An immense amount of money has been lost in Quebec on exchange gambling

of various kinds. For some few years past, bucket shop gambling has been

a popular pastime with people of wealth, and, unfortunately, often many

not possessing the necessary means of their own. So far has this

business been run into the ground for some time past, however, that many

of the bucket shops have been closed in consequence of the small amount

of trade offerings, most of their clients having been entirely ruined.

Four or five years ago, fully five times as much fictitious and

illegitimate business was done on the Quebec Exchange as of real and

bona fide transactions. Even now, a good deal of speculation akin to

gambling goes on, such as buying and selling,—going long and short on

bank and other shares, corn, wheat, pork, oil, etc.,—all on margins. The

volume of such business transacted in the city at present is about equal

to that of legitimate dealings.

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GAMBLING IN KANSAS CITY, MO.

There have been no public gaming houses in Kansas City since 1882, when

the Missouri legislature passed a bill commonly known as the “Johnson

Law,” from the fact that ex-Governor Charles P. Johnson was its author.

This statute made the keeping of a gaming establishment a felony. The

effect of the law was to drive the professional gamblers of Kansas City,

Mo., into the adjoining burg of Kansas City, Kas., where they remained

unmolested until a comparatively recent date.

The town on the west bank of the river soon became the recognized

“haven” for members of the fraternity. The faro banks were clustered

together just a few steps across the State line, where they received a

liberal patronage from the residents of the Missouri town, who had

become as it were, thoroughly saturated with the instincts and habits of

the gamester.

The proprietors of the packing houses objected to the location of such

establishments within the precincts of their business, because of the

convenience of such locations to their employes, who constituted a

considerable proportion of the patrons of these “hells.” Among those who

remonstrated were the representatives of Armour & Co., who were quick to

perceive the disastrous effects which the running of the game was

producing upon their business interest. For some years a bitter fight

was waged upon this issue. It soon, however, became apparent that the

gamblers exercised a controlling influence upon the action of the city

and county officers, and the packers abandoned what promised to be a

profitless warfare.

The laws of Kansas make the keeping of a gaming house a misdemeanor, and

the proprietors were regularly fined—even without the formality of an

arrest—a large revenue being thus realized by the city. For many years

it was an open secret that the chief of police and prosecuting attorney

of Kansas City, Kas., received a regular stipend from the gamblers, the

money being paid and accepted in consideration of an uncertain guarantee

of immunity.

Public sentiment, however, at length became aroused, and at the

municipal election held a few years ago, officers were chosen who were

pledged to enforce the laws against gaming.

Before the passage of the Johnson law to which reference has been

already made, Kansas City was a veritable Mecca for sporting men. Along

in the 70’s—in the palmy days of gambling—when the “wide open,”

“everything goes,” policy prevailed there were eleven gaming

establishments in the town, all of which were doing a most prosperous

business. Stakes were high, and the gain or loss of $10,000 at a single

sitting called forth little comment among the sporting fraternity.

The Johnson law, however, gave the signal for a hegira of gamblers to

the western side of the State line, and its enforcement on the Missouri

side of the border has been so perfect that openly there has not been a

card run from a box, or a turn called since its passage.

In the halcyon days of gambling in Kansas City, the place was filled

with men who had rapidly acquired fortunes in the mines of Old and New

Mexico, and Colorado, and in the raising and herding of cattle on the

plains. Such men flocked here to gamble, and the “professionals” from

the far west came and made this town their headquarters in consequence

of the number of dupes who had gathered here. The “capitalists” who made

Kansas City their headquarters were allured thither by the prospects of

“beating” the “banks,” the number of which steadily increased by the

constant accession to the ranks of the players.

At the time of the exodus of the gamblers across the State line there

were eleven establishments in the city, at three of which “brace” games

were played. Faro was the favorite, but “poker,” of the “stud” variety,

“roulette,” and “chuck-a-luck,” were not neglected. About fifty men were

employed in these houses, and each “bank” was supposed to possess a

“roll” of about $5,000. At times the game ran high, and $2,000 and

$3,000 were often won or lost by a single player.

There are now, just across the State line, seven gambling houses, two of

them owned by Clayton L. Maltby, one by Frazier & Baughman, one by

Cotton & Kennedy, one by Gus Galbaugh, one by Joe. Bassett, and one by

Tom Wallace. These houses are all conducted on the “square” principle,

and besides faro, have all the “side” games—roulette, hazard, craps,

stud and draw poker. The games open at eight o’clock A. M., and often

run until daylight the next morning. They are well patronized, and

Saturday and Monday nights the rooms are crowded, Saturday and Monday

being pay days at the packing houses, manufactories, and other

establishments that pay their men weekly. To give the reader an idea of

the amount of money these houses have a chance to win, or rather steal,

per month, a statement by C. L. Maltby, the principal “banker” of Kansas

City may be mentioned. Mr. Maltby has two houses, and is of a

calculating and methodical turn. He desired to know exactly what money

was exchanged for checks and played against the faro game at one of his

houses within a given time. He employed a man to set at the table, from

the time the game opened until it closed for the night, and keep an

accurate account of the amount paid in for checks. This was kept up for

one month, and the grand total amounted to $63,843.75. This money was

mainly “changed in” in small amounts, the purchases ranging from $1 to

$50, and one individual, at one time, buying $100 worth of checks. Of

course Maltby’s game did not win all this money, but the greater part of

it found its way into the drawer, and went to swell the bank account of

the proprietor.

Among the crowds that throng these rooms you will find the gentleman,

the tough, the “Rounder,” and the “Macer.”

The plan pursued by the Kansas City, Kas., authorities to “suppress

gambling” is thus described in a daily paper, under date of August 2,

1889:

“Three gambling houses in Kansas City, Kansas, were ‘raided’ by the

police last night in the periodical Wyandotte style. The Chief of

Police, accompanied by several officers, went to C. Maltby’s place and

found thirty or more men gambling. Their names were taken down and the

proprietor was required to deposit $10 apiece for his visitors and $100

for himself as security for their appearance in the police court to-day.

The police then went away and the gambling was immediately resumed. At

G. F. Frazier’s twenty-six men were playing and the proprietor paid $300

to the officers. This morning Frazier, Galbaugh and Maltby appeared in

the police court and were formally fined the amounts they deposited.

This is the manner in which gambling houses are, to all intents and

purposes, licensed in Kansas City, Kas.”

Although public gaming has been checked in Kansas City, Mo., the amount

of private gambling is enormous. At the Midland hotel, the best in the

city, where wealthy stock men from the far west make their head-

quarters, draw poker is a favorite amusement. It is played, however,

with the utmost secrecy, but generally for high stakes. At the rooms of

the Kansas City club, and other similar organizations, the same game is

indulged in, although the stakes are as a rule comparatively moderate.

Perhaps the most deplorable feature of the situation, however, is the

alarming extent to which the game of draw poker is played in private

houses—even those belonging to the most fashionable and exclusive social

circles. It is asserted by those who are competent to speak upon the

subject, that the love of play has permeated almost every stratum of

society.

Apropos of gambling in Kansas City, the following story of one of the

clubs in that place, is told: An Eastern merchant (rumor says that he

came from Boston) once found himself a guest at a leading hostelry in

that city of dust, hills, and grip cars. Being inclined to play a

“little poker,” he inquired of the urbane hotel clerk where he could

find a “gentleman’s game.” In due time he was introduced into a private

“club room,” where the proclivities of the poker-player might be

gratified by a “no limit” game. Of course the frequenters were all

“gentlemen;” gentlemen, however, of that peculiarly whole-souled variety

who would throw a drowning “sucker” a bar of lead as a life preserver.

The man from the “hub” played for several hours, and rose from the table

a loser to the amount of about two thousand dollars. He was exceedingly

wroth, and was fully persuaded that he had been cheated, although he was

not able to tell exactly how it had been done. He discharged this

Parthian arrow, however, at the crowd, before taking his departure.

“Gentlemen,” said he, as he stood before them, hat in hand, “I was

assured that I should find this a ‘gentleman’s’ game. You are all

gentlemen, and I know it. I appreciate the way in which I have been

treated, I appreciate it thoroughly. I’ve got a few dollars left, and if

some one of you will be kind enough to tell me where I can sit in a

horse-thief’s game, I believe I’ll go around there.”

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GAMBLING IN BUFFALO.

Buffalo has not been cursed with such a growth of the gambling mania as

have some other cities of similar commercial importance and whose

floating population has been so transient and so varied. It has never

received the implied sanction of public sentiment, as in New Orleans;

the gaming resorts of the city lack the luxurious elegance of some of

the gilded hells of New York; nor have the blacklegs ever dominated the

municipal government to the same extent as in Chicago. Yet the history

of the practice of the vice is not destitute of interest, presenting, as

it does, a varied succession of alternating ups and downs.

During the decade between 1850 and 1860, Buffalo was known all over the

country as a “tough town.” Situated as it was at the Southern point of

the chain of great lakes and being the terminus of the Erie canal, it

was the natural rallying point of thousands of men belonging to the

“rough and ready” class, from which the dens of those drew a majority of

their patrons. In those days it was as little condemned by the easy-

going citizens as it was interfered with by the authorities. Along the

wharves and at the sailors’ boarding houses, games of chance constituted

the principal pastime, among them “penny-ante” (i. e. poker for small

stakes) being a prime favorite. Sometimes higher stakes were wagered,

and occasionally a faro “lay-out” was improvised.

At present gambling in Buffalo is trivial when compared with the early

days of the city’s history, when the lake traffic was the principal

source of its growth and the vast fleet of small craft brought hundreds

of sailors from the West to compare experiences with canal boatmen from

the East. In those early days, Buffalo was full of sporting men of all

classes. It was the chosen rendezvous of prize fighters and its

proximity to the Canadian border rendered it attractive to that class

which for various causes, did not feel safe on American soil.

Such being the state of affairs it is not surprising that gaming rooms

multiplied only too rapidly. To use the expression of an old resident,

“faro rooms, keno rooms, poker rooms, and general gaming rooms, were as

thick as sand flies, and ran in all their glory, in full blast day and

night, without the slightest attempt being made to put the least check

on this fascinating occupation by the authorities, many of whom were as

deeply interested in it as the professionals themselves.” Fortunes were

made and lost in a day at that time. Money was plentiful and wages good,

and Buffalo soon acquired an unenviable reputation, which brought

hundreds of unwelcome visitors to the city. That notorious highway,

Canal Street, was then in the zenith of its prosperity and debauchery

ran riot.

It was just before the war that gambling received a new impetus and the

“palmy days” of which old gamblers are fond of speaking, were from 1859

to 1866, when the sports held high carnival. The public pulse was at

fever heat, and the excitement which pervaded all classes of the

community found a vent in seeking the alluring fascination of the green

cloth. Buffalo might boast of several professional gamblers, who were

then or subsequently became celebrities of various degrees. Gambling

houses were numerous and open.

But as the number of railroads centering in the city increased and a

better class of people became residents, public sentiment gradually

became aroused, and the blacklegs soon found that the political

influence which had formed their chief reliance was beginning to wane.

Gamblers came to be looked upon as social outcasts, and the hells were

vigorously denounced by the press and from the pulpit. Nevertheless the

laws respecting public gaming remained unenforced, and rascals continued

to fatten upon the credulity of their victims.

In 1866 the first effective blow was struck at the vice, and it proved

the first of a series which finally brought about almost the total

extermination of gambling in Buffalo. The Niagara frontier police was

organized that year, under a State law, and the loud cry of the better

element of the community that the law be enforced was at last heeded.

All gaming rooms were ordered closed, and those resorts whose

proprietors refused or neglected to comply were promptly raided and the

offenders punished. As the police perceived that their efforts were

endorsed by public opinion and commended by the press, they grew more

and more severe, and gambling entered upon a period of rapid and steady

decline. The most stubborn resistance encountered by the authorities was

during the annual races, when the city was filled with men who “lived by

their wits.”

While the Frontier Police, however, did excellent service in the cause

of law and order, they appeared to lack the knowledge necessary to

enable them to achieve entire success. Besides this drawback the

municipal ordinances applicable to gaming were carelessly drawn, and

many of the prominent gamblers, through the aid of superior legal advice

and the aid of local politicians, were able to evade the penalties meted

out to the “smaller fry.”

