Las Vegas Strip, 1970s

1971

Actress Jane Fonda and renowned activists led about 900 people down the Las Vegas Strip on March 6, 1971, a Saturday, in protest of welfare cutbacks.  

“Today we launched a spring offensive and a national campaign against repression,” said participating civil rights leader Rev. Ralph Abernathy (Reno Evening Gazette, March 8, 1971).

Starting at a parking lot behind Circus Circus around 1 p.m., the group, displaying signs with various messages, such as “Nevada Starves Children” and “Don’t Gamble with Human Lives,” slowly meandered the four miles to Caesars Palace.

Once there, they went inside and while waving banners and signs, chanted and sang “We Will Overcome.” They marched through the casino, held a brief rally near the back of the building, during which the resort’s management closed the gaming tables, about 15 to 30 minutes.

The group then returned to the front steps for a sit-in that blocked the front entrance. Guests were re-routed to a separate doorway.

(Fonda left sometime during the march to fly to San Francisco.)

The Precipitating Factor

Earlier that year, Nevada welfare director George Miller removed about 1,128, or 20 percent, of people from the state’s list of welfare recipients because they allegedly had lied about their income when they’d applied for public assistance. Miller’s action affected about 3,000 individuals.

Fonda accused Nevada of forcing women “off welfare rolls to become prostitutes” (Desert Sun, March 6, 1971).

The National Welfare Rights Organization claimed the state had stopped the aid checks without affording the recipients the due process the law guarantees. The group demanded the firing of Miller and reversal of what he’d done. However, Nevada Gov. Mike O’Callahan refused to order either.

Subsequently, NWRO’s executive director George Wiley vowed to protest by disrupting the gambling industry in the city that it dominated, Las Vegas, until Nevada reinstated all dropped welfare recipients. Another aim was to warn other states not to do what The Silver State had done.

A Second Go

On the Saturday following the initial protest, the NWRO and about 250 people again marched, for the same purpose, along the Strip, this time from the Las Vegas Convention Center to the Sands. Moving slowly, the group blocked traffic on South Las Vegas Boulevard and refused to disperse on orders from law enforcement officers.

Consequently, about 85 protesters were arrested. While that was happening, members of the throng shouted, “Arrest George Miller” and other commands and declarations.

When the demonstrators arrived at the hotel-casino, they tried to enter it to disrupt the gambling taking place, but security guards blocked the doors with furniture and their bodies.

“Aren’t we allowed in this hotel like anyone else?” Wiley asked.

Others yelled, “Does the hotel take no responsibility for those children who are starving, for mothers who have to turn to prostitution or to crime? Someone may be burning this hotel down.”

“Then shouts of ‘let’s burn it’ arose from the crowd, which was crushing up against the doors,” noted the Nevada State Journal (March 14, 1971).

Check is in the Mail

Later that month, Federal Judge Roger Foley ruled the State of Nevada, in cutting people off from receiving welfare, had violated their rights. As such, he ordered their names be replaced in the register immediately.

In fact, they were. Soon after, the affected people all got a check in the mail.

Sources

Reno Joe in the Mapes lobby

1950-1956

A novel, animated gambling device began to appear in Nevada casinos in 1950. It debuted in the lobby of Reno’s Mapes hotel-casino in the fall and “got a big play from visiting Shriners,” reported the Nevada State Journal (Nov. 12, 1950).

They were one-armed bandits, or life-sized outlaws whose torso was a slot machine and whose arm and gun-toting hand constituted the lever.

Donning a white plastic cowboy hat, a red bandanna over their lower face, jeans and boots, the men’s eyes lit up in red when a player got a payout. In some models, they shouted “jackpot” when the bars aligned horizontally. The Mapes’ version garnered the name “Reno Joe.” 

The showcasing of Reno Joe resulted in numerous calls from Silver State casinos to the manufacturer for large orders of the Bandit. However, because Character Manufacturing Co. (CMC), on South Virginia Street in Reno, hand carved and custom made each one with individual characteristics, it only produced them in limited numbers. The brand of slot machines it used in them also differed occasionally but typically was a Mills or a Pace.

