A newspaper reporter was employed to visit the various gambling houses, inspect the games played there, and report to the Mayor on the subject.
After the latter had secured all the information he needed, he laid it before the council, together with his plan for licensing gambling and asked for its consideration and discussion. He proposed that a “forced loan” be collected from the gamblers—the city to charge each gaming saloon $150 a month or $1,800 a year for the privilege of carrying on business. They were to conduct only “square” games, to employ no “runners” or “cappers” to drum up business for them, and to content themselves with such profits as they might legitimately (?) derive from the unsolicited visits of occasional players. No minors were to be permitted to play and houses were to be confined within certain prescribed boundaries in the business section of the city, while the proprietors were to agree to preserve peace and order in the establishments, and to be always subject to the inspection and control of the police.
In consideration of the making of this forced loan, the city was to undertake that the houses entering into the arrangement, so long as they complied with the requirements exacted, should not be raided or otherwise molested by the police. Moreover, those saloons which accepted the proposition were to be protected from undue and unlicensed competition, the city promising to close all places which did not “pay up” or were guilty of irregularities.
When these propositions, which had been already submitted to the gamblers and approved by them, were laid before the council, that body authorized the executive to make the experiment, although the city fathers cautiously refused to share the responsibility for any consequences which might ensue. At first, the revenue thus received was paid directly to the city treasurer, but that official, being unwilling to accept it, it was turned over to the mayor’s private secretary, to be expended as the mayor ordered.
At the time of the inauguration of the “Shakespeare system” of exacting this forced loan there were eighty-two gambling resorts running in New Orleans. Half of these closed at once rather than pay the licenses. From the remainder some $6,000 was received as the first month’s instalment, which was set aside as a special fund for the erection of an alms house, or an institution, which was greatly needed in a city which had failed to make any provision for the support of paupers. Later the receipts from this source were turned over to the charity hospital or devoted to alleviating the condition of those confined in the jails. From this source (the gambler’s contributions) enough money was obtained to erect a large brick building named “The Shakespeare Almshouse” in honor of the mayor, and to support and care for two hundred paupers and incurables. A number of prominent citizens consented to act as directors of the institution, accepting the money turned over to them by the mayor for its maintenance, although well knowing the source from which it was derived.
At first, the anomalous system appeared to be a success. There were some complaints from the religious element of the community, but the general public raised no objection, while the press approved. The fund was exclusively under the control of the mayor, who accounted to no one, and was wholly free from responsibility in the matter and was at liberty to use the money as he saw fit. It occurred to him that the most effectual means of silencing his critics would be to devote it to public charity.
An account of the fund was kept in a book open to all, with each payment received from the gamblers, together with the sums turned over to the directors of the almshouse.
The supporters of the mayor pointed to his administration of the fund and the practical results of the system as a triumphant vindication of his policy. In the course of a year the number of gambling houses had been reduced from eighty-two, running at all seasons, to sixteen in summer and thirty-two in winter. This diminution, too, had been accomplished without police raids, while there had been no public scandals.
The mayor exacted literal compliance with his requirements. One of the leading saloons, run by “Billy Johnson,” a well known gambler about town, was closed early in the day because of some irregularities, and when the old trick was tried of re-opening it at the same place but under a new name, the mayor promptly suppressed it. “Any place,” he said, “once closed for ‘bunkoing’ was closed for ever.”
The loudest complaints about the system came from some of the gamblers themselves, who declared that the city was getting more out of the business than they were, and several attempts were made to persuade the mayor to reduce the amount of tribute. But to all such remonstrances he persistently turned a deaf ear, his stereotyped reply being, “If you can’t make enough from gambling to pay the city $150 a month for the privilege, you had better go into some other and better paying business.”