In 1870, when the Niagara Frontier Police passed out of existence and

the Buffalo City Police was organized to replace the constables who had

previously done duty, a rigorous policy toward gambling-houses was

adopted. Even pool selling at the races was checked, although it was

found impossible to put a stop to it altogether, owing to technical

imperfections of the law, which afforded loop-holes for escape.

From 1872 to 1878, the city authorities seemed to be determined in their

resolutions to suppress the vice. During these half dozen years, the

houses were very few; and the proprietors did not dare to openly solicit

patronage. The owners were men who enjoyed—for men of that class—a good

reputation; that is to say, that as far as a professional blackleg can

be “square,” they enjoyed that reputation.

The immediate cause for this renewal of activity on the part of the

authorities was to be found in the fact that the gamblers were not only

permitting, but even encouraged, young men, clerks, students and even

schoolboys to frequent their rooms. Public sentiment was clamorous in

its condemnation, and the city government was, in a measure, forced to

take the bull by the horns. The practical results of the agitation may

be thus summarized: The number of the houses was reduced, only the more

respectable professionals were permitted to carry on business;

“steerers,” like Othello, found their “occupation gone;” and only avowed

gamblers or men who were popularly supposed to be able to lose were

permitted to play. In a certain degree, the rooms were under the

supervision of the police.

With each change in the city administration, however, came the

inauguration of a new policy. Thus, in 1879, the gamblers’ dens were

more liberally treated and their business improved, while from 1880 to

1882 the laws were more stringently enforced. In 1883 gambling again

enjoyed a “boom,” and for a time threatened to regain its foothold and

flourish as in the days of yore. The local government put forth no

effort to prevent gaming, and numerous rooms were re-opened. Faro and

poker enjoyed a steady patronage, which, however, during the racing

season they had to divide with an occasional keno game. The gamblers

were encouraged, and openly predicted that gaming was again about to

become popular. Public opinion, however, spurred by the perpetration of

several embezzlements and minor crimes which were traceable to gambling,

brought about a change. Gradually the sporting element found Buffalo a

less and less attractive field of operations, until at the present time

there is not a faro game in the city, although faro is occasionally

dealt outside the city limits at a road resort in the town of

Cheektowaga, while gamblers of the “skin” variety are said to hold full

sway in the town of Tonawanda, about fourteen miles distant.

Poker is still popular in Buffalo, but the men who were the “shining

lights” of the fraternity in former years, have either sought “fresh

fields and pastures new,” or retired from business to enjoy life. Of the

latter class, however, there are but few.

There is, however, a very considerable amount of gambling yet going on

which no effort is made to suppress. In the fashionable club houses into

whose sacred precincts no agent of the police would ever think of

entering, poker is a favorite pastime, and at times stakes run high. The

members of these organizations usually belong to the wealthier classes,

merchants and professional men predominating. The presence of

unintroduced strangers is not permitted, far less, desired. In

consequence, to obtain legal evidence of gambling in these houses is

difficult, if not well-nigh impossible.

One case, however, was brought to public notice some years ago, which

opened the eyes of the public and confirmed a previous suspicion that

all was not known of the inner workings of these club houses. The case

referred to was that of a reputed millionaire, a manufacturer and a bank

president. So far as could be learned, he did not commence gaming until

he had reached mature years, but—as in the case of men who do not

commence drinking liquor until after they are 30—the infatuation of the

habit seized upon him with irresistible force. He yielded to the

allurements and was a nightly visitor at the club rooms. What games were

played by which this man was ruined, can be better imagined than

described, but his losses were heavy and so frequent that in spite of

his almost unlimited wealth, the final crash came which nearly ruined

the bank of which he was president, and his clothing business was

completely wrecked. He was burdened with an extravagant family; his wife

was notorious for her weakness in this respect; his sons and daughters

were allowed freedom in money matters which made a terrible drain on his

income. He was naturally a generous man, genial in disposition and

always ready to excuse the failings of others. His generosity was

proverbial, owing perhaps to the general opinion held of his class

(Hebrews), who are seldom troubled in this way. He was born in this

country and became rich by his own efforts. He was of a nervous

disposition, and in conversing with him a close observer would notice

quick movements which are peculiar to all gamblers. After his financial

ruin he became insane and died a physical and mental wreck.

To mention any other names of men of this class might be to do them an

injustice, but there are doubtless fifty or sixty “young bloods” who

frequent club-house gaming tables. Who they are, no definite idea could

be arrived at without long and constant watching of these houses, and

even then the innocent might suffer with the guilty.

The experience of gambling with municipal authorities is outlined above.

Public opinion as a whole, always has opposed gambling in Buffalo, and

that it flourished was mainly due to the fact that public opinion is

slow to exert itself here, and consequently, careless officials, in the

past, were not held accountable for their neglect to suppress the evil.

It is hard to say if the gamblers have ever been protected through the

bribery of the police or other officials, but one thing is certain that

in the history of gambling, money has never been demanded from gamblers

by officials, except in two or three alleged instances; proof of which,

however, was never forthcoming.

GAMBLERS, PAST AND PRESENT.

The list of Buffalo’s gamblers numbers men who, in the “good old days”

of gambling were famous throughout the country and who acquired wide

reputations, principally for skill as gamblers or for their character or

peculiarities. Among the pioneers of gambling in Buffalo, was William

Carney, better known as “Gentleman Bill,” or plain “Bill.” Carney was a

Buffalonian of good family, who began his career as a gambler when quite

young. At the age of 20 he was known as one of the most expert dealers

of faro in the country, and all his life he was noted for his suave

manners and nerve under all circumstances. Carney made a fortune and,

like many of his fellows, died poor. For 40 years or more he ran the

principal gambling den in Buffalo, and his rooms were the resort for the

most noted gamblers in America. Faro was the game most played, and among

Carney’s customers were men who 30, 20, or 15 years ago, were looked

upon as Buffalo’s foremost citizens and prominent business men. Judges,

lawyers and city officials are said to have frequented Carney’s rooms

and he often related that, when gambling was at its zenith, he threw

away the key of the door and “everything went.” Carney was a thorough

gentleman in manners, a fascinating story teller and a great lover of

prize-fighting and other sports. He was a professional gambler and not

until a few years ago did he condescend to play poker to any extent;

faro was his game and both the single and double box were used in his

rooms. The writer knew Carney intimately for several years, and can

testify to his good qualities. He was generous, and no man ever asked

him for aid who did not get it, if he was worthy. Carney’s greatest

enemy was himself, and of late years, his passion for liquor, coupled

with the reckless conduct of his two sons, gradually brought about his

ruin. His health failed and rheumatism and dissipation caused his death

a few months ago.

GAMBLERS, PAST AND PRESENT.

The list of Buffalo’s gamblers numbers men who, in the “good old days”

of gambling were famous throughout the country and who acquired wide

reputations, principally for skill as gamblers or for their character or

peculiarities. Among the pioneers of gambling in Buffalo, was William

Carney, better known as “Gentleman Bill,” or plain “Bill.” Carney was a

Buffalonian of good family, who began his career as a gambler when quite

young. At the age of 20 he was known as one of the most expert dealers

of faro in the country, and all his life he was noted for his suave

manners and nerve under all circumstances. Carney made a fortune and,

like many of his fellows, died poor. For 40 years or more he ran the

principal gambling den in Buffalo, and his rooms were the resort for the

most noted gamblers in America. Faro was the game most played, and among

Carney’s customers were men who 30, 20, or 15 years ago, were looked

upon as Buffalo’s foremost citizens and prominent business men. Judges,

lawyers and city officials are said to have frequented Carney’s rooms

and he often related that, when gambling was at its zenith, he threw

away the key of the door and “everything went.” Carney was a thorough

gentleman in manners, a fascinating story teller and a great lover of

prize-fighting and other sports. He was a professional gambler and not

until a few years ago did he condescend to play poker to any extent;

faro was his game and both the single and double box were used in his

rooms. The writer knew Carney intimately for several years, and can

testify to his good qualities. He was generous, and no man ever asked

him for aid who did not get it, if he was worthy. Carney’s greatest

enemy was himself, and of late years, his passion for liquor, coupled

with the reckless conduct of his two sons, gradually brought about his

ruin. His health failed and rheumatism and dissipation caused his death

a few months ago.

The name of Timothy Glassford stands among the foremost of professional

gamblers in the United States. He was, excepting Carney, probably the

oldest professional gambler worthy the title in Buffalo. For 40 years or

more he maintained an elegantly furnished house and dealt faro to the

city’s “best and most prominent citizens,” as they were recognized by

the general public. Glassford was the only gambler who was at any time a

power in politics and he is credited with having exerted considerable

influence not only in local but in State politics. Glassford made a

fortune which at one time was estimated at $200,000 (about 1867). He

died a few years ago leaving an estate worth $80,000, which includes

three stores on Main and Eagle Streets. This estate, or the larger

portion of it will go to a son. Glassford was well educated, spoke

several languages and is said to have prospered because he was an ardent

student of human nature. His reputation is that of an expert at faro

dealing, a great bluffer at poker, and his games are said to have been

square.

“Oat” Forrester, is another of Buffalo’s old-time gamblers. In his day

he was the dude of the fraternity and took great pride in being

faultlessly but neatly dressed. At times he wore diamonds worth $30,000,

and he seldom paid less than $75 for a suit of clothes. He kept a faro

room which was much frequented by young bloods. As a rule his games were

square though the brace game was played at intervals, especially during

race week. Forrester about 20 years ago was worth probably $25,000. His

health failed and he bought a house at Fort Erie, Ontario, where he

lived until about four years ago, when he removed to Chicago, and is now

said to be living with a daughter, financially ruined and dependent upon

others.

“Pige” or “Judge” Darling was another Buffalo faro player of note. He

was a distinguished-looking man at middle age, and a brilliant

conversationalist. He played at various rooms, was a large winner but a

spendthrift.

James McCormick is another who some years ago was one of Buffalo’s

notables. Naturally a gambler he was for several years successful in

“hitting” faro. Finally with a few hundred dollars he drifted West and

then to Chicago and New York. To-day he is known throughout the country

as owner of one of the celebrated strings of trotting horses, which

yearly win for him considerable money. It is said that McCormick gambles

occasionally.

Adam Clark, an English Jew, was a noted gambler. He owned a large tract

of land on Main Street, until recently run as a pleasure resort and

known as “Spring Abbey.” There is a brick dwelling there, in which he

used to preside over faro and poker games. It is said that Clark catered

only to the rich and that a “brace” or dishonest game was never played

in his rooms. In 1860, Clark probably was worth $100,000, but through

illness, his affairs were neglected and at his death his estate was so

involved that lawyers got the lion’s share. Curiously the property, for

years the home of the gambler, is now the “Home for the Friendless.”

Clark’s credit among gamblers, bankers and merchants was good and he

could borrow thousands, giving only his oral promise to pay. A Buffalo

ex-gambler states that Clark never failed to pay a debt and that several

times he was loaned $5,000 or $10,000, and on one occasion $15,000 for

which his note was not asked—his simple word of honor being sufficient

security. Clark was charitable and it is said that he gave to needy

institutions, etc., on an average $2,000 a year.

There lives in Buffalo a man who was and is to-day in knowledge and

skill one of the most expert gamblers in America. His early life was

devoted to gambling. An elegant home was his gaming den, and his guests

enjoyed substantial and costly luncheons and the best of wines as a part

of his entertainment. An iron will, always cool and quiet, winning

manners, with skill at cards such as is only acquired by one possessing

great mathematical talent, made him an expert and won him a national

reputation. He retired several years ago, and is now engaged in real

estate transactions. It is estimated that he is worth from $250,000 to

$300,000.

