1936

A single penny got Los Angeles store owner Ethel Jamison convicted.

One day at her shop, Police Officer James Mulligan placed a penny in the slot machine, pulled the lever, received a penny premium and cashed it with her.

He arrested her, as slot machines were illegal in California, and the case went to trial. The jury found her guilty of possessing a gambling device. She was punished with a 30-day suspended jail sentence.

Source: Reno Evening Gazette (Nev.), “Transaction of Lonely Cent Gets Woman Jail Sentence,” Oct. 17, 1936.

1952

The life of wealthy, prominent businessman with several connections to the gambling industry, Thomas “Tom” A. Keen, 56, was abruptly ended at about 10:07 a.m. on Tuesday morning, February 5. 

After giving some duck eggs to a neighbor, this San Mateo, California resident walked back home. He grabbed his coat, kissed his wife good-bye and went to their detached garage to leave for work.

Once in his green Cadillac Fleetwood, he stepped on the starter. Dynamite hidden under the floorboards ignited and blew up. The fatal explosion propelled Keen’s body into the car’s back seat and sheared off his legs.

Car parts took flight. One side of the garage blasted apart. Windows of the Keen’s 16-room mansion shattered, covering the driveway and sidewalk with glass. Two windows of a home across the street also broke into pieces.

“The terrific explosion scattered flesh, metal and wood over a wide area,” reported The Humboldt Times (Feb. 6, 1952). “It was heard for blocks by residents.”

Connections To Gambling

Example of a more modern dog racing tote board

The San Mateo, California resident had worked for the past couple of decades years in the field of dog racing and horse racing. First, he’d built and operated the dog racing tracks in Belmont and Bayshore City in The Golden State. He’d co-invented the mechanical hare used in the sport. When California outlawed dog racing, he’d shifted his business focus to manufacturing and supplying totalizators,* also called totalizers and tote boards, for race tracks. Currently, he was president of the International Totalizer Company, based in Belmont.

Keen’s work took him around the U.S., to states where dog and horse racing were legal. Most recently, he’d been to Phoenix, Arizona to install one of his totalizators at a dog track. One month earlier, he’d installed five of his quinella** machines in the Miami Beach Kennel Club for purposes of demonstration.

Keen had ties with many dog and horse track operators, many of them connected. At the time, Mobsters controlled many such tracks in the country.

The Tucson-born track betting equipment mogul owned stakes in many tracks, including Sportsman’s Park in Cicero, Illinois; the Multnomah Kennel Club in Portland, Oregon; and the Mile High Kennel Club in Denver, Colorado.

“He had no one to fear,” said Keen’s friend and sports shop owner Joe Darcy. “He was never afraid. He did nothing but good for hundreds of people. Who could have done something so horrible?”

Keen

Theory No. 1

According to San Mateo Police Chief Martin McDonnell, Keen likely was killed because he took business into a territory out of which he’d been warned to stay. His department’s investigation led McDonnell to deduce Keen had been killed because he’d tried to place his quinella machines in a certain Florida hotel. The chief also surmised there most likely had been two killers, carrying out the assassination on behalf of a Mobster boss somewhere on the East Coast.

Theory No. 2

The second hypothesis was put forth by the California Crime Commission, which had held an unprecedented closed hearing in early May 1952 to investigate the Keen case. In its final report, the commission purported that Keen had been murdered because he’d owed the Olmo Group bookmaking enterprise about $20,000 (roughly $210,000 today).

Allegedly, Keen had been an Olmo customer and a heavy bettor and had refused to pay his debt even after the group’s enforcer Richard “Big Dick” C. Trabert had tried “persuading” him to do so. As a result, supposedly Mobster-gambler Emilio Giorgetti and John O’Neil, also part of the Olmo ring, had been forced to cover the loss. (Keen’s estate at the time he passed away was worth $204,000 (about $2 million today).

The San Mateo County District Attorney Louis B. Dematteis, who wasn’t corrupt, didn’t give the bad debt theory much credence, he said. The timing — Keen being murdered two years after the Olmo Group had disbanded — didn’t make sense. Dematteis thought it more probable the murder was tied to more recent events.  

The actual motive behind the murder of Thomas Keen remains a mystery; the crime still is unsolved.

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* A totalizer is the system for running parimutuel betting. It’s an electrically operated board that flashes the changing odds and total bets before dog and horse races and the payoff amounts after.
** A quinella, or quiniela, is a bet in which the first two places in a race must be predicted, but not always in the correct order. Quinella machines, which displayed these types of bets, were used in dog, but not horse, racing.

Part II and Part III.