A Popular Novelty

In 1951, the Nevada Club in Reno installed in its bar area four Bandits, ones wearing hatbands bearing the casino name. They held Jennings Standard Chief slot machines, at the request of Lincoln Fitzgerald, the club’s co-owner and gaming manager.

The same year, LIFE magazine published in its May 18 issue a photo of the five Bandits in Stockmen’s Hotel and casino in Elko, in Northeastern Nevada. Those boasted gray and white polka-dot bandannas and red slot machines.

To entice people to play the slots, the Las Vegas Club in Southern Nevada, in 1952, commissioned 15 Bandits for its casino. They were beefier and better resembled men than Reno Joe, and had two arms and patterned shirtsleeves. Some lacked the bandanna.

These slots became the club’s icon, getting face time on advertising matchbooks and decal-postcards. The message on the latter was to see for oneself “the 15 generous gentlemen of the Old West at the Las Vegas Club.”

Other casinos, too, including Vegas’ Mint, purchased and incorporated the Bandit into its gambling offerings.

Artists And Products

Character Manufacturing Co. (CMC) began in 1948. During that time, various individuals carved its products.  One of the first was Sundance Cravat, a well-known Reno cowboy skilled in various handcrafts, including wood carving.

CMC hired cowboy artist Frank Polk when he claimed he could do a better job than had been done. During 1951 and 1952, Polk crafted more than 90 pieces for the company.

Other slot machine figures CMC made were the Gold Miner and the Cocktail Waitress, which was plastic. The latter was noteworthy for various wigs and apparel each of them wore. Reno’s Golden casino added 21 Cocktail Waitresses in 1956. They nearly met their demise during the fire ten years later that razed the building but were saved.

(CMC’s slot-less products included oversized, hand-carved Native Americans and talking horses.)

Sources

1972

In the mail on Monday, April 24, each of 21 Las Vegas hotel-casinos received an identical, typewritten letter that demanded they pay a total of $2 million (about $12 million today) or get blown up, one by one, until the extortionist got the full amount. It was up to the Nevada resorts if, and how, they divvied up payment. The correspondence didn’t indicate a day, time or place for the drop.

The letters had been sent via Special Delivery, which was expedited service, from Austin, Texas. Fifteen of them were turned over to the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI).

The same 21 gaming properties received a second letter, on May 4, which contained payoff instructions. It noted the bombing would start in two weeks, on Saturday, May 13, with Circus Circus being getting hit first and the Thunderbird second.

A similar extortion case had occurred in 1970 in Northern Nevada, in which the perpetrators had instructed three casinos — the Sparks Nugget Motor Lodge in Sparks and Harolds Club and Harrah’s in Reno — to pay a total of $1 million (about $6 million today) or face multiple bombs exploding in their casinos.

Plot Foiled

In the Las Vegas case, about two weeks later, on Thursday, May 11, FBI agents arrested a suspect in a Santa Monica, California motel, on a federal warrant. He was Los Angeleno Nathan N. Marks, 28, a self-employed radio and sales promoter. On him at the time was an airline ticket to Paris, France.

The next day, Marks waived extradition to Nevada to face the charges. Instead, that would take place in San Bernardino County, California. Bail was set at $500,000 ($3 million today).

Spilled The Beans

Marks had recruited a partner, a Texas resident, to help him carry out the scheme, and that person had informed the FBI about it all. That led to federal agents listening in on a phone call between the two alleged conspirers.

During that conversation, Marks told the second man to “buy enough explosive to blow a ’50 by 50 by 50′-foot hole in the casino,” he said, referring to Circus Circus, because he wanted “‘to let the Thunderbird Hotel, which was next on the list, to know that he meant business’” (The Bakersfield Californian, May 12, 1972). Marks indicated the bombs would be dropped from the air, out of a private plane Marks would charter in Los Angeles.

