Boston

ON THE DAY MASHPEE Wampanoag Chairman Glenn Marshall sealed a deal with the Gates family to option more land in Middleborough, Mass., for a possible tribal casino, he also set out to take the pulse of lawmakers on that very subject.

The former U.S. Marine, fisherman and self-described man of “the woods, weeds or water” earned five Purple Hearts and a Silver Star in three tours of duty in Vietnam.

Dressed in khakis and a long-sleeved shirt, his shock-white hair in a ponytail, Marshall walked the halls of the State House on Beacon Hill earlier this week with a stride not unlike that of the politicians he is tracking down.

Marshall and his legal adviser, James Morris, knocked on doors of legislators who can influence the tribe's quest for an exclusive compact to build at least one casino in a state that doesn't allow them today, but soon could.

Marshall is not the first tribal leader to seek an alliance with government in hopes of building a casino. But unlike his counterparts in Connecticut, he is doing so amid contrary influences — open skepticism and the state's longing for more revenue to fund everyday needs.

A recommendation by Gov. Deval Patrick that is due by Labor Day would need support from at least 81 members of the House of Representatives and 21 Massachusetts state senators to pass. If the tribe takes upwards of 500 acres into trust in Middleborough, all of which it either owns or controls, it could, as a federally recognized tribe, build a bingo hall with slot machines without State House approval.

But the tribe wants a true resort, one as attractive and profitable as the Mohegan Sun in Uncasville, Marshall said.

One recent afternoon, Marshall and Morris sat down with Massachusetts Rep. Martin Walsh, vice chairman of the Committee on Municipalities and Regional Government. After several minutes spent bonding over the tribal nature of Irish clans and Native Americans (Marshall calls them “bloods” or “skins”), talk soon turned to gaming. Walsh wanted to know if Marshall would consider, instead of exclusive gaming rights, also letting slots be introduced at racetracks in the state. A state compact could require the tribe to give as much as 25 percent of slot revenues to Massachusetts, as Connecticut tribes that own casinos do.

“Twenty-five percent, that's a lot to give the state and not be exclusive,” Marshall said.

Walsh suggested the tribal casino could give something less than that.

“The short answer is 'yes,' ” Marshall said.

Despite that assurance, however, Walsh — once morally opposed to gambling but lately persuaded of its potential merits as a source of jobs and revenue — said later that week he was “disappointed.”

“There's no guarantee they'd be open to negotiation,” Walsh said of the tribe. “And I have a problem with that because there are 5,000 people working at the racetracks today, and I'm not going to vote for casinos that create new jobs potentially on the backs of other people losing their jobs.”

If Marshall sensed the tension, there was no mention of it as he moved on to his next appointment.

Tribal spokesman Gregory D'Agostino later clarified the situation: “It's the decision of the Commonwealth as to what form and how much gaming it would allow. The preference by the tribe would be exclusivity, but ultimately it's the Commonwealth's decision.”

•••••It is hard not to see Glenn Marshall as he sees himself — “the poor kid” at the dinner tables of neighbors who would later go on to be professional politicians, or the big kid whose grand vision of future tribal gaming boils down to two words: water park.

At 59, the Hyannis, Mass., native is most enthused not about the hotel or gaming or the convention center he would build on 525 acres in Middleborough, but a water park like the ones he's seen on other Indian reservations.

“The water park is for me,” he said in earnest. “I get to tell my grandsons, 'Hey, we're going to the water park today ... we're not traveling all the way to New Hampshire.' And, you know, it's an easy swallow for somebody to say we're going to the water park and then we're going to have a nice dinner. It's not always just about gaming.”

A tribal council member for seven years and the oldest of three children, Marshall has been a reconnaissance specialist in the Marines, a police officer for the Metropolitan District Commission in Boston and an investigator for the Plymouth County (Mass.) District Attorney's office. He also worked as a heavy-equipment operator for a construction company and spent years as a fisherman.

Living in East Falmouth with this wife, with whom he has five children, keeps him grounded, he said, when travel, politicking and organizing tribal government become too much.

“Scary” is the way he described the future of gaming that the tribe has a stake in.

“It's such a controversial subject,” he said. “Clearly, people are not really divided because there's a lot of support for gaming, but it's scary because we'll be the first. If we're able to open the doors first, we'll be the first in the Commonwealth. And we'll change history again. How many times do you get to do that? We changed history with federal recognition.”

•••••Marshall is a quick study and the consummate diplomat, telling state Rep. Brian Wallace of the district encompassing South Boston and Dorchester that House Speaker Sal DiMasi, who will be a key player in any decision about casinos in the state, is “being cautious” and will be fair-minded. In contrast, Wallace, a gaming advocate, refers to DiMasi as “the hurdle.”

“He's going to do what's best for the Commonwealth, no more, no less,” Marshall insisted. Soon after, he added, “In a perfect world, we're Connecticut. We do Indian gaming, you get money for the state. No matter what we do, it's not going to solve all the revenue problems” for Massachusetts.

Marshall appears in control during his meetings with politicians, but the magnitude of what he may accomplish is, at times, overwhelming, and sometimes keeps him awake nights, he said.

Marshall may feel like he's in freefall some days, but he's made a strong and favorable impression on people in a position to help him reach his goals.

“I think Glenn Marshall is what you see: there's not a deception, it's not a façade,” Middleborough Selectman Adam Bond said. “He strikes me as a professional, intelligent leader. Like everyone else, he has a little bit of the politician in him. That's not a bad thing — to put on the right suit for the right occasion.”

Bond has led the town of Middleborough to sign an agreement for a casino that would bring in millions of dollars annually to a town that is struggling financially.

Even more important, Bond said, were the tribal connections Marshall relayed about the Mashpee Wampanoags' link to the town — which includes the burial of the tribe's royal family there.

“What we have found is a partnership between two peoples that were connected at one time, split apart, and now are reconnecting,” Bond said. “That's the feeling you get talking to Glenn Marshall. There's a sincerity about it and an honesty about it. I believe he believes what he says.”

Tribal council member Richard Coakley said Marshall is fair-minded and has the support of the 1,558-member tribe.

“I think he listens to both sides,” Coakley said. “Any decision he's made, he's made with the help of the (council). I think the people have a lot of confidence in him. The tribal members, the majority, like the direction things are going in.”

Even Walsh, who barely knows Marshall, thinks the tribal chairman's genuine and direct approach plays well on Beacon Hill.

“He comes across as an average guy,” Walsh said. “He doesn't come across as a wheeler-dealer. And that's one thing that would make it more comfortable for me to negotiate with him. He seems very down-to-earth and sincere, and that's important. He's not a hot shot from Vegas.”

p.daddona@theday.com