Reed Brockway was also famous. He began his gambling career in Buffalo,

lived there until a few years ago when he went West, it is believed to

Chicago. He played faro well, was a “dressy” gambler, and a man of high

intellectual qualities. It is said that he could keep the run of cards

in faro better than any gambler who ever played in America, and picked

out and played heavy sums on winning cards with remarkable success. It

is related that in 1867, with but six cards in the box, he played $1,500

on a king, naming it as the _last_ winning card, and made a side bet of

$500 that his calculation was correct. He won $2,000 in about four

minutes, and half an hour later had spent $200 for wine and cigars.

Oliver, or “Ol” Westcott, another Buffalo gambler, was famous as a

“plunger.” He played to win all or lose all. If the “bank” would permit

he frequently played from $1,000 to $5,000 on a single card. He is

credited with winning $60,000 in two months, after which event the

dealers throughout the country placed a limit not higher than $5,000 on

games in which Westcott played. He amassed a fortune aggregating about

$75,000, but when last heard of, ten years ago, he had taken to liquor,

lost nearly all of his wealth, and was running a small game in Colorado.

Of a semi-professional class little need be said. They have been

generally poker players who played wherever and whenever there was a

dollar to be made. Their history and characteristics may be expressed in

few words—unscrupulous; but two or three with any degree of character or

amount of money, and all “skin” gamblers.

From the inception of gambling in Buffalo to the present time the

largest amount invested in a gambling den, in the “bank,” and exclusive

of building and furniture, has been $25,000. It is estimated that in the

best days the capital directly invested by gamblers aggregated not over

$125,000, while indirectly they had at command from other gamblers or

merchant friends probably $100,000 more. Glassford, Clark and Carney ran

the most expensive houses. During the war time their running expenses

ranged from $1,500 to $3,500 per week. It is stated that Carney once

paid James McCormick $1,000 and a percentage for dealing faro. The

profits, as a rule, were varied, ranging from $5,000 to $20,000 a week

during 1860-65 and falling to an average of $1,500 in 1869-70, and to

from $500 to $1,000 from 1870 to 1873.

The relation of gambling to the criminal and political history of the

city has been comparatively unimportant. The effect has been contrary to

that experienced in other large cities. A search of police records and

careful inquiry of old gamblers fails to show that a murder, or very

serious assault, ever occurred in a professional gaming house. Small

rows in poker rooms, or in saloons connected with gambling rooms, and

raids of gamblers, constitute the affairs chargeable directly or

indirectly to gambling rooms—a remarkable record.

One of the earliest forms of gambling in Buffalo, and one which it seems

almost impossible for the authorities to reach, and which is indulged in

by hundreds daily, is policy playing. Old gamblers tell of policy shops

existing thirty years ago and, as a general rule they were then

patronized by the same class of men identical with those of to-day; that

is, chiefly barbers, colored coachmen, and small storekeepers. Mingled

with these are a number of small salaried clerks. There are two policy

companies who have agents in Buffalo. One is known as the Frankfort

company and the other the Kentucky company. Both companies are old and

wealthy, their headquarters being in the State of Kentucky, one in

Louisville and the other in Frankfort. They have two daily drawings, one

in the morning and the other in the afternoon, and the results are

telegraphed all over the country to their agents. The attitude of the

law and the police toward this mode of gambling is just as severe as in

any other kind of gambling, and if a shop is located it is instantly

raided, and the offenders are taken before the police magistrate. Here

the police work ends, and sad to relate, ends almost in a fizzle. The

present police magistrate is a declared friend to the policy players,

and when it is possible the offenders get off free. When the evidence is

too strong against them to admit of such a move, a light fine is

imposed, invariably the minimum the law allows, which is $5.00. This

fine is paid by the policy company in whose employ the agent is at the

time of his arrest. If it should be a regulation shop keeper he pays the

minimum fine of $25, and with but few exceptions this fine never goes

above that figure. Public sentiment seems to condemn it and there is now

a growing cry against it which will sooner or later make matters mend.

Policy as now run is anything but a square deal with its victims. There

are 75 numbers issued each day by the head office. They are sent to the

agents here, who are either barbers or saloon keepers. Some have small

rooms in unfrequented alleys or lanes, but of the latter class there are

very few now. The policy buyer chooses his numbers in many different

ways. Some who have been inveterate followers of this mode of gambling

rely on dreams, others depend on some little incident by which certain

numbers are brought to their mind, some shake dice, and there are a

thousand different ways in which the policy gambler guesses the lucky

number. When he pays for them he pays anywhere from five cents to ten

dollars a number, as his pocket money will allow; it makes no difference

to the agent. When the result of the drawings are made known the lucky

numbers are printed on the slips of paper, and if any one of the numbers

held by the buyer appears three times in the list he wins ten times the

amount he pays for his number. Policy agents of this city are few, but

what are termed “bookmakers,” or solicitors are about thirty in number.

These men are virtually sub-agents, and are salaried. It is estimated

that about $600 a day is spent in Buffalo in this game. One of the

principal agents here is a colored man named Frank Prince, a man well

along in years who has a small room on Center street. He has been

arrested and fined at least twice a month during the year 1889, but his

fine of $25 is always promptly paid, and he has never pleaded anything

but guilty to the charge when arraigned in the police court. Prince is a

lower type of the negro race, of a burly figure and rough in manner.

There have been about one hundred cases of policy in the police court

during the nine months of the year 1889, and fines averaged $10 in each

case. Winners in policy are few and far between, but there seems to be a

sort of mania for it among a certain class, which grows stronger the

longer they deal in it. With some business men it becomes a hobby, which

they fall into in a quiet and almost unconscious manner, but it is

seldom played by any but men of small means, in fact, it is impossible

to learn of a single case where a wealthy man has been known to buy

policy tickets. Bookmakers can generally be found in saloons and concert

halls, and around theater entrances. The regular buyer is quick to

discover his business, and his purchase is made quietly and almost

secretly. Detectives are constantly on the watch for these transactions,

and should any mysterious movement be made by two men on the street,

which would give rise to the suspicion that they were policy men, they

are carefully shadowed until caught. After once being caught they are

interviewed by the officials, and ever after made objects for

surveillance. Thus in a certain measure they are fugitives and outcasts

from all society. Still, their calling is a lucrative one, often netting

the bookmaker $15 a day the year around, and they become wealthy in

time. Bookmakers are generally heavy buyers themselves. As a class of

men they are of a roving disposition, and high livers. Nearly all have a

hang-dog expression on their faces. They take their arrest coolly, and

seem indifferent to the whole matter. They are seldom hard drinkers,

their calling requiring them to be constantly on the alert, and

exceedingly cautious in all their dealings.

The Louisiana Lottery has thousands of victims in Buffalo. Within the

past two years three large prizes have been drawn by Buffalonians and

these winnings have stimulated and doubled the sale of tickets.

Information obtained from some of the 12 agents of the lottery in

Buffalo and the representatives of the express companies indicates that

from 10,000 to 15,000 tickets are sold in Buffalo every month,

representing the investment of from $10,000 to $12,000.

The church fair is a frequent occurrence in Buffalo. Recently a fair was

held for one week, the proceeds of which have been devoted to paying the

floating debt on Music Hall. There were offered 1,500 prizes, the bait

consisting of $1,000, $500 and $100 in gold, an $800 piano, and the rest

of the prizes being pictures, barrels of flour and cement, etc. The

entertainments offered were upon the drawing of prizes, and drew a crowd

of 40,000 and upward nightly. The tickets sold for $1, and entitled the

buyer to three admissions to the hall and a chance—one in nearly

50,000—to draw a prize. About 48,000 tickets were sold and the fair

netted $46,000. Since then, say the lottery agents, their sale of

tickets has largely increased.

It seems strange—or rather, it would seem strange were it not so common

an experience—that citizens who profess to be, and no doubt are,

sincerely opposed to lotteries on principle, should indirectly give them

moral and material aid and support by lending their countenance to

schemes of this nature. The support of church and other raffles, gotten

up in aid of charity or of gift enterprises, undertaken for any purpose,

however worthy, can be justified only by a species of moral casuistry.

The altar does not “sanctify the gift,” and the line of moral

demarcation between the lottery for benevolence and the lottery for

gain, is rather shadowy. The inherent scruple as to buying chances

having been removed, it is but one step farther, and that a short one,

to the lottery office and the policy shop.

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GAMBLING IN ST. PAUL.

Before the war there was comparatively little public gaming at St. Paul.

The city was occasionally visited by professionals, but the latter

usually considered that the then infant metropolis was hardly worth the

expenditure of much time or money. Once in a while one of the guild

would accompany a victim to the Minnesota capital, in order that he

might “pluck” him at his leisure. As a rule, however, the Mississippi

steamboats formed the chief theatre of their operations, it was a rare

occurrence that they penetrated so far into the Northwest. On the boats

the play was universal, from the elegantly attired gamester whose

diamond stud flashed prismatic colors, which were reflected from the

lights of the chandeliers of the cabin, to the flannel-shirted

individual who contented himself with fleecing the crew and second-class

passengers upon the main deck. The river craft proved a much more

remunerative field for sharpers, and, as has been said, the citizens of

St. Paul enjoyed immunity from their presence.

The inborn love for gaming which seems to be found in nearly every human

breast, found its gratification in the back-rooms of saloons and in a

few club-rooms, entrance to which was denied to all but members. The

“shining lights” of the profession were absent, and games were played

for only small stakes, although even in those days there were a few

local gamblers who gained some little notoriety during the early years

of the war. But after 1865, they seemed to have disappeared from public

view, some of them becoming retail liquor dealers, others farmers, and

yet others migrating to remote localities. Some of them, however, are

still residents of St. Paul, and are fairly well-to-do. Their former

sins have been forgotten and their past record is known only to a few

pioneer settlers, the result being that they are looked upon to-day as

respectable members of society.

After the war public gaming began to flourish, and soon increased to

such an extent that between 1872-4 there were lively times in and around

the capitol. The Union Pacific had been completed and the Northern

Pacific commenced. Thousands of laborers of all nationalities who had

been thrown out of employment along the line of the Union Pacific

flocked to the Northwest where the contractors for Henry Villard’s

Transcontinental Line were glad to avail themselves of their services.

With these laborers came a horde of hungry, desperate gamblers, men with

the instincts and ferocity of wild beasts, having no regard for the

sanctity of human life, who set law and order absolutely at defiance.

The desperadoes did not stay long at St. Paul; turning their faces

Westward they advanced along the line of the Northern Pacific, their

march keeping pace with the run of the rails along the highway of

commerce. Among the best known were Cole Martin, Jack O’Neill, Dave

Mullin, “Shank” Stanfield and Dan Shumway. They made their headquarters

at a saloon kept by one Dave Crummy. They have entirely disappeared from

view, and it is probable that most of them have “passed in their last

checks.” They fought with each other as readily as with their victims,

and, one after another have been killed off.

The circumstances of the killing of Dan Shumway by “Shank” Stanfield at

Moorhead in 1872 illustrates the character of these gamblers. Bad blood

had existed between them for some time, and a shooting had been expected

at any moment. Stanfield had been playing all night, and was about to

take an early morning drink in a bar-room, when Shumway came in, drunk

and quarrelsome. Instantly, Stanfield started from the saloon to procure

a pistol. As he was passing through the door he was fired upon by his

enemy. He quickly made his way to his own apartment and soon returned

with a revolver in each hand. Then the two began shooting at each other

with great rapidity. Stanfield took his position behind a pile of

packing boxes within easy range, and Shumway soon fell with one bullet

in his hip and another in his side. Wounded as he was, he dragged

himself painfully along the ground toward his adversary, leaving a

bloody trail behind him and firing as he proceeded. But before the

miserable wretch could reach Stanfield a bullet had found lodgement in a

vital spot and the dying desperado rolled over, clenching his weapon in

his hand with all the rigidity of a death grasp. The other gambler was

badly wounded but, perhaps unfortunately for the community at large,

recovered.

Such were the men who made a hell upon earth of Brainerd, Moorhead,

Irontown, and a dozen other points along the line of the Northern

Pacific railway. Only one of the horde appears to have returned, and to-

day few would recognize in Guy Salisbury, the Evangelist, one of the

band who maintained a reign of terror at Irontown.

With the extermination of this class, gambling became more orderly and

violence was of less frequent occurrence. The law-abiding element in St.

