It’s undisputed that Mobsters ruled early gambling in Reno, Nevada’s 1920s and 1930s. Two club owners who offered games of chance in the city courageously wrote, in their memoirs roughly two decades later, about the powers that were.

Here are the authors and their depictions created with words: 

Harold Smith, Sr., I Want to Quit Winners (1961)

Smith encountered the Reno Mob in his casino Harolds Club in 1937, two years after it opened. The co-proprietor explained:

“Let us say they were a local mob with options on outside talent. They had a club — we’ll call it the Gibraltar — and it did a good business. Who owned it in fact, I cannot, or will not, say. However, a very prominent Nevada citizen whom we shall call Mr. Senior was sufficiently regarded at the Gibraltar for every employee to snap to attention at the sight of him.

“Baby Face Nelson, the Chicago gangster then on the lam, had made the Gibraltar his local headquarters and might be seen playing Pan there any day. Rumor had it the Cribs and their fifty-odd prostitutes down by the river were Gibraltar-owned. So was at least one Reno city councilman.”

“The Gibraltar” clearly was the Bank Club and “Mr. Senior,” George Wingfield, Sr. As for the Reno City Council member (third ward), that was William A. Justi. He also was the police committee chairman for several years, a position through which he “virtually controlled police affairs” according to the Reno Evening Gazette (March 16, 1936).

Smith commented on the Mob’s approach to outsiders:

“They never sent any word of warning to us. That wasn’t the protocol; they were more discreet than that.”

Belle Livingstone, Belle Out of Order (1959)

Belle Livingstone, socialite and New York speakeasy owner during Prohibition, had a run-in with the Reno Mob when she opened The Cowshed on Virginia Street without their permission. Then unaware of their existence in town, she hadn’t anticipated any problems. She was wrong. She wrote:

“After all the years I had lived on the Continent, I should have remembered that in any gambling town there is always an underworld that runs everything — a clique that calls the shots in every racket, decides who may and who may not operate and under what terms, even elects public officials. This was as true in the Reno of the Thirties as anywhere else, except that in Reno the underworld was at the same time the uppercrust.”

As for those elite gangsters, she described them this way:

“At the time I was [in Reno], it was reputed that a certain financier, owner of seventeen banks in Nevada, was the real ruler of the little city, although Mayor Roberts sat in the chair; that the said financier and three partners formed a four-headed Octopus which strangled every business that didn’t pay money into their till; that no one could possibly operate without their sanction; and that to them every form of vice — from the dirty, painted girls in the red-light district to the flourishing hophouses — made obeisance.”

Whereas she didn’t name them, obviously the banker was Wingfield. Two of the partners she recalled undoubtedly were James “Jim/Cinch” McKay and William “Bill/Curly” Graham. The third partner might’ve been Justi or someone else.

Like Smith, Livingstone noted that the Mob didn’t verbalize their desires to intruders like her but, rather, sent their henchmen to send their message through violence. She wrote:

“The Octopus, moreover, had its own way of dealing with outsiders who tried to become insiders. This was the silence treatment, which might result in anything from a few days in the hospital to a few appropriate remarks to the mourners.”

Historical Documentation

At the time Smith and Livingstone’s memoirs were published, Wingfield, McKay and Graham were still alive. (Justi had died in 1945.) Had either author named any of the Mobsters, they could’ve experienced  extreme repercussions as a result. Even describing them as they had was risky.

In taking the chance they did, Livingstone and Smith recorded for posterity the key dirty players in one of The Silver State’s significant eras, and Nevada history is better for it.

Sources

Allen Smiley

Allen Smiley “was one of the most powerful gangsters in [California],” wrote author Gerald Horne in Class Struggle in Hollywood, 1930-1950. He was Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel’s partner and best friend and subsequently, Johnny Rosselli’s* right-hand man.