Day Of Reckoning

In May 1973, a year after the criminal endeavor was set in motion, Marks appeared in court. Rather than plead guilty to the 21 counts of mailing a threatening letter against him, he was permitted to admit to just one, which he did.

The judge sentenced him to 10 years in prison, half of the maximum sentence.

Sources

1969-1971

Patron Alvin Glasky sat in the Stardust hotel-casino’s showroom in Las Vegas, Nevada, watching Lido de Paris on a Saturday evening in 1969. As one of the topless showgirls was being lowered from the ceiling over the crowd, she fell off the platform and landed on him.

Two years later, Glasky filed a lawsuit, seeking $403,700 (about $2.5 million today) in damages for internal and external injuries caused by “a falling nude” (Desert Sun, April 1, 1971).

The outcome of the suit is unknown.

Lorenzi Lake Park c. 1931

1931

Soon after Governor Frederic “Fred” B. Balzar approved wide-open gambling for Nevada, three men applied for an initial gambling license  from the City of Las Vegas to operate a craps game at Lorenzi Lake Park in the Pavilion building.

Lorenzi, with a pool, dance area, two lakes, rowboats and concessions and an affordable entry fee, was a local hot spot for fun. Numerous events, including concerts, prize fights, horse races, dance contests and beauty pageants, took place there.

The city commissioners denied Roy Grimes, R.H. Davenport and D.J. MacCauley a gambling permit, which they believed was unjust and discriminatory. The new state gambling law began on March 19, and they’d filed their application on April 17, in proper form and meeting all the necessary requirements.

Agency’s Approach Questioned

In fact, the commissioners’ refusal to grant the three men a license was in accord with the agency’s recently adopted resolution, on March 30, that it only would afford gambling licenses in the future to entities that already had one from the previous quarter. The moratorium was to go into effect on April 5 and remain in place until the agency could develop a policy for issuing new licenses and outline a city area in which gambling houses could operate.

However, prior to moratorium decision, the commissioners had granted gambling licenses to six clubs — Boulder, Las Vegas, Exchange, Northern, Red Rooster and Meadows.

“The city commissioners arbitrarily fixed the number to be granted at six, and rejected all other applications other than the six favored ones” reported the Nevada State Journal (May 28, 1931).

Further, after the decision, the commissioners make an exception to the moratorium, which was they could grant  gambling licenses to people of the “Ethiopian race” for games at establishments “that catered to persons of the same race.”

Off To The Courts

In early May, Grimes, Davenport and McCauley filed for a writ of mandamus against the Las Vegas mayor and city commissioners, the first court action to be filed in Nevada regarding the 1931 state gambling law. They wanted the court to compel the agency to give them a gambling license. (Another mandamus action in the wake of the new gambling law was taken later in the month, in Northern Nevada.) The trio’s attorney, Charles Lee Horsey, argued that “the law prohibits discriminations and that all who conform to the same standards must be given the same privileges.”

On May 27, the case was presented to the Nevada Supreme Court, whose jurists had to determine whether or not city or county authorities have the right to limit the number of gambling licenses to be issued in a community.

Gambling Stigma Revealed

The ruling, which came two months later, in July, was the opinion of two of the three judges, Edward A. Ducker and Benjamin W. Coleman. It determined that “the city of Las Vegas exercised sound discretion in denying the application” because it was for a type of business that was “of a character regarded as tending to be injurious” (Nevada State Journal, July 9, 1931).  And when it came to this kind of enterprise, governing bodies could control which ones did and didn’t receive gambling licenses.

Contrarily, Judge John A. Sanders, the sole dissenter, opined that the commissioners indeed had acted arbitrarily and discriminatorily and that the writ should be granted.

Sources

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

1931

After a brand new roulette setup was put in use at a Las Vegas, Nevada casino, it was discovered the number 28 was black on the wheel, as it should be, but red on the betting layout.

Confusion ensued, particularly concerning red or black bets, when the ball stopped at 28. Was it red or black?

