Calvin Kovens

1924-1995

A Miami, Florida businessman and convicted felon, involved with at least one Nevada casino in the 1960s, later got special consideration from President Richard M. Nixon.

Gambling History

Calvin Kovens bought The Sierra Tahoe hotel-casino in 1966, defying Nevada gambling authorities’ order that he not become involved with the resort. He acquired the property with a James “Jimmy” Riddle Hoffa-approved loan from the Central States, Southeast, Southwest Areas Pension Fund of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters.

Having debuted in 1964, The Sierra Tahoe comprised a set of buildings, one on Lake Tahoe’s shore, the other across the street, in Incline Village. After several iterations, the property became the Hyatt Regency Lake Tahoe Resort, Spa and Casino.

Kovens made an undesirable gambler, in the eyes of the Nevada Gaming Commissioners, as he was Mafia connected, was twice convicted of crimes and was due to serve prison time pending appeal. Though he couldn’t get a Silver State gambling license as a result, he remained the landlord of The Sierra Tahoe for three years. (During that time, he renamed the hotel Lake Tahoe Hotel, and lessor of the casino Arthur “Art” L. Wood renamed the gambling house Incline Village Casino.)

In 1968, the Nevada Gaming Control Board suspected Kovens had a hidden interest in the Carousel Casino in Las Vegas. He denied it, and the agents couldn’t prove it.

Criminal Background

Born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland, Kovens served in the U.S. Army during World War II and moved to Miami in the early 1950s. Later in the decade, he launched two commercial real estate businesses: Ruedd Inc., a development company, and Cal Kovens Construction Corp., a building firm.

In 1962, he was fined $12,000 ($103,000) and placed on probation for loan fraud. He’d used Federal Housing Administration financing earmarked for a Miami shopping center for other purposes.

Subsequently, he became an expediter for the Teamsters pension fund. In 1964, he, as well as Hoffa and six others, was found guilty of mail fraud (five counts) and wire fraud (one count). The group had been providing false or inflated information to obtain loans as well as requiring and pocketing kickbacks. Kovens was sentenced to three years in federal prison and a $5,000 ($42,000 today) fine. (Hoffa got five years and a $10,000 fine).

Tit For Tat?

After remaining free for seven years, Kovens began his three-year stint at the minimum security Federal Prison Camp, Elgin in Florida. After his first parole request was denied in June 1971, he allegedly came down with a fever and “symptoms of heart difficulty,” for which he was hospitalized (Sunday Gazette-Mail, June 16, 1974).

Consequently, in December, the parole board, in a unanimous vote, granted Kovens the early release date of May 1, 1972 due to his supposed medical condition. By then, he would’ve served 15 months.

Three days later, Nixon ordered Hoffa be released from the U.S. Penitentiary, Lewisburg in Pennsylvania.

About a week later, former Senator George A. Smathers (D-Fla.) intimated to Charles “Chuck” W. Colson, White House office of public liaison director, in a phone conversation that Kovens should be freed., Smathers relayed to Colson the following dialogue he’d had with Charles “Bebe” G. Rebozzo, a close Nixon friend (The Breaking of a President, 1975):

Smathers: “Bebe, It looks to me that this would be a pretty good thing to do. [Kovens is] the most popular Jew in Dade County, South Florida. … This I know would at least give the president, and those who are going to help in this area, a very strong basis for going to the Jewish community and saying: For God’s sake, the one guy that went to bat for him was the president.”

Rebozzo: “I think [Nixon] ought to do it.”

Smathers: “I agree. There’s no negatives on this; it’s all pluses. … I’m sure the president can do it, and I’m sure, actually, [parole board] Chairman George Reed would probably approve of it.”

Colson sent to White House Counsel John Dean a transcript of this phone call with Smathers with the note: “The attached is much too hot for me to handle. … Obviously, [Smathers] makes a very good point, and I would assume if there is anything we can do properly, we should. On the other hand, in view of the personalities involved here, I would think this has to be handled with extreme care.”

Kovens got paroled eight days later, on Jan. 6, 1972. He’d served 11 months of his 36-month sentence. He was 47.

“The past and present chairmen of the parole board in Washington denied contact or behind-the-scenes pressure in the release of Kovens,” reported The Daily Review (April 9, 1974).

Shortly thereafter, Kovens delivered $30,000 ($187,000 today) in cash, reportedly a campaign contribution, to John Mitchell, Nixon’s campaign manager.

Referring to this secret donation and financier Robert L. Vesco’s $200,000 cash payment, columnist Andrew Tully wrote, “If you think these cash transactions have a Mafia flavor, you said it, I didn’t” (Albuquerque Journal, Oct. 9, 1973).