Sources

During the Prohibition years in California, 1919 to 1934, San Mateo County was a hotbed for illegal vices — gambling, prostitution and drinking. Even a Mobster, Hillsborough-based Sam Termini, said the county was the state’s most corrupt one in 1930. This was under the watch of James J. McGrath, the sheriff for 24 years starting in 1926.

McGrath

“There were numerous wide-open gambling joints operating in county territory under his jurisdiction; slot machines were operating in these establishments as well as in other public places; and bookmaking enterprises flourished throughout the county,” reported California’s Final Report of The Special Crime Study Commission on Organized Crime (1953).

Nothing changed after Prohibition ended except bootleggers moved into gambling.

“After years of violating liquor laws, the general attitude toward crime had softened. … Bookies prospered through illegal off-track betting and gambling dens,” wrote Carmen J. Blair in “The Most Corrupt County.”

Big, Big Business

Fast forward to 1949, and McGrath still was in office.* In his county, in the unincorporated community of Colma,** “Red” MacDonald (or McDonald, the spelling and true first name couldn’t be verified) launched a bookmaking enterprise, his area of expertise. The operation primarily was telephone based and a layoff spot for other U.S. bookies. It also served, though, as a West Coast clearinghouse for betting monies coming from and going to other areas of the country.

The business reportedly handled about $100,000 to $200,000 a day (about $1.2 to $2.3 million today).

The California organized crime commission dubbed it the Olmo Group because MacDonald ran it on George Olmo’s ranch and horse stables property, on Washington Street in Broadmoor Village.

“[The book] had operated virtually unmolested during nearly two years during this entire time with the connivance of certain law enforcement officials,” according to the Final Report, its findings based on the testimony of subpoenaed witnesses at hearings.

In Tight With Lawmen

MacDonald paid about $1,000 ($12,000 today) weekly in the form of bribes, most of them “related in one way or another to Sheriff James J. McGrath,” the Final Report noted.

McGrath ordered the occasional raid on the Olmo land, but no arrests were made. At most, officers removed telephones.  

Various relationships between lawmen and various Olmo associates were blatant conflicts of interest. For instance, all of the horse riding members of the San Mateo Sheriff’s Office kept their horses at the Olmo stables.

Also, the deputy sheriff, Milton Minehan, who went on all raids, was related by marriage to John O’Neil, a feed and grain dealer who partly financed the Olmo bookmaking endeavor and personally handled bets. O’Neil and McGrath were good friends.

Further, when the Olmo group’s bagman, collector and enforcer, Richard “Big Dick” Charles Trabert, transported large sums of money from or to the ranch, certain San Francisco Police Department officers escorted him.

The Other Principals

In addition to MacDonald, O’Neil and Trabert, the following men helped bankroll the Olmo bookmaking business:

Emilio “Gombo” Georgetti: an alleged member of the San Francisco-based Lanza Crime Family and the boss of all San Mateo County gambling activities for many years, including slot machine distribution. He ran several gambling establishments there, too, including the Willow Tree in Colma. Georgetti and Sheriff McGrath were close friends.

Ralph Cody: a longtime bookmaker involved in football and basketball pools.

Abe Fox: a bookmaker.

Cody and Fox had been arrested in 1946 in a raid on a different bookmaking business in San Francisco.

Reportedly, Arthur “Artie” H. Samish had financed Cody and Fox in the Olmo operation. Samish was a California lobbyist, representing the interests of race track owners, liquor and brewing producers, movie studios, attorneys and insurers.

John “Red” Robert Gregory: a race horse owner and trainer and a former associate of Southern California’s Guarantee Finance Company bookmaking syndicate.

Frank “Porky” X. Flynn: a lobbying associate of Samish

Circumstances Change

The Olmo group closed their enterprise in Colma in June 1950 and planned to move it to San Francisco as it is in a different county. Two major factors precipitated this: the odds were long that McGrath would get re-elected for a fifth term in the upcoming election, and the book’s leader MacDonald passed away earlier in the year. 

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* McGrath’s 24-year tenure as San Mateo County sheriff was the longest ever in the history of the office.

** Colma, known today as the City of Souls, always has been home to more dead bodies than living people. Due to cemetery overcrowding in San Francisco in the early 20th century, 150,000-plus corpses were transferred to and buried in Colma, which, since, was and still today is the burial ground for The City by The Bay.

Photo of money-filled suitcase from pond5.com: by maxxyustas

Sources

Hawthorne Nevada Airlines DC-3 (N15570)

1969

A group of Southern Californians, winding down from a Monday night of gambling at the El Capitan Lodge & Casino in Hawthorne, Nevada, were on the “Gamblers Special” flight back home.