This error also altered the odds for red and black play, as the layout erroneously contained 19 (versus the correct 18) red and 17 black numbers. To resolve the problem, the red 28 on the layout was changed to black. 

Photo from freeimages.com: “Roulette de Casino” by Mike Esprit

1968-1971

A couple and a third man approached a 21 table in the Frontier in Las Vegas, Nevada on a Monday afternoon. The husband, Douglas Anderson, distracted the dealer.

In that moment, his wife, Beverly Hanson, pulled a marked deck from her purse, handed it to the other man, Fred Padilla, who swapped it for one of the sets to be used. Hanson put the real house deck in her bag.

Anderson played all six seats, and in three hands, won $6,200 (about $44,500 today).

Officers from the Clark County Sheriff’s Office’s intelligence division, who quickly appeared at the table, arrested Anderson and Padilla and confiscated Anderson’s chips and bills, which, at that time, totaled $5,300.

The dealer, T.J. Underwood, had been in on the cheat … and the bust.

Prearranging On Both Sides

Two weeks earlier, Keith Hense, a Las Vegan unknown to Underwood, had recruited him to participate in the theft for a cut of $5,000 ($36,000 today). The goal was to steal $60,000 ($430,000 today) in all after switching four stacked card decks for the house ones. At a subsequent tête-a-tête, Hense introduced Underwood to Anderson, a card shark and the ringleader, and Bob Parmane, another Vegas resident. “Look, we love money, and we hope you do, too,” Anderson told Underwood.

The dealer informed his boss about the plot, and casino security got involved. After Underwood agreed to help them catch the perpetrators in the act, they had him arrange a third meeting. That took place at the apartment of Frontier boxman Robert Moses Johns, who provided the casino’s blue monogrammed playing cards for the swindle.

End Of The Road

When the cheat took place, on March 11, undercover agents and sheriff’s deputies, who’d been milling about, heard it go down, through a wire Underwood wore. Cameras, which the security team had trained on the area, captured it on tape.

Anderson and Padilla, from California, and Hanson, from Utah, were booked on charges of obtaining money under false pretenses, grand larceny, swindling and bunco steering. Hense, Parmane (aka Robert Carl Underwood, no relation to T.J.)  and Las Vegas resident, Alan Samuels, whose role was to perform a sleight of hand to cover the crime, were booked on charges of embezzlement and conspiracy to commit grand larceny.

The Frontier pressed charges against the alleged cheaters, an unusual move in that casinos tended to deal with such individuals themselves.

Hand ‘Em Over To The Law

Nevada gaming regulators, in August of that year, publicly announced that in a policy shift, they now were encouraging gambling houses to prosecute cheaters to keep them out of the state’s casinos. They used as an example Howard Hughes, earlier that year, turning over to law enforcement the Frontier cheating suspects.

Roughly $5 to 8 million (about $36 to 57 million today) are filched each year from Nevada’s casinos by crossroaders, which results in The Silver State losing about $400,000 ($2.9 million today) in tax revenue, noted Frank Johnson, Nevada Gaming Control Board chairman.

“The idea is that the clubs don’t catch the cheater and then send him across the street to cheat somebody else,” Johnson said. “This is a step towards getting him out of circulation.”

Test Of The New Policy

Justice of the Peace Herman Fisher, Jr. ordered all six accused in the Frontier incident to stand trial on various revised charges. The videotape, the supposed smoking gun in the case, turned out to be not so helpful, as it showed a “pretty bad picture,” in Fisher’s words. Despite the quality, he allowed it to be introduced in court. The prosecution also used T.J. Underwood as a witness.

Numerous legal proceedings, defense strategies and trial delays ensued. By 1971, three years later, charges against the more peripherally involved men — Hense, Parmane/Underwood and Samuels — had been dropped.

It’s presumed that eventually the district attorney’s office also terminated the cases against Anderson, Hanson and Padilla; no accounts of actual trials, convictions or sentencing could be found in the press after April 1971.

