1940

After some angry husbands in Los Angeles, California complained their wives were gambling away the grocery money, two vice squad officers raided the Monday night birthday party of Ann Dicker, a 73-year-old great-grandmother, at which she and seven guests were playing poker. (The policemen had climbed up the drainpipe to stealthily reach her second-floor apartment.)

The surprise intrusion yielded a pot of $2.70, “as it was a five-cent limit affair.”

The ladies were arrested, taken to jail and fined $10 apiece. (It was Dicker’s third arrest and fine for illegal gambling.)

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“A disgusting travesty on justice,” the police commissioner said of the arrests (Reno Evening Gazette, Aug. 15, 1940).

You’ll make a date with                    a fat millionaire                                who loves garlic.

You’ll soon meet                               a Dutch immigrant                           with a harelip.”

You’re beloved by                             a sassy stenographer                      who’ll be your downfall.”

Your affinity is                                   a beautiful grass widow                   who is always hungry.”

1957

These fortunes and statements were what appeared in the display of a particular slot machine when one read the whole reel from left to right. Short three- to five-word phrases replaced the typical fruit or other symbols.

What To Do With It

One such informative slot machine, manufactured in the 1920s, was spotted in the home of a recently deceased, 27-year Portola, California resident, Fred Frisch. It not only created intrigue but, also, caused a debate about its fate between two public officials who held dual roles in the locale, Plumas County.

When at Frisch’s home, investigating his death, W.C. Abernethy, as the coroner, noticed the slot machine. He determined the cause of death of this 67 year old to be a heart attack. Frisch had a colorful life, boxing in Fresno between 1908 and 1916, then joining the fire department and later going into the real estate business and owning a tavern and a café in Portola.

John I. Keane, as a public administrator, claimed that the machine and its contents should stay with the rest of Frisch’s estate. The apparatus was discovered to contain three nickels, the newest of which was dated 1943, and 30 tokens. Words on most of the latter indicated they could be exchanged for candy or mints or were for amusement only. Some bore the names of enterprises, including: Hub Saloon at the Cambridge Hotel in Cambridge Idaho; Silver Palace and Mad House in Bend, Oregon; and Big Three Pool Hall in Modoc County, California.

Abernethy, as the sheriff, confiscated the machine as an illegal gambling device and secured it in the evidence storage locker. Law in The Golden State then forbade private ownership of any such machine.

Keane, as the district attorney, delivered the opinion that Abernethy was right in seizing the slot.

As an afterthought, Keane asked that he get back the nickel he’d inserted in the slot as a test. Sheriff Abernethy refused, stating the coin constituted part of the evidence. 

New Owner And Home

Ultimately, both men, or all four officials, decided to donate the machine to the Peppard Museum at the local county fairgrounds for display with the other relics there.*

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* Today, the slot machine is gone from the Peppard, which now is called the Peppard Cabin and is overseen by the Plumas County Museum.

Sources

1921

Two Minnesotans each wagered $5,000 (about $67,000 today) on a new Fort Scott, Kansas oil well not producing 25 barrels the first day. Twenty-seven Kansans pooled the same amount and bet the opposite. The latter group won and was paid.

The losers, however, alleged that water had been mixed with the oil to reach the 25-barrel mark and took the case to court, hoping to recoup their $10,000.

Instead, all 27 men were charged with illegal gambling as such activity was prohibited in Kansas then.

Photo from freeimages.com: by Julie Elliott-Abshire

1920

It was 3 a.m. on a Monday. About 15 men were gambling in the Desert Club. One who’d been there all night, sitting alone, watching and waiting to make his move was George Strickland. In his mid-30s and a self-named Wobbly, he’d arrived in Tonopah, Nevada, a few days earlier.

Suddenly, he stood, brandished a gun and demanded everyone put up their hands. He relieved each of his money and valuables then stole about $150 ($1,800 today) from the cash register. He backed out the door, instructing those he’d robbed to stay put.