The plane never made it. Instead, it vanished in the wee morning darkness.

Travel ad in Long Beach’s Independent Press-Telegram, February 16, 1969

Adverse Weather Predicted

Piloted by Fred Hall, the twin-engine Douglas DC-3, carrying 32 passengers and two other crew members, left the Hawthorne Industrial Airport at 3:50 a.m. Hawthorne Nevada Airlines Flight 708 was destined for the Hollywood-Burbank Airport.

The weather forecasts for Hall’s route, which he’d navigated hundreds of times before, called for icy conditions above 6,000 feet and moderate to severe turbulence up through 15,000 feet. That night, a ferocious snowstorm dumped 40 to 50 feet of snow in the mountains over which Hall was to fly.

The Hawthorne Nevada Airlines plane was equipped with windshield and propeller anti-icing systems but no device to crack off accumulated ice mechanically, according to the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB). It also didn’t have a beeper or beacon that sends a signal when a plane hits the ground.

The last radio contact from Hall was at 4:06 a.m. with the flight service station in Tonopah, Nevada. It was February 18.

Hampered Search

Immediately, the Civil Air Patrol (CAP) began a full-scale hunt for the presumably downed aircraft along and around the flight path between Hawthorne and the Nevada’s-California border. The plane’s white color, with a blue stripe along both sides, made it even harder to spot amid the snowpack. The CAP didn’t find it.

By March 8, searchers had conducted 426 search missions, constituting 944.3 hours in the air, without success. The effort was halted. By that time, if there’d been any survivors, they likely had died.

“We’re kind of discouraged,” said Lt. Col. James Helm of the Hawthorne CAP (Reno Evening Gazette, May 5, 1969). “We just have to wait until the snow melts. We’ll find it eventually.”

Numerous pilots continued looking for the airliner in their spare time. The El Capitan Club offered a $10,000 ($71,000 today) reward to anyone who found it.

Persistence Pays Off

One of those volunteers was Stanford Pow of Bakersfield. After five months of repeated flying through the Sierra Nevada, separating coastal California from the Mojave Desert, they decided to look along the edge of the mountain range.

While cruising through that area, Pow’s wife Johnadene saw the sun glinting off of something in the snow. They suspected it was part of the aircraft but couldn’t confirm it.

Verification came the next day, Saturday, August 9, when Stanford got Eldon Fussel, his co-worker at Bakersfield’s Gold Seal Flying Service, to fly him out there in his helicopter. Fussel landed on Hogback Ridge, and the two surveyed the wreckage up close.

They saw three large plane pieces, scattered bodies and surrounding debris. All of it was on the east slope of Mt. Whitney, five miles off of the plane’s planned course.

“This is about as remote an area as you could find anywhere,” Fussel said (Nevada State Journal, Aug. 10, 1969). “There is no possibility that anyone could have lived through the crash. …it is my belief everybody aboard was killed instantly.”

It was six months since plane N15570 had disappeared.

Shift In Efforts

The Inyo County coroner and sheriff, forest service officials, and FBI and NTSB agents all got involved in recovering the plane’s passengers and investigating the crash.

Because the high-altitude terrain was too rugged for horses and two to 10 feet of snow still covered it, rescuers used two helicopters to transport the bodies to the town of Lone Pine. There, they transferred them to a vehicle and drove them to a makeshift morgue in Bishop, 60 miles away, where an FBI expert began identifying each one.

Five days later, the team had retrieved 27 of the 35 bodies. The searchers had trouble locating the remaining eight but finally did, in the fuselage remnant, the following day.

Cause And Effect

Hall had made this specific flight hundreds of times, but the winter of 1969 was severe, boasting record snowfall in the Sierra Nevada.

The NTSB indicated in its final report, following its investigation of the crash, that inclement weather had obscured Hall’s visibility, and the plane had hit “an oblong, bowl-shaped, east-west oriented canyon at a measured altitude of 11,770 feet” (Aircraft Accident Report, Feb. 4, 1970). Then it’d slid backwards about 500 feet, stopped and caught fire.

The board concluded that “the probable cause of this accident was the deviation from the prescribed route of flight, as authorized in the company’s Federal Aviation Administration-approved operations specifications, resulting in the aircraft being operated under Instrument Flight Rules weather conditions, in high mountainous terrain, in an area where there was a lack of radio navigation aids.

Finally, the NTSB purported that “a crash locator beacon, activated once the aircraft had crashed, would have provided an expeditious means of locating the aircraft.”

————————————–

Photo: by Bill Larkins

Sources

1944 stock certificate signed by Pat Mooney

1940-1953

In 1946, Pat Mooney, chief field deputy of the Nevada Internal Revenue (IR) Bureau office, made gambler-Mobster Elmer “Bones” F. Remmer* an offer he couldn’t refuse.

