1951

Upon entering The Westerner casino in Las Vegas, Nevada, an electrician told the guard he’d been dispatched to repair a boiler connection. After being admitted to the utility room, he produced a pistol and disarmed the security officer with it.

Next, he forced the two cage workers to open the safe, transferred its contents to a canvas bag and locked the duo in the vault. He exited via the boiler room into the alley.

The pseudo-repairman got away with $28,000-plus (about $268,000 today).

Canada-born Jack Sullivan, né John D. Scarlett, had co-owned and run the Bank Club for two decades and prior to that, the Willows (it burned down in 1932) — both Reno, Nevada casino hotspots. He’d retired a mere six months before his death at age 72. He passed away on April 24, 1951 in a local hospital after a prolonged illness.

He left behind an estate valued at $844,952.00 (about $8 million today) and comprised of these assets:

TYPE	AMOUNT	BREAKDOWN
Cash:	$431,165.85
		$202,951.49 in a commercial account at Security National Bank
		$191,148.00 in a safety deposit box at First National Bank of Nevada
		$20,624.40 at the Bank Club
		$12,381.96 in a business account at a different FNB branch
		$4,060.00 in interest and dividends on investments
Bonds:	$245,893.45
Stocks:	$104,662.70
Loan Balance:	$25,000.00	(Amount due on loan he'd made to the Cal-Neva Lodge in 1948)
Miscellaneous:	$21,380.00
		$10,000.00 Diamond ring, 7 carat
		$4,500.00 Cadillac
		$6,880.00 Other
Real Estate:	$16,850.00
TOTAL:	$844,952.00

Post Mortem Withdrawals

The executor of Sullivan/Scarlett’s estate, First National Bank of Nevada, paid the federal taxes due, which amounted to $121,442.82. This reduced the estate value by 14 percent, to $723,509.18.

Then they paid the legal fees for the settling the estate, which totaled $65,307.16:

$42,619.40 went to Woodburn, Forman and Woodburn, the executor’s counsel
$17,187.76 went to FNB as a statutory commission
$3,500.00 went to Joseph P. Haller, the widow’s attorney
$2,000.00 went to McCarran, Rice, Wedge and Blakey, the heirs’ law firm

These expenses further reduced the estate’s value, by 9 percent.

What remained of Sullivan/Scarlett’s estate was $658,202.02 (about $6.3 million today).

Distribution Of Wealth

Sullivan/Scarlett left a will, which had been created in 1948, three years before his passing. He’d bequeathed the following:

To his widow: Half of all community property and the remainder of the estate after the other commitments were paid; the latter came to about $130,000.

To his daughter: $200,000. Held in a trust, the money was to be invested in U.S. government bonds and she was to be paid $400 a month from the investment returns until age 50. At that time, the trust was to be liquidated and the principal paid to her. 

In the event of her passing, the money was to be distributed equally to Sullivan/Scarlett’s three grandchildren once the eldest reached aged 21.

To his four sisters: $10,000 each.

Scarlett had left nothing to his brother, noting in the will that he’d provided for him when Sullivan/Scarlett was alive.

By year’s end, the gambler’s estate had been disbursed.

Sources

Photo from the University of Nevada, Reno Special Collections

Dennis Day

1951

The Irish tenor, Dennis Day, was about to begin a singing engagement at downtown Reno’s Riverside hotel in the summer of 1951. Day is known for his appearances on the Jack Benny comedy show and his own television show, A Day in the Life of Dennis Day.

To promote his performances, he participated in a photo shoot for local media. Dashing in a suit and tie, he creatively posed for the cameras, sometimes with beautiful women, others without, but always beside a red wheelbarrow allegedly filled with 25,000 silver dollars, said to be his salary for the two-week gig.

About 30 minutes into the shoot, Day suddenly upended the wheelbarrow and poured its contents into the hotel’s swimming pool. As the silver dollars cascaded through the green water to the bottom, casino manager Myrton “Mert” Wertheimer and hotel manager Arthur Allen sprinted over to Day.  

“What do you think you’re fooling with—hay?” yelled an outraged Wertheimer.

“It’s supposed to be my money. I’ve been kept waiting an hour for this deal, and I have an appointment with a doctor. My throat is sore,” Day said then quickly retreated.

