Chapter XII: Local Gambling (8)

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.