If the gambling club owner purchased $52,400 ($699,000 today) worth of shares in the Mountain City Consolidated Copper Co. (MCCCC) then his 1945 federal tax debt in that same amount would be erased and prosecution avoided. Mooney would prepare Remmer’s tax return to ensure that be the case.

The Bay Area-based racketeer accepted. Remmer paid $2,400 ($32,000 today) for 6,000 shares at $0.40 apiece.

Like him, hundreds of other California and Nevada and business people, including convicted abortionist Gertrude Jenkins of San Francisco, took a similar deal over the previous handful of years. Here are some of The Silver State gamblers who did so between July 1943 and May 1946 and what they paid:

These and all of the other people who bought MCCCC stock had tax problems that disappeared subsequently.

Mining Misrepresentations

Along with Mooney, the key perpetrators of the scam were Ernest M. Schino, chief field deputy for the tax bureau in Northern California, and Martin Hartmann, an ex-con turned MCCCCC sales agent. They told prospective shareholders that the corporation owned a reputable, producing copper mine sitting on valuable property that included 14 mining claims, a mill site and water rights. They touted the fact that the land adjoined that of the producing Rio Tinto copper mine in Nevada’s Elko County, owned by Anaconda subsidiary Mountain City Copper Co., a different entity from MCCCC. 

In reality, MCCCC didn’t have a working mine. The company had no value, and, thus, the stock was worthless. The property was nothing more than “a rathole in Nevada,” Frank Dwyer of the San Francisco Stock Exchange told the San Francisco Examiner (Aug. 29, 1950).

Mooney founded and incorporated MCCCC in 1937, allegedly spent $137,000 on some work there, including a geophysical survey of the land and some underground work in 1944, but that was all. By 1950, MCCCC had about 600 shareholders, a major one being Robert L. Douglass, an IR collector in Nevada.

Compounding The Crime

As promised, Mooney calculated and filled out Remmer’s tax returns not just for 1945 but for all of the five years between 1942 and 1947, a violation of IR regulations. Specifically, the bureau’s employees were prohibited from doing any work that could affect a person’s tax liability and/or from moonlighting in any capacity in which their personal and professional interests would conflict.

Scandal Sees Sunlight

In early 1950, the San Francisco Examiner exposed the IR scheme and the workers involved. Subsequently, William A. Burkett testified before Senator Estes Kefauver’s United States Senate Special Committee to Investigate Crime in Interstate Commerce in San Francisco in November 1950, telling them what he knew about it.  He previously quit his position as the IR intelligence chief for Northern California after his department ignored his reports on the MCCCC stock extortion in what he alleged was a coverup.

“The Internal Revenue office hearing [before the Kefauver Committee] showed … that established law enforcement and investigative officers were in many cases the exploiters rather than the exploited in their relationships with the underworld,” William Howard Moore wrote in The Kefauver Committee and the Politics of Crime, 1950-1952.

Probe, Legal Action Ensue

After an investigation by East Coast U.S. Treasury agents into related tax cases going back to 1940, the federal government pursued a lawsuit against Mooney, Schino and Hartmann for a single extortion case, the one involving Jenkins, the abortionist, who purchased $5,000 worth of MCCCC shares. By this time, Mooney was 81 and retired, Schino was 55 and fired. Hartmann was 63.

A federal grand jury indicted the trio for attempting to defraud the U.S. government by attempting to obstruct the IR bureau’s prosecution of Jenkins for income tax evasion.

Ralph Read, head of the IR bureau’s intelligence unit in San Francisco, said that his team, after investigating the Jenkins case years earlier, concluded “there was nothing involving any Internal Revenue personnel” and “there was nothing in the nature of solicitation of a bribe or any act to influence an Internal Revenue officer” (San Francisco Examiner, Aug. 30, 1950).

In early 1952, federal prosecutors tried Mooney, Schino and Hartmann together. A jury found all three guilty.

Schino and Hartmann appealed the ruling, but in December 1953, the Ninth U S. Circuit Court of Appeals upheld it. Schino’s sentence was two years in prison, Hartmann’s was two years in prison plus a $5,000 ($49,000 today) fine. Mooney got two years’ probation and a $5,000 fine.

As for gambler-Mobster Remmer, he later was convicted of federal tax evasion and sentenced to a $20,000 ($194,000 today) fine and five years prison, of which he served 2.5.

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* Remmer’s gambling houses included the Cal-Neva Lodge at Lake Tahoe in Crystal Bay, Nevada; and in California, the Menlo Club, 110 Eddy and B&R Smokeshop in San Francisco; the 21 in El Cerrito; and the Oaks Club in Emeryville.

