Tivoli Bar and Cafe in Juarez, Mexico, 1910-1920

1911-1914

When Pancho Villa was commanding his armies in Northern Mexico, he chose for his headquarters the richly appointed Tivoli, then the largest casino in Juarez, Chihuahua, Mexico.

Photo from El Paso Public Library: by Otis A. Aultman

1974-1983

A revolt of the performers — athletes in this case — threatened to close a popular attraction at the MGM Grand Hotel in Las Vegas — jai alai.

Unique to the Strip at the time, it was designed as part of the Nevada resort’s entertainment package to lure visitors into the casino.

Jai alai (jai meaning festival and alai, merry in Spanish) is a court game in which players use a long hand-shaped basket strapped to their wrist to propel a ball against a wall. In Spain it’s a national sport, particularly in the northern Basque provinces.

The MGM Grand generated revenue from parimutuel* bets made on the jai alai games and from ticket sales. On average, 1,300 people attended and wagered a total of $45,000 (about $217,000 today) per night. General admission tickets were $3.30 ($16 today), the loge option was $4.40 ($21 today) and boxes cost $5.50 ($26 today). The arena contained 2,200 seats.

Players Take A Stand

Unexpectedly, one day in October 1975, during the second season of jai alai at the hotel-casino, the team didn’t show, and the MGM Grand received word they were on strike. The hotel management sent a telegram to each member, informing them their no-show violated their contract with the MGM Grand and Nevada Gaming Commission regulations. They warned the players their jobs and their work visas were in jeopardy (most of them were from Spain and Mexico).

Subsequently, the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) gave the 32 players a November 7 deadline to return to work or face deportation proceedings because the strike voided the hotel’s petition to accept the players into the U.S.

Reasons For Discontent

The team had approached the Teamsters Local 995 earlier that year and expressed discontent, wanting to have a say in their working conditions and contract.

Union secretary/treasurer, Richard Thomas, described it as “a one-way, unilateral agreement — totally illegal” that favored MGM management. He added the players were “grossly underpaid,” earning $550 a month ($2,400 today) with housing provided and one free meal a day and the opportunity to earn a $100 a month bonus.

At that time, the union filed a petition for a National Labor Relations Board (NLRB) election to represent the players at the MGM, and the hotel protested the board had no jurisdiction over jai alai players. Due to that issue, the NLRB referred the case to its council in Washington, D.C., which still hadn’t weighed in after six months.

Weeks-Long Strike

Thomas said the strike would continue until the MGM acknowledged the union as the players’ official bargaining agent.

“These guys are caught between two federal agencies,” he said, “the immigration bureau and the National Labor Relations Board” (Las Vegas Sun, November 4, 1975).

Union officials and MGM management worked to hash out an agreement to end the strike but failed.

The INS’ deadline passed. The agency cancelled the work visas of the players and notified them of their upcoming deportation.

Soon after, the players left the United States, having agreed to go home or having been expelled.

“Their contracts are up the first part of December. They elected to go home,” Thomas said, stressing their action was not a defeat. “They were not hurt financially because they are going to be compensated for the time lost.”

The NLRB finally acted, ordering a representation election by the players within 30 days, but it was too late. 

The MGM restarted its jai alai program in late December 1975 with 27 new players, most of whom hailed from outside the country.

Thomas said the NLRB’s ruling gave the union a “clear shot at organizing future jai alai players, if they want it,” (Las Vegas Sun, November 26, 1975). Hotel executives disagreed, though, arguing the decision didn’t apply to the new team.

Jai alai lasted through 1983 at the MGM in Las Vegas. The hotel-casino also offered it at its Reno property from 1978 to 1980.

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* Parimutuel is a betting system in which those who bet on the winners of a race share the total amount wagered less a percentage for management

Sources

1946

Two brothers — Edward P. and George Jones — freely controlled Chicago, Illinois’ policy* racket for 25 years, beginning in the 1920s.

As a result, the two raked in money, $10 to $30 million per year, in nickels and dimes, primarily from the Caucasians and African Americans living in slums, which turned the siblings into multimillionaires. In one year alone, income from their operation, that spanned from Ohio to Idaho, was an estimated $4.5 million ($45 million today)!