The police tracked Strickland to the town of Millers, Nevada. When they ordered him to surrender, he shot at them and fled along the Tonopah & Goldfield railroad track. He came upon a passenger train heading to Mina, Nevada and decided to hold it up and get the engineer to bypass the next stop. An express messenger on board, however, shot Strickland in the arm, thwarting his plan.

When the officers arrested him, the alleged thief had $375 ($4,500 today) on his person, about half the amount the victims claimed he’d stolen from them. They confiscated the cash, which was to be held in police possession until the court instructed them what to do with it.

Spectacle In Court

During his arraignment, Strickland acted bizarrely.

“He pleaded guilty and then withdrew the plea repeatedly until the attorneys were confused and did not understand what his final decision was — until he was halted in a rambling discourse and induced to go on record with a plea of guilty,” reported the Reno Evening Gazette (July 16, 1920).

During the trial, it came out that he’d planned to get to Mina to acquire more ammunition then return to Millers to fight the officers pursuing him — surefire suicide by cop.

Strickland’s ongoing behavior pointed to some type of mental imbalance and violent tendencies. While in the Tonopah jail, he’d picked several fights. In the courtroom, he attacked the bailiff in the hopes of commandeering his weapon and escaping. Committee members assigned to evaluating Strickland’s sanity offered diverging opinions. The sheriff believed the only safe place for the accused was the penitentiary.

“It is surmised by officers who have been brought in close contact that he is either an escaped convict or a fugitive from an insane asylum,” reported the Reno Evening Gazette (July 16, 1920).

The judge sentenced him to five to 25 years in Nevada State Prison, and Strickland thanked him.

As for the money the convicted criminal had pilfered, if it were returned to the original owners, the men could be convicted of illegal gambling (only some games of chance were allowed then). Thus, the money instead likely wound up in the county treasury.

Tragic Finale

A month later, in August, while in the prison hospital, Strickland picked the lock and found his way into the yard. At risk of being shot by a guard, he scaled the perimeter wall and hotfooted it.

He’d made it about 12 miles when bloodhounds tracked him down in a Carson City mill fewer than three hours later. Recaptured, he was returned to the pen.

The following February, Strickland snatched a razor from the prison’s barber shop and used it to fatally cut his throat.

Sources

1908

Two deputy sheriffs in the mining camp of Rawhide, Nevada,* were on the take. For a regularly paid fee, they allowed establishments to operate legal games without a license and/or run banned ones as well.

Sometimes they allowed gambling houses that paid heavy license fees on some games to conduct others without paying for a license. The lawmen squeezed these monies from the operators and the saloon owners where such activities occurred.

One proprietor who benefitted from the arrangement was George “Tex” Rickard, owner of The Northern. He paid $760 per quarter for licenses for most of the games in his club. However, he offered other games, both unlawful (stud poker and poker) and lawful (panguingue), without the required legal papers.

This grafting had taken place since Rawhide’s beginning in December 1906, when a prospector discovered a rich gold-silver deposit nearby.

When the Reno newspaper exposed the scheme in early 1908, the state police investigated, discovering “one of the greatest systems of graft ever perpetrated in this state,” noted the Reno Evening Gazette (April 11, 1908). When they learned Rickard refused to obtain the licenses to square with the gaming law, they threatened him with arrest.

The Legal Fallout

Within days, Rickard and his partner were taken to jail and charged with running gambling without licenses.

Two weeks passed before consequences from the graft probe’s findings played out. The district attorney ordered state police officers to collect gambling license fees from Rickard (whose case had been dismissed in the interim) and others operating similarly. The allegedly guilty Rawhide deputy sheriffs were fired and indicted on extortion charges.

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*The Nevada town was about 55 miles southeast of Fallon and 35 miles northeast of Hawthorne.

Sources

1930

Silent film star, Clara Bow, spent one September evening in 1930 playing illegal gambling games at a Lake Tahoe, Nevada casino. Both winning and losing at roulette, craps, 21 and the dice game, chuck-a-luck, she requested a high roll. The Cal-Neva Lodge obliged, allowing her to play as high as $300 per roll or card.

When she was in the red for about $5,000, the casino manager, Elmer “Bones” M. Remmer implored her to stop, but she refused. Throughout the evening, she lost $13,900 (a $198,000 value today), which she covered with three checks.

