The list of Buffalo’s gamblers numbers men who, in the “good old days” of gambling were famous throughout the country and who acquired wide reputations, principally for skill as gamblers or for their character or peculiarities. Among the pioneers of gambling in Buffalo, was William Carney, better known as “Gentleman Bill,” or plain “Bill.” Carney was a Buffalonian of good family, who began his career as a gambler when quite young. At the age of 20 he was known as one of the most expert dealers of faro in the country, and all his life he was noted for his suave manners and nerve under all circumstances. Carney made a fortune and, like many of his fellows, died poor. For 40 years or more he ran the principal gambling den in Buffalo, and his rooms were the resort for the most noted gamblers in America. Faro was the game most played, and among Carney’s customers were men who 30, 20, or 15 years ago, were looked upon as Buffalo’s foremost citizens and prominent business men. Judges, lawyers and city officials are said to have frequented Carney’s rooms and he often related that, when gambling was at its zenith, he threw away the key of the door and “everything went.” Carney was a thorough gentleman in manners, a fascinating story teller and a great lover of prize-fighting and other sports. He was a professional gambler and not until a few years ago did he condescend to play poker to any extent; faro was his game and both the single and double box were used in his rooms. The writer knew Carney intimately for several years, and can testify to his good qualities. He was generous, and no man ever asked him for aid who did not get it, if he was worthy. Carney’s greatest enemy was himself, and of late years, his passion for liquor, coupled with the reckless conduct of his two sons, gradually brought about his ruin. His health failed and rheumatism and dissipation caused his death a few months ago.

The list of Buffalo’s gamblers numbers men who, in the “good old days” of gambling were famous throughout the country and who acquired wide reputations, principally for skill as gamblers or for their character or peculiarities. Among the pioneers of gambling in Buffalo, was William Carney, better known as “Gentleman Bill,” or plain “Bill.” Carney was a Buffalonian of good family, who began his career as a gambler when quite young. At the age of 20 he was known as one of the most expert dealers of faro in the country, and all his life he was noted for his suave manners and nerve under all circumstances. Carney made a fortune and, like many of his fellows, died poor. For 40 years or more he ran the principal gambling den in Buffalo, and his rooms were the resort for the most noted gamblers in America. Faro was the game most played, and among Carney’s customers were men who 30, 20, or 15 years ago, were looked upon as Buffalo’s foremost citizens and prominent business men. Judges, lawyers and city officials are said to have frequented Carney’s rooms and he often related that, when gambling was at its zenith, he threw away the key of the door and “everything went.” Carney was a thorough gentleman in manners, a fascinating story teller and a great lover of prize-fighting and other sports. He was a professional gambler and not until a few years ago did he condescend to play poker to any extent; faro was his game and both the single and double box were used in his rooms. The writer knew Carney intimately for several years, and can testify to his good qualities. He was generous, and no man ever asked him for aid who did not get it, if he was worthy. Carney’s greatest enemy was himself, and of late years, his passion for liquor, coupled with the reckless conduct of his two sons, gradually brought about his ruin. His health failed and rheumatism and dissipation caused his death a few months ago.

The name of Timothy Glassford stands among the foremost of professional gamblers in the United States. He was, excepting Carney, probably the oldest professional gambler worthy the title in Buffalo. For 40 years or more he maintained an elegantly furnished house and dealt faro to the city’s “best and most prominent citizens,” as they were recognized by the general public. Glassford was the only gambler who was at any time a power in politics and he is credited with having exerted considerable influence not only in local but in State politics. Glassford made a fortune which at one time was estimated at $200,000 (about 1867). He died a few years ago leaving an estate worth $80,000, which includes three stores on Main and Eagle Streets. This estate, or the larger portion of it will go to a son. Glassford was well educated, spoke several languages and is said to have prospered because he was an ardent student of human nature. His reputation is that of an expert at faro dealing, a great bluffer at poker, and his games are said to have been square.

“Oat” Forrester, is another of Buffalo’s old-time gamblers. In his day he was the dude of the fraternity and took great pride in being faultlessly but neatly dressed. At times he wore diamonds worth $30,000, and he seldom paid less than $75 for a suit of clothes. He kept a faro room which was much frequented by young bloods. As a rule his games were square though the brace game was played at intervals, especially during race week. ForresterForrester about 20 years ago was worth probably $25,000. His health failed and he bought a house at Fort Erie, Ontario, where he lived until about four years ago, when he removed to Chicago, and is now said to be living with a daughter, financially ruined and dependent upon others.

