Gamblers, saloon-keepers, and the sporting classes generally, welcomed his election with one accord. City ordinances regulating liquor selling, were to be calmly[calmly] and quietly, but no less surely ignored. And they were. The result was a saturnalia of crime. Saloons ran all night if so minded and customers demanded it. The gambling houses were in full blast, and the city swarmed with thieves, fakirs and blacklegs of every description, from smooth adventurers of the Traylor and Post pattern, down to the petty shell worker and flimflam fellow. It was time to call a halt.
As it so happened the state legislature was in session, and it was determined by good citizens, irrespective of political affiliations, to go before that body and pray for relief. After much consultation, a bill providing for the appointment of a police commission, consisting of two members from each dominant party, with the mayor as ex-officio member, was formulated. The bill was passed by both houses, and became a law through the Governor’s signature. Under its provisions the appointing power was conferred upon the council, and well-known citizens received the honor of serving as members. This act left the mayor shorn of power and authority. The police commission ruled and decided whether city ordinances should be enforced or not; the same body controlled the police, and decency once more ruled. At a recent session, the legislature amended the bill by reducing the number of the police commissioners to two, outside of the mayor, who still remained an ex-officio member. Nevertheless gambling has existed, and still exists, no matter what the political complexion of the city administration may have happened to be.
With this brief introduction it is only necessary to give a condensed history of the games and devices that have flourished in Minneapolis, the object of whose proprietors has been to lure money from those, who, it must be admitted, would have liked to acquire wealth by means far removed from honest toil and labor.
At all the houses here have run the usual games ordinarily conducted in so-called first-class gambling rooms; that is to say, faro bank, roulette, stud poker, and hazard, with various short card games. Faro bank is king. Its legitimate percentage in favor of the bank is of course responsible for its large following of devotees, and the great majority of players make their way to that table immediately upon entering the halls. A “tenderfoot,” who was playing against a brace game out West, chanced to inquire what limit would be given him. The reply was “from John Smith’s green cloth to the blue sky of heaven.” This limit it may be remarked en passant, was somewhat liberal, but in view of the kind of game that was being dealt the proprietor could afford to let a man place his money freely. In Minneapolis it has been slightly different, the limit being generally placed at fifty to doubles, and twenty-five to cases. Occasionally a well-known player who was known to be possessed of plenty of funds has been allowed two hundred and a hundred. This, however, may be called the exception rather than the rule. The play against faro bank has always been fairly steady, with the houses winning in the long run. Comparatively few heavy losses or winnings have ever occurred in Minneapolis. Dink Davis, Pat Sheedy, and other celebrated high rollers have rarely visited the city. The only heavy loss suffered was in the old house at 205 Nicollet Avenue, when Frank Shaw, Flanagan and Sullivan were the main proprietors in 1887. This may scarcely be called a legitimate losing, but rather the result of what some gamblers would call a bit of sharp practice. The house had only been running in full blast for a few months. Everything was wide open, in the heyday of Mayor Ames’ administration. Among the dealers employed was Mr. Harrington, a very good all around gambler, and withal a first-class artist. Harrington was well liked by his employers, who thought highly of his capabilities, and had perfect confidence in his honesty, so far at least as they were concerned. But as events proved they were mistaken. Mr. Harrington had a particular friend, one Mr. Hayes, who gambled on the outside strictly, and was known as a hard faro bank player. These two smooth gentlemen, it is said, put their heads together and concocted a plot, which was in brief that Harrington should “throw off” the game to Hayes. The scheme worked to a charm, and Mr. Hayes’ luck became proverbial among those that were leading the gay life of a sport. Matters ran along for some little time, and it was not until the game was some $10,000 loser that the house management began to suspect that there might possibly be something wrong, or in gamblers’ parlance “an African in the woodpile.” A quiet investigation ensued, and it was not long before the chair that knew Mr. Harrington, knew him no more, forever. Then it was that the erstwhile familiar faces of Messrs. Harrington and Hayes became as shadows of the past, though ever and anon their forms would rise like Banquo’s ghost to haunt the Macbethian forms of the combination that had heard that there was honor among gamblers. But Harrington has paid for his duplicity in this instance, as the better class of gamblers utterly refuse to have anything to do with him, and he stands a fair chance of being forced to earn an honest livelihood by working at his trade—that of a compositor.
