Entrance to Bally’s Las Vegas Hotel & Casino

Today

Bally Manufacturing Corp., at one time decades ago, was heavily involved in the gambling industry. It owned six hotel-casinos in the U.S. It was a major producer of state lottery games and developer of slot and video poker machines.

After its peak, the corporation divested all of its various but its hotel-casino (some still use the Bally name), and changed its name in 1994 to Bally Entertainment Corp. to reflect its single focus.

However, in 1996, Bally sold its casino properties to Hilton Hotels Corp., which, since, sold them, too.

Here’s the current status of former Bally-owned hotel-casinos: 

Louisiana:
Bally’s New Orleans: now closed

Mississippi:
Bally’s Casino Tunica: now 1st Jackpot Casino Tunica, owned by Gaming & Leisure Properties

Nevada:
Bally’s Las Vegas: now Bally’s Las Vegas Hotel & Casino, owned by Eldorado Resorts
Paris Las Vegas: owned by Eldorado Resorts
Bally’s Reno: now Grand Sierra Resort and Casino, owned by the Meruelo Group

New Jersey:
Bally’s Park Place: now Bally’s Atlantic City Hotel & Casino, owned by VICI Properties

Photo from Wikimedia Commons: by Pedro Szekely

1940

They couldn’t just agree to disagree. They were the sheriffs of two bordering counties in different states.

Sheriff Guy Joyner of Shelby County, Tennessee insisted illegal gambling was taking place just past the state line in The Magnolia State whereas Sheriff Elton S. Baxter of DeSoto County, Mississippi asserted no such activity was occurring in his jurisdiction.  

Fueling The Embers

Joyner reignited and escalated the ongoing dispute when on Monday, December 9, 1940, he had a 10-by-30-foot sign erected on the side of the highway in his county that read:

“Down the road in Mississippi are gambling dens run by thieves; they cheat you, they rob you, they slug you, they get your money.”

In this message, “down the road” referred to DeSoto County, and in fact many nightclubs operated there, within about 100 yards of the border. Joyner had armed deputies guard the sign around the clock. “Anyone who thinks he can drive by and shoot it down will have his tires blown off, and he will be dealt with severely,” he publicly warned (The Kingsport Times, Dec. 12, 1940).

Striking Back

Mississippians were unhappy with the sign. Citizen groups expressed their outrage, as did local newspaper editorial writers who suggested Memphis first “‘clean its own house’ before seeking to reform the world.”

Baxter said, “The battle that is raging between Tennessee and Mississippi is not over morals. Memphis and Shelby County want to keep the money that is being spent in the night clubs at home. It isn’t gambling and drinking or anything like that which is causing the rumpus, but a question of cold, hard cash on the part of Tennessee interests. Memphis people are running DeSoto County’s night clubs.”

When Mississippi Governor Paul E. Johnson was asked to weigh in, he paraphrased a Bible verse in Proverbs. “As Solomon said, ‘He that meddleth in strife not of his own making is like he who passeth by and pulleth a dog’s ear.’”

Upping The Ante

Joyner wrote in a letter to Baxter that “some day or night with axes, bloodhounds and sledgehammers, ‘I will break down those doors,’” referring to the clubs, “‘and make kindling wood of all gambling equipment’” (The Kingsport Times, Dec. 15, 1940).

Countering The Threat

On Saturday, Baxter replied: “I advise you to confine your activities north of the state boundary line. There are plenty of citizens in this county who are anxious to defend the county against your proposed activity. I intend to treat you like I would any other ordinary law violator if you, any of your deputies or any person connected directly or indirectly with your offices comes into the state of Mississippi and especially DeSoto County and undertakes to presume the prerogatives of officers of this county.” He reiterated he was unaware of any places with gambling operating in his county, but if they existed, he wouldn’t protect them.

Softening The Blow

Then, Joyner sought to learn where the exact boundary line between the two counties lay. He noted the dividing line hadn’t been established in court. “It may be, after all, those dens are in Tennessee,” he said (The Biloxi Daily Herald, Dec. 16, 1940).

Eight days after having the billboard installed, Joyner modified it, adding the words “two miles” and “Memphis,” perhaps thinking that might pacify Mississippians. The new version read:

“Two miles down the road in Mississippi are gambling dens run by Memphis thieves; they cheat you, they rob you, they slug you, they get your money.”