“Pige” or “Judge” Darling was another Buffalo faro player of note. He was a distinguished-looking man at middle age, and a brilliant conversationalist. He played at various rooms, was a large winner but a spendthrift.

James McCormick is another who some years ago was one of Buffalo’s notables. Naturally a gambler he was for several years successful in “hitting” faro. Finally with a few hundred dollars he drifted West and then to Chicago and New York. To-day he is known throughout the country as owner of one of the celebrated strings of trotting horses, which yearly win for him considerable money. It is said that McCormick gambles occasionally.

Adam Clark, an English Jew, was a noted gambler. He owned a large tract of land on Main Street, until recently run as a pleasure resort and known as “Spring Abbey.” There is a brick dwelling there, in which he used to preside over faro and poker games. It is said that Clark catered only to the rich and that a “brace” or dishonest game was never played in his rooms. In 1860, Clark probably was worth $100,000, but through illness, his affairs were neglected and at his death his estate was so involved that lawyers got the lion’s share. Curiously the property, for years the home of the gambler, is now the “Home for the Friendless.” Clark’s credit among gamblers, bankers and merchants was good and he could borrow thousands, giving only his oral promise to pay. A Buffalo ex-gambler states that Clark never failed to pay a debt and that several times he was loaned $5,000 or $10,000, and on one occasion $15,000 for which his note was not asked—his simple word of honor being sufficient security. Clark was charitable and it is said that he gave to needy institutions, etc., on an average $2,000 a year.

There lives in Buffalo a man who was and is to-day in knowledge and skill one of the most expert gamblers in America. His early life was devoted to gambling. An elegant home was his gaming den, and his guests enjoyed substantial and costly luncheons and the best of wines as a part of his entertainment.entertainment. An iron will, always cool and quiet, winning manners, with skill at cards such as is only acquired by one possessing great mathematical talent, made him an expert and won him a national reputation. He retired several years ago, and is now engaged in real estate transactions. It is estimated that he is worth from $250,000 to $300,000.

Reed Brockway was also famous. He began his gambling career in Buffalo, lived there until a few years ago when he went West, it is believed to Chicago. He played faro well, was a “dressy” gambler, and a man of high intellectual qualities. It is said that he could keep the run of cards in faro better than any gambler who ever played in America, and picked out and played heavy sums on winning cards with remarkable success. It is related that in 1867, with but six cards in the box, he played $1,500 on a king, naming it as the last winning card, and made a side bet of $500 that his calculation was correct. He won $2,000 in about four minutes, and half an hour later had spent $200 for wine and cigars.

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 fugitivesfugitives 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.

Before the war there was comparatively little public gaming at St. Paul. The city was occasionally visited by professionals, but the latter usually considered that the then infant metropolis was hardly worth the expenditure of much time or money. Once in a while one of the guild would accompany a victim to the Minnesota capital, in order that he might “pluck” him at his leisure. As a rule, however, the Mississippi steamboats formed the chief theatre of their operations, it was a rare occurrence that they penetrated so far into the Northwest. On the boats the play was universal, from the elegantly attired gamester whose diamond stud flashed prismatic colors, which were reflected from the lights of the chandeliers of the cabin, to the flannel-shirted individual who contented himself with fleecing the crew and second-class passengers upon the main deck. The river craft proved a much more remunerative field for sharpers, and, as has been said, the citizens of St. Paul enjoyed immunity from their presence.

The inborn love for gaming which seems to be found in nearly every human breast, found its gratification in the back-rooms of saloons and in a few club-rooms, entrance to which was denied to all but members. The “shining lights” of the profession were absent, and games were played for only small stakes, although even in those days there were a few local gamblers who gained some little notoriety during the early years of the war. But after 1865, they seemed to have disappeared from public view, some of them becoming retail liquor dealers, others farmers, and yet others migrating to remote localities. Some of them, however, are still residents of St. Paul, and are fairly well-to-do. Their former sins have been forgotten and their past record is known only to a few pioneer settlers, the result being that they are looked upon to-day as respectable members of society.

After the war public gaming began to flourish, and soon increased to such an extent that between 1872-4 there were lively times in and around the capitol. The Union Pacific had been completed and the Northern Pacific commenced. Thousands of laborers of all nationalities who had been thrown out of employment along the line of the Union Pacific flocked to the Northwest where the contractors for Henry Villard’s Transcontinental Line were glad to avail themselves of their services. With these laborers came a horde of hungry, desperate gamblers, men with the instincts and ferocity of wild beasts, having no regard for the sanctity of human life, who set law and order absolutely at defiance. The desperadoes did not stay long at St. Paul; turning their faces Westward they advanced along the line of the Northern Pacific, their march keeping pace with the run of the rails along the highway of commerce. Among the best known were Cole Martin, Jack O’Neill, Dave Mullin, “Shank” Stanfield and Dan Shumway. They made their headquarters at a saloon kept by one Dave Crummy. They have entirely disappeared from view, and it is probable that most of them have “passed in their last checks.” They fought with each other as readily as with their victims, and, one after another have been killed off.