Sources

Frost, 1936

1906-1967

Frank “Frankie” Frost (1898-1967) spent about two decades working in Reno’s gambling scene and had close relationships with those in power locally, including gambler-Mobsters William “Bill/Curly” Graham and James “Jim/Cinch” McKay and banker and businessman, George Wingfield, Sr. Frost had a checkered past, which eventually got him blacklisted from Nevada’s gambling industry.

Here we present the “work” (criminal) highlights of Frost, tracking him geographically through Illinois, then California and, finally, Nevada.

Chicago, 1906-1930: Murder Charge By Age 30

Though Frost was born in California, he spent most of his youth in Chicago and eventually became part of its North Side Aiello–Moran gang (Giuseppe “Joe” Aiello and George “Bugs” Moran), which was involved heavily in bootlegging during the 1920s. Frost, who used the aliases Eddie Ryan, Frank Bruna and Frank Citro there, was arrested three or four times for disorderly conduct but wasn’t charged.

Also, Frost was the primary suspect in the November 16, 1928 machine gun murder of John G. Clay, head of the Laundry and Fyehouse Chauffeurs’ Union. Police theorized that Moran ordered the hit because Clay was thwarting Moran’s attempts to muscle in on the cleaning and dyeing racket in The Windy City’s West and South Sides, Alphonse “Scarface” Capone’s territory. Though Frost was arrested for the murder, he wasn’t charged.

In a supposed act of retaliation by Capone, some of his soldiers, disguised as police officers, lined up and machine gunned down six of Moran’s men on February 14, 1929, nearly wiping out his crew. Initially, Frost was thought to be among the victims of what was dubbed the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. Afterward, Frost switched his allegiance to Capone.

When Chicago Tribune crime reporter, Alfred “Jake” Lingle was murdered June 9, 1930, police traced the gun, left at the scene, back to Frost but determined that a Leo V. Brothers was the shooter.

Frost

Los Angeles, 1930-1934: Not Staying Out Of Trouble

Frost was indicted by a grand jury for accessory to the Lingle crime because he presumably had guilty knowledge of the killer(s) and their motives, but he was in Los Angeles at the time, using the alias Frank Foreman. He was captured there on July 1, 1930, arrested, returned to Chicago and placed in the county jail. After five months, though, he had to be released by law, so he got out on a $20,000 ($309,000 today) bond.

In March of the next year, Frost testified at Brothers’ trial. Also called to the stand was a witness who said he saw Frost and Brothers flee the scene in different directions after Lingle was shot. One detail the witness recounted was seeing Frost help Brothers light a cigarette afterward so Brothers didn’t have to take one of his hands out of his pocket.

The trial of Frost, for his alleged involvement in Lingle’s murder, was scheduled for April 28, but it never took place because the witnesses disappeared. Frost was back in Los Angeles when he learned, in June, that charges against him were dropped.

In September, Frost was arrested on suspicion of extortion in connection with a scheme to extort money from the widow of soap magnate, Leo Bergin. Bergin racked up a gambling debt of at least $6,000 ($102,000 today) in a days-long dice game run by representatives of New York gambler-Mobster Arnold Rothstein. Bergin wrote some checks for what he owed but later stopped payment on some. Before Rothstein’s men could collect in full, Bergin died, so they went after Gladys Bergin for payment. Due to lack of evidence, Frost wasn’t charged.

The following year, 1932, in February, a patrol officer pulled over Frost, who was working at the time as a bail bondsman. A search of the new car he was driving yielded a fully loaded, 0.45-caliber automatic pistol. Frost also had with him a letter from a “Ben” in New York, possibly Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel, which read in part, “Other people out there are trying to keep out of trouble, but are always in touch with New York. Glad you have gone into the bonding business, as that is good cover for the business you are in.” Frost was found guilty of carrying a concealed weapon, a misdemeanor. Because he then failed to appear at a hearing of arguments concerning a possible new trial, the judge issued a warrant for his arrest.

A month later, police in San Francisco raided an apartment in their investigation of a $100,000 ($1.8 million today) jewelry robbery and took the four men inside to the station. Frost was among them. It resulted in a vagrancy charge (that later would be removed) and him being returned to the City of Angels. He was sentenced to six months in the county jail for the concealed weapon offense. Frost, though, disappeared, and a nationwide hunt for him began. Before he could be found, the appellate court reversed his conviction.

Presumably, the man who repeatedly had gotten away with crimes laid low in Southern California for the next few years.