Somewhat in the shadow of these famed men and a private person, his story is less well known. So It Really Happened! unearthed these 10 interesting snippets about him:

1) Allen Smiley, né Aaron Smehoff and also known as Abraham Smickoff, dropped out of school in Canada at age 12 and three years later, entered the United States alone, through Detroit. Born to Orthodox Jewish parents in in Kiev, Ukraine in 1907, he and his family had immigrated to the Great White North when he was seven.

2) Smiley was involved in gambling in various ways in several states. With Siegel, he operated the Transamerica Wire Service, which provided race information from the California tracks, and he helped Siegel get the Flamingo hotel-casino built in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Smiley organized gambling junkets at various locales, including the Garden of Allah in West Hollywood, California; The Knickerbocker in New York, New York; the Argyle Hotel in San Antonio, Texas; the Colony Club in Gardena, California; and the Rex gambling ship, off of the Southern California coast.

He was the ambassador of gambling relations, essentially a recruiter of high-rollers, for the Beverly Country Club in New Orleans, La.

As a player, he loved betting on and watching horse racing. “The race was the one clandestine addiction he couldn’t conceal,” wrote his daughter Luellen Smiley in her memoir Cradle of Crime.

3) Throughout his life, Smiley racked up numerous arrests, for bookmaking, running a wire service, transporting gambling cheating equipment, assault, suspicion of murder, robbery, extortion, operating without a liquor license, contempt of court and other crimes.

4) After Siegel’s murder in 1947, Smiley needed legitimate employment, as he faced possible deportation, having been indicted for falsely writing on an arrest form he was an American citizen. He asked Mob accountant Meyer Lansky if he could get back his $30,000 ($319,000 today) investment in the Flamingo, and Lansky consented. Smiley then invested the money in Texas oil exploration.

5) In 1949, at the Little Chapel in Las Vegas, he married Lucille Casey, a John Robert Powers agency model and a dancer at the Frank Costello-owned Copacabana nightclub in New York City. (The two divorced in 1962.)

6) After being convicted of falsely claiming citizenship, Smiley served nine months of a one-year sentence, from February to November 1951, at the McNeil Island Corrections Center in Washington state. He was paroled early for good behavior.

7) While imprisoned, he testified, somewhat belligerently and in handcuffs, before the Kefauver Committee.

8) Smiley contracted hepatitis B during adulthood. He’d told a confidant that he’d gotten it after being injected with blood from donors suspected of having the virus, at McNeil Island as part of medical research that used prisoners as subjects.** (We couldn’t verify that he’d been one of these test subjects but confirmed that such an experiment was done at that very penitentiary. The purpose was to determine if hepatitis B was or was not a blood-borne disease.)

9) Despite the federal government’s threats to deport Smiley to Canada or the U.S.S.R. upon his release from McNeil Island, Smiley was allowed to stay stateside and eventually become a U.S. citizen, which he did in 1966.

10) He died from hepatitis-induced cirrhosis of the liver. Near his life’s end, he chose to stop the antiviral treatment for hepatitis that he’d been on, knowing that as a result, his liver disease would worsen and cause his demise. He passed away at age 74 or 75 on March 6, 1982.

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* Johnny Rosselli was a Chicago Outfit member charged with ensuring smooth operations in Hollywood and Las Vegas.

** In the experiment, a total of 60 healthy, supposedly volunteer, prisoners at McNeil Island and at the U.S. Penitentiary, Lewisburg were injected. As a result, 27 of them contracted the virus; two at McNeil died not long after.

Sources

1948

Mickey Cohen (né Meyer Harris Cohen) — violent Los Angeles, California mobster and gambling kingpin with ties to Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel and the Flamingo in Las Vegas, Nevada — suffered from obsessive compulsive disorder that led to him washing his hands 50 to 60 times a day.

In fact, the ritual saved his life in 1948. After shaking hands with stickup man, Jimmy “The Weasel” Fratianno, who was on his way out of Cohen’s menswear shop called Michael’s Haberdashery, Cohen immediately went to the restroom in the back to wash his hands.