Paul gradually compelled the fraternity to adopt quiet methods of

running their games and to seek the seclusion of private rooms. Still,

at the present time, gambling is extensively carried on in the city,

although it seldom appears upon the surface, except in a few instances

which will be mentioned below. At the same time it is a notorious fact

that, unless in the cases of a few misguided interlopers who have

neglected to “square” themselves with the “powers that be,” no gambler

is ever arrested or a gaming resort raided by the city police. There are

ten or a dozen regular hells located in the very heart of the city, a

description of some of which may prove of interest.

The most prominent and prosperous is the “Turf Exchange,” run by a well-

known sporting man named Frank N. Shaw. Associated with him in the

conduct of this establishment are generally believed to be several

citizens who occupy good positions in society, and pose as respectable

members of the community. One or two of the suspected parties hold

positions of trust under the city government and if they did their duty

would suppress the place instead of abetting it. The “Turf Exchange” is

known as a pooling room. Pools are sold there on horse races, boat

races, ball games, prize fights, elections, and any and all other

turnings which offer a chance for a wager. The patrons of the

establishment are for the most part clerks from stores and offices,

mechanics, and others who work for stipulated wages. Bets are accepted

for any sum from $1.00 upward. A favorite method of losing money here is

that known as “making combinations.” That is, naming the winners in

three horse races, or other sporting events which occur on one and the

same day. If a man is lucky enough to hit upon precisely the winning

combination, the proprietor pays him heavy odds, but it is readily seen

that his chances for so doing are disproportionately small. During the

base ball season this resort is crowded by day and night, and a

considerable force of telegraph operators is employed in receiving the

reports which come in over the wires, and the services of a large staff

of assistants is needed in checking up the results on the boards, in

selling pools, and keeping the books. The yearly net profits of the

Exchange are said to exceed $40,000.

It is only the initiated, however, who are aware that immediately above

the pool rooms a gambling hell is in full blast. The up-stairs den is

well furnished and the games played include faro, roulette, poker, the

wheel of fortune, dice, etc. Not many months ago two fast young men of

St. Paul claimed to have lost $1,500 and $1,800, respectively, in this

place. They brought suit against Shaw to recover the money. As nothing

has been heard of the proceedings since their institution, rumor says

that the action has been quietly settled out of court.

Little more than a year ago the pool room was victimized by some adroit

sharpers who tapped the telegraph wires, and by withholding messages for

a few minutes were enabled to make bets which proved disastrous to the

proprietors of the institution. The Western Union was suspected of

complicity in the scheme, but a careful watch failed to reveal any

crookedness on their part. The tapped wire was finally located, and the

plan was found to have been originated by a man whose reputation as a

professional “crook” has earned for him the insertion of his photograph

in a prominent position in every rogues’ gallery in the country. Strange

as it may seem, the sufferers made no effort to bring the sharper to

justice. They even shielded him at the time, and are supposed to have

protected him from arrest upon a requisition from the governor of

Indiana, by giving him secret information. Of course such information

could be obtained only from an official source, and one of the city

officers who is believed to have an interest in the pool room stands

very close to the quarter from which the knowledge might have been had.

Next to the pool room, the gambling establishment which enjoys the

largest patronage is that known as Sherwin’s rooms, situated over a

saloon on East Seventh Street. Not many years ago one of the proprietors

of this place found it convenient to absent himself from St. Paul, owing

to his alleged connection with a brawl in which a man lost his life.

When public indignation had cooled down, through some mysterious

influence brought to bear on the authorities, the genial gamester was

allowed to return, and is at present plying his former vocation without

molestation.

Not many months since, a desperate affray occurred in those rooms in

which a white man was dangerously stabbed. The affair was brought to the

notice of the authorities, but no steps were taken to punish the

assailant or to close the place. The injured man was an employee of the

city, and, in the slang of the streets, “stood in with the gang.” He was

easily persuaded not to prosecute the negro, for the reason that such a

step on his part would call public attention to the existence of the

gambling hell and compel the police to take some action, “for when the

ball is once set rolling, you cannot tell when it will stop, you know.”

Nearly all the ordinary games of chance are played at Sherwin’s.

In connection with the establishment, refreshments are sold, and if a

player should win any considerable sum he is at once surrounded by the

harpies, male and female, who urge him to expend his winnings in wine

and liquors, and make “a good fellow” of himself. In this way a large

percentage of the money lost at the tables is again taken in by the

proprietors over the bar.

Another well-known gambling hell is Banigh’s European Hotel, where the

usual games are carried on.

Besides the places already mentioned, there are a number of dives of a

low character, scattered about the city. Nearly every central

thoroughfare contains at least one. Their location is known to every man

about town, and it is idle to suppose that the police are ignorant of

their existence. On Minnesota Street gambling dens of the lowest

description flourish, for the accommodation of the colored population,

and where “crap shooting” is the favorite amusement. The police have

recently found it necessary to close one of the most disreputable of

these resorts, because of the frequency of dangerous brawls which

occurred there.

If the category of the gaming resorts above given comprised the whole

story of gambling in St. Paul, the tale would not materially differ from

that which might be related of nearly every large city. But places of

the character described do not constitute one-tenth part of the number

of gaming resorts in the city. Out of all the hotels in St. Paul, there

are only one or two where gambling is prohibited, and in which the

proprietors do not knowingly rent rooms for gaming purposes. These rooms

are usually occupied by professionals, who are guests at the hotels, but

whose character is well known. Faro and poker are the games most

commonly played, and sometimes stakes run up to a considerable amount.

The saloons swell the list of places where this vice is practiced. The

bar room which does not permit card playing for money in its back room

is a rarity, and sometimes games of no little magnitude are played at

these places. When the police are questioned as to the existence of

gambling in the city, they invariably reply that they are not aware of

its existence within the corporate limits. And while there is no

evidence to prove that they do actually know that practices of the sort

described are being carried on, to believe that they are ignorant is too

severe a strain upon the credulity of the average citizen.

In private clubs there is much gaming and the stakes are often high. It

appears, however, to be beyond the police powers conferred by the

existing laws to put a stop to this species of gaming. The mania seems

to have infected every grade of society from the highest to the lowest.

“All sorts and conditions of men” gamble. Young merchants, confidential

clerks, trusted book-keepers, wage workers of all descriptions, and even

school boys. Men of religious professions form no exception, and a

church member is by no means a _rara avis_ at the tables.

No form of gambling is so universally popular or so widely patronized as

the Louisiana State Lottery. The head quarters for the State of

Minnesota are located in St. Paul. The manager employs a fair sized

clerical force to assist him in the distribution of tickets, which are

scattered broad-cast wherever it is believed that there is a possibility

of their sale. Almost every saloon has a lottery agent, and these men

are allowed from 2½ to 7 per cent on their sales. A large proportion of

the people who buy these tickets are regular purchasers, and make an

investment (usually a permanent one) of from $1.00 to $10.00 every

month. _Bona fide_ instances of winning through this species of gambling

are exceedingly rare.

The institution, like the gambling dens which curse the city, is also

run under cover of the official mantle. About a year ago, an effort was

made to break up the business through the indictment of the manager and

his assistants by the grand jury of Ramsey County. A number of witnesses

were subpoened, but when they were called upon to testify it was

discovered that they had been conveniently got out of the way. In

consequence, the investigation dropped and anyone who wished to waste

his money in a vain attempt to secure a capital prize finds no

difficulty in purchasing the ticket which he may select.

The “bucket shop,” pure and simple, is unknown in St. Paul. There is

more or less speculative trade in “futures and combinations,” but the

total amount is insignificant as compared with the volume of legitimate

business—probably at a rough estimate, not exceeding $2,000,000

annually.

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THE GAMBLER’S LUCK.

To prove how matters will go wrong,

When gambling ways you start along,

Just listen to this tale:

I tramped for many a weary day,

And funds were gone, and skies were gray,

For trade was flat and stale.

My blood seemed chilled, the outlook black,

As I came hoofing down the track

And reached a country town;

I did not know a single soul

To ask for hash, or beg a bowl,

And I was done up brown.

I earned a dollar in that town,

And in a faro bank sat down,

And took a little horn;

The checks they used, my gentle youth—

You may not think I tell the truth—

Were grains of Indian corn.

I scanned the players there awhile,

A pleasing thought soon made me smile,

Mused I: “Here’s luck for me.”

I knew a few miles further back,

There stood a corn-crib by the track,

As full as it could be. As full as it could be.

Though dark and wet, I left the place,

And turned my eager, hopeful face

Towards that brimming bin.

Foot-sore, I reached the happy spot

And felt among the lucky lot,

And took a big ear in.

I shelled it as I went along,

And sang the only happy song

I’d sung for many days;

I stuck my stake into my clothes,

And in that bank I stuck my nose,

For I had made a raise.

I watched that game an hour or two,

And tried to look as green as you,

And thought I’d play it fine.

I walked up like a country jake,

And took a handful of my stake

And placed all on the nine.

The dealer turned his eagle eyes

On mine, which caused me some surprise,

And said in tones quite bland:—

“My friend, it may not look quite right,

But no “reds” here are played to-night.”

And thats the way it panned.

I trudged along the track next morn,

And there I saw old farmer Thorne,

Empty his bins with care.

In that large crib, chuck full of grain,

The sight of yellow ears brought pain,

For not one “red” was there.

GAMBLING IN MINNEAPOLIS.

Minnesota is not dissimilar to other States of the Union in respect to

gambling, but, unlike other Western States and territories, it has

achieved an enviable reputation. This is due to two causes, the

character of its population, and the nature of its resources and

industries. Census statistics show that the greater proportion of the

inhabitants are either of Scandinavian or New England descent, neither

race of which has, at any time, shown any pronounced disposition to

gamble. Possibly this may be accounted for by considerations of climate

and geographical location, inducing conditions of life that inculcate

lessons of rigid economy and teach the true value of money.

Minnesota being essentially an agricultural State, those incentives to

gamble have been lacking which seemed part and parcel of the development

of other Western States where mining and “flush times” went hand in

hand; where money came easily and went rapidly.

Minneapolis, one of the two chief cities of the State, has always been

and yet is the “head centre” of whatever gambling is done in the

commonwealth. There, it has always been conducted more on the plan of a

regular business enterprise than in the majority of cities throughout

the United States; in fact, it has been and is now a complete monopoly,

a trust on a small scale, and, like other trusts, it trusts nobody.

Minneapolis is a young town. Its phenomenal growth in the last decade

has been marvelous, and one is not surprised to learn that the gambler

of Minneapolis, the village, is the gambler of Minneapolis, the thriving

city. Gaming has existed under both Democratic and Republican

administrations, and politics can be said to have cut little figure in

the calculations of the gamblers. It was merely a question whether it

should be conducted openly or behind closed doors; whether the general

public, or only certain persons, be permitted to cross the threshold and

enter the apartments sacred to the use of King Faro, his aids and

satellites. The answer to this question has been generally given in

accordance with the personal sympathies or political obligations of the

city executive.

As previously mentioned, gambling in Minneapolis has always been a

monopoly. This monopoly has been known, in the parlance of the town, as

the “combination.” This nomenclature saves time and the bother of

mentioning the gamblers by name, every one knowing who are meant.

This combination started some years ago and first consisted of Pat

Sullivan, an old soldier, and John Flanagan. A little later on, these

were joined by Frank Shaw, Mike Shelley, and William Tanner, better

known as “Col.” Bill Tanner. Shaw, however, only remained a member a few

months. Before the forming of the combination, Flanagan and Sullivan

conducted establishments which embraced all known gambling games and

devices, and were believed to be conducted strictly “on the square.”

This was during the administration of Mayor John De Laittre. That

official had spasmodic fits of morality, sporadic attacks as it were, in

consequence whereof, Messrs. Sullivan and Flanagan ran the place very

quietly, though every now and then the police authorities would make a

raid, the tangible result of which was to show that portion of the

population which would otherwise have remained ignorant that gambling

still existed in Minneapolis, and could be only suppressed or

exterminated through the efforts of a zealous mayor, backed by a

marvellously acute force of police and detectives.