Reno, 1935-1967: Focus On Gambling, Business

Frost next turned up living with his wife in The Biggest Little City. Only five months later, in April 1936, he was arrested for allegedly stealing $125,000 ($2.3 million today) worth of jewelry from a New York City store that January. For the story, see next blog post, Reno Mobsters Aid Gangster From Chicago, Raising Suspicions.

In 1938, the owner of a New York clothing store, Cy Kronfield Inc., sued Frost for $630.85 ($11,500 today) for not paying for goods and services it provided to him between 1933 and 1939.

Using the name Frank Foster, Frost was arrested in Elko, a city about 300 miles northeast of Reno, in May 1940 for attempted burglary of the Reinhart general merchandise store. Two months later, he was arrested and served 30 days in jail in Reno for “prowling through parked automobiles” (Reno Evening Gazette, Dec. 10, 1940). In June 1941, he was arrested for petty larceny after getting caught trying to sell children’s clothes he’d stolen from somewhere.

Frost reportedly ran or helped run the race horse pool at Graham and McKay’s Bank Club for several years, after which he opened and operated his own book, the Reno Turf Club.

In 1947’s first half, Frost applied for another gambling license from the city, this one for a new entity, Washoe Sports News, which was to supply race results from the Trans-America News and Publishing Co. wire service to local outlets. On behalf of Capone, Siegel was tasked with forcing bookmakers on the West Coast to switch to Trans-America from Continental Press. While the city council was mulling over whether or not to eliminate the existing cap on the number of race pools allowed in Reno, because granting Frost the license would’ve exceeded it, Trans-America went bankrupt and folded after its primary owner-operator was murdered. Soon afterward, Siegel was killed, too, and Frost withdrew his gambling application.

In 1951, Frost sold the Reno Turf Club. Afterward, he returned to working at the Bank Club, supposedly wrapping money. However, members of the Nevada Tax Commission, the entity which in 1947 gained the task of issuing state gambling licenses, saw him overseeing a game of faro there once. Because of his criminal background, the commissioners didn’t want Frost involved with running the gambling in any Silver State casino.

However, they spotted him again doing just that, counting money and giving orders at Reno’s Palace Club. After a related brouhaha, the casino banned him from working there in 1953, and after that, according to Frost, he no longer could get a job in the state’s gaming industry.

Dorothy Frost

In 1955, Frost’s wife Dorothy, a Manitoba, Canada native, took her life by overdosing on sleeping pills.

His Final Years

The widower remained in Reno and was involved subsequently in some shady business dealings, which came to light through various lawsuits. Frost held and breached the lease on the Mt. Rose Sawmill. In an incident that led to a lawsuit, Frost physically prevented a competing lumber firm (Frost owned the Nevada Pine Mill and Lumber Co.) from taking from the sawmill wood it purchased. Also, he was sued for failing to pay for lumber he bought from a Lake Tahoe man.

In another arrangement, Frost was a co-partner with McKay and Marion T. Weller in F.M.W. Drilling Co. In 1957, an employee sued F.M.W. for not paying him $1,650 ($15,000 today), the remainder of wages due him for building an oil derrick.

In 1961, a Frank Frost appeared to be working at the local Buick dealership as the assistant general sales manager. It may or may not have been him.

The Mobster Frost, who’d left a trail of crime in his wake, passed away on April 1, 1967 at age 68 in Nevada.

Sources

Hi Subscribers,

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Shortly after World War II, two 20-something lovers with troubled backgrounds left a Maine fishing village on foot to start life anew, together, somewhere far away. At the same time, an older, friendly bachelor was vacationing, exploring the western U.S. by car, alone.

They crossed paths in Nevada, and each impulsively acted to fulfill their own desires, to achieve certain ends. Diabolical crimes ensued.

The resulting ends were devastating, drastic, different than expected. They terminated plans, dreams, even breath.

Filled with twists, The Ends is the true story of what took place before, during and after the lives of these ordinary people converged.

Also, in the book’s 144 pages, readers get:

• Insight into the criminals’ backgrounds and psychology
• Insight into what made the victim a target
• In-depth coverage of the accused’s trials
• A description of the criminals’ lives post crimes until death
• A look at the primary locales: Truckee, Hirschdale and Nevada City in California and Reno and Las Vegas in Nevada
• Comprehensive sourcing, photos and an index

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Take care, everyone,

Doresa

1851

Roving gambler William “Lucky Bill” B. Thorington’s stint in Hangtown (today Placerville, California) was brief because he literally thimblerigged a prominent local out of $1,500 to $2,000 (more than $39,000 to $52,000 today) and that angered the men in the camp.