Fratianno signaled the assassin team, headed by his best friend, Michael “The Bomp” Bompensiero, which stormed and shot up the store but failed to hit Cohen who was nowhere in sight.

1955

When presumed-to-be-wealthy mobster, Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel, was slain at age 41, the estate he left was worth $35,609 (about $314,550 today).

Before his murder, Siegel co-financed and oversaw completion of the Flamingo hotel-casino in Las Vegas but ran up its development costs by several million and began bouncing checks.

In his earlier days, he was, among others, a bootlegger, hit man, thief and a founder/leader of Murder, Inc., the U.S. Mafia’s enforcement team.

1960

A cheap, spiral notebook held great power in Nevada’s gambling world for decades.

It contained known U.S. mobsters whose underworld statuses and histories were such that the state gambling authorities didn’t want them anywhere near The Silver State’s casinos. This was a problem as these undesirables frequented major gambling operations in the state.

Nevada had legalized gambling in 1931, but it wasn’t until about two decades later that casinos became under stricter regulatory control, after the creation of two such agencies — first the Nevada Gaming Control Board (NGCB) in 1955 and then the Nevada Gaming Commission (NGC) in 1959.

Soon after, in 1960, the NGCB created and distributed the book to major casinos along with the state regulation mandating all casinos be operated in a way “suitable to protect the public health, safety, morals, good order and general welfare of the State of Nevada.” Casinos weren’t to allow the hoodlums in the book into their establishments … under any circumstances … ever.

Failure to comply meant losing their gambling licenses and, thus, ability to run such enterprises. The compilation garnered the name “Black Book,” not because of its sinister connotations but due to its plain black cover. And despite being labeled “Top Secret,” everyone seemed to know about it.

Each mobster in the black book garnered one page, which contained their picture, aliases and FBI file number. Over time, the NGCB deleted names from and added names to the list. The public never knew how and why the gambling regulators chose the undesirables they did for inclusion.

Blacklisted Mobsters

These were the 11 original bad boys in the black book and their primary cities of operation:

Chicago

• Salvatore Giancana (aka Salvatore Giancana, Sam Giancana, Momo, Mooney, Sam the Cigar, Sammy): a boss from 1957 to 1966
• Llewelyn Morris Humphreys (aka Murray Llewelyn Humphreys, Murray Humphreys, The Camel, The Hump): an alleged lieutenant of Al Capone and Sam Giancana
• Marcello Giuseppe Caifano (aka Johnny Marshall, Marshall Caifano): an overseer of mob-controlled casinos in Las Vegas who was suspected of numerous murders

Kansas City

• Nicholas Civella (aka Nick Civella): a mob boss (brother of Carl Civella)
• Carl James Civella (aka Cork): in charge of day-to-day operations (brother of Nicholas Civella)
• Motel Grzebienacz (aka Max Jaben): an associate and alleged lieutenant for Sam Giancana

Los Angeles

• Louis Tom Dragna (aka Lou Allen): a boss, who challenged the black book’s constitutionality
• John Louis Battaglia (aka The Bat): an associate
• Joseph Sica (aka J.S., Joe Sica): a racketeer involved in bookmaking, armed robbery, murder for hire, extortion and narcotics distribution
• Robert L. Garcia (aka Bobby Garcia): an associate

New York

• Michael Coppola (aka Trigger Mike): a capo for the Genovese crime family

Today, a digital version of the black book (the Excluded Persons list) exists on Nevada’s gambling agencies’ website. Along with underworld-affiliated individuals, it contains known, big-time gambling cheaters.

Sources

1934-1935

Today, 80 years later, the circumstances of actress Thelma Todd’s death remain a mystery, and the case still is one of Hollywood’s infamous unsolveds.

A deep cover-up precluded the truth about the incident from surfacing. On December 16, 1935, the famous, 29-year-old blonde was found dead in her garage, her beaten, slumped body behind the wheel of her brown phaeton. The cause of her death was ruled accidental carbon monoxide poisoning from her car’s engine.

