Wonderland Casino Development Project

The Wonderland casino development plan is Rick Weinberg’s ambitious proposal to remake the defunct Wonderland dog track and nearby Revere, Massachusetts, land as a casino and resort. Its significance lies in the way it joins a concrete development vision to a larger contest over scarce casino licenses, strategic property, and political access: the project is at once a promise of jobs and reinvestment, a speculative land play, and the focus of an investigation into money moving around the licensing process.

Licensing and Land

Massachusetts has passed a law allowing casinos, but the law creates only three licenses: one in western Massachusetts, one expected to go to the Wampanoag tribe in the south, and one near the city. That last license is the major prize, drawing numerous well-financed bidders. As Wayne Cosgrove explains it, casino companies spend heavily to lobby for legislation and then hope to secure a license once the law passes. Control of land in Revere would therefore give a bidder a substantial step toward a viable proposal, but land alone does not confer the license.

The investigators initially encounter Envolve Development as the purchasing company associated with the property. Wayne suspects it is a front: a large gaming company would avoid buying under its own name because openly identifying the buyer could drive up the owners’ asking prices. He names Weinberg’s operation as the front-runner in the competition. The structure makes the real estate itself part of the contest: concealment can help a bidder assemble land without alerting sellers to its ultimate value.

A fax obtained by Bernard J. Fortunato establishes that Weinberg owns Wonderland. The discovery makes the old track more than a rumor or a possible piece of a larger scheme. Spenser and Zebulon Sixkill then follow Weinberg and Lewis Blanchard from downtown toward East Boston and Revere. They watch the men visit several empty lots, including one within walking distance of the defunct track, where Weinberg talks with a surveyor. The scene supplies a practical counterpart to the paperwork: the proposed development is tied to an expanding set of parcels being examined on the ground.

The plan also depends on waterfront property beyond the track. Zebulon Sixkill recognizes that without Henry Cimoli’s condominium, Weinberg would be left short of the waterfront needed for his project. This makes the residents’ property consequential not simply as a real-estate asset but as a missing piece in the developer’s larger geography. The available evidence establishes that the plan needs that property; it does not establish that Weinberg ultimately secures it or wins a license.

Weinberg’s Development Vision

Weinberg presents the project as an economic and civic transformation. He argues that it would bring jobs to the town, revive the beach, and supply infrastructure, while acknowledging that the intended customers are not local residents but high rollers. His account makes the public-benefit argument and the commercial target visible at the same time: local employment and investment are offered as the justification for a resort whose core market is wealthy visitors from elsewhere.

The proposal is also framed as a return to an imagined original Wonderland. Weinberg recalls the site not only as a dog track but as an early amusement park, one that he says inspired Walt Disney. He has envisioned this version of the place even before casino gambling became legal. The plan includes an art wing, and his enthusiasm for art is reflected in his account of buying Picasso’s Woman Seated in a Chair at a price he compares to that of a jumbo jet. The painting’s singularity, in his telling, makes the expense worthwhile; the art wing similarly gives the proposed casino a cultural identity beyond gambling.

His entertainment concept mixes nostalgic imagery with deliberately conspicuous spectacle. He imagines cocktail waitresses dressed as sexy versions of Alice and casino performers in bunny suits carrying pocket watches. Susan Silverman challenges the confidence implied by the apparent detail of this vision: the license has not yet been awarded, and Weinberg concedes that there are other problems. The plan’s vividness is thus not evidence of approval. It shows how completely he has mentally designed a future that still depends on decisions outside his control.

Rivals, Incentives, and Political Access

Weinberg is not the only serious bidder. Wayne identifies Harvey Rose, a hometown favorite and former Harvard professor with a doctorate from MIT, as a strong competitor. Rose is buying into the Suffolk Downs parcel, setting up a contest in which rival applicants have distinct land positions as well as competing proposals. The licensing board has not yet convened, so the competition remains unresolved at this point in the investigation.

Weinberg’s deal with the Ocean View unit owners is conditional on that contest’s outcome. He offers each owner a bonus if he obtains the casino license; if he does not, the owners receive nothing under that incentive. The arrangement links private property negotiations directly to public licensing: the potential bonus depends not just on a sale but on the success of the larger casino bid. Rita Fiore is mentioned as someone who can keep Weinberg honest, underscoring the need to monitor the terms rather than take his assurances at face value.

The investigation broadens from land and lobbying to political contributions. Wayne finds expected official donations to senators, members of Congress, and Revere council members, then examines contributions to super-PACs. He reports that Envolve Development appears to have given nearly half a million dollars late in the previous year to a super-PAC run by the brother of Joseph G. Perrotti. Wayne explains that super-PAC contributions are legal and that donors must be disclosed; the donation raises a question about the political network around the casino effort, but it does not by itself prove an exchange of favors.

Later, Wayne examines records that appear to show direct payments to Perotti. He says some payments are legal and most are not, but immediately stresses the distinction between what the records seem to show and what can be proved. Two companies making payments belong to Gino Fish. The evidence connects Fish’s companies and Perotti to a potentially damning financial trail, while leaving its authenticity and legal meaning to be established. The plan’s political setting is therefore presented as suspicious and consequential, not as a fully proven bribery scheme.

Stakes and Unresolved Outcome

The development proposal gathers several forms of leverage into one project: ownership of the Wonderland site, access to nearby parcels, the possible waterfront connection through Henry Cimoli’s condominium, a license awarded by a state board, and the political relationships surrounding casino legislation. Each part is necessary to the larger prospect, but none can substitute for the others. A persuasive vision of jobs and revival cannot guarantee land assembly; land ownership cannot guarantee a license; disclosed contributions cannot alone establish corruption.

That incompleteness is central to the plan’s role in the story. What begins as a theory about why property is being acquired becomes a documented link between Weinberg and Wonderland, then a wider inquiry into competing developers and the money orbiting the licensing process. Weinberg’s imagined resort is highly specific, down to its art wing and themed performers, while its political and property foundations remain unsettled. The evidence presented here does not give the plan a final licensing outcome; it leaves the reader with a development scheme whose grand design is clear, but whose route to realization—and the legitimacy of the influence surrounding it—remains in question.