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[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.