On a Monday in May 1946, Edward Jones’ chauffeur drove him and his wife and cashier, Frances Myles, to Myles’ home. When the limousine arrived there, two masked men carrying submachine guns appeared, hit and grabbed Jones and tried to capture Myles, but she broke free and ran into her house. The abductors forced Jones in their car and sped away. Jones’ chauffeur and wife followed and a few blocks away, alerted police who then pursued and fired two bullets at the criminals. The gunmen fired back, shattering the squad car’s front window, injuring an officer and, ultimately, getting away.

Days passed.

Some underworld members speculated the kidnappers would hold Jones until he relinquished control of his policy business in the Windy City, or if he refused, murder him. In agreement with that motive, police theorized former Al Capone minions had taken Jones.

Their other hypothesis was that ex-cons who’d done time in federal prison with Jones (he served a couple of years for income tax evasion) had snatched him for ransom money. (Jones had been kidnapped twice before but hadn’t reported the incidents to law enforcement officers.)

Five days later, Jones was released. He said he’d been blindfolded while held but had been treated well, hadn’t spoken to his captors and couldn’t identify them.

A rumor then spread that Jones’ mother and sister had paid $100,000 ($1.2 million today) to free him.

Case Turns Cold

Police, as part of their crime investigation, tried to round up and question the usual suspects, 100 of them including former Capone associates, but the big-time players had disappeared. They included:

• Matt Capone (Al’s brother)
• Ralph “Bottles” Capone (Al’s brother)
• Sam “Golf Bag” Hunt
• Murray “The Camel” Humphreys
• Edward “Red” Meehan
• Anthony “Tough Tony” Capezzio
• Tony “Joe Batters” Accardo

Nothing came of the detectives’ efforts.

After the kidnapping, Jones moved into a 12-room mansion in Mexico City, Mexico, from where he continued to oversee his multistate policy enterprise.

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*In policy, also called numbers, players bet on a number they predicted would appear in a specific source on a given day. Originally, operators obtained the winning numbers through lottery drawings but that evolved into using baseball scores, pari-mutuel totals, cattle receipts and other combinations of figures that routinely appeared in the newspaper. Because players could wager nickels and dimes, even those who couldn’t afford even part of a lottery ticket could participate. Therefore, the game became prevalent in poor U.S. neighborhoods.

Sources

Photo from Pond5: “”The Road From Coins” by dbrus

Mexico’s Monte Carlo and Sunset Inn

1913-1929

With various state bans on gambling and, later, a nationwide prohibition against liquor, many Americans, particularly wealthy Southern Californians, traveled to casinos in Mexican border cities to play and imbibe.

“The great hegira* is in, and already these towns are filled to the limit with throngs of the thirsty, willing to pay big sums for the pleasures banned by law on American soil,” reported the Reno Evening Gazette (March 30, 1920).

Here are some casinos that lured U.S. citizens across the border to do what they legally couldn’t at home:

In Calexico

• Owl (Tecolote) Café and Theatre: Large but unadorned, “an immense barn-like structure,” the Owl boasted nearly 40 tables for keno, faro and poker along with many roulette wheels (The Bakersfield Californian, Feb. 10, 1920). Advertisements for the gaming resort touted: “Both night and day, across the way, you will never find closed, the Owl Café.” Three Bakersfield, California, saloon and brothel owners — Marvin Allen, Frank Beyer and Carl Withington — or ABC Corp., opened the Owl around 1913. Seven years later, a fire that raged for three hours burned it down.

“The destruction of the Owl leaves one large gambling house in Mexicali, a Chinese establishment where many of the games are beyond the ken** of the average American,” reported The Bakersfield Californian (Feb. 10, 1920).

In Mexicali

• Casino de Mexicali: Following the conflagration of the Owl, Governor Esteban Cantu of Baja, California, built and oversaw in his capital city the upscale Casino de Mexicali, which also was open 24/7. Luxuriously appointed, the entire top floor was divided into suites equipped with games for wagering. Cantu charged customers an initial $250 membership tax (about $2,950 today) and a $20 monthly fee. In the first month alone, 2,000 people had joined. In its early days, the Casino de Mexicali drew about 25,000 to 30,000 Americans per day.