Taking A Stand

Subsequently, Johnson said he’d ordered operators of the stateline establishments to close and leave Mississippi. After praising the governor for that move, Joyner ordered the sign painted over. It was done. He noted it would be taken down soon, and that was done, too.

With the final word on the issue, in 1940 at least, Baxter said he hadn’t heard from Johnson that he’d kicked out the gamblers.

Sources

Mississippi photo from Wikimedia Commons: by Thomas R. Machnitzki
Tennessee photo from FourSquare.com: by KaShon N.

Charles Cora’s headstone

1855-1856

Charles and Arabella “Bell” Cora were a colorful, rich and well-known San Francisco couple whose lives jolted into misfortune one Saturday night in 1855.

He, 39, had made his money from dealing faro in Northern California mining camps and the city during The Gold Rush. Prior, he’d broken numerous faro banks in Louisiana and Mississippi, consequently, was banned from many gambling houses. He was “the foremost faro player on the Mississippi,” R.K. DeArment wrote in his article, “Gambling in the Old West.”

She, 27, had earned her wealth as a madam of a high-end brothel on Dupont and Washington streets. Though the two weren’t married, Bell used his last name.

“At the pinnacle of their professions, they were the elite of the sporting crowd, well acquainted with the top political and professional leaders of the city,” wrote Charles L. Convis, author of True Tales of the Old West: Gamblers.

Mutual Provocation

On Thursday, Nov. 15, the Coras were watching the play, Nicodemus, at the American Theater when during intermission, some men seated below recognized and shouted out to Bell. She playfully acknowledged them, after which both parties gestured bawdily to one another.

Sitting in front of the Coras, the wife of General William Richardson, a U.S. marshal, took great offense and asked her husband to make them stop. William, 33, demanded the Coras leave, but they wouldn’t. He asked the manager to force them out, but he, too, refused.

“The Richardsons stalked out, bitterly denouncing [Charles] Cora and Bell,” Convis reported.

Can’t Let It Go

The following night, Charles and William encountered one another again, first on the street then in the Cosmopolitan Saloon, where they had words in between drinks.

The next afternoon, William loudly went from watering hole to watering hole looking for Charles and revenge. When he found him, though, he seemed to have forgiven him as both imbibed more alcohol together at two watering holes before parting.

Later, William approached Charles in front of Montgomery Street’s Blue Wing Saloon and together they walked down Clay Street.

When they stopped at the corner of Leidesdorff, Charles aimed and fired his pistol at William’s heart. Dead almost immediately, William slumped to the sidewalk.

“One version has it that [Charles] Cora slammed [William] Richardson against a building, pinning his arms, and, as Richardson screamed ‘Don’t shoot! I’m unarmed,’ Cora shot him in cold blood,” wrote Dr. Weirde in the article, “For Whom the Belle Toils.” “Another version: Cora collared Richardson, Richardson reached for his weapon, and Cora fired first in self-defense.”

The Daily Alta California noted, “Murders have been committed for robbery or from motives of revenge, but for this last there appears to have been no inciting cause but an unnatural thirst for blood” (Nov. 18, 1855).

Justice With A Twist

The police arrested Charles, whose trial took place in March of the next year. For his defense, Bell hired a slew of attorneys, two of whom later would become U.S. Senators — E.D. Baker (Oregon) and James A. McDougall (California).

Baker’s fee alone was $30,000 (a $725,000 value in 1913, the earliest year for which conversion is available). Bell paid him half, all of which he immediately lost while playing faro.

The jury was hung and Charles, beyond bars, awaited a second trial in April.

Before that could occur, about 3,000 citizens angrily stormed the jail, armed with shotguns, rifles, swords, knives, and revolvers. Agitated by a second recent murder — that of newspaper man James King by city supervisor James P. Casey over a disparaging editorial — the newly reformed Vigilance Committee demanded Charles and James Casey’s release. He and his men greatly outnumbered, the sheriff complied.

The mob held unofficial trials for both men, who were found guilty. The minimum for a majority found Charles guilty; as for James, the same verdict was unanimous.

The committee members allowed Charles to marry Bell, which he did inside “Fort Gunnybags,” the vigilantes’ jail. At 1:15 p.m. that day, Thursday, May 22, from poles they rigged on their office building’s roof, they publicly hanged both men and left them there for nearly an hour.

“Almost every man, woman and child in the city was either a spectator or participator,” reported California’s Sacramento Daily Union (May 24, 1856).

Sources

Photo from the San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library