1966

Suddenly, in the fall, the Nevada Gaming Commission (NGC) directed 41-plus casinos to cease operation of specific electronic blackjack machines because they were “experiencing difficulties when played so as to render the devices more liable to win or lose” (Nevada State Journal, Oct. 21, 1966).

These 101 devices, available in gambling rooms in Las Vegas, Reno, Lake Tahoe, Carson City, Elko, Wells and Hawthorne and manufactured by Nevada Electronics, Inc., played like a slot machine with no dealer and were popular.

Because the NGC wouldn’t say more, mystery surrounded the issue. All, however, was revealed shortly.

Sneaky Tricks

It turned out these particular blackjack machines disfavored the player more than the hand-dealt version. This was because these electronic versions removed a card worth 10 points from the deck in play. This trick results in fewer blackjacks and boosts the casino’s edge by about half a percent, which doesn’t sound significant but is.

“Removing 10-value cards from play, whether by design of the game or by malfunction, requires some powerful, positive rules to make up for the impact it has on the odds of the game. If there really are 10-value cards missing from a deck in a regular blackjack game, you don’t want to play,” said gaming expert, John Grochowski (grochowski.casinocitytimes.com, Oct. 26, 2010).

Signs on the devices identified them as automatic blackjack games, thereby deceiving players into thinking they offered odds that were equivalent to games with a human dealer — which some blackjack machines actually did.

The suspect ones, however, did disclose, at the bottom of the game’s instructions, the 10-value card removal.

To satisfy the NGC, the distributor of the machines eliminated the automatic blackjack demarcation and replaced the instruction plates with ones where the card removal warning appeared at the top.

Once that was completed, about a month later, the gambling regulatory agency lifted the suspension.

Sources

1954

Late on a Saturday night in 1954, during the peak of business, an unemployed, 27-year-old railroad hand entered the Stockmen’s Hotel, in Elko, Nevada, where townspeople, miners, ranchers and tourists congregated to socialize, drink and gamble.

Silvus Armandus approached the casino cashier’s cage and demanded: “Hand over your money and don’t make a sound.”

The pit boss, D.E. Pierce, asked him to repeat what he’d said, and he did, gesturing with one of his hands in his pocket that he had a gun. Pierce, who thought Armandus was joking, began walking away. Armandus yelled, “I’ll kill the [expletive*],” while shooting at him twice, both bullets missing Pierce.

Another casino employee, Jack Brady, tackled the scoundrel to the ground and while wrestling with him, the gun fired two more times, injuring Brady in the stomach. Other employees joined the fracas, creating a body pile. When all the staff members stood, Armandus remained on the floor, unconscious.

During the melee, most of the casino’s 100 patrons just kept gambling.

Armandus was jailed for assault with a deadly weapon. When he subsequently appeared in court, the revised charge was attempted robbery. He pled guilty and said he couldn’t remember the incident at all. The judge sentenced him to 2.5 to 5 years in the Nevada State Prison.

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* The expletive wasn’t printed in the original newspaper source

Sources

Nevada State Prison

1932-1967

Inmates strutted around the Nevada State Prison yard and jingled the brass coins or tokens, in their pockets, to boast their elevated status as winning gamblers of the pen.

Beginning in 1932, convicts ran an open casino on the grounds of this maximum security facility in Carson City.

The warden allowed and didn’t hide it, and the public knew.

Over the ensuing years, the men played craps, panguingue, blackjack, poker, tonk, gin rummy and perhaps non-card games like roulette (although one warden denied that) and bet on sports — all using tokens, $0.05, $0.10, $0.25, $0.50, $1 and $5, as currency.

They did so under supervision in the convicts’ recreation area dubbed the bullpen. The inmates didn’t tolerate cheating, which kept the operations honest. As mandated, winners contributed 10 percent of their receipts to the prison’s inmate welfare fund.

Many prisoners passed the time by gambling, which they said prevented tension and conflict among them. Also, it gave the dealers and winners income and prestige.

Though, as in any casino, a fair amount of losing occurred. “Most of them go broke,” said Art Bernard, the warden between 1951 and 1958 (Reno Evening Gazette, Feb. 26, 1957).

Breaking The Rules

Ironically, the prison casino lacked a gambling license, a state requirement of any such operation. It violated Nevada gaming law, too, by dealing with “persons of notorious or unsavory reputation or who have extensive police records,” noted columnist Frank Johnson (Nevada State Journal, Jan. 9, 1960). “On the plus side,” he added, “one can say not only all employees, but all patrons as well, have their fingerprints on file with the authorities. And the gaming IS conducted in a location that is ‘easy to police.’”

The fun, however, ended 35 years later, in 1967, when Warden Carl Hocker put a permanent kibosh on the casino and brass.

“I think gambling in prison is degrading, and it’s certainly not constructive,” he said (Nevada State Journal, May 7, 1967). “We’re trying to replace it with constructive, wholesome activities that will contribute to a decent, healthful frame of mind.”

Do you suppose the prisoners then took their gambling underground and switched the currency to something else?

Sources