Despite a potential lynch mob after him and his companion card sharp Sidney Charles, the duo managed to escape alive and unharmed then secreted themselves for a while in the woods.

A Carried Grudge

However, the story goes, when the two later came out of hiding and caught a stagecoach on the Sacramento road, a man already onboard recognized Thorington. While extracting a bowie knife from his person, that passenger threatened to cut out the gambler’s heart because he’d swindled a brother out of all of his money. He was referring to Lucky Bill’s trickery in Hangtown.

When Thorington went for his pistol, the vengeful passenger stopped him, saying they should take it outside, meaning off the coach.

The passenger threw his knife at Thorington while he was disembarking, the blade of which lodged between two of his ribs. While falling to the ground, Thorington fired a shot, hitting his foe in the shoulder.

“Both were taken to Sacramento where they received treatment and recovered,” Robert K. DeArment relayed in Knights of the Green Cloth.

Photo from Wikipedia

Late 1840s-1858

A list of Western United States’ gamblers would be incomplete without William “Lucky Bill” B. Thorington.* A thimblerig master, he plied his craft in the Western mining camps and towns from Sacramento to Ragtown, Hangtown to Salt Lake City, during the late 1840s and ’50s.

Thimblerig, also known as the shell game and three shells a pea, involves maneuvering a small ball of some kind, perhaps of wax or buckskin origin, underneath three cup-shaped receptacles, like thimbles or walnut shells, after which a player bets on which of the three cups the object is under.

Why So Fortunate

Thorington garnered the moniker “Lucky Bill” and became renowned as a gambler who won way more from thimblerig than he lost. That wasn’t due to honest play, though; the charismatic New Yorker was proficient at luring opponents and cheating them in this swindle of a game.

Wherever he went, there were potential victims, people who wanted to play against him, sure they could win and win a lot. And he would take advantage, conning them out of their money and valuables.

“There was always a crowd around him,” Robert K. DeArment wrote in Knights of the Green Cloth.

Thorington was so good at thimblerig, he earned about $24,000 (more than $600,000 today) in Sacramento in only two months’ time in the early 1850s.

How He Worked

The thimblerig ploy involved hiding the small ball in one’s palm before the cups were shuffled around. After the player chose a cup and it was shown it wasn’t the right one, the gambler deftly slipped the orb back under one of the unselected cups at the time of the reveal.

Two techniques existed for picking up and transferring, in Thorington’s case a cork pea, to one’s palm: using a finger or using a fingernail. Thorington relied on the latter and accordingly, always kept his nails long.

In perpetrating the con, he capitalized on his physicality and personality. He reportedly was imposing, about 6’1″ and 200 pounds, handsome, confident, likable and verbally gifted. With a baritone voice he’d entice would-be players this way:

“Here, gentlemen, is a nice, quiet little game conducted on the square, and especially recommended by the clergy for its honesty and wholesome tendencies. I win only from blind men; all that have two good eyes can win a fortune.

You see, gentlemen, here are three little wooden cups, and here is a little ball, which, for the sake of starting the game, I shall place under this one, as you can plainly see — thus and thus and thus. And now I will bet two, four or six ounces that no gentleman can, the first time trying, raise the cup that the ball is under; if he can, he can win all the money that Bill, by patient toil and industry, has scraped together.”

Man With A Conscience

Thorington often returned some of the loot he won off of his subjects, usually with the admonition to never bet against someone playing their own game. Perhaps his own losses, which could be sizable, most often from the hugely popular card game faro, of which he was an enthusiast, inspired his benevolence in this regard.

“Generosity to old friends and destitute travelers often distinguished Lucky Bill,” Sally Zanjani wrote in From Devils Will Reign.

For example, one night his thimblerigging earned him a traveler’s source of livelihood, four oxen. All the man had left was $60 (at least $1,500 today). For the cash, Thorington sold him back one yoke, returned the other one and erased the man’s gambling debt.

“His generosity and his seeming inability to lose in gambling or business were making Thorington into a character of Herculean stature,” wrote Michael J. Makley in The Hanging of Lucky Bill.

His Later Days

In 1852 or 1853, Thorington would make a permanent home in Genoa, Nevada, where his industriousness would involve owning two ranches, constructing a toll road, operating a trading post, building a hotel and occasionally running his thimblerig scam on people passing through.

Only a handful of years later, on June 23, 1858, vigilantes would cut his life short for his alleged part in a murder unrelated to gambling.

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* Nineteenth century author Bret Harte based his character Jack Hamlin, a gambler, on William B. Thorington. Hamlin appears in Harte’s short stories, including “The Convalescence of Jack Hamlin,” “A Protegee of Jack Hamlin’s” and “Mr. Jack Hamlin’s Mediation.” Harte is best known for his work depicting Western frontier life during the California Gold Rush.