Then she stopped payment on them.

Clearly, the red-haired siren hadn’t known whom she was tangling with at the Cal-Neva! The owners, James “Jim/Cinch” C. McKay and William “Bill/Curly” J. Graham, ran Reno then, controlling its illegal gambling trade (Nevada legalized open-wide gambling in 1931) and operating speakeasies, brothels and more. “Bones” was their trusted partner and enforcer who did whatever they asked.

“‘Bones’” rarely met a man he liked, or a meal he didn’t, and he was just as likely to finish either one off,” wrote Al Moe in “Roots of Reno.”

If Bow hadn’t been a star, she might’ve been physically harmed or worse for stiffing the casino.

Another Ballsy Move

At the time, gambling was mostly illegal at the time. Some games were allowed—poker, stud-horse poker, five hundred, solo and whist—along with slot machine play only for the sales of cigars and drinks and social games only played for drinks and cigars served individually or prizes not exceeding two dollars in value.  As such, the casino’s owners couldn’t sue Bow for the money she owed. McKay tried to get her movie studio, Paramount, to cover the debt, but its executives refused, saying it was the actress’ personal matter.

Soon after, Bow issued a statement about the matter. She claimed the casino lacked a “rightful claim” against her, insinuating it had cheated her, charging her for $100 chips when she’d played with 50-cent pieces and changing the amount on her checks.

“I will gladly accept service of any legal documents,” she said. “I always pay every honest debt promptly” (Reno Evening Gazette, Sept. 24, 1930).

The Cal-Neva’s attorney refuted her accusations, calling them ludicrous. He noted that Bow had cashed the checks with the casino, which gave her the money upfront to use as she wished.

Bow never paid what she owed.

Sources

Las Vegas Hotel on Fremont Street in Las Vegas, Nevada, in 1915 (just left of Billiards)

1916

The year brought indictments in Las Vegas against individuals for violating Nevada’s anti-gambling statute, which was unusual because law enforcement generally ignored or poorly enforced it. Operating a gambling game then constituted a felony.

In 1916, most games of chance were illegal except for these that the legislature had allowed via passage of an act in 1915:

• Poker, stud-horse poker
• 500: a social, trick-taking card game* with two to six players that arose in America before 1900
• Whist: a classic English trick-taking card game with four players
• Solo: a trick-taking card game based on the English whist but in which one player often plays against the other three
• Parimutuel betting on horse races
• Slot machines with winnings used only toward the purchase of cigars and drinks
• Social games only played for drinks or cigars served individually or prizes not exceeding $2 in value

“The 1915 law seemed to have no effect on the illegal games, which increased in size and number each year. Bribes to allow unmolested games were so widespread that they were considered little more than a form of license,” wrote Jerome H. Skolnick in House of Cards: Legalization and Control of Casino Gambling.

The Accused

The grand jury for Clark County in Southern Nevada returned felony indictments against eight alleged games of chance operators:  

• O.D. Hicks, a Las Vegas city commissioner
• Ed Van of the 00 saloon
• Lon Grosheck of the Northern saloon
• Carl Wassenbach of the Star saloon
• Fred J. Pierce of the Las Vegas Hotel bar
• Joe Nakagawa, a gambler
• J. Graglia and Tom Biama of the Turf saloon

They all were arrested. Bail was set at $3,000 apiece ($67,000 today)!

The defendants were convicted of gambling and sentenced to serve from one to five years in the Nevada State Prison.

Laxity Of The Law

However, for unknown reasons, the judge in the case, Charles Horsey, suspended the sentence of all of them.

Subsequently, all but the men associated with the Turf applied for a pardon, which the Board of Pardons denied in December of that year.

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* A trick-taking game is a card or tile-based game in which play of a hand centers on a series of finite rounds or units of play, called tricks, which are each evaluated to determine a winner, or taker, of that trick.