Mayor Rand allowed the games to be conducted quietly, and did not

interfere as long as no complaint of “brace” playing was made.

Under the rule of Mayor A. A. Ames, a fanatic on the question of

personal liberty and the right of a man to do as he pleased,

irrespective of the rights of the remainder of the community, gambling

was conducted “wide open,” with no restrictions save those placed upon

it by the gamblers themselves. It was too wide open to suit the majority

of the conservative voters and that large element which, though liberal-

minded, had some respect for decency and some regard for outward

appearances; and at the next election, Mr. George S. Pillsbury, a member

of the famous firm of millers and brother of the Governor, was elected

mayor, defeating Mayor Ames by a decisive majority.

Under his rule a complete transformation took place. It was from one

extreme to the other; the difference between Cimmerian darkness and the

bright glare of the noonday sun, could not be more marked than the

revolution that occurred in the administration of municipal affairs, and

the city was governed on the plan of a small New England village. Square

gambling was prohibited, but a notorious brace game was in full blast

during the entire Pillsbury administration.

Mr. Pillsbury was a candidate for re-election on the strength of the

record made in the cause of pure morals, but he was ignominiously beaten

by Dr. Ames. Upon the election of the latter, the change resembled the

oscillation of the pendulum from one extremity of its arc, to the other.

It was one extreme to the other. Ames proceeded again to enforce his

peculiar views on personal liberty. His previous administration had been

peculiarly objectionable to the orderly and law abiding citizens, who

set about devising methods to check the scheme of “throwing the town

wide open.”

Right here a word of explanation concerning the power and authority of

the mayor, is essential in order that a proper understanding of the

matter may be reached. Under every administration down to the last one

of Dr. Ames, the mayor was the head of the municipal government,

possessing supreme authority over the police officials, whom he could

appoint and dismiss at his own sweet will, without let or hindrance. It

can be easily perceived how this privilege might be abused and the power

perverted, if not prostituted to unlawful ends. Thus the whole machinery

of the law was under the control of one man, resulting in a veritable

despotism on a small scale, under which one person, the mayor, was the

important factor for good or for evil in the city.

Gamblers, saloon-keepers, and the sporting classes generally, welcomed

his election with one accord. City ordinances regulating liquor selling,

were to be calmly and quietly, but no less surely ignored. And they

were. The result was a saturnalia of crime. Saloons ran all night if so

minded and customers demanded it. The gambling houses were in full

blast, and the city swarmed with thieves, fakirs and blacklegs of every

description, from smooth adventurers of the Traylor and Post pattern,

down to the petty shell worker and flimflam fellow. It was time to call

a halt.

As it so happened the state legislature was in session, and it was

determined by good citizens, irrespective of political affiliations, to

go before that body and pray for relief. After much consultation, a bill

providing for the appointment of a police commission, consisting of two

members from each dominant party, with the mayor as ex-officio member,

was formulated. The bill was passed by both houses, and became a law

through the Governor’s signature. Under its provisions the appointing

power was conferred upon the council, and well-known citizens received

the honor of serving as members. This act left the mayor shorn of power

and authority. The police commission ruled and decided whether city

ordinances should be enforced or not; the same body controlled the

police, and decency once more ruled. At a recent session, the

legislature amended the bill by reducing the number of the police

commissioners to two, outside of the mayor, who still remained an ex-

officio member. Nevertheless gambling has existed, and still exists, no

matter what the political complexion of the city administration may have

happened to be.

With this brief introduction it is only necessary to give a condensed

history of the games and devices that have flourished in Minneapolis,

the object of whose proprietors has been to lure money from those, who,

it must be admitted, would have liked to acquire wealth by means far

removed from honest toil and labor.

At all the houses here have run the usual games ordinarily conducted in

so-called first-class gambling rooms; that is to say, faro bank,

roulette, stud poker, and hazard, with various short card games. Faro

bank is king. Its legitimate percentage in favor of the bank is of

course responsible for its large following of devotees, and the great

majority of players make their way to that table immediately upon

entering the halls. A “tenderfoot,” who was playing against a brace game

out West, chanced to inquire what limit would be given him. The reply

was “from John Smith’s green cloth to the blue sky of heaven.” This

limit it may be remarked _en passant_, was somewhat liberal, but in view

of the kind of game that was being dealt the proprietor could afford to

let a man place his money freely. In Minneapolis it has been slightly

different, the limit being generally placed at fifty to doubles, and

twenty-five to cases. Occasionally a well-known player who was known to

be possessed of plenty of funds has been allowed two hundred and a

hundred. This, however, may be called the exception rather than the

rule. The play against faro bank has always been fairly steady, with the

houses winning in the long run. Comparatively few heavy losses or

winnings have ever occurred in Minneapolis. Dink Davis, Pat Sheedy, and

other celebrated high rollers have rarely visited the city. The only

heavy loss suffered was in the old house at 205 Nicollet Avenue, when

Frank Shaw, Flanagan and Sullivan were the main proprietors in 1887.

This may scarcely be called a legitimate losing, but rather the result

of what some gamblers would call a bit of sharp practice. The house had

only been running in full blast for a few months. Everything was wide

open, in the heyday of Mayor Ames’ administration. Among the dealers

employed was Mr. Harrington, a very good all around gambler, and withal

a first-class artist. Harrington was well liked by his employers, who

thought highly of his capabilities, and had perfect confidence in his

honesty, so far at least as they were concerned. But as events proved

they were mistaken. Mr. Harrington had a particular friend, one Mr.

Hayes, who gambled on the outside strictly, and was known as a hard faro

bank player. These two smooth gentlemen, it is said, put their heads

together and concocted a plot, which was in brief that Harrington should

“throw off” the game to Hayes. The scheme worked to a charm, and Mr.

Hayes’ luck became proverbial among those that were leading the gay life

of a sport. Matters ran along for some little time, and it was not until

the game was some $10,000 loser that the house management began to

suspect that there might possibly be something wrong, or in gamblers’

parlance “an African in the woodpile.” A quiet investigation ensued, and

it was not long before the chair that knew Mr. Harrington, knew him no

more, forever. Then it was that the erstwhile familiar faces of Messrs.

Harrington and Hayes became as shadows of the past, though ever and anon

their forms would rise like Banquo’s ghost to haunt the Macbethian forms

of the combination that had heard that there was honor among gamblers.

But Harrington has paid for his duplicity in this instance, as the

better class of gamblers utterly refuse to have anything to do with him,

and he stands a fair chance of being forced to earn an honest livelihood

by working at his trade—that of a compositor.

Next to faro bank, in point of attraction, is roulette. Watching the

ball go round has a certain grim fascination for a great many people—and

then it is quick action for your money; nervous people are not compelled

to wait in suspense to know whether they lose or win. A simple twist of

the wrist, the little ivory is whirling around and around until it stops

in one of the many compartments—red or black, or in the fatal zeros that

sweep the board. But still the number of devotees at its altar is not

large. In fact, in the whole town there are not half a dozen men who

prefer roulette to faro, provided that they have any considerable amount

of money. Those with only a few dollars in their possession play it in

order to get a stake to play faro. A journalist here, and part

proprietor of one of the daily papers, is the only individual that has

achieved any notoriety in this direction. It was no unusual thing for

him to win or lose a thousand dollars at a sitting. This sort of play

is, however, exceptional, the majority of players against the wheel

scarcely having funds enough to buy a stack of white checks.

Next in order of popularity come hazard and stud poker. The former is

chiefly patronized by beginners, and the latter by that numerous class

of men who consider themselves a little wiser than their fellows.

Neither the greenhorn nor the player who is wise in his own conceit

takes into consideration the enormous odds in the one game, or the large

“rake off” in the other, regulated only by the conscience (?) of the

dealer, and his knowledge of just what the players will stand. Therefore

the harvest is ripe and is quickly garnered. Hazard has never been much

of a favorite, the play being scarcely extensive enough to meet

expenses; while on the other hand, the stud poker tables have always

been well patronized. The short card games in these public rooms were

usually played by professional gamblers for the sake of whiling away a

few hours, with just a sufficient monetary consideration to vary the

tedium and monotony.

The above statements apply to every gambling house that has been ever

run in the city, conducted strictly on the square. But, as in all other

trades and professions, there are grades. The habitues and customers of

one establishment seldom visited any of the others, and in the most

exclusive resort, that at 219 Hennepin Avenue, the common crowd were

refused admittance by the colored servitor that guarded the door. At

least good clothes and the appearance of a gentleman were necessary to

effect an entrance into this particular lair of the tiger.

But passing mention must be made of one establishment that flourished

under the highly moral Pillsbury administration, and was permitted to

continue unmolested, while other houses were compelled either to close

up or run in such a furtive way that a search warrant was almost a

necessity in order to find the haunts of the animal. This place was and

is known to all sports, thieves, confidence men, and blacklegs

generally, throughout the length and width of the United States. It is

designated as the “Elite,” and is located on Nicollet Avenue! To the

uninitiated and the casual observer it is simply a saloon, and a very

good saloon at that. But up-stairs was a complete gambling outfit of the

most crooked description. It was commonly believed to be a notorious

brace house, and many a man was there “skinned” out of hundreds of

dollars. It was given out that it was the only place in town where a man

with a penchant for faro bank would be accommodated, and he was

accommodated with a vengeance. “Steerers” were numerous in those days,

and embraced such shining lights in that particular line of industry as

“Sammy” Barrett, “Jerry” Desmond and “Charlie” Dean, while distinguished

confidence men, such as William Traynor and George Post, did not disdain

occasionally to introduce a wealthy fly into the spider’s web.

At this time the place was reputed to be owned by Col. Wm. Tanner and

Bill Munday. Tanner is a cool-headed man, who has never been known to

let an opportunity of “getting the best of it” go by. He has always

prospered and is worth several thousand dollars in cash, besides some

rather valuable real estate. Munday, on the other hand, was somewhat of

a handicap and a dead weight on the institution. His personal habits

were most objectionable; he was irritable, quarrelsome, and a general

nuisance. Finally, in sheer desperation, Col. Tanner purchased his

interest, and Munday retired to his native heath at Burlington, Iowa,

where at last accounts he was engaged in defying the prohibitory law.

This “brace” house flourished like the proverbial green bay tree, until

the advent of Mayor Ames, when the regular houses were permitted to

open. Strong pressure was brought to bear, and Tanner, after removing

from the “Elite” to a place on Washington Avenue north, finally effected

a compromise, abandoned his game and became a partner with Sullivan and

Flanagan.

In the meantime, Frank Shaw announced his intention of defying Sullivan

and Flanagan and opening up whether they liked it or not, and he too was

admitted into partnership. Then Sawyer, who with “Bob” Potee used to run

the famous No. 3 Missouri Avenue in Kansas City, appeared on the scene,

and declared his intention of corralling some of the large profits that

rumor said were going into the pockets of the combination. He was

permitted to open, paying the combination a certain percentage of the

profits. However the screws were gradually put on, and ultimately he was

forced out of business in Minneapolis and went to the Pacific coast.

Sawyer was anything but popular with either his associates or patrons.

He was cold with the former and supercilious toward the latter. Within

the last year or so Mike Shelley, a native of Minneapolis and a local

sport and saloon-keeper, has become identified with the gambling

interests, taking the place of John Flanagan, who has retired on a

moderate competence, amassed by a strict attention to business, and the

practice of careful domestic economy.

At the present writing, in the year of grace, 1889, gambling is

nominally confined to one club, which, however, is really open to the

world at large and all mankind. In fact, gaming is just as general as it

ever was, except that the combination, instead of running two or three

establishments in open defiance of the better class of citizens, now

quietly runs but one house and only caters to the moneyed men and

clerks, the “dinner-pail brigade” not being considered desirable

customers.

Such is a succinct account of gambling in Minneapolis, as the term

gambling is generally understood. But other forms of the vice flourish

unchecked and unmolested by the authorities. Bucket shops, under the

guise of produce exchanges, the “clock,” policy playing, “crap” games,

and the sale of lottery tickets run on as though there were no let or

hindrance imposed by State law or municipal ordinances. All these enjoy

an excellent amount of patronage.