Next to faro bank, in point of attraction, is roulette. Watching the ball go round has a certain grim fascination for a great many people—and then it is quick action for your money; nervous people are not compelled to wait in suspense to know whether they lose or win. A simple twist of the wrist, the little ivory is whirling around and around until it stops in one of the many compartments—red or black, or in the fatal zeros that sweep the board. But still the number of devotees at its altar is not large. In fact, in the whole town there are not half a dozen men who prefer roulette to faro, provided that they have any considerable amount of money. Those with only a few dollars in their possession play it in order to get a stake to play faro. A journalist here, and part proprietor of one of the daily papers, is the only individual that has achieved any notoriety in this direction. It was no unusual thing for him to win or lose a thousand dollars at a sitting. This sort of play is, however, exceptional, the majority of players against the wheel scarcely having funds enough to buy a stack of white checks.
Next in order of popularity come hazard and stud poker. The former is chiefly patronized by beginners, and the latter by that numerous class of men who consider themselves a little wiser than their fellows. Neither the greenhorn nor the player who is wise in his own conceit takes into consideration the enormous odds in the one game, or the large “rake off” in the other, regulated only by the conscience (?) of the dealer, and his knowledge of just what the players will stand. Therefore the harvest is ripe and is quickly garnered. Hazard has never been much of a favorite, the play being scarcely extensive enough to meet expenses; while on the other hand, the stud poker tables have always been well patronized. The short card games in these public rooms were usually played by professional gamblers for the sake of whiling away a few hours, with just a sufficient monetary consideration to vary the tedium and monotony.
The above statements apply to every gambling house that has been ever run in the city, conducted strictly on the square. But, as[as] in all other trades and professions, there are grades. The habitues and customers[and customers] of one establishment seldom visited any of the others, and in the most exclusive resort, that at 219 Hennepin Avenue, the common crowd were refused admittance by the colored servitor that guarded the door. At least good clothes and the appearance of a gentleman were necessary to effect an entrance into this particular lair of the tiger.
But passing mention must be made of one establishment that flourished under the highly moral Pillsbury administration, and was permitted to continue unmolested, while other houses were compelled either to close up or run in such a furtive way that a search warrant was almost a necessity in order to find the haunts of the animal. This place was and is known to all sports, thieves, confidence men, and blacklegs generally, throughout the length and width of the United States. It is designated as the “Elite,” and is located on Nicollet Avenue! To the uninitiated and the casual observer it is simply a saloon, and a very good saloon at that. But up-stairs was a complete gambling outfit of the most crooked description. It was commonly believed to be a notorious brace house, and many a man was there “skinned” out of hundreds of dollars. It was given out that it was the only place in town where a man with a penchant for faro bank would be accommodated, and he was accommodated with a vengeance. “Steerers”[“Steerers”] were numerous in those days, and embraced such shining lights in that particular line of industry as “Sammy” Barrett, “Jerry” Desmond and “Charlie” Dean, while distinguished confidence men, such as William Traynor and George Post, did not disdain occasionally to introduce a wealthy fly into the spider’s web.
At this time the place was reputed to be owned by Col. Wm. Tanner and Bill Munday. Tanner is a cool-headed man, who has never been known to let an opportunity of “getting the best of it” go by. He has always prospered and is worth several thousand dollars in cash, besides some rather valuable real estate. Munday, on the other hand, was somewhat of a handicap and a dead weight on the institution. His personal habits were most objectionable; he was irritable, quarrelsome, and a general nuisance. Finally, in sheer desperation, Col. Tanner purchased his interest, and Munday retired to his native heath at Burlington, Iowa, where at last accounts he was engaged in defying the prohibitory law.
This “brace” house flourished like the proverbial green bay tree, until the advent of Mayor Ames, when the regular houses were permitted to open. Strong pressure was brought to bear, and Tanner, after removing from the “Elite” to a place on Washington Avenue north, finally effected a compromise, abandoned his game and became a partner with Sullivan and Flanagan.