Within minutes, Wertheimer had people diving for and recovering the coins from the pool for fear they’d rust.

“Proof that Day’s action wasn’t in the script was furnished by the photographers themselves, who were so flabbergasted, they didn’t catch a picture of the silver sliding into the briny,” wrote reporter John Burns (Nevada State Journal, July 18, 1951).

It wasn’t until much later that Wertheimer and Allen saw the humor in Day’s stunt. Though they probably wanted to, they didn’t fire Day, who likely received his pay in the form of a check.

Sources

1951

Chief Warrant Officer Marcus Gordon Oliver, paymaster at the U.S. Naval Station Treasure Island, complained of feeling ill and left work early on Friday, April 13.

The following Monday and Tuesday, he didn’t show up at the San Francisco office and hadn’t phoned. Co-workers called his home in Berkeley and got no answer. Oliver, 44, and his wife, Pollyanna, 34, a civilian clerk in a Navy pay office in San Francisco, seemed to be missing.

Upon learning this, Navy personnel immediately opened Oliver’s job safe and discovered the $29,000 ($275,000 today) he’d signed for and was supposed to disburse for payroll was gone. A search for the man who’d been in the Navy 27 years began immediately.  

Spending Spree Reconstructed

Within four days, Oliver was found in a hotel room in New Orleans, Louisiana, returned to San Francisco and charged with embezzlement and misuse of $29,000 in government funds.

During his federal court trial on April 22, a parade of witnesses — racetrack parimutuel clerks, casino workers and hotel staff members — testified to seeing Oliver patronize their businesses, gamble and spend money. Those included the Bay Meadows Racetrack in San Mateo, California and casinos in Reno, Nevada. For instance, Thomas J. Hill, a casino worker at Reno’s Mapes hotel-casino, said he saw Oliver bet an unopened package of $200 ($1,900 today) in $2 bills on a single dice roll.

Contrarily, a defense witness, Leonard Faust, a Navy chief petty officer, also at Treasure Island, said he’d seen Oliver, earlier in the month, win big on two different occasions when betting on horse races at Bay Meadows —$9,000 on one, $6,000 on the other.

Accountability: Opposing Views

Oliver claimed he’d experienced a seven-day blackout and denied taking or using any of the Navy’s money. He insisted the $15,000 ($142,000 today) he’d spent during his “missed time” was his own, cash he previously had won ($9,000 and $6,000) at Bay Meadows.

Nevertheless, the judge deemed him guilty and sentenced him to three years in federal prison.

Sources

1951

Prior to the July grand opening of the new Greyhound Lines Inc. bus terminal at 224 S. Center Street in Reno, Pyramid Securities Inc. applied for a gambling license and permission to offer games of chance within the new Northern Nevada facility. The request specifically was for craps, 21 and roulette, one of each. The company’s executives were Carl Inskeep, Joe Caulk, Emmett Shea and H.M. Hicks.

The Nevada Tax Commissioners indicated they’d permit the small casino if the games of chance were walled off from the depot’s waiting room.

The decision was left to the Reno City Council.

A Body Divided

Councilman Bill Ligon opposed the gambling proposal. He disliked the idea of visitors arriving in Reno on the bus seeing gambling right away and wanted to prevent that. Surely having a gambling operation in a place “frequented by children and women” would lead to outside criticism of gambling and, possibly, negative consequences, such as federal legislation against it, he said (Nevada State Journal, June 26, 1951).

The industry, legal and illegal, already was in the spotlight due to Senator Carey “Estes” Kefauver and his eponymous committee openly investigating gambling and organized crime in the United States.

Councilman Roy Bankofier, who stood with Ligon, added that gambling is a privileged business, the growth of which the council must control. 

Councilman Tom Harvey favored granting the license. “Gambling is part of our economy,” he said. “Why single out this particular case at this particular time? Would you object to a grocery store going in there? That’s a business, too.”

“It’s a different type of business,” said Ligon. “Gambling is a very important part of our economy. Let’s protect it. Gambling is a business that must be restricted if we’re going to hang onto it.”

Councilman Marhsall Guisti said he couldn’t approve distinguishing between businesses but believed gambling should be contained in one part of Reno.