Sources

Photo from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas University Libraries’ Digital Collection

Presumably to gain money, power and notoriety, a small clique of men monopolized gambling in Reno, Nevada during the 1920s and 1930s through violence, payoffs, intimidation, threats and other gangster techniques. The industry mostly was illegal, with some games allowed, until 1931.

The syndicate’s modus operandi became the example of how it was done in Nevada, a guide for their mobster friends who, later, would rule gambling in Las Vegas.

Along with games of chance, the Reno Mob offered endless alcohol during Prohibition and sex for sale. The hotbed of vice that was The Biggest Little City, along with a relaxed divorce law, spurred tourism long before Vegas became the state’s largest metropolis and took over as that industry’s leader. Further, with their dollars (and perhaps coercion), the racketeers were instrumental in getting gambling legalized in Nevada.

George Wingfield

The Strings Puller

George Wingfield, Sr. (born 1876): The man with the vision (and gobs of money at the time), he initially orchestrated the launch of illegal gambling in Reno, choosing the few men to effect his plan, getting them trained in casino operations and having them run games in town. Wingfield wanted the buildings he owned to be filled and believed the offer of gaming in them would achieve that end. Although he, himself, was a savvy card player, he needed what he believed to be a cleaner image to carry out his other pursuits, such as politics.

Bill Graham

Jim McKay

The Deadly Duo

James “Jim/Cinch” Carmichael McKay (born 1888) and William “Bill/Curly” James Graham (born 1888): After meeting in Tonopah, McKay and Graham became fast friends and crime partners. Wingfield had them learn the gaming business at one of his and Abelman’s casinos, The Big Casino in Tonopah, before he summoned them to Reno in the 1920s to establish illegal gaming there. While maintaining a thin allegiance to Wingfield, the pair quickly plotted their own course, which would, for starters, involve launching their own casino (Willows) and brothel (Stockade).  

William Justi

The City Councilman

William A. Justi (born 1873): Justi was the councilman for Reno’s liberal Third Ward, in which most casinos were located, between 1923 and 1944. He also was the council’s police committee chairman for a number of years. In those two roles, he could and did act on behalf of McKay and Graham, who allegedly owned him.

The Loyal Associate

Nathan “Nick” Abelman (born 1876): Abelman was Wingfield’s willing, sensible and most law abiding partner throughout the years. When he made Wingfield’s acquaintance in Goldfield, Nevada in 1904, he already had experience running saloons in the Midwest. Abelman went on to co-own, with various partners, numerous gambling enterprises.

The Willing Henchmen

These Reno Mobsters had a few, trusted men who worked at their various Northern Nevada casinos — Willows, Bank Club, Rex, Cal-Neva Lodge, Haymarket, Monte Carlo, Country Club — overseeing the gaming, ejecting troublemakers, assaulting cheaters, encouraging debtors to square up and the like. They also did other dirty work, such as menacing competitors and delivering graft. They were:

Jack Sullivan

Bones Remmer

Elmer “Bones” F. Remmer (born 1898): Jokingly called “Bones” due to his ample size, Remmer grew up in the Bay Area of Northern California. He was mean and feared. Seemingly more entrepreneurial than Sullivan and Hall, Remmer would go on to co-own the Cal-Neva Lodge, run several casinos and clubs on San Francisco Bay’s east and west sides and become embroiled with both Jewish-American, Italian-American and other mobsters.

Jack Sullivan né John B. Scarlett (born 1879): A professional boxer in his youth, Sullivan “was a large man with a brusque manner and an intimidating personality,” wrote Dwayne Kling in The Rise of the Biggest Little City. He moved to Reno from Tonopah with friend Henry “Tex” Hall in the 1920s. He would help open and run the Willows then own a portion of and operate Bank Club, both popular Reno casinos.

Henry “Tex” Hall (born 1878): A cowboy from Texas, Hall worked as a manager at several Graham-McKay casinos, including the Cal-Neva Lodge, of which he came to own a piece.

The Reno Mob’s dominion began to ebb when crises arose during the 1930s — financial ruin for Wingfield and prison terms for McKay, Graham and Hall.