A new law required that Nixon disclose all campaign monies he’d received and from whom, however, he left Kovens’ $30,000 off of the list.

End Of Life

The ex-convict lived another 23 years as a free man, until February 1995, when he passed away, not from cardiovascular disease but from complications related to myelodysplastic syndrome, a type of bone marrow disease that may evolve into cancer. He was 70.

In his obituary he was lauded for his philanthropy, including having raised $20 million for Miami’s Mount Sinai Medical Center and $5 million for Florida International University. Among numerous other honors, the Miami Beach Chamber of Commerce named Kovens Man of the Year in 1990, and the Florida International University and Tel Aviv University awarded him honorary doctorates.

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“Pigeon Jailed for Gambling”

Two New York Police Department plainclothesmen arrested a pigeon that then was forced to spend the night in the Bronx police station. Five other such birds, on the lam, were wanted. Two men also were apprehended.

The capture went down on the roof of a tenement house. When officers approached the human suspects, they noticed one of them was holding a closed paper bag. They instructed him to open it, and when he did, two pigeons flew out. Each policeman went for a bird. One pigeon was caught, and the other got away.

All three suspects, Homo sapiens and Columba livia domestica, were believed to be policy runners. Policy, also called numbers, was an illegal type of gambling then, popular in poor and working class U.S. neighborhoods, in which bettors guessed the numbers that would be drawn randomly at a future time and wagered on their choices. Runners carried the gambling slips and money between the various betting spots and headquarters.

The human runners used the fowl to transport the tickets, secured by a band around their leg, from several outposts to a clearinghouse. The pigeons delivered them to that building’s roof, of course.

“Parking Meter Puzzle to RAF—No Jackpot”
Florida, Dec. 16, 1941

The chief of the Fort Myers Police Department spotted several cadets of the United Kingdom’s Royal Air Force taking turns inserting nickels and pennies into numerous parking meters lining Broadway Street.

“You’re wasting your time, boys,” he said to them. “You only get credit for one hour at a time.” He explained how the meters worked and their purpose.

One of the British servicemen said, “We wondered why it didn’t pay off. We thought it was an American gambling device.”

“Swallows Dice, Jailed”
Washington, July 23, 1934

When police raided an illegal gambling den in Kingston, one of the players present swallowed the dice. In court after his arrest, the judge gave him 30 days to “digest” and produce the dotted cubes.

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After Florida legalized slot machines in 1935, casino operator Myrton “Mert” Wertheimer, 53, devised a way to also get craps and roulette, unlawful at the time, allowed under the new rule. (Previously, only dog and horse race betting were legal, as of 1931.)

Capitalizing On Wording

Wertheimer, who ran the gambling at the Royal Palm Club in Miami,* had coin devices attached to his roulette wheels and to his craps tables, at considerable expense it was reported. The only difference in playing those games versus traditional roulette and craps was that guests first had to insert a 50-cent piece to be issued a ball or dice. A single coin got a player one roulette wheel spin or a full craps turn, until they hit or missed.

“There is no connection whatsoever between the mechanics of the wheel and of the slot,” or of the craps table and of the slot, The Courier-Journal reported (Jan. 13, 1937).

Before Wertheimer pursued his idea, he sought the advice of counsel, who advised him that games with such an add-on should be covered under the new slot machine law. That was due to the wording of the law’s slot machines definition, specifically the included phrase, “and similar devices of this type.”

Slot machines constituted “coin-operated skill machines (commonly referred to as pin-games, marble tables, and similar devices of this type which have a skill feature) which may or may not pay a reward for skillful operation or upon which operation, premiums may or may not be given for a high score or making certain combinations,” according to Chapter 17257 of the 1935 Florida Laws, 1085.

Subsequently, Wertheimer procured the requisite licenses for five of these adapted games, at $500 apiece ($8,900 today), for a total of $2,500 ($44,500 today). They were pricier than licenses for regular slot machines, which cost $120 ($2,100 today) apiece.

Controversial Rollout

Wertheimer then debuted his coin slot device-rigged craps and roulette in the Royal Palm Club at the start of the 1937 winter tourist season in place of his usual slot machines. His doing so caused public officials, from the local police chief to the state attorney, to question the games’ legality.

“The casual observer found little difference in what the management claimed was legal gambling and the old fashioned variety that generally brought the sheriff’s men with their axes,” noted The Daily Democrat (Jan. 13, 1937).