The circumstances of the killing of Dan Shumway by “Shank” Stanfield at Moorhead in 1872 illustrates the character of these gamblers. Bad blood had existed between them for some time, and a shooting had been expected at any moment. Stanfield had been playing all night, and was about to take an early morning drink in a bar-room, when Shumway came in, drunk and quarrelsome. Instantly, Stanfield started from the saloon to procure a pistol. As he was passing through the door he was fired upon by his enemy. He quickly made his way to his own apartment and soon returned with a revolver in each hand. Then the two began shooting at each other with great rapidity. Stanfield took his position behind a pile of packing boxes within easy range, and Shumway soon fell with one bullet in his hip and another in his side. Wounded as he was, he dragged himself painfully along the ground toward his adversary, leaving a bloody trail behind him and firing as he proceeded. But before the miserable wretch could reach Stanfield a bullet had found lodgement in a vital spot and the dying desperado rolled over, clenching his weapon in his hand with all the rigidity of a death grasp. The other gambler was badly wounded but, perhaps unfortunately for the community at large, recovered.

Such were the men who made a hell upon earth of Brainerd, Moorhead, Irontown, and a dozen other points along the line of the Northern Pacific railway. Only one of the horde appears to have returned, and to-day few would recognize in Guy Salisbury, the Evangelist, one of the band who maintained a reign of terror at Irontown.

With the extermination of this class, gambling became more orderly and violence was of less frequent occurrence. The law-abiding element in St. Paul gradually compelled the fraternity to adopt quiet methods of running their games and to seek the seclusion of private rooms. Still, at the present time, gambling is extensively carried on in the city, although it seldom appears upon the surface, except in a few instances which will be mentioned below. At the same time it is a notorious fact that, unless in the cases of a few misguided interlopers who have neglected to “square” themselves with the “powers that be,” no gambler is ever arrested or a gaming resort raided by the city police. There are ten or a dozen regular hells located in the very heart of the city, a description of some of which may prove of interest.

The most prominent and prosperous is the “Turf Exchange,” run by a well-known sporting man named Frank N. Shaw. Associated with him in the conduct of this establishment are generally believed to be several citizens who occupy good positions in society, and pose as respectable members of the community. One or two of the suspected parties hold positions of trust under the city government and if they did their duty would suppress the place instead of abetting it. The “Turf Exchange” is known as a pooling room. Pools are sold there on horse races, boat races, ball games, prize fights, elections, and any and all other turnings which offer a chance for a wager. The patrons of the establishment are for the most part clerks from stores and offices, mechanics, and others who work for stipulated wages. Bets are accepted for any sum from $1.00 upward. A favorite method of losing money here is that known as “making combinations.” That is, naming the winners in three horse races, or other sporting events which occur on one and the same day. If a man is lucky enough to hit upon precisely the winning combination, the proprietor pays him heavy odds, but it is readily seen that his chances for so doing are disproportionately small. During the base ball season this resort is crowded by day and night, and a considerable force of telegraph operators is employed in receiving the reports which come in over the wires, and the services of a large staff of assistants is needed in checking up the results on the boards, in selling pools, and keeping the books. The yearly net profits of the Exchange are said to exceed $40,000.

It is only the initiated, however, who are aware that immediately above the pool rooms a gambling hell is in full blast. The up-stairs den is well furnished and the games played include faro, roulette, poker, the wheel of fortune, dice, etc. Not many months ago two fast young men of St. Paul claimed to have lost $1,500 and $1,800, respectively, in this place. They brought suit against Shaw to recover the money. As nothing has been heard of the proceedings since their institution, rumor says that the action has been quietly settled out of court.

Little more than a year ago the pool room was victimized by some adroit sharpers who tapped the telegraph wires, and by withholding messages for a few minutes were enabled to make bets which proved disastrous to the proprietors of the institution. The Western Union was suspected of complicity in the scheme, but a careful watch failed to reveal any crookedness on their part. The tapped wire was finally located, and the plan was found to have been originated by a man whose reputation as a professional “crook” has earned for him the insertion of his photograph in a prominent position in every rogues’ gallery in the country. Strange as it may seem, the sufferers made no effort to bring the sharper to justice. They even shielded him at the time, and are supposed to have protected him from arrest upon a requisition from the governor of Indiana, by giving him secret information. Of course such information could be obtained only from an official source, and one of the city officers who is believed to have an interest in the pool room stands very close to the quarter from which the knowledge might have been had.