The Business Model

These were the Mobsters’ 5 main tenets behind running unlawful gambling:

1) Pay Bribes: They paid whatever graft necessary — to members of the police force and sheriff’s office, the mayor, at least one city councilmember and some higher-level politicians — to continue their reign obstacle free. In return, they were permitted to serve alcohol until 1933 when Prohibition ended and offer gambling until 1931 when Nevada legalized it. In the instances they landed themselves in a legal bind, rare because they were generally protected from such occurrences, the officials in their pockets made the trouble go away.

2) Limit the Competition: The quartet decided who, if anyone, could open their own gambling enterprise in town. It usually had to be someone that at least one man in their group knew and/or would vouch for. If approved, however, the mobsters imposed stipulations, such as limits on the quantity or type of gambling offered. They demanded payments for being allowed to operate — 15 percent of the profits.

The gangsters were especially ruthless with men and women who opened shop without asking their permission beforehand and/or after they’d been warned to do so. In those cases, the four would  worm their way in and usurp the operation for themselves or, via threats, destruction of property and intimidation, they’d drive the proprietors out of their businesses and even out of town.

3) Do Whatever It Takes: The existence of laws didn’t deter the group, especially McKay and Graham, when they desired something. They exercised free will always and carried out (or, most often, had someone else carry out) whatever was necessary to remain on top in Northern Nevada’s gambling world. 

“Both were equally ruthless players within and outside the limits of the law,” wrote the authors of Baby Face Nelson about McKay and Graham.

4) Don’t Tolerate Cheating: McKay and Graham had no qualms about mangling and bloodying the bodies of cheaters, both customers and dealers, as punishment. Ironically, the zero tolerance rule didn’t apply to them; they ran various scams on primarily unsuspecting tourists, bilking them for fortunes at a time.

5) Reward Underling Loyalty:  The four acknowledged their subordinate’s obedience and solid work performance by affording them an ownership stake in one of their casinos.

Sources

Photos of McKay, Graham and Sullivan: from the University of Nevada, Reno’s Special Collections
Photo of Wingfield: from the Nevada Historical Society

Roy Merrill, Maricopa County Sheriff, 1937-1938

1937-1938

Within a year of becoming the Maricopa County Attorney, John W. Corbin began work to expose the illegal gambling taking place in the Arizona region. He set his sights on busting the game operators and the public officials taking money to ignore their activities.

“Gambling houses have been running on a wide-open basis, and slot machines are being operated, unmolested, in some 700 to 1,000 spots in Maricopa County. Gambling interests pay an estimated $35,000 a month [cumulatively] to a score of persons for being ‘left alone,’” Corbin told the press (The Madera Tribune, Nov. 18, 1937). (That total amounts to about $597,000 today.)

Those allegedly accepting graft included three high-profile men in law enforcement: Sheriff Roy Merrill, Justice of the Peace Harry E. Westfall and Sheriff’s Deputy Porter Northroup.

To investigate and obtain evidence, County Attorney Corbin pretended, with public officials, that he was agreeable to and complicit in the gambler protection operation. He sought assistance from two men: George Ash, county attorney investigator, and John G. Handy, Los Angeles-based private investigator. Beginning in September 1937, Handy posed as a “John Wilson,” a middle man between the county attorney’s office and the gamblers (the game owners or operators); he was the person to contact and to pay.

Recording Of Transgressions

Handy met with and collected $3,000 ($51,000 today) from gamblers during October and November. All of the transactions were recorded via then cutting-edge equipment: a Dictaphone system that could capture audio through a wall and microphones. Handy initially worked out of a dwelling at 130 W. Adams Street in Phoenix but later moved his setup to a room in the 16-story Hotel Westward Ho at Central Avenue and Fillmore Street.

Also recorded was a conversation between Handy and Sheriff Merrill that occurred in the 1325½ W. Monroe Street apartment, Corbin having introduced Handy to Merrill as his contact. Merrill, who’d declared his anti-gambling stance during his 1936 campaign and after getting elected in ’37, discussed plans for collecting money from gamblers and named some potential targets who were slot machine operators. Merrill also said Deputy Northroup handled collecting throughout the county for the sheriff’s office.