The bucket shops naturally get the largest play, that is to say the

heaviest. The immense amount of wheat daily received at the city for

consumption by the mills, has made Minneapolis a great grain receiving

port, and this fact has doubtless given an impetus to this form of

gambling or speculation, as it is more politely termed. The Minneapolis

Chamber of Commerce resembles the Chicago Board of Trade, and it is

there that the “big guns” try to rob one another on the turn of the

market, just as one card sharp tries to fleece another, or a greenhorn,

on the turn of a card. Those outside the pale must perforce be satisfied

to stake their money in the bucket shops against the Chicago quotations.

In the opinion of many reflecting men this is the most pernicious form

of the vice, because a large number of eminently respectable people

persist in not regarding it as gambling, but consider it as merely a

speculation. This delusion blinds many victims who would not for the

universe enter a gambling house and put down their money on a fair

layout, or bet on the whirl of the roulette wheel. The play against the

bucket shops is steady, and it is a cause for wonder where all the money

comes from. Margins are continually being wiped out of existence, but

the speculators exhibit a recuperative power that is truly astonishing,

since after being “knocked out” in one round, they continue to “come up

smiling” in the next, and, strange to relate, no instances have been

made public of employes who have stolen in order to continue a wild

career of speculation, that ultimately ended in flight, prison, or

suicide. Either fickle fortune must distribute her favors with

comparative impartiality, or speculation does not run riot with that

exuberant luxuriance known in many of the large cities. The chief

establishment in Minneapolis, that of Pressey, Wheeler & Co., failed

about a year ago, not from lack of business, however, but because it was

not content with a steady income from the commissions received and

became imbued with the idea that it was within the realm of possibility

to beat the Chicago Board of Trade. It was a costly experiment; the firm

went under, but its business reputation was such that plenty of

financial backing was easily secured, and they are now doing business at

the old stand, with a third party interested. The minor establishments

of this character pursue the even tenor of their way, apparently

satisfied with the assured prospect of a comfortable living.

The “clock,” a device worked automatically, which at intervals of half a

minute threw out two cards, which were supposed to represent stock or

bonds, the lower one showing that the stock fell a certain notch below

the previous quotation, and the upper card a like increase, has had a

checkered career, but on the whole cannot be said to have made an

abundance of money for its owners. In its fundamental principle it

resembled the faro bank, but it was a little more trouble to play the

game, and its patrons were never very numerous, after the novelty of the

thing had worn off. It was beaten out of almost a thousand dollars one

day through collusion between a player and the man whose duty it was to

place the cards in the clock at the beginning of the day’s work. But

this trick has never been repeated, one experience of the sort having

rendered the managers cautious in the extreme.

Policy has always been considered the colored man’s game, and 4-11-44

has a familiar sound to thousands of people who have not the faintest

conception of the meaning of “saddles” and “gigs.” Its patrons in

Minneapolis are confined mainly to negroes, although occasionally a

Caucasian will hire a dark-skinned waiter or barber to play a few

numbers for him, just to tempt the fickle goddess. It is a difficult

matter to get the facts in this particular instance, for the reason that

the policy vendors are almost constantly under police surveillance, and

a raid is by no means infrequent. This may be attributed to a lack of

political influence, and the small proportion of colored people to the

entire population.

Craps, a dice game, always a favorite with the colored man and brother

and the street gamin, is being introduced into the more aristocratic

circles, and has become quite popular as a game of chance. The quaint

expressions of “come seven, come eleven,” “where’s my point,” “little

Joe,” “big Dick from Boston,” and the like, are now frequently heard

from the lips of the high-toned white gamblers as they carelessly toss

the dice in the early morning hours, after the regular games are closed.

The play at times runs high among the white votaries, but in their hands

it lacks the sauce piquante with which the game is flavored by the lowly

descendant of Ham.

Minneapolis can boast of a full-fledged pool-room, owned and controlled

by Frank Shaw. Since the inauguration of winter racing at New Orleans

and the tracks at Guttenburg and Clifton, the place runs during the

entire twelve months of the year. The establishment purports to give

track odds, but in many instances shortens them materially. The

proprietors have decidedly the best of it, for the play is constant, and

as it is for small amounts there is but little chance for the house to

make any considerable losing on any one book. The bookmakers are very

cautious, and refuse big bets on “short horses” for fear they may be

worsted through some sort of crookedness. In the books as low a wager as

fifty cents is recorded, and in the combination and Paris mutual pools

the small sum of twenty-five cents is thankfully accepted. It can be

easily seen that the temptation is great to invest a quarter or a half

with a bare possibility of having it returned tenfold in the brief space

that elapses between the time the shout that “now they’re off,” and the

moment when the announcement of the winners is made in the dulcet tones

of the telegraph operator. One glance at the habitues of the pool-room

shows plainly the folly of attempting to beat the races. The majority of

them are poorly dressed, unkempt and frowsy. Every dollar that finds its

way into their possession goes straight into the hands of the

bookmakers, and hope gradually changes into passive despair, as the

names of the leaders of the race are announced, and as the quarters are

recorded by the “tick-tick” of the electric instrument. Those, and there

are many of them, that have crossed the last ditch and are unable to

raise a cent, spend their time in “touting” and importune each newcomer

to buy this or that horse, confidently assuring the victim that it would

be impossible for him to lose. In the event of their prediction being

realized, they get a dollar or so, and proceed to back some “short”

horse, on the improbable chance of “making a scratch” and winning

several times the paltry amount which they have staked. This lost, the

same old process is repeated. It is lose, lose, lose. The bookmaker is a

veritable Minotaur, who must be appeased by frequent sacrifices. Honor,

friendship, truth and reputation, all go in the futile attempt to gain

money without the proper equivalent of hard work. It is pitiful, yet

still the law does not interfere, and the work of destruction goes on,

fresh recruits being constantly received into the ranks, only to find

that instead of being generals, they rapidly degenerate into very

ordinary privates, to whom the shelter of the guard-house is a boon. The

rarity of Christian charity is amply exemplified daily in this pool-

room. No matter how much money a victim may have spent, he would not be

given enough to buy a loaf of bread, and he knows this only too well.

The owner and employes grow fat and prosper, while the victim dresses in

rags, and oft times goes hungry after investing his last half dollar or

quarter in a vain endeavor to win back the money that has gone before.

Although the sale of lottery tickets is prohibited by law, and papers

are forbidden to print advertisements of lotteries, the statutory

provisions are openly violated, at least so far as the sale of tickets

is concerned. There is no avowed agent, as is the case in several other

cities, but people who wish to invest have no difficulty in securing the

tickets without going through the formality of sending their money to

New Orleans. There are several saloons whose proprietors are really the

representatives of the lottery companies, and would-be purchasers, who

are well known, experience no trouble. The drawings are posted in a

conspicuous place, so that it is extremely easy to ascertain just how

near you have come to drawing the capital prize. This once fell to two

Minneapolis citizens who had invested a dollar apiece, and in return

received $15,000, less the cost of collection. Numerous small prizes

have been drawn at various times, yet the greater portion of the money

spent for lottery tickets never comes back in the form of prizes, at

least to Minneapolis. But as a well-known Chicago gambler once sagely

remarked, “A sucker is born every minute,” and there is no lack of

people to buy in the vain effort to get something for nothing.

On the whole, it may be said that while Minneapolis is not so bad as

some other cities that might be named, there is nevertheless a wide

field for a law and order society that would not be afraid to promote

and aid, by all proper methods, the rigid enforcement of the laws

against gaming.

In what has been said above, no reference has been made to private

gambling. Its constant increase, however, is a fact as certain as it is

deplorable. Gentlemen gamble at their clubs and teach the mysteries of

poker to their wives, their sisters and their daughters, by their own

firesides. Ladies of recognized social position may be found who are as

familiar with “jack pots” and “bob tail flushes” as they are with the

etiquette of the drawing room. Herein lies the most dangerous menace to

the future of the young men of the city. Men who are willing to

subscribe liberally toward a fund to be used in the suppression of

public gaming seem to be cursed with such an obliquity of moral vision

that they are able to see nothing objectionable in playing a “social

game for trifling stakes” amid the more refined surroundings of home. If

they could but have their eyes opened to the possible consequences of

such infatuation, they would hesitate long before they ran the risk of

transforming the “home” into a stepping stone in the path to the “hell.”

GAMBLING AT PEORIA, ILLINOIS.

For more than thirty years public gaming in Peoria has been practically

under the control of a syndicate, the members of which all belong to the

same family. For a considerable period but one establishment was in

operation, which was conducted by three brothers. Of late years,

however, three other houses have come into existence, but it is asserted

that they do business only by the grace of the brothers in question. Of

the latter it may be said that they are known no less for their

liberality than for their calling. While they have made money rapidly,

they have spent it freely, and the coarse notes which they have gathered

in across the green cloth have gone into circulation without delay. A

member of this same family, now well advanced in years, after having

“sown his wild oats,” entered politics and was elected mayor of the

city. As to the general character of his administration the author is

not in a position to speak. The fraternity generally, however, have been

under the impression that the suppression of gambling was not one of the

ends which he set before himself as the goal of his ambition. In fact,

rumor (which, not being particularly well founded, it would be

charitable to disbelieve), has it that a rather near relative more than

once appealed to the chief executive of the city for protection when

hard pressed by men who claimed to have been victimized in his house.

Outside of the select circle already referred to, Peoria has never

proved a particularly profitable locality for sporting men. In itself,

it presents not a few inherent attractions to men of this stamp. It is

the focus of several lines of railroad, the seat of a populous and

wealthy county, and, above all, the centre of the enormous whisky trade

of the West. Its floating population is at times very large, and it is

not to be wondered at that the favored few who have enjoyed a monopoly

in gambling have found it easy to accumulate large sums. These

considerations have lured other professionals to the spot, but only to

find that for them to attempt to make headway against an impregnable

combination was like endeavoring to fight against fate.

Confidence men have always been apt to regard Peoria as a favorable

field in which to look for “suckers.” At times a moderate degree of

success has attended their efforts in this direction, especially on

occasions when a particularly large crowd was present in the city, as,

e. g., during the holding of State fairs and of political and other

combinations. But on the whole, the city has been comparatively free

from the incursions of this class of swindlers. Perhaps it may have been

the abundance and cheapness of the “golden corn juice” which interfered

with their operations. Either the sharpers or their dupes may have found

the indulgence of one vicious appetite so easy as to interfere with the

gratification of another. However this may be the fact remains that the

city has never proved a specially remunerative theater for this

description of thieves.

The best known proprietors of banking houses in Peoria have been the

Warner brothers, Becker, Hale and Christy. Most of them are understood

to have succeeded fairly well in their chosen calling, and this

circumstance is undoubtedly due in a great measure to the character of

trade for which Peoria is noted. The distillers spend money freely and

the circulation of bank notes is brisk. Moreover, the customers of these

gentlemen are generally men who are not averse to seeking recreation in

an attempt to break the bank.

In fact, it is a matter worthy of comment that intemperance and gaming

usually go hand in hand. Like twin monsters they stalk through the land

with giant strides, leaving despair and ruin in their track. They

supplement each other in the work of destruction. Liquor inflames the

passions, stimulates the imagination, blunts the moral sense, and

impairs the reasoning powers of the mind. The natural result is that the

victim of the alcohol habit is easily incited to patronize the gaming

hell. On the other hand gaming always induces excitement, and leaves

either fictitious exhilaration or profound mental depression. In either

case the gamester has resort to stimulants; it may be to heighten the

exuberance of his joy; possibly to drown the recollection of his

troubles or stifle the voice of conscience.

It is not the intent of the author to imply that Peoria differs from

other cities of its size in this regard, nor would he say that the

presence of a distillery in any town tends directly to promote and

foster gambling. Yet any great center of the liquor traffic naturally

draws thither a class of men who can see nothing specially wrong in

gaming, and who, finding such resorts in active operation at any given

point, are apt to extend to them an active patronage.

So far as lottery gambling is concerned, there cannot be said to be much

of it at Peoria. The negro population—to whom “4-11-44” appeals more

closely—is by no means so large as in various other cities in the State.