Next to the pool room, the gambling establishment which enjoys the largest patronage is that known as Sherwin’s rooms, situated over a saloon on East Seventh Street. Not many years ago one of the proprietors of this place found it convenient to absent himself from St. Paul, owing to his alleged connection with a brawl in which a man lost his life. When public indignation had cooled down, through some mysterious influence brought to bear on the authorities, the genial gamester was allowed to return, and is at present plying his former vocation without molestation.

Not many months since, a desperate affray occurred in those rooms in which a white man was dangerously stabbed. The affair was brought to the notice of the authorities, but no steps were taken to punish the assailant or to close the place. The injured man was an employee of the city, and, in the slang of the streets, “stood in with the gang.” He was easily persuaded not to prosecute the negro, for the reason that such a step on his part would call public attention to the existence of the gambling hell and compel the police to take some action, “for when the ball is once set rolling, you cannot tell when it will stop, you know.” Nearly all the ordinary games of chance are played at Sherwin’s.

In connection with the establishment, refreshments are sold, and if a player should win any considerable sum he is at once surrounded by the harpies, male and female, who urge him to expend his winnings in wine and liquors, and make “a good fellow” of himself. In this way a large percentage of the money lost at the tables is again taken in by the proprietors over the bar.

Another well-known gambling hell is Banigh’s European Hotel, where the usual games are carried on.

Besides the places already mentioned, there are a number of dives of a low character, scattered about the city. Nearly every central thoroughfare contains at least one. Their location is known to every man about town, and it is idle to suppose that the police are ignorant of their existence. On Minnesota Street gambling dens of the lowest description flourish, for the accommodation of the colored population, and where “crap shooting” is the favorite amusement. The police have recently found it necessary to close one of the most disreputable of these resorts, because of the frequency of dangerous brawls which occurred there.

If the category of the gaming resorts above given comprised the whole story of gambling in St. Paul, the tale would not materially differ from that which might be related of nearly every large city. But places of the character described do not constitute one-tenth part of the number of gaming resorts in the city. Out of all the hotels in St. Paul, there are only one or two where gambling is prohibited, and in which the proprietors do not knowingly rent rooms for gaming purposes. These rooms are usually occupied by professionals, who are guests at the hotels, but whose character is well known. Faro and poker are the games most commonly played, and sometimes stakes run up to a considerable amount.

The saloons swell the list of places where this vice is practiced. The bar room which does not permit card playing for money in its back room is a rarity, and sometimes games of no little magnitude are played at these places. When the police are questioned as to the existence of gambling in the city, they invariably reply that they are not aware of its existence within the corporate limits. And while there is no evidence to prove that they do actually know that practices of the sort described are being carried on, to believe that they are ignorant is too severe a strain upon the credulity of the average citizen.

In private clubs there is much gaming and the stakes are often high. It appears, however, to be beyond the police powers conferred by the existing laws to put a stop to this species of gaming. The mania seems to have infected every grade of society from the highest to the lowest. “All sorts and conditions of men” gamble. Young merchants, confidential clerks, trusted book-keepers, wage workers of all descriptions, and even school boys. Men of religious professions form no exception, and a church member is by no means a rara avis at the tables.

No form of gambling is so universally popular or so widely patronized as the Louisiana State Lottery. The head quarters for the State of Minnesota are located in St. Paul. The manager employs a fair sized clerical force to assist him in the distribution of tickets, which are scattered broad-cast wherever it is believed that there is a possibility of their sale. Almost every saloon has a lottery agent, and these men are allowed from 2½ to 7 per cent on their sales. A large proportion of the people who buy these tickets are regular purchasers, and make an investment (usually a permanent one) of from $1.00 to $10.00 every month. Bona fide instances of winning through this species of gambling are exceedingly rare.

The institution, like the gambling dens which curse the city, is also run under cover of the official mantle. About a year ago, an effort was made to break up the business through the indictment of the manager and his assistants by the grand jury of Ramsey County. A number of witnesses were subpoened, but when they were called upon to testify it was discovered that they had been conveniently got out of the way. In consequence, the investigation dropped and anyone who wished to waste his money in a vain attempt to secure a capital prize finds no difficulty in purchasing the ticket which he may select.

The “bucket shop,” pure and simple, is unknown in St. Paul. There is more or less speculative trade in “futures and combinations,” but the total amount is insignificant as compared with the volume of legitimate business—probably at a rough estimate, not exceeding $2,000,000 annually.

