FARO.
Among the ranks of the old-time San Francisco faro dealers, death has wrought sad havoc and but few are left of the men whose tables were nightly piled with tens of thousands of dollars worth of yellow dust.
Of the living gamblers, perhaps the best known man is “Ed.” Moses, who may be seen around the Occidental and Palace Hotels every day. His short, thin figure is bent with age, while the eyes that have so often in the past watched the sliding of the cards from the little tin box, are dimmed and sunken. The hands that years ago handled those same cards with marvelous grace and dexterity are swollen to enormous size with rheumatism. Mr. Moses enjoys the distinction of playing the heaviest game of faro on record. It was one day, years ago, that he dropped into one of the gambling resorts—not his own—no limit was placed on the betting in those days, but the dealer soon became frightened at the size of Moses’ bets. His signature was good for any amount under $1,000,000 for if he did not have money himself, he could easily raise it. The play grew stronger and stronger; everybody else dropped out of the game and left Moses a clean field. At first, luck was with him and he won heavily, but the fickle goddess soon deserted him. With his losses, his bets increased until at last he drew an I. O. U. for $60,000 and played it straight on a single card. It lost, and “Ed.”[“Ed.”] Moses sauntered up to the bar and asked all hands to drink, $200,000 poorer than when he entered the room an hour before. Moses has long since ceased gambling and is now living quietly on a snug little income. His fortune is not great, but large enough to grant him every luxury he desires.
Another old timer and a boon companion of Moses, is Colonel “Jack” Gamble. Col. Jack’s principal occupation is drinking the mellowest[mellowest] “bourbon” to be had and longing for the days of the Argonauts. “Bill” Briggs, who was well known throughout the country for his charitable deeds, died a few months ago. He was the last of the old timers to abandon faro in San Francisco. “Tom” Maguire, of theatrical fame, also kept a gambling palace in ’49-’50. Thomas J. A. Chambers kept the old “El Dorado.” “Put” Robinson, another dealer, is lying on his death bed at the present writing. “Bill” Barnes, Mellus, White and J. B. Massey are names well known to old Californians. These men looked upon gambling as being as honorable as store-keeping. They were all men of honor and in the turbulent times of the old vigilantes were arraigned on the side of law and order.
Other men who followed gambling for an occupation were Judge McGowan, S. M. Whipple, of Sacramento river steamboat fame, and Tim McCarthy, afterwards State Senator from San Francisco. They were all welcome visitors among the best families in town and were a power in the political affairs of the then territory and even after California had been admitted into the Union.
Their generosity was limitless, as a single illustration will show. Briggs used to leave his rooms about four o’clock in the morning, but first, he would gather up all the small change that had been taken in, i. e., quarters and a few dimes[dimes], for half dollar pieces were about the smallest coins in general circulation. He would fill his pockets with them and go down to the vegetable market, where the gamins assembled every morning to gather up the refuse to feed their goats and cows. Briggs would stand on the sidewalk, pitch a handful of coins into the street and laugh until his sides ached to see the little fellows scramble for them. He would repeat the operation until the last coin had been gathered in. In this way he would throw away from twenty-five to fifty dollars each morning; but he knew it went to families who had recently arrived and who found the money a most welcome aid to their support. Similar stories—and true ones, too—might be told of many of the men above named. Men used to take their children into the gambling houses of an evening to see the sights and listen to the excellent music; and not infrequently highly cultivated and respected ladies visited these places, as they do the salons at Baden-Baden.
After a time it became the rage to have female game-keepers, and many of the houses had at least one beautiful siren to aid in bringing men to their ruin.
The first woman to engage in this sort of employment in San Francisco, was Mme. Simon Jules, who made her appearance one night at a roulette table in the “Bella Union.” She was a pleasant-faced woman, of medium height, with large black eyes and hair as dark as the plumage of a raven. The place, as usual, was crowded, and Mme. Jules’ table proved the center of attraction and did an enormous business. She spoke English imperfectly and accompanied each remark with the expressive shrug of the shoulders peculiar to her nature. The Alta, the only newspaper of the day, criticised her severely, but this only advertised her, and it was not long before other houses followed the lead of the “Bella Union.”
In the winter of 1854-’55 the legislature passed the first anti-gambling law, making gambling a State prison offense. Up to that time all games had been regularly licensed. The legislation had the effect of closing some of the smaller houses, and making the remainder a little less public; but the law was never enforced and there was only one conviction in the state under it; that of a “brace” faro dealer in Tuolumne, who was sent to prison more to get rid of him than to inaugurate a crusade against gambling.
In 1859-’60, Col. Jack Gamble went to Sacramento and mainly through his personal efforts and influence, secured the repeal of the law. Faro, monte and roulette were then revived, but not to so great an extent as in the olden days. In the meantime poker had made its appearance and grew so rapidly in public favor that at the time of the repeal of the law in question, it had become a formidable rival of faro and other banking games. Monte and roulette began to wane, and the year of 1873 saw their demise in San Francisco.