Sources

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).

1949

“Eight the hard way!” “It’s the Big Dick!” “Next shooter, please!” “Seven, you lose!”

When translated into the French language, these common phrases shouted by stickmen during craps lose their pizazz and bite, their je ne sais quoi, so to speak: “Dix difficile!” “C’est le gros Richard!” “Au suivant, s’il vous plaît!” “Le sept est perdant.”

This was the quandary Louis Ceresol faced when he set out to import the American dice game to the Casino de Monte-Carlo in Monaco in 1949. “C’est impossible,” the director of gambling said, referring to achieving a similar effect in the language of love. Ultimately, Ceresol opted to have his croupiers banter in English.

After all, he was instituting craps at the 80-year-old gambling house primarily for its American patrons, who were more familiar with it than with the French games it offered then: single-zero roulette, baccarat, chemin de fer and a high-low card game.

“Too often, Ceresol says, the American tourist comes into the Monte Carlo casino with his hands in his pocket and goes out with them still in his pocket,” reported the Nevada State Journal (Feb. 20, 1949).

The casino operation needed reviving after losing $450,000 (about $4.6 million today) in fiscal year 1947-1948. Ceresol hoped its American guests and craps would be the antidote, as about 200,000 tourists from the United States were expected to visit Europe in the coming year.

Casino de Monte-Carlo representatives, Albert Jauffret, left, and Louis Ceresol, intently view a dice polishing machine

Nevada Delivers Model

To learn the ins and outs of craps, Ceresol and his associate, head croupier Albert Jauffret, visited the States in February for a firsthand education. Their first stop was Las Vegas, Nevada, specifically the Flamingo.

“I am here to be taught the new dignity of modern gambling,” Ceresol said (Reno Evening Gazette, Feb. 15, 1949).

Next was Reno, Nevada, where they spent time at the Golden and other major gambling clubs. With a tape recorder and movie camera in hand, they recorded numerous games to later use to train their croupiers.

While in Nevada, Ceresol placed an order with George R. Weinbrenner, president of B.C. Wills & Co., a Detroit-based gambling equipment manufacturer, for a craps layout called the Improved Idaho Style Double Side Dealer.

Can’t Get Enough

The next stop for Ceresol and Jauffret was Sun Valley, Idaho. Subsequently, the duo continued their craps tutorial, stopping in numerous U.S. cities, including Boise, Idaho; Los Angeles, California; El Paso, Texas; Chicago, Illinois; Detroit, Michigan; and Cincinnati, Ohio. In doing so, they took in numerous games, many operated illegally, and even spotted some occasional cheating, Ceresol said. The Monte Carlo representatives arrived about a month later than originally planned in Jersey City, New Jersey, from where they set sail to Europe.

“They have wired home that they are bringing home the doctrine of the hard eight, the boxcars, Petit Joseph, come betting and the field,” reported Bob Considine (Stars & Stripes, May 28, 1949).

Sources

Photo from LIFE magazine, March 28, 1949

1931-1932

Actors Clara Bow and Rex Bell gambled at the Meadows in Las Vegas in summer 1931 and racked up a $1,100 loss (about $18,000 today), for which they left an IOU. By December, the two hadn’t paid what they owed (Bow had wriggled out of covering a gaming debt the year before).

The casino owners — Anthony “The Admiral” Cornero Stralla, his brother Louis Cornero and various mobsters — sued the couple in December for recovery of the funds. The next day, Bow and Bell secretly married in Sin City.

A mysterious incident occurred about 1.5 months later. The newlyweds spent an evening playing games of chance at Vegas’ Boulder Club. After winning about $1,000 playing craps, Bow departed for home, leaving her winnings with her husband, who stayed at the casino.

When Bell eventually left, on his way out, two masked men robbed him. “They prodded the guns so hard in his ribs he decided not to resist them and permitted them to take the money, he said,” reported the Nevada State Journal.

Photo from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas’ Special Collections