Nevertheless, tickets in the Louisiana lottery, and even “eighths” are

purchasable at these resorts where young men “do most congregate.” “The

fangs of the serpent are far-reaching,” nor does there seem to be any

way of limiting the number of victims unless the snake be “scotched” as

soon as it raises its head. All honor to the State, which, although

well-nigh hopelessly in debt, declined to surrender its moral freedom to

the grasp of the anaconda. All honor to the National Administration

whose executive head has called attention to the best remedy for

removing this blot upon the civilization of the nineteenth century. All

shame to the truculent spirit (not to say venality) which rampantly

raises its head not only to defeat public policy but also to debauch

public morals.

GAMBLING IN INDIANAPOLIS.

From time immemorial, the capital of Hoosierdom has been recognized

among sporting men as a poor locality in which to attempt to conduct a

gambling house. Not so much because of the higher morality of the

inhabitants, nor on account of the rigid enforcement of the laws against

gaming, as for the reason that the authorities, from the patrolmen on

the “beat” up to officials of high rank, have been wont to levy such

heavy assessments upon keepers of resorts of this character that the

business has, as a rule, proved unprofitable. It is a common saying

among “crooks” that at Indianapolis “arrangements may be made” for

committing any offense, from picking a pocket to “cracking” a safe or

“sand-bagging” a man, but such privileges “come high.”

Still, gambling hells have existed in the capital of Indiana since a

date considerably antecedent to the war, and it is probable that it will

always be possible for men who wish to seek their own ruin through this

channel to find the means at hand. A demand has never yet failed to

create a supply. Before and during the war the principal resorts were

those of Basey, Noe, Reynolds, Dunn, Russell and Mortland. These men

were old residents and enjoyed more privileges than were accorded to

parties from abroad who came later, such as Snow, Barnes, O’Neill,

Martin, Steiger, Williamson, Warner, Swift and others, who did business

from time to time at subsequent periods. Mortland prospered, and

invested his winnings in real estate, erecting a fine block on Illinois

Street nearly opposite the Bates House. A certain portion of the

building was especially designed for the purposes of a gambling house.

Howard Barnes opened the “Maison Doree,”—an elegant resort, where faro,

poker and keno were played, and having elegantly furnished rooms for the

accommodation of private parties. The establishment enjoyed a large

patronage, as did also the “House of Lords” and the “Dollar Store.” But

the rooms most favored by gamblers of the higher social classes, and

where the play was heaviest, were those of O’Neill, situated at number

ten Canal Street. The proprietor also opened a keno room, but

considering the demands of the authorities extortionate, refused to

comply with them, and war upon him was declared at once. His houses were

raided night after night, and he himself repeatedly indicted. The result

was that he found his business destroyed and left Indianapolis for the

more congenial latitude of Washington City.

“Brace” faro kept even pace with the “square” game, but was always

conducted on a cheap scale and by men who, as a rule, made little money.

Among the best known faro dealers, who were said to belong to this

class, were Jake Fidler, Charley Young, “Sock” Riley, Fred White, Clift

Dougherty, “Little Walter” Ellworthy and George Slaughter.

While the officials were able, however, to keep the banking games in

check, poker never could be wholly suppressed. For twenty years there

has been a game at the Bates House, at which many members of the

Legislature have taken a hand while in attendance at the Capital. Among

the players have been numbered some of Indiana’s “favorite sons”, men

who attained distinction at the bar and in public life, the names of

some of them being as familiar as household words to the great body of

the American people. Other games of poker were played at rooms conducted

by Ridgeway, Forbes, Stark, Baker, McCarthy, Richardson and Sim Coy.

Owing to the fact that Indianapolis is a great railroad centre, the

Union Depot in that city has always been a favorite stamping ground for

confidence men, who have reaped a golden harvest from the verdancy of

their dupes. They have varied their operations at the depot proper by

“working” the trains running into and out of the city. “French” Joe,

“Big” Kendricks, “Sock” Riley, Lou Houck and George Duvall, each with a

mob of confederates at his heels, have at various times made

Indianapolis their headquarters.

At present, the city is known to the fraternity as “closed”, and the

only gambling worth mentioning is the poker game at the Bates House, to

which reference has been already made; and another game played over the

English Opera House. Both these are commonly regarded as “swell”

resorts, and at times high stakes change hands across the table.

What has become of the notorious characters who, as has been said,

formerly pursued their nefarious calling here? A few of them have found

other employment in the same city, while others have betaken themselves

to new fields. Snow died of consumption. Ridgeway was found dead in his

bed. Mortland was thrown out of his buggy and killed. Basey committed

suicide by jumping from the window of the Occidental Hotel. His son-in-

law, Major Russell, once known as the genial man about town, witty, well

informed, and a universal favorite, poisoned himself. Ben Law, Jr., is

serving a life sentence for murder. Ben Law, Sr., is awaiting trial on a

charge of having killed his hired man while asleep in bed, being

instigated thereto by jealousy. George Leggett, a businessman and

gambler, and Ed. Brown (sometimes known as “scar-faced” Brown) a

notorious character from Lexington, Kentucky, induced a man named John

Acky, a good-natured, clever fellow, but too fond of liquor, to enter

into a partnership with him in the conduct of a gambling house. Acky had

just received the last installment of his inheritance from his father’s

estate. Brown was to be the dealer for the establishment. The game was

opened, and Acky was easily led away from the room and freely plied with

liquor. When he became sober and returned to the place, he was told that

the bank was broken, some unknown man having “won the roll”. This story

appeared to Acky to be rather flimsy, and on inquiry he soon satisfied

himself that he had been swindled. He went to Leggett and, telling him

what he believed, asked for a loan of twenty-five dollars. Upon being

refused, he procured a pistol, and, after taking several drinks, went in

search of Leggett and Brown. He found them in a billiard hall and shot

Leggett, killing him instantly. He was convicted of murder and hanged.

Brown subsequently came to a miserable end, being killed in a brawl at a

mining camp at Leadville. “Verily, the way of the transgressor is hard.”

The defalcation of Wm. E. Denny, Assistant Postmaster at Evansville, is

too fresh in the public mind to call for repetition here. His confession

showed that he had lost the money embezzled across the green cloth.

Such instances as these are by no means exceptional in the history of

gambling and gamblers. A great poet is authority for the assertion that

“man never is, but always to be blest.” Practical experience teaches

that man who have become infatuated with the gaming habit always defers

reformation until the “morrow,” which never comes. The philosopher who

seeks for illustrations of the truth of this statement need not confine

his researches to the City of Indianapolis or the State of Indiana. The

defalcations of trusted employees—whether in the employ of the

government, of private corporations, or of individual firms—are too

plentiful to call for enumeration. The hard-earned accumulations of the

poor, stored—dollar by dollar—in the vaults of savings banks, go to

swell the revenue of the professional blackleg, dissipated through the

peculations of a dishonest official. Trust funds, the sole support of

widow and orphan—are sunk in the pitiless insatiate maw of the “tiger,”

and the man whose death bed was rendered an easy couch because of his

confidence in the honor of the friend in whom he trusted, is powerless

to arise in defence of those who were dearer to him than his life. O,

the cursed maelstrom, in whose dark eddies, fortune, truth, honor, find

a common grave! Would God that my feeble voice might arrest the man,

who, playing on the outer edges of the whirlpool, is destined to be

sucked into its vortex. Of a truth, the path to the gaming resort is one

“whose steps take hold on hell.”

A single remark may be made as to the interference of the Indianapolis

authorities with public gaming. While, as has been said, the city is, in

gambler’s parlance, “closed,” the outrageously flagrant manner in which

the gullible stranger is fleeced at the Union Depot has brought the name

of the town into disrepute. Gaming resorts are few, but confidence men

reap a golden harvest from travelers, and the municipal government lifts

not a finger in their protection.

GAMBLING IN SPRINGFIELD, ILLINOIS.

The city of Springfield—one of the most beautiful of its size in all the

West—being at once the capital of the State and an important railroad

centre, could be hardly expected to be free from the incursions of

professional gamblers. While public sentiment among the better class of

citizens is outspoken in condemnation of the vice, there has never been

any determined effort on the part of the authorities to suppress it.

This may be ascribed partly to the weighty political influence in

municipal affairs wielded by the “tougher” elements of society, and in

part to the fact that only occasionally do the gamblers so far outrage

public decency as to flaunt their business before the eye of the public.

The practical result of this state of affairs has been that a sort of

tacit truce exists between the law-abiding citizens and this class of

law-breakers.

The locations of the public gaming-houses, some half dozen in number,

are nearly as well known as are those of the public buildings; and while

they cannot be said to be “wide open,” it is by no means difficult for a

player to gain admission. They derive their revenue from all classes,

and they number among their patrons even men who are openly loud-voiced

in denouncing them. More than one wife and mother in Springfield (and of

what city cannot the same assertion be made?) sheds, in secret, bitter,

scalding tears over the ruin—financial and moral—which these plague

spots, these veritable pest-houses, have wrought in homes which were

once the abodes of comfort, happiness and peace. But the hells reap

their richest harvest during the biennial sessions of the General

Assembly, when members vie with lobbyists for places around the tables.

More than one law-maker has lost, at a single sitting, in such houses as

Brewer’s or Manning’s, more than his _per diem_ and mileage for the

entire session.

Another prolific source of revenue is found in the vast numbers who

flock to Springfield from the rural districts, either to interview their

representatives in the legislature, or to inspect the State House and

view the other lions of the capital. Strangers of this description are

promptly marked by the “ropers” and “steerers” as their own peculiar

prey, and woe betide the luckless wight who listens to their

blandishments.

The Springfield gambling houses are not, as a rule, models of elegance

in their appointments, nor are they—if the prevalent impression is well

founded—above resorting to chicanery when it appears probable that

tortuous devices may be safely and profitably employed. For many years

“Tom” Brewer (who later transferred his residence to Chicago) was the

acknowledged “king of the games.” He was recognized as a good dealer and

was a “high roller” at other houses, his impassive countenance betraying

no emotion in the moment of either loss or triumph. Of irascible temper,

however, and fond of the “flowing bowl,” he was continually involved in

brawls. At such moments he cared for neither “God, man, nor the devil;”

and was quite as likely to select the Governor of the State as a victim

on whom to empty the vials of his wrath as anyone else. Legislators and

tramps, clergymen and “bums” all stood on one common level. Other

members of the local fraternity wondered at his temerity, admired his

daring, and followed his lead, yet at the same time his personal

popularity was never very great.

Not all the gambling at the Illinois capital, however, is carried on at

public resorts. Private poker clubs were formerly numerous. For years,

certain young bloods about town were wont to gather at the Leland Hotel

for a friendly game of “draw.” In another, yet not remote, quarter of

the city assembled professional men and men of letters, the roll of

members comprising some of the brightest minds of Central Illinois, for

purposes of relaxation and social intercourse. Here poker constituted

one of the chief diversions, and play, although, it is said, never high,

was constant. In private houses, also, the same mania finds its

devotees. “_Facilis descensus Averni_;” and it is but a step—and a

comparatively short one—from “five cent ante,” in the drawing room, to

poker in the gambling hell, that portal through which so many thousands

have entered on the path whose end is the felon’s cell or the outcast’s

grave.

To the credit of the young and middle aged men of Springfield, however,

be it said, that at present poker clubs are by no means so flourishing

in Springfield as they were a few years ago. The reason unquestionably

is that some of those who in former days, were among the chief patrons

of the game have had their eyes opened to the dangers that lurk in

“social gambling.” During the palmy days of the “clubs,” professional

gamblers sometimes succeeded in securing admission to a game as

visitors. “Once upon a time,” as the children’s chroniclers say, a

polished stranger “from the East” appeared at the leading hostelry. His

dress was faultless; his manners frank and engaging. He was introduced

into the “club,” where he soon rose in general esteem. He played freely,

and at first with varying success. Gradually the “fickle goddess”

selected his chair as her permanent resting place and it was not long

before his extraordinary “luck” had pretty well “cleaned out” the

habitues of the rooms. Play fell off, and the stranger’s “business”

having been accomplished he bid his late friends adieu and disappeared

from public view. Suspicion did not then rest upon him, but subsequent

developments proved conclusively that he was a professional “pigeon

plucker,” and an accomplished expert at every form of card-sharping.