One theory behind the fatal event, however, purported in the book, Hot Toddy, is that the powerful Mafioso, Charles “Lucky” Luciano, had her murdered. He wasn’t just a low-level syndicate soldier. He was a boss, the first official head of the modern Genovese crime family, and made his mark in New York by splitting the city into five such dynasties. Meyer Lansky and Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel were associates.

Luciano and Hot Toddy, as friends nicknamed her in her youth, began a casual relationship that evolved into a sexual dalliance by 1934. That year, the actress and her friend and neighbor, Roland West, opened a restaurant called Thelma Todd’s Café.

Exploitive Ulterior Motive

Luciano wanted to lease the top floor of her eatery to run a gambling club there, where he believed the wealthy Hollywood stars who frequented her café would spend lots of money. At the time, only poker and other player-against-player card games and horse race betting were legal in California. He sensed the strong-willed Todd wouldn’t permit it, so he employed devious tactics to get her to comply.

Luciano sent some of his goons to torment and wear down West, who managed the restaurant. They forced him to change vendors to those controlled by the mob and siphoned money from the business. As for Todd, Luciano got her addicted to speed, hoping it would make her submissive and willing to do whatever he wanted.

Over time, Charley Lucifer, as he was sometimes called, realized Todd was not a pushover, and she learned more and more about his underworld dealings. Their relationship deteriorated, and they saw each other less and less. Eventually, Todd started dating a businessman from San Francisco with whom she was infatuated.

Meanwhile, Luciano’s underworld nemesis in town, Frank Nitti, threatened to horn in on his interests — prostitution, gambling and drugs. Already, Nitti had shut him out of his shakedown of the movie industry after agreeing to include him. Consequently, to maintain an empire in Los Angeles, Luciano believed he needed Todd’s café more than ever.

He approached her with his plan. Despite knowing that refusing Luciano of anything could, and likely would, get her killed, she said no. For that, he saw her as a problem. He tried to persuade her to change her mind by other means, like having menacing men sit in the restaurant all day every day. Around Thanksgiving in 1935, he again pressured her face to face, to no avail.

“Toddy later told friends Luciano had wrangled with her all night about giving him the storage room for gambling,” wrote Andy Edmonds, the author of Hot Toddy. “He was insistent and vowed he would not walk away without the papers. They had argued violently in the car, Thelma refusing to give Luciano what he wanted.”

Luciano informed her that as of January 1, 1936, he’d be operating a gambling club on the third floor of her restaurant despite her protests.

Todd, though, remained resolute in her refusal to allow it. To thwart his plan, she turned the space into a steakhouse and opened it before he could move in.

The Slippery Slope

In early December, she called the Los Angeles district attorney’s office to relay what she knew about Luciano’s underhanded dealings and connections to other mobsters. She didn’t tell the person who’d answered the phone what her business was, only that she wanted an appointment to speak to the D.A. Little did she know that he was under Luciano’s control and that Luciano had an informant in the office.

In mid-December, Luciano insisted she go to dinner with him. She said no, but he forced her to join him. He took her to a secluded home where he grilled her about her knowledge of his “business” and what she’d told the D.A.’s office. She tried denying she knew anything, but Luciano knew better, became enraged and slapped her hard.

Todd spilled it all. Then figuring she was as good as dead, she purposefully provoked his fears of getting arrested for past actions and losing his foothold in the City of Angels. She claimed she’d hidden evidence, including photos, of his underworld operations and that she’d snitched on him to the FBI — both of which were bluffs.

Irate, Luciano made a phone call, in which he supposedly ordered a hit on Todd, drove her to a Christmas tree lot at her request where she picked out a tree then dropped her off at her home around midnight.

In the morning, her maid discovered her dead in the garage. Luciano left Los Angeles later in the day and never returned.

