that it was ''just a fun family game''. This kind of image-making was working: one-third of the tickets sold each week went to family syndicates. Mental health advocate Max Abbott was less impressed by Lotto''s success, condemning its promotion as entertainment as a load of nonsense. ''We''re very worried about the media hype which tags emotions and attitudes on to Lotto for increased sales,'' he told a journalist in May 1989. ''It''s a distortion of reality and the cumulative effect is very damaging.'' Abbott worked with compulsive gamblers, of whom there were an estimated 30,000 in the country. While their plight had been only recently recognised, it was a moot point whether the playing of Lono automatically encouraged punters to bet on more ''dangerous'' gambling games. New Zealanders of all persuasions have always gambled on a myriad of leisure activities, and only a fraction of them have become obsessed. If Lotto was not available, discretionary income would be ''invested'' elsewhere. Indeed, the evidence is that the vast majority of compulsive gamblers have become hooked on racehorse betting (and on gaming machines latterly), whereas most Lotto punters spend only $2 or $5 a week and gamble little elsewhere, except possibly on a ''good-cause'' raffie. It was inevitable that con-men would try to cash in on Lotto''s success. Fly-by-nighters who have tried to market ''fail-safe'' schemes to win Lotto include ''Lottomatic'' ($20 to enter), ''Lotto Number Selection Systems'' ($25), and 'Lotto Lucky Six System'' ($10) and ''Starway'' which for $10 offered a ''time proven method'' of plotting your six numbers from birth. These were scams of course, unless people believed that chance did not exist. Waitara sickness beneficiary Harry St George was one who tried to dupe the gullible. In October 1988 the Commerce Commission prosecuted him under the Fair Trading Act for misleading conduct and false representation with his ''Get Rich with Lotto'' promises. He was fined. His case was a sign of the times. His marriage had failed, an earlier business had gone bust and the so or so people who had purchased the system barely covered the cost of his advertisements. Harry St George, the entrepreneur, was a dismal failure. In January 1991 a Hamilton ''professional gambler'' created a stir when he told the press that he had cracked the numbers game. His scam was simple: he had analyzed the relationship among the 40 numbers as they came up over the first 179 draws, and had drawn up a statistical sheet to prove that he could reduce the odds from 3.8 million to one to 4,000 to one, based on the frequency with which a particular number came up. From this, he was willing, for a price, to reveal how anyone could win $400 or $500 a week. Official reaction was swift. The Commerce Commission described the scheme as nonsensical. The Lotteries Commission was equally dismissive and warned punters that if they entered any contract that involved ''lucky'' numbers they risked missing out on prize-money, as payments for ''winning systems'' were illegal under the rules. Even so, the Commission benefited from the deceit as Lotto sales rose slightly during the week it became public.
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