Florida Attorney General Cary D. Landis opined that since Wertheimer’s machines had been licensed, they were considered lawful. Conversely, State Attorney G.A. Worley and State Comptroller J.M. Lee deemed them illegal, and the latter sought to get them banned officially through the court system. While that process went on, other South Florida establishments copied Wertheimer and started offering coin-operated roulette and craps games. Lee’s efforts failed.

Subsequent Actions

All of the hoopla came to an abrupt end, though, when the state legislature, in 1937, repealed its 1935 slot machine law and banned those devices and all variations thereof.

“The vote for repeal in the legislature was overwhelming,” David G. Shields wrote in a Florida Bar Journal article (September/October 2013). “The repeal statute … was authored and vigorously championed by a young representative and future Florida governor named LeRoy Collins, who called the two-year experience with slot machines ‘a dose of moral poison.'”

Another 69 years would pass before slot machines again became legal in Florida, in 2004, this time by citizen vote. That referendum, however, only allowed slots in Broward and Miami-Dade counties, at certain parimutuel facilities there and with conditions.

Subsequently, in 2009, the state legislature would adopt an amendment that “ostensibly expands the possibility of slot machines to all pari-mutuels in South Florida and the rest of the state,” added Shields.

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* The Royal Palm Club, located in the Royal Palm Hotel, was owned by Miami City Councilman Arthur Childers.

From from freeimages.com: by Richard Styles

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From left to right, Mert, Lou and Al Wertheimer

1907-1958

Wertheimer was their name. Three of these four Michigan-born brothers became full-fledged, successful gambling operators in the first half of the 1900s, their reach spanning five states: Michigan, Ohio, Florida, California and Nevada.

“As gamblers, Al, Mert and Lou became almost as well-known Detroiters as the automobile pioneers. However, the only thing the Wertheimers built was their reputation as being fabulous spenders and operators of plus gambling establishments here and in other cities,” wrote Ken McCormick in the Detroit Free Press (June 9, 1953).

The brothers, from eldest to youngest, and their birthdates were:

Myrton “Mert”                    June 12, 1884
Louis “Lou”                        September 19, 1887
Alfred “Al” John                January 30, 1889
Lionel Abraham                 May 30, 1890 (he wasn’t involved in gambling)

Today, Mert’s 136th birthday, we take a chronological look at most (20) of the threesome’s gambling enterprises over five decades.

1900-1910s

The Wertheimers began their careers with offering illegal gambling in Cheboygan, their hometown, using billiards/pool halls as their front.

In 1907, Al and Lou opened and operated the New Cheboygan Billiard & Pool Hall, renaming it the Model Billiard & Bowling Parlor a year later. After a 1911 fire there, Al moved to Detroit; Mert went, too, in 1915. Lou stayed put until 1925.

1920s

Mert and Al spent this decade plying their unlawful trade at various venues, mostly in Detroit. Later in the decade, though, Lou and Al opened a club in Cleveland, Ohio. Because police raids of their unlawful businesses were frequent, the gamblers simply packed up and opened elsewhere.

Grand River Athletic Club, Detroit, Mich. Mert and Al opened this bowling, billiards/pool and gambling club in 1922.

Monte Carlo, Detroit, Mich. Mert ran this club of his from 1922 to 1927.

Colonial Billiard Parlor, Detroit, Mich. Mert and his friend, Raymond Reuben “Ruby” Mathis, opened the Colonial in 1923.

Park Avenue Health Club, Detroit, Mich. One of Al’s gambling enterprises, run out of the Charlevoix Hotel starting in 1923.

Shawnee Club, Cleveland, Ohio. Al and Lou launched the Shawnee in 1925 with the county sheriff’s blessing despite gambling being illegal in the state. A public official closed the club in 1931.

Aniwa Club, Detroit, Mich. Al’s project starting in 1929, this was the Wertheimers’ first high-class nightclub, offering fine dining, dancing and entertainment. After numerous raids for alcohol and gambling, both illegal, he changed the club to members only.

Chesterfield Club, Detroit, Mich. Mert partnered and co-ran the club with Detroit gamblers Lincoln Fitzgerald and Danny Sullivan. The trio operated as the Chesterfield Syndicate with Mert in charge and Fitzgerald second in command. Consequently, that trio would be convicted in 1946 of illegal gambling there, in Macomb County.

The syndicate operated with the permission of the Purple Gang, which controlled the Chesterfield and other gambling operations. Another set of brothers, the Bernsteins — Abraham/”Abe,” Joseph/”Joe”, Raymond and Isadore/”Izzy” — led this violent group, also involved in bootlegging, murder, extortion, armed robbery and kidnapping.

Colonial Billiard Parlor

Aniwa Club

1930s

During this decade, Mert moved to South Florida, and Al and Lou relocated to Southern California. Then, casino gambling in Florida was illegal as were banking* and percentage** games in California.