Sources

In 1971, various people began complaining to the local police department they’d gotten fleeced at an informal casino setup in California’s San Fernando Valley (yes, the location of, like, “valley girl” fame, a culture that developed a decade later).

The Dirty Details

Consequently, the Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD), Federal Bureau of Investigation and Department of Justice’s Organized Crime Strike Force investigated the grievances. They discovered an illegal gambling ring, one that floated, or moved to avoid detection by law enforcement. In this case, it had been held at a different, rented home each time and the venture had been run for four months.

Peter J. Milano, Los Angeles Mobster

The men behind it employed prostitutes to lure their johns into playing various dice and card games of chance, including blackjack and craps. These were/are illegal in California. Then they cheated the players out of as much money as possible during the gambling by secretly using loaded dice, marked cards and a crooked wheel, all of which they’d acquired in Las Vegas.

They netted as much as $250,000 a month (about $1.5 million today)!

In December 1972, the LAPD raided the operation, and a grand jury ruling followed in November 1973. It indicted seven men on these charges: 1) conspiring to violate gambling laws, 2) traveling between states to promote an illegal gambling business and 3) conducting an unlawful enterprise.

The alleged co-conspirators were:

• Peter John Milano, 47, a Northridge resident, a made* member of La Cosa Nostra’s Los Angeles Nick Licata Family and a bail bondsman. As the suspected kingpin of the gambling scheme, he’d provided police protection and had offered to put up bond if any of them had gotten arrested.

• Martin C. Calaway, 47, a Beverly Hills attorney who allegedly had bankrolled the scheme with $25,000, for which he was to receive 20 percent of the profits.

• Luigi Gelfuso, 48, operator of a Fresno trash collection company, who supposedly had provided protection and debt collections.

• John Joseph Vaccaro Jr., 33, an unemployed Las Vegas construction worker believed to have run the games.

• Tony Endreola, 49, and Santo Albert Manfre, 39, were said to have overseen the games to ensure Milano had gotten his fair share of the profits. What the involvement of Harry P. Coloduros, 35, had been isn’t known.

Verdict Insurance

Six days before the trial was to start, a masked person executed John L. Dubcek, 31, and his wife Francis Ann, 27 in Las Vegas at close range just before midnight as the two entered the dark hallway leading to their apartment. He first shot John in the back then hit Francis Ann in the face as she turned around.

The two had worked at the Westward Ho casino. He’d been a shift manager, which was ironic as he was an expert slot machine cheater and had gotten into trouble for illegal gambling previously. He also had been charged in 1972 with running a crooked gambling operation in Van Nuys with Vaccaro, but the case had been dropped.

John Dubcek had been scheduled to testify as a prosecution witness in the trial of the septet just as he’d done before the grand jury in the same matter. Although his and his wife’s murders never were solved, the FBI and other agencies believed that Milano, Calaway, Gelfuso and Vacarro had had him killed to silence him. In fact, the prosecutor averred he had proof the four had plotted the hit on the courthouse steps the day they’d been arraigned. Despite knowing that two contracts had been out on his life, Dubcek had refused police protection repeatedly.

“It was definitely a rubout job” by a professional hitman, a police investigator said (Press-Telegram, March 21, 1974).

Due to the murders, the judge postponed the trial for four and a half months.

Judgment Day

When it finally took place, in mid-August, one of the men involved, Coloduros, testified for the government and implicated the others in the illegal gambling ring, yet Milano and Calaway professed their innocence.

The six-man, six-woman jury, after deliberating for three days, returned a guilty verdict for the three major players — Milano, Calaway and Gelfuso. A month later, U.S. District Court Judge Jesse. W. Curtis sentenced them each to four-year terms in federal prison.

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* “Made” denotes one’s status as a fully initiated member of the Mafia, one that requires, for one, carrying out a contract killing on the organization’s behalf.