Attorney Richard Blakey, representing Pyramid Securities, reiterated to the agency that the gaming area in the bus station would be separated by wall from the waiting room and as such, gambling wouldn’t be forced upon anyone. Rather, they’d have to seek it out if they so desired.

Blakey added that slot machines, which are considered gaming devices, are allowed in other bus terminals in Reno. “Should there be distinction between kinds of gambling permitted?” he asked.

The Final Answer

The council vote was a 3-to-3 tie, which Mayor Francis R. Smith was left to break. He voted no, thereby officially denying Pyramid Securities its gambling request for the depot.

Not A Complete Kibosh

In a different, previous application, though, Pyramid Securities had asked the Reno City Council for permission to operate a bar and slot machines in that same new Greyhound depot.

After much discussion, the members allowed it but with conditions. The bar had to be separated from the waiting room and all window glass had to be painted or frosted so it couldn’t be seen through.

When Reno’s new Greyhound Lines station debuted in July 1951, inside was the Oak Room bar with its 27 slot machines open for business. Eight more working slots sat at the facility’s Lake Street entrance.

Other depot amenities included a cafeteria, soda fountain, newsstand and sizable lobby.

“The building is one of the largest and most modern of its kind in the Pacific area,” noted the Nevada State Journal (July 26, 1951).

Sources

Downtown Las Vegas, 1950s

1951-1954

In October 1951, Southern California resident, Wayne H. Teipel, responded to a “For Sale” ad in the Los Angeles Examiner for a slot machine, pinball game and phonograph route business in Las Vegas, Nevada. The income touted was $1,000 a week (about $9,600 today) and the price, $28,500 ($276,000).

Ray Wherrit of San Luis Obispo, on California’s Central Coast, was selling the enterprise, Southern Nevada Vending Company, six months after he’d gotten a gambling license to run it.

Numbers Check

Teipel learned from the broker the business netted about $300 ($2,900) a week. A memo signed by Wherrit and shown to the prospective buyer noted weekly gross income between $850 and $1,250 ($8,200 and $12,000).

This difference between gross and net indicated weekly expenses were $550 to $950 ($5,300 to $9,100), much of that being city, county and federal taxes paid on the machines.

Teipel put down a $1,500 ($14,500) refundable deposit, buying himself time to investigate the business.

He reviewed its various financial documents, including bank deposits, which, for July through September, showed weekly income of less than $1,000 ($9,600). He pored over the ledgers, which detailed the money collected from every customer on the route along with the taxes due and paid since day one. Teipel and the broker visited several of the client locations.

Lock, Stock And Barrel

Teipel purchased the route on October 23, including the equipment, customers and goodwill, and wrote a check for $13,682 ($132,000). He was to pay off the $10,383 ($100,000) balance in monthly installments of $433 ($4,200).

The two parties signed the appropriate sale documents, including a noncompete agreement indicating Wherrit wouldn’t participate in a similar business within a 50-mile radius of Las Vegas for five years.

Wherrit provided a week’s worth of hands-on assistance in transitioning the business to Teipel. During that time, buyer and seller drove the route together and compiled an inventory and a list of the required taxes for each location. 

Change Of Mind

After another week, the United States Congress doubled the yearly federal tax on individual slot and pinball machines, to $250 from $150 (to $2,400 from $1,400). Teipel telephoned and complained to the broker about the tax increase and the less-than-expected amount of money the route was generating. 

On November 5, Teipel abandoned the business and returned to Los Angeles. Ten days later, his attorney served Wherrit with a notice of rescission, which undoes or terminates a contract on the basis of fraud. A contract rescission requires that all parties be restored to their pre-deal states, which includes returning any benefits received while the contract was in force.

End Of The Road

The case went to trial. Teipel, the plaintiff, claimed that when Wherrit had run Southern Nevada Vending, he’d recorded the dollar amounts collected incorrectly and had misrepresented the business and income to him intentionally.

As for the machines and the route, Teipel reported he didn’t know what had come of them and couldn’t reproduce any of the equipment.

The court found that Teipel had acquired the business “only after a full and complete investigation and that there had been no fraud,” according to a case summary. Therefore, Wherrit wasn’t mandated to sign and honor the rescission contract or return to Teipel the sale proceeds.

Teipel appealed, without success. In 1954, the Court of Appeals of California heard the case and concurred with the original ruling.

Sources