Beach and Tennis Club, Miami, Fla. For the upper class, Mert opened this place in 1931 in The Shadows mansion formerly of Carl G. Fisher. It offered dining, dancing, illegal gambling and illegal alcohol, no tennis.

Clover Club, West Hollywood, Calif. Al and Lou’s first gaming establishment in California, they ran it from 1933 to 1936.

Dunes, Cathedral City, Calif. Al and Lou opened it in 1936 on 20 acres just outside Palm Springs. Al closed it in 1941.

Colonial House, Palm Springs, Calif. Al aimed to capture the elite as customers with its 1937 debut. “This one masqueraded as a ‘private hotel,’ but just about everyone in town knew there was a secret staircase hidden behind a cupboard in the pantry that led to an underground casino, bar and bawdy house,” Bob Schulman wrote in the HuffPost (May 15, 2013).

Royal Palm Club, Miami, Fla. Miami city councilman Arthur Childers owned the club, and Mert operated its gambling starting in 1937.

Kaufman’s Plantation, Hallandale Beach, Fla. Mobsters Vincent “Jimmy Blue Eyes” Alo, Julian “Potatoes” Kaufman and Meyer Lansky owned the casino, which Mert helped run beginning in 1939.

Beach and Tennis Club

Dunes

Royal Palm Hotel

1940s

This decade took Mert and Lou to Reno, Nevada, where gambling had been legal since 1931, while Al remained in California.

Bonanza Club, Reno, Nev. Lou bought into the business in 1944 and ran it until the Mapes’ 1947 debut.

Colonial Inn, Hallandale Beach, Fla. Mert was involved with this Lansky-owned property only for the 1945 winter season.

Robbin & Robbin / Nevada Club, Reno, Nev. Around 1945, Mert, Fitzgerald, Sullivan and Mathis wormed their way into and took over Robbin & Robbin, renaming it the Nevada Club afterward.

Mapes, Reno, Nev. Lou and partners, Bernard “Bernie/Mooney” Einstoss, Frank Grannis and Leo Kind, leased and ran this hotel’s casino starting in 1947.

Mapes and Riverside hotels

1950s

This decade marked the end of the Wertheimer brothers’ gambling involvement and their lives.

Riverside, Reno, Nev. Mert took over the lease and operation of this hotel’s gambling concession in 1950. In 1951, Lou joined Mert at the Riverside and worked alongside him for a few years.

Al passed away in 1953 at age 64.

In 1955, Mert, Mathis and others bought the entire Riverside property from George Wingfield. In 1958, Lou died at 70 then Mert followed two months later at 74.

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*Banking games = those in which bets are placed against a house, bank or dealer

**Percentage games = banking games with relatively disproportionate odds

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1945-1950

Although gambling was illegal in Miami, Florida, in the 1940s, one lavish casino operated there for five years with the blessing of the local sheriff.

Club 86, on Biscayne Boulevard, which belonged to local mobsters, the S&G Syndicate, was noteworthy for its lavishness and security features.

Here’s how a United Press reporter described it:

“. . .luxurious furnishings, secret rooms, armor-plated walls, bulletproof glass and concealed catwalks for machine gun-toting guards like something out of Hollywood. In the main gaming room, well-heeled customers and visiting mobsters walked on a huge carpet costing $15,000 [$148,000 today]. They stood beneath 11 handmade Cuban light fixtures and dropped $500 and $1,000 bills at any one of six roulette wheels, three crap tables, one chemin de fer* layout and a chuck-a-luck** setup.

If the law got curious, two panels swung out from the main room to allow the gambling equipment to be pushed into a storage room — all in a matter of seconds. When the ‘heat’ was on, the 30 x 60-foot main room was kept vacant but favored customers gained admission to a secret ‘sneak room’ for a session with chips marked up to $2,500.

The club, built during the 1945 period of wartime shortages, was designed to prevent a sudden invasion of stickup men looking for easy loot. Behind the walls of the gaming rooms were catwalks where armed guards watched the proceedings below them through slatted ventilators. They were locked in the galleries behind a door of steel that had a peephole of bulletproof glass.

At their elbows were switches that controlled six warning lights used for flashing code signals to croupiers, stickmen and laddermen in the room below. Everything was arranged to prevent a repetition of the famous 1932 holdup of the Embassy Club when bandits, customers and employees alike were shot down by trigger-happy guards standing on a trellised catwalk” (Nevada State Journal, Oct. 26, 1950).

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*Chemin de fer is a French card game.
**Chuck-a-luck is a carnival-type game played with three dice and a cage.

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