Sources

1972

Twenty-six years after the gangland assassination of mobster Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel and his debut of the Flamingo in Las Vegas, a trap door was discovered in one of the hotel-casino’s offices when the carpet was pulled up during some remodeling. It hid a 15-inch-square safe encased in cement, which was believed to have been the mobster’s.

The public had to wait over a weekend to hear what the metal box contained because a locksmith couldn’t get it open initially. After the usual method of turning the dial and listening for the tumblers to fall into place failed on various attempts, he resorted to drilling it open, which took four hours and many bits.

Finally, the moment of revelation came . . . and the safe was empty.

Sal “Tar Baby” Terrano

1930s-1952

Salvatore “Tar Baby” Orester Terrano is one of numerous criminals whom Nevada gambling regulators approved to own a casino in the state.

In May 1947, the tax commission granted the Northern Californian, then 43, a probationary, 30-day gambling license to offer roulette, craps, 21 and slot machines at the Twin States casino at Lake Tahoe in Stateline. This approval was after the agency had conducted an investigation into Sal Terrano’s past.

The Dirt

What that should’ve revealed was Terrano:

• Had been selling opium out of the Dog House, a Reno, Nevada gambling club where he’d worked as a dealer in the 1930s.

• Had been convicted in May 1939 for narcotics trafficking between San Francisco and Reno. Then 34, he’d been caught with four five-tael tins* of opium (about 10 pounds) in his car in a hidden rear compartment while driving into Northern Nevada.

The drugs had come from Eugene “Rosy” Bastida and Ernest “Ole” C. Olson, owners of the Turf Club, a San Francisco bar and bookmaking place, who’d gotten the crew of the USS Chaumont, a Navy transport ship, to smuggle them in from Asia twice a year.

• Had served seven years, from 1938 to 1945, of his decade-long sentence in Nevada State Prison.

Back To Tahoe

The case of Terrano also was one in which the two pertinent, gaming license-issuing agencies diverged in their decision.

Once free, the ex-convict received that month-long gambling permit for the Twin States Club in spring 1947 from the state tax commission.

However, simultaneously, the licensing board of Douglas County, in which the club was located, refused to give Terrano a gambling or a liquor license because the business was “not the type of establishment wanted in Douglas County,” said Sheriff James Farrell, likely referring to one where drugs were sold and/or consumed on the premises (Nevada State Journal, May 16, 1948).

Without the county’s approval, Terrano couldn’t be involved with gambling at the Twin States. He returned to San Francisco where he dealt drugs and sold merchandise like Jumping Jimminy and King Kong toys out of his Twin States Novelty Company store.

Ad in The Billboard, Jan. 6, 1951

Nabbed Again

Five years later, in March 1952, while living in the Mapes hotel-casino in Reno, he was arrested again for the transportation and sale of narcotics. He’d been dealing heroin for Waxey Gordon (né Irving Wexler), who’d run the West Coast branch of a nationwide, multimillion-dollar narcotics syndicate until he’d been imprisoned for pushing drugs in 1951. Gordon was a mobster and former bootlegger and illegal gambler.

Terrano was sentenced to four years to be served at the Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary. Per the judge, he was sent to a hospital in Fort Worth, Texas to get clean before being taken to the Kansas prison.

He died in Leavenworth six months later, at 49, supposedly following minor surgery on an obstructed coronary artery. He was interred in a family plot in the Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery in Colma, California.

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* A five-tael tin, a standard-sized opium container, roughly resembles a deck of cards in dimensions and shape. One tael equals about half an American pound; a five-tael tin equals about 2.5 pounds.

Sources

1970-1972

Meyer Lansky was the puppeteer behind the scenes of the world’s gambling stage from the 1930s to the 1970s, controlling and manipulating the characters, or National Crime Syndicate members, with aplomb.

He capitalized on his brilliant financial acumen to develop and skim from an international casino empire — encompassing various U.S. states, Cuba, England, Haiti, the Bahamas and Lebanon  — that generated obscene amounts of money. At the height of his success in this endeavor, the late 1960s, this Eastern Europe-born immigrant, né Maier Suchowljansky, was worth an estimated $300 million ($2.3 billion today).