“The project stood Cantu an even million dollars before a wheel turned,” noted the Reno Evening Gazette (March 30, 1920).

In Tijuana

• Feria Típica: This traditional fair, the brainchild of Antonio Elosúa, offered gambling in the forms of cockfighting, bullfighting, bull baiting and horse racing along with folk dancing and Mexican food and drink. It debuted in 1915 with the slogan: “Where Everything Goes and Where Everyone Goes.”
• Monte Carlo: Elosúa opened this casino the following year. Adjacent to the Feria Típica’s open-air arena, it offered cards and dice table games, slot machines and roulette wheels. By 1917, ABC Corp. had bought out all of Elosúa’s holdings.
• Sunset Inn: ABC Corp. and Jim Coffroth built in 1920 this new $1 million casino with a balcony that overlooked the racetrack. The proprietors added to the casino’s events schedule many of the feria’s most popular exhibitions, like bullfighting.

“To lure and keep gamblers on the property, the new Monte Carlo served decent enough 75-cent meals and the dance hall stayed open all night,” wrote Lawrence D. Taylor (San Diego Historical Society Quarterly, Summer 2002).

• Agua Caliente Casino and Hotel: Another trio of Americans — Wirt G. Bowman, Baron Long and James N. Crofton — built this ornate, $10 million, Spanish-style resort that boasted a casino offering faro, roulette and baccarat, horse and greyhound racing among other recreational amenities. Four-person bungalows allowed for gambling in private. Located six miles south of the border near the hot spring, the property opened in two phases, in 1928 and 1929. During its heyday, Agua Caliente attracted a slew of tourists, among them famous Hollywood stars.

“American cupidity has enriched the gamblers of Augua [sic] Caliente more than $4 million in the past 10 months. The Old West in its heyday never saw such gambling as is being done at Augua Caliente these days,” reported The Kokomo Tribune (June 7, 1929).

The end of Prohibition curtailed the throngs of U.S. citizens visiting Mexico for pleasures.

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*A flight or journey to a more desirable or congenial place
**Understanding or knowledge

Sources

1944-1945

In the final year of World War II, three related mandates hampered Nevada’s gambling clubs, but, in general, casinos willingly withstood the hits out of a sense of patriotic duty.

These directives, imposed by the United States’ war mobilization agency, followed a national call for roughly 200,000 more “able-bodied men, willing to do hard work” between the ages of 17 and 35 (Nevada State Journal, Nov. 21, 1944). The requirements, listed chronologically, were:

• In January, all horse and dog racing in the country was to stop immediately, which it did. The federal government initiated this to combat absenteeism, as much as 30 percent, at war plants located near the racetracks.

The casinos offering betting on these sports suffered a decrease in business. Whereas customers no longer could place bets on races at U.S. places like Pimlico, Jamaica, Belmont and Narragansett, they still could get some action at certain local casinos that subscribed to a race track wire service that covered races held in Mexico and Cuba.

• In early February, more than 300 of Nevada’s gambling dealers, bartenders and other non-essential workers were to begin working at plants and industries in Nevada and on the West Coast, which were crucial to the war effort. Consequently, casinos lost key personnel.

• All U.S. entertainment spots were to close at midnight starting on Feb. 26. They included gambling enterprises, bars, night clubs, theaters, sports arenas, dance halls, roadhouses, saloons, bars and the like, public and private. Restaurants that served food only (no alcohol) were exempted. Affected businesses could reopen at 8 a.m.

“The action is the most drastic of its kind yet promulgated in Washington during the present war,” noted the Nevada State Journal (Feb. 20, 1945).

The reason for the midnight closing was to conserve coal, manpower and transportation and help boost morale of active military service members, all of whom had been prohibited from entering or being in those places after midnight. It also was to help reduce the rate of civilian workers employed in critical industries not showing up to work.

