In August, 1879, two raids upon the gaming houses were instituted but no implements were found either time. The explanation commonly accepted by the public was that “private tips” had been given to the houses by the police. Notwithstanding this, detectives obtained sufficient evidence to hold several gamblers to await the action of the grand jury. The net result was a rather deplorable fiasco.
Despite all citizens’ meetings, it is a grave question whether public sentiment in Saratoga does not, at least indirectly, support gambling. A leading daily journal of that city, while fighting for the suppression of the vice, virtually concedes this fact. There can be no question that strong political influence is brought to bear every year upon the District Attorney of Saratoga County, not to press indictments before the grand jury, and upon members of the latter body not to find a true bill. The explanation is to be found in the fact that the gambling interests in the city and county are too strong to be overcome by the moral sentiment of a minority of tax-payers.
Owing to the large number of hotels gamblers and confidence men have found Saratoga a good place at which to locate an alibi. It is a fact no less surprising than sad that clerks at reputable hotels are willing to lend themselves to such a scheme. The modus operandi is simple. A few lines are reserved on the register under a particular date; on that day a confidence game is worked elsewhere (let us say in Boston). The sharpers repair to the hotel where the space on the register has been reserved, and enter their names as of a previous date. Should they be arrested the hotel register is an invaluable adjunct in establishing an alibi. Of course the clerk cannot distinctly remember particular guests, but—for a consideration—he believes that his register is correct.
GAMBLING IN CINCINNATI.
Cincinnati at present (1890) may be said to be comparatively free from gamblers. The last gaming establishment in the city was shut up in 1886, and since that time there has not been a single place known as a resort of this character within the corporate limits. The proprietor of the last recognized house was Marshall Wooden, who is now somewhere in Arkansas. His place was closed as a result of the last battle in the long struggle between the gamblers and the authorities. Two years previous to that time gambling hells had been numerous, being protected by the existing Board of Police Commissioners, who exacted a weekly amount of blackmail from every gambling house. That board, however, which was a partisan one, was wiped out of existence, and a non-partisan board took charge of the police. A crusade against the gamblers was inaugurated, and little by little they were driven from the town. However, in Covington and Newport, Kentucky towns just across the river from Cincinnati, gamblers are allowed full sway. In Covington alone there are no less than one hundred policy shops, and Newport boasts of a large number. Faro and keno are also played in these towns, while in Newport is a resplendently gorgeous gaming palace, devoted to all kinds of play, which has been running for years. These facilities for gambling, so near at home, are so annoying to Cincinnati authorities that the latter have attempted to induce the officials on the other side of the river to act with them in suppressing the vice. But nothing has been done in the matter. It was only a short time ago that a young man, a clerk in the Bodmann tobacco warehouse in Cincinnati, began to frequent the horse races at Latonia. At first he risked only his own money, but from betting on horse pools he gradually became infatuated with other forms of gambling, and night after night found him in Newport, in the place already referred to. As a result of this love for play, and to pay his “debts of honor,” (?) he forged the name of his employers to checks to the amount of ten thousand dollars, cashed them, fled to England, was arrested, brought back, and is now serving a sentence of seven years in the Ohio penitentiary.
It was not until the beginning of the war that there was any great amount of gambling in Cincinnati. Previous to that time, poker was played regularly on the steam boats plying the Ohio and Mississippi rivers between that city and New Orleans, and occasionally there was a game on shore. But as a rule the gambler kept on the water. During the war, however, Cincinnati was the headquarters of one of the great departments of the army. It was full of officers going and coming; immense amounts of money changed hands constantly; fortunes were made readily, and, of course, adventurers of all kinds flocked to the city.
Then it was that the first gambling establishments were opened. There was a general laxity in regard to gamblers, and they held uninterrupted sway. Gambling increased until 1877 or 1878, when it reached its height. There were pool rooms in many of the saloons; gambling houses were as open as dry goods stores; policy was openly played, and lottery tickets were apparently legitimate articles of commerce.
About 1878, however, the pool rooms were closed and lottery tickets were banished. Now and then there would be a return of officials who owed their election to the votes of the gamblers, and that element in the community which was in sympathy with them, as during the years of 1884 and 1886, but good and efficient laws and their administration by an honest police force soon succeeded in suppressing open gaming houses.
Probably Cincinnati’s most noted gambler was the late “Bolly” Lewis. He flourished during the palmy days of the war. His establishment was one of the finest in the city. One night an army paymaster dropped into his place, and before morning came the unfortunate officer had lost $40,000. This set “Bolly” to moralizing, and from that time he became a changed man. He gave up gambling, became a member of the church, and was prominent in all charitable works. He proved his penitence by restoring the $40,000 to the officer. He went into the hotel business, became part proprietor of the Gibson house, and when he died enjoyed the respect and confidence of the entire community.
Tom Mead has been one of Cincinnati’s most persistent gamblers. He was a miner and went to California in ’49. He found it, however, more profitable to stop at Panama, where the miners who went by sea were crossing in a steady stream, and opening a gambling house there, he caught them going and coming, greatly to his own profit. He returned very wealthy, shot a man in Boston, then came to Cincinnati and opened places on Vine, Longworth and Fifth streets. Personally, he is a quiet, apparently inoffensive gentleman, dressing modestly, fond of good horses and devoted to his wife. Since gambling has been stopped he has become a law-abiding citizen and lives on the rental of the many houses which he owns.