Northroup was captured on tape telling Handy about having arranged with a specific gambling establishment owner a $1,000 a month payment to the sheriff’s office and suggested the county attorney’s office also collect the same amount.

“So dangerous did the probe become that Corbin, Wilmer, Ash and Mullen transcribed their evidence, had a number of copies made, and placed them for safekeeping in bank vaults in a number of cities between Phoenix and Chicago, it was learned,” reported the Arizona Republic (Nov. 19, 1937). (Mark Wilmer, county special prosecutor, and Ted Mullen, county investigator, also were involved in conducting the probe.)

Downtown Phoenix, Maricopa County, in the 1940s

Lawsuits, Trials, Outcomes

In November, County Attorney Corbin filed criminal complaints against 28 people, including Merrill, Westfall and Northroup, and arrests and raids were carried out. All were charged with the felonies of asking a bribe, offering a bribe and/or conspiracy to carry on gambling games.

The complaint against Judge Westfall alleged that he’d implored Corbin not to pursue criminal proceedings against the defendants who’d been operating lotteries and related devices.

By May of 1938, Corbin and Wilmer had prosecuted eight trials in the countywide gambling crackdown. Two of them were against Sheriff Merrill, who was acquitted both times. Four others resulted in hung juries. Defendants — gamblers — were found guilty in only two.

The following month, Corbin asked for and was granted dismissal of all but one of the remaining felony cases because his office believed the chance of any convictions, based on results to date, was “very remote,” he said (Arizona Republic, June 12, 1938). The charges against Justice Westfall and Sheriff’s Deputy Northroup were among those dropped.

“I want it understood I’m not quitting,” Corbin added. “I say the gambling and graft war will continue in spite of dismissal of the cases.”

Sources

1953

On a weeknight in May, Louisiana state policemen surrounded a high-end home in the New Orleans suburbs. One of them knocked on a secret side door that contained a one-way glass window, allowing those inside to see out but not those outside to see in. A man in the house opened the door but slammed it shut once he realized who was there. Using sledgehammers, the troopers penetrated that and another door and entered.

Inside, they saw that much of the residence had been converted into an illegal casino. The living room, dining room and a third, smaller room all contained gambling equipment. A cocktail bar in the basement served guests.

Scattered throughout these areas were about 40 to 50 people, several of whom fled upon seeing the authorities. Three even jumped out of a window.

Operating Clandestinely

In the 1920s, parimutuel horse race betting became the only legalized form of gambling in Louisiana, although many casinos operated out in the open anyway, unlawfully, and this went on for decades. However, many of those enterprises went underground after Senator Estes Kefauver and his fellow committee members, in New Orleans in 1951, held hearings on organized crime. Following that probe, Jefferson Parish Sheriff Frank J. Clancy closed the area’s gambling houses.

One of those shuttered illegal clubs was O’Dwyer’s,* which had been owned and operated by brothers George L. and Rudolph “Rudy” T. O’Dwyer. Previously, the duo had run gambling establishments in New Orleans.

The home where the raid took place belonged to George’s son, Edward L. O’Dwyer.

Too Much Stress?

When she saw the police activity, Edward’s aunt and next-door neighbor telephoned her brother, George, and told him what was happening at his son’s home.

Immediately, George jumped in his car and sped to the scene. While pulling into his sister’s driveway, he suffered a heart attack and died on the spot!

Netting A Jackpot

Meanwhile, from the various gaming rooms in Edward’s home, troopers seized three roulette and three blackjack tables, $1,300 in cash (about $12,000 today) from various strongboxes and four loaded revolvers discovered in a cabinet.

“[It was] the most gambling equipment we’ve gotten on any raid,” Col. Francis Grevemberg said of the haul (The Monroe News-Star, May 27, 1953)

The state policemen released all the players but arrested the five operators, none of whom was an O’Dwyer, on illegal gambling charges. It’s unknown what happened to these men subsequently.

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* O’Dwyer’s, open from 1949 to 1951, was located at 100 Jefferson Highway, New Orleans. It’s now a Salvation Army store.

Sources