[Illustration: “AS THE TWIG IS BENT, THE TREE’S INCLINED.”]

PART III.

CHAPTER I

THE TURF

Of all the evils connected or associated with games of chance in this

country, perhaps the most vicious are those which surround the race-

courses of the land—not only those extensive parks which are recognized

as having a legitimate existence, but as well the country tracks where

racing events are casual and sporadic. The “turf,” as we are popularly

accustomed to term the race course with reference to its gambling

features, implies not only the element of chance as manipulated by

systematic knavery, and which will be found elsewhere fully explained,

but also what is termed the legitimate sport of gentlemen, conducted as

honestly as it may be and with every disposition on the part of managers

and judges to give a fair test of the speed and endurance of the

competing horses. Even in the latter case, it is a notorious fact that

race tracks that are conducted in their official management under the

highest auspices and by the most responsible individuals, are not in

their actual surroundings, influences and results, less pernicious nor

injurious than those which are openly in the charge of recognized

swindlers and scoundrels. Even as to the great “events” which in this

country are recognized and patronized, to the great misfortune of public

morals, by the press and by society, governed though they may be by

honorable men, and with every concerted determination for a fair and

proper exhibition of honest results, it is notorious and undisputed,

that these exhibitions are the harvest fields of systematized vice, and

that while the judge in the stand may be immaculate, the seller of

pools, the bookmaker, the touter, the tip-givers, the turf prophets and

all the others who camp upon the trail of the credulous and unwary with

schemes that, by methods of certainty, enrich the gambler without risk

on his part, are one and all dishonest and designing scoundrels to whom

the sense of honor is unknown, and whose infamous and insidious

influence is one of the gravest dangers to which the morality and

uprightness of the youth of our country are exposed.

The origin of horse-racing, as with that of our modern athletic sports,

comes from the classic ages; but in the contests of equine speed and in

the competition of personal skill or valor in the “brave days of old”

there is no record of the thimble-rigging propensities which these

latter days have developed. The competitions of those times were for

public honor and prizes, for the encouragement of features which were

essential to the public welfare and safety. In that period all free men

were warriors, upon whom depended the security of life, property and

national existence. The cultivation of ambition to excel in personal

strength and swiftness had, therefore, a patriotic and commendable

foundation; and the same as regarded the trials of speed by horses,

which were for the improvement of the qualities upon which the warriors

had to rely in these their main coadjutors upon the field of battle. All

this had nothing in common with the turf as we recognize and realize it

to-day. For this we have to look back to our mother, England, from whom

it was an inheritance of shame whose evil influence has expanded like

the upas tree ever since it first took a root in our land. In England,

while it has been customary for turf enthusiasts to trace the history of

their trade from about the reign of Charles I., the fact is that it was

not really till the reign of George II. that the “turf,” as property

understood, became a recognized entity. Prior to that time there had

been plenty of horse-racing, in which gentlemen rode their own horses,

and which was almost entirely free from the vicious concomitants which

have later surrounded, characterized and dominated the race track. The

leading meetings in England are the Newmarket, Epsom, Ascot, York,

Doncaster and Goodwood. It is at Epsom that “the Derby,” an event of

interest to the whole sporting world, is run. This is known as the

Cockneys’ Holiday, and has been the subject of many an exemplification

of the highest attainments of the art of word painting. Indeed the

interest attaching to the vast and heterogeneous throng is to many

greater than that which belongs to the race itself, every element

between the palace and the poor-house being there represented. Ascot is

favored frequently by the presence of royalty, and is on this account

always the scene of a brilliant display by the aristocracy. Goodwood is

also an aristocratic meeting, representative of the south of England and

distinguished by the great value of the prizes offered for competition.

The distinguishing feature at Doncaster is the race for the St. Leger

stakes, which rivals the Derby in sporting importance; and it has been

claimed that upon these two events not less than twenty-five per cent.

of the whole English population are bettors, either risking their money

on the tracks or at the pool rooms, which in every town throughout the

country sell chances upon the results.

It is a somewhat remarkable fact that of late years while, in England,

the most energetic efforts have been made, and with good success, to

keep the thimble-riggers and blacklegs _off the track_, this fraternity,

_outside the track_, in the adjacent hotels, and in other outside towns

where interest in the result centers, carries on its audacious trade

with increasing extent and profit, while to-day, throughout Great

Britain, the mania for gambling upon the results of contests upon the

turf is more wide-spread and deep-rooted than ever before. The harm

resulting to public morals is incalculable, and will possibly more than

offset the efforts for good of the ministers of religion. There is not a

race meeting after which we do not hear of the downfall of some

“plunger,” who in “legitimate” betting has risked his all upon the

“wrong horse,” bringing ruin and disgrace too often upon the innocent

wife and family, and opening up the alternative of crime, dishonor or

suicide. Yet these are but the least of the injurious influences of

gambling upon these race meetings. They are only heard of by reason of

the conspicuous extent of the individual losses, or the prominence of

the persons thus involved in the ruinous consequences of the national

vice. Far more serious, more deplorable and more demoralizing are the

results upon the infinite number of the “smaller fry,” who submit

themselves as easy victims to the skillful swindler who runs the

“speculation list” or the pool-room, whose specious but delusive

allurements send the honest hand of many a youth surreptitiously into

his employer’s cash-drawer, to be drawn forth forever tainted with

dishonor; and merely in order that the ill-gotten gains of the

experienced swindler may be enlarged. Round about all such tracks, too,

may be seen the gaming devices of every description, and all the

nefarious instrumentalities by means of which the honest man is deluded

of his earnings for the benefit of systematic knavery. And yet the race-

track is the “national sport” of England; to it, and all its

contaminating, crime-producing, society-wrecking and soul-destroying

influence, royalty lends its condescension, and princes and peers their

active countenance and aid; bishops and churchmen, members of Parliament

and professional men, participate and applaud; while even those in

charge of the little children afford them special holidays in order that

their young minds may be subjected to impressions which, in the years of

their older youth will make them the easy prey of the agents of this

monster vice. It is in the glitter and glamour of all its brilliant

external attributes that England finds the pride with which she claims

the turf as her peculiar national institution; it is in the ruined

reputation, the blasted life, the broken heart, the wreck of happiness,

the loss of honor and the headlong course to crime, which are to be

traced by the tears of women and the wails of children, in the blighted

homes throughout the land, that we recognize in the turf and all that

pertains to it, England’s national curse, that must surely sooner or

later invite and evoke a national retribution.

The details of the various rascalities practiced in connection with the

“turf” being common to all countries, we shall deal with these features

of the English national sport, at the close of this chapter, in a

general explanation of the methods which affect the results of all race

meetings, and which add strength to the steel meshes of the net in which

the innocent and confiding bettor is certain to become involved.

THE AMERICAN TURF.

It is to be said to the honor and credit of the Puritan and Pilgrim

settlers of New England, that they had a strong antipathy to every form

of vice, and in their interdict against the evils which they had left

England to escape, horse-racing was especially included. On the other

hand the early settlements of the Old Dominion, (which originally

included Kentucky), and of Carolina, were of aristocratic stock, retired

army officers, the younger sons of gentlemen, etc., and as the early

conditions that prevailed precluded many of the ordinary sports, horse-

racing, generally in the form of the steeple-chase, was encouraged. This

was not, however, the “turf,” in America, but it was the means of

affording a nursery for the splendid animals which have made the

American turf famous for the wonderful achievements in time and speed of

its horses. In those early days travel in the South was almost

altogether by saddle horses, and hence the necessity for developing

those peculiar qualities in the horses used, as made them valuable for

racing purposes. The stock was recruited from the best blood, imported

from England, and as it was a peculiar mark of social distinction, where

all men ride, to be well mounted, great care was taken in cultivating

and improving the breeding of horses. Yearly meetings for running races

became the custom; but at these affairs there were no bookmakers nor

blacklegs, and the betting was generally of that perfunctory character

which usually exists where the competing parties are interested rather

in the results than in the stakes. As the country developed, the new

state of Kentucky, with its splendid climate, its crystal streams and

its unequalled grasses, became distinctively the home of fine horses,

which up to the present day even, she has continued to supply to the

racing world.

The trotting race had its origin in New York and took its peculiarity

from the general use of the light wagon for road traveling. In this way

the only possible method of testing speed was the “pace” or “trot,” and

for many years in the Northeastern States the trotting meeting was the

recognized form of sport, the practice becoming general and being the

invariable accompaniment of every county fair. The earliest recorded

organized trotting meeting of which there is any specific record is of

date of 1818. The fastest time for fifty miles was recorded in favor of

Spangle at Union Course, Long Island, Oct. 15, 1855. The best time for

two miles under saddle was at Fashion Course, Long Island, July 1, 1863,

by George M. Patchen. We mention these dates to show that as long as

thirty-five years ago there were important meetings of the turf, and

also to point out the fact that the public sense of humanity, growing

with the increasing refinement of the country, has reduced these trials

of speed generally to one-mile contests, and frequently to the half-

mile.

Trotting races began to assume an aspect of national importance shortly

after the war, and the first National Trotting Association was organized

in February, 1870, under the name of the “National Association for the

Promotion of the Interests of the Trotting Turf,” which in 1878, at a

congress of members, was changed to that of “National Trotting

Association.” It is a curious fact that the origin of the National

Association arose in the abuses which invariably follow the practice of

racing for money or of betting on unknown results. There had been

complaints all over the country of crooked work on the race tracks—of

“blind” horses being entered under assumed names to gull unsuspicious

victims; of jockeys who “pulled” the winner so as to make him the loser;

of improper decisions by judges, and of a thousand and one things in the

way of serious and petty crookedness on the leading race tracks. It

became generally recognized that the confidence of the public in the

integrity of racing contests in America was becoming exhausted and that

racing was falling into contempt as well as falling off in its profits.

Organization was originally effected in response to a circular sent out

by the Narragansett Park Association, of Providence, R. I., in 1869. It

proposed the formation of a central body for general control, and the

establishment of a code of rules and penalties for the government of all

tracks as the most effective means of correcting existing abuses and

elevating the standard of honor and fair play, and the character of the

American Trotting Turf. The results were gratifying so far as those

objects were concerned, though it is a serious question whether the

country would not have been greatly the gainer had the race-courses and

their attending evils been allowed to extinguish themselves by the very

excesses which were at that time making them offensive and contemptible.

However, the organization was effected as stated, officers elected and,

a code of laws adopted, under which the chief of the evils complained of

disappeared from the official protection of the tracks, though they

still continue under more insidious and less offensively unscrupulous

methods. The membership of this association consists of the

representative of a trotting course. In order to show the extraordinary

growth of this mania for speculating upon the chances of the horse-race

we may state that, commencing with 51 in 1870, in 1886 there were 273

courses represented in the National Association, while now there are

317, and in the American Association 419—in all 736. The government of

the National Association is effected through the medium of a Board of

Appeals consisting of five District Boards and a Board of Review, each

of the former being entitled to three members of the general board,

giving it thus fifteen members in addition to the President and Vice-

presidents who are ex-officio members. The Board of Review is composed

of a chairman appointed by the President from each of the five

districts, and this Board has and exercises supreme authority and

jurisdiction, being a final court of resort which decides all appeals

from the decisions of the District Boards. The objects set forth on

behalf of the association are the improvement of the breed and the

development of horses by promotion of the interests of the American

Trotting Turf; the prevention, detection and punishment of frauds

thereon, and uniformity in the government and rules of trotting and

pacing.

In 1887, a number of Western tracks separated from the original body and

formed the “American Trotting Association,” with objects precisely

similar, and methods not materially differing. In fact, many parties are

represented in both Associations, as a matter of policy, and to ensure

the enforcement of rules and penalties upon all courses.

Running races have of late very largely supplanted trotting races in

public favor, for the reason that they offer to the public a more vivid

and intense excitement, and to bettors a speedier settlement of their

concern about the result. Five persons will attend, it is said, a

running race, where one will attend a trotting race.