Not only did Nevada’s casinos experience a drop in business, but, also, those open around the clock had to lay off their graveyard shift workers.

Relief From The Dictates

The Germans surrendered on May 8, 1945. The following day, the U.S. director of war mobilization immediately abolished the midnight curfew and the ban on horse and dog racing.

Sources

Photo from pond5.com: “American Flag Background” by ozaiachin

1941

The man who played roulette in the Palace Club nearly every day for six months was noticeable for his suave appearance. Henry Helmut, age 47, had a bit of gray hair and sported a tasteful, waxed moustache, Pince Nez glasses with ribbon and sharp, tailored attire.

“He looked like a college professor out on a gay holiday and gambling club operators say he ‘was the most impressive piece of scenery’ they have had around in a long time,” reported the United Press (The Amarillo Sunday News-Globe, Dec. 7, 1941).

Eventful Work Shift

On Friday night, December 5, while Helmut was on the job, shilling for the Reno, Nevada casino, police officers arrested then turned him over to federal agents who’d flown in from San Francisco and New York. Helmut’s capture marked the end of a 1.5-year search for him that required 37,000 travel miles through the U.S., Canada and Mexico.

Helmut was wanted on a secret indictment in New York for conspiracy against the United States with international ramifications, the feds said.

The name Henry Helmut was one of 40 different aliases — including Paul Laval, Dr. Hoffman and Martin Helmuth — the dapper man had used. His actual name was Helmuth Hartmann.

On a search of Hartmann’s Reno hotel room, police found an unloaded Mauser firearm, about $350 in bills in the lining of his suitcase, gold ore and letters written in German.

Was he a German spy? Was he a drug trafficker? Was he involved in a counterfeit ring? Was he a Nazi?

The feds wouldn’t say, but they extradited Hartmann to The Big Apple to face trial.

Filling In The Portrait

More information about Hartmann later came to light. He’d been born in Germany but since had obtained American citizenship. He was associated with a New York gang. In fact, Reno Detective Captain Harry Fletcher surmised that Hartmann had been casing the local casinos on behalf of his East Coast colleagues who wanted to get into the business. The gambling club booster’s lavish spending around town on a 50 cents-an-hour income made Fletcher suspicious.

Hartmann had been an international racketeer and swindler (stock and matrimonial cons, for example), and had served time in prison. He’d been an associate of 1) Victor “Count” Von Lustig (an alias), the U.S.-based mastermind of an extensive counterfeit operation that law enforcement dismantled in 1935 and 2) Miroslav Skrivanek, a widely known narcotics trafficker in Czechoslovakia.

Recent Unlawful Activity

Hartmann had been apprehended in Reno for his involvement in an extensive conspiracy to smuggle drugs from Mexico and distribute them in New York City. The specific charges against him were conspiring to import, distribute, conceal and transport narcotics.

He’d acted as the liaison between Mafiosi in East Harlem —the 107th Street Mob — and opiate sellers south of the United States border. In doing so, he’d arranged for New York mobsters — Frank Livorsi, Dominick “The Gap” Petrilli and Salvatore “Tom Mix” Santoro, all with long records of violent crimes, from rape to homicide — to obtain a continuous supply of narcotics from Mexico. He’d accompanied these dealers on a drug buy, at least once, in summer 1940.

“The boys now have enough money to buy all the narcotics you can find in Mexico,” Livorsi had told Hartmann. “Do a good job for us” (Advisory Committee, Feb. 16, 1946).

In Northern Nevada, officers also had discovered opiates, in sample-size quantities, in Hartmann’s belongings:

• 200 grains of heroin
• 41 grains of raw opium
• 133 grains of morphine hydrochloride

Punitive Consequences

Once in federal custody, Hartmann divulged what he knew about the narcotics operations and fingered numerous accomplices. This led to a second indictment, in which he also was named, in Arizona, the state through which the drugs entered the U.S.

Hartmann was found guilty in both the Arizona (May 1942) and New York (July 1942) trials. In each, he was given a suspended sentence of two years’ prison time, with probation.

Sources

Photo from Wikimedia Commons: Pince Nez felts by Infrogmation of New Orleans