New Home Sought

At age 68, Lansky and his second wife Thelma (“Teddie”) moved from Miami Beach, Florida to Israel in October 1970 and four months later, applied for citizenship, as the Mobster wanted to live out the rest of his life there. It’s unknown if the reason was his Zionist beliefs or desire to distance himself from potential future criminal charges in the United States. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

“I don’t want to make money here,” Lansky told the Haaretz newspaper. “I am Jewish and I want to live here.”

At that time, under its Law of Return, Israel allowed all Jews from elsewhere except criminals to move there and become naturalized.

However, by that time, a number of racketeers already were using that country as a safe haven from legal reprisal back home. They included gamblers Morris Schmertzter aka Max Courtney, Al Mones, Hyman “Hymie” Segal and Frank Hitter aka Red Reed, along with other underworld players.

In March, two months after Lansky requested Israeli citizenship, a U.S. federal grand jury indicted him for skimming profits from the Flamingo hotel-casino in Las Vegas between 1960 and 1967. When he failed to appear before the grand jury after being subpoenaed, he was charged with contempt of court. Neither offense, however, required Israel to extradite Lansky under its treaty with the U.S.

The underworld’s financial ace told the newspaper, Maariv, he didn’t intend to return to the U.S. because he couldn’t be guaranteed a fair trial. He added that he was a retired, honest gambler, not a gangster.

In September 1971, after an investigation into Lansky’s background, Israel’s Interior Ministry denied him citizenship on the grounds he “was likely to be a threat to public order” (Reno Evening Gazette, Jan. 14, 1972).

Dissatisfied, Lansky and his attorney took the issue to the Supreme Court of Israel. A temporary injunction allowed the “The Mob’s Accountant” to stay put until resolution of the case.

Both Sides Make Plea

Before the high court, in March 1972, Israel’s state attorney, Gavriel Bach, asked the jurists to reject Lansky’s appeal. Bach argued that granting Lansky citizenship would set a dangerous precedent in that, according to reports from the FBI, Interpol and Scotland Yard, Lansky was deeply involved in organized crime in the States and Canada, with connections worldwide. In fact, the British agency had noted in a report the gaming impresario had tried to arrange a summit with some of his criminal cohorts in Tel Aviv in May 1971.

As if to punctuate Bach’s points, while the proceedings were underway, in June 1972, Lansky was indicted again in the U.S., that third time for conspiring to evade federal income taxes on money received from gamblers on junkets to a London casino. Bach informed the court of that development, too. He noted, however, that Israel wouldn’t deport the accused even if it ultimately were to deny him citizenship.

Attorney Yoran Alrio presented Lansky’s side at the proceeding. Alrio argued that his client simply wanted to retire in Israel out of Jewish religious sentiment, that he lacked a criminal record excluding some minor offenses and that the allegations of a criminal past and connections were simply “rumors, slander and gossip” (Nevada State Journal, March 24, 1972). Alrio quoted an FBI report indicating Lansky had been inactive for seven years.

The Verdict, Implications

Three months later, the supreme court announced its decision; it denied Lansky’s appeal for citizenship, meaning he had to leave Israel.

One and a half months later, at October’s end, with Lansky still not gone, the Interior Ministry gave him two weeks to depart or face expulsion. Technically, it wasn’t a deportation or extradition, as Israel wasn’t mandating that Lansky return to the U.S. Rather, he was free to go where he pleased … assuming the country of his choice would have him.

Within the given deadline, the underworld chieftain left the Holy Land with a Paraguayan visa. Yet, when he arrived at the airport in Asunción, he was prevented from disembarking the plane. He continued on the flight through South America to Florida. By mid-November, Lansky, then age 70, was back in the U.S., again taking up residence in Miami Beach.

Sources