Photo from Pond5.com: by Exopixel

Sources

An innocent man was placed in law enforcement’s crosshairs in late 1930s Los Angeles for a heinous crime … the frame-up stuck.

George “Les” Bruneman

Caught Unawares

While strolling on Southern California’s Redondo Beach Strand, or boardwalk, with a female employee on a July Monday night after dinner with friends, George “Les” Bruneman, 40, was shot in the back. The bullet, which entered his left shoulder, pierced a lung and entered his abdomen. He survived but spent months in the hospital.

“I’m living on borrowed time,” Bruneman told a detective lieutenant. “I’ve got about six weeks more. They’ll get me the next time. They won’t send the same pair, though. They’ll send experts after me the next time” (Oakland Tribune, Oct. 25, 1937).

Bruneman owned/operated the Surf Club gambling house in Redondo Beach and had many horse racing bookmaking establishments throughout that Los Angeles County beach area.

In Cold Blood

Six weeks after his release from the hospital, on October 25, while drinking with friends in Los Angeles’ Roost Café in the wee hours, Bruneman was executed, sustaining four shots from a distance followed by six more at close range. An innocent bystander, Frank A. Greuzard, ran after the killers, but they fatally gunned him down, too.

Police theorized that Bruneman’s murder was related to a gambling feud of some sort, perhaps even rivals wanting his territory for themselves.

Pete Pianezzi, 1981

Seeking A Suspect

While various persons of interest were questioned and released, an informant led police to Peter “Pete” Attillio Pianezzi, an ex-convict from San Francisco, California with bank robbery charges pending against him. He was arrested for the murders of Bruneman and Greuzard.

Pianezzi went on trial for the killings in February 1940, when he was 38. In court, one of the owners and the bartender of the Roost Café identified him as being the shooter. The prosecutor went for the death penalty, but the jury couldn’t agree on a verdict.

In Pianezzi’s second trial, which ended two months later, the panel of his peers convicted him of first degree murder, and the judge sentenced him to life imprisonment at Folsom State Prison.

Around the same time, he was found guilty on three counts of first degree robbery netting $17,000 in bank holdings. For those, he was given three life sentences. All four periods were to be served concurrently.

Long Overdue Exoneration

Pianezzi served 13 years, getting released in May 1953. For the next several decades, he worked to clear his name with respect to the murders and always maintained his innocence regarding them. He especially wanted his wife Frances to see him cleared, but it didn’t happen by the time she passed away.

“I’ve been pretty upset and depressed,” Pianezzi said. “I wanted her to see it. But even if she’s not around, I’m going to hang in there. I didn’t commit the murders, and that’s it” (Folsom Telegraph, June 26, 1981).

In 1966, California Governor Edmond “Pat” G. Brown, offered Pianezzi a pardon on the grounds that he’d been rehabilitated. He turned it down though because he wanted exoneration based on his innocence.

Fifteen years later, in 1981, Brown’s son, California Governor Gerald “Jerry” Brown pardoned Pianezzi, then age 79 and retired from a job distributing newspapers in Mill Valley.

Moceri on left, Bompensiero

Later Revealed

Roughly four decades after Bruneman and Greuzard’s murders, the identity of the actual killers and the motive for the crime supposedly came to light. Two hitmen, members of the Los Angeles Mafia — Leonard “Leo/Lips” C. Moceri and Frank Bompensiero — committed the murders, according to Jimmy “The Weasel” Fratianno, one of their cohorts who became an FBI informant. Jack Dragna, head of that crime family, ordered the hit, he said. (Moceri and Bompensiero had died, by murder, before Pianezzi’s pardon, the former in 1976, the latter in 1977.)

What allegedly led up to the hit on Bruneman was a dispute between him and Johnny Rosselli, whom the Chicago Outfit had dispatched to Los Angeles to protect Nationwide, the only horse racing wire service provided in California at the time. Bruneman had been bootlegging the service. A rumor swirled that Bruneman wanted to take out Rosselli, then a respected member of the Dragna crime family. When Dragna heard it, he acted pre-emptively.

According to Fratianno, Moceri had described to him years earlier how the assassination had gone down and the fallout, concluding with: “Want to hear the payoff? The cops arrested some dago, Pete Pianezzi, and believe it or not, the son of a bitch was convicted and he’s still serving time on that murder rap. It’s a bum beef.”

Sources

Photo of Bruneman: from the Oakland Tribune, Oct. 25, 1937, by the Associated Press
Photo of Pianezzi: from the Arizona Republic, June 25, 1981, by the Associated Press