Minnesota is not dissimilar to other States of the Union in respect to gambling, but, unlike other Western States and territories, it has achieved an enviable reputation. This is due to two causes, the character of its population, and the nature of its resources and industries. Census statistics show that the greater proportion of the inhabitants are either of Scandinavian or New England descent, neither race of which has, at any time, shown any pronounced disposition to gamble. Possibly this may be accounted for by considerations of climate and geographical location, inducing conditions of life that inculcate lessons of rigid economy and teach the true value of money.

Minnesota being essentially an agricultural State, those incentives to gamble have been lacking which seemed part and parcel of the development of other Western States where mining and “flush times” went hand in hand; where money came easily and went rapidly.

Minneapolis, one of the two chief cities of the State, has always been and yet is the “head centre” of whatever gambling is done in the commonwealth. There, it has always been conducted more on the plan of a regular business enterprise than in the majority of cities throughout the United States; in fact, it has been and is now a complete monopoly, a trust on a small scale, and, like other trusts, it trusts nobody.

Minneapolis is a young town. Its phenomenal growth in the last decade has been marvelous, and one is not surprised to learn that the gambler of Minneapolis, the village, is the gambler of Minneapolis, the thriving city. Gaming has existed under both Democratic and Republican administrations, and politics can be said to have cut little figure in the calculations of the gamblers. It was merely a question whether it should be conducted openly or behind closed doors; whether the general public, or only certain persons, be permitted to cross the threshold and enter the apartments sacred to the use of King Faro, his aids and satellites. The answer to this question has been generally given in accordance with the personal sympathies or political obligations of the city executive.

As previously mentioned, gambling in Minneapolis has always been a monopoly. This monopoly has been known, in the parlance of the town, as the “combination.” This nomenclature saves time and the bother of mentioning the gamblers by name, every one knowing who are meant.

This combination started some years ago and first consisted of Pat Sullivan, an old soldier, and John Flanagan. A little later on, these were joined by Frank Shaw, Mike Shelley, and William Tanner, better known as “Col.” Bill Tanner. Shaw, however, only remained a member a few months. Before the forming of the combination, Flanagan and Sullivan conducted establishments which embraced all known gambling games and devices, and were believed to be conducted strictly “on the square.” This was during the administration of Mayor John De Laittre. That official had spasmodic fits of morality, sporadic attacks as it were, in consequence whereof, Messrs. Sullivan and Flanagan ran the place very quietly, though every now and then the police authorities would make a raid, the tangible result of which was to show that portion of the population which would otherwise have remained ignorant that gambling still existed in Minneapolis, and could be only suppressed or exterminated through the efforts of a zealous mayor, backed by a marvellously acute force of police and detectives.

Mayor Rand allowed the games to be conducted quietly, and did not interfere as long as no complaint of “brace” playing was made.

Under the rule of Mayor A. A. Ames, a fanatic on the question of personal liberty and the right of a man to do as he pleased, irrespective of the rights of the remainder of the community, gambling was conducted “wide open,” with no restrictions save those placed upon it by the gamblers themselves. It was too wide open to suit the majority of the conservative voters and that large element which, though liberal-minded, had some respect for decency and some regard for outward appearances; and at the next election, Mr. George S. Pillsbury, a member of the famous firm of millers and brother of the Governor, was elected mayor, defeating Mayor Ames by a decisive majority.

Under his rule a complete transformation took place. It was from one extreme to the other; the difference between Cimmerian darkness and the bright glare of the noonday sun, could not be more marked than the revolution that occurred in the administration of municipal affairs, and the city was governed on the plan of a small New England village. Square gambling was prohibited, but a notorious brace game was in full blast during the entire Pillsbury administration.

Mr. Pillsbury was a candidate for re-election on the strength of the record made in the cause of pure morals, but he was ignominiously beaten by Dr. Ames. Upon the election of the latter, the change resembled the oscillation of the pendulum from one extremity of its arc, to the other. It was one extreme to the other. Ames proceeded again to enforce his peculiar views on personal liberty. His previous administration had been peculiarly objectionable to the orderly and law abiding citizens, who set about devising methods to check the scheme of “throwing the town wide open.”

Right here a word of explanation concerning the power and authority of the mayor, is essential in order that a proper understanding of the matter may be reached. Under every administration down to the last one of Dr. Ames, the mayor was the head of the municipal government, possessing supreme authority over the police officials, whom he could appoint and dismiss at his own sweet will, without let or hindrance. It can be easily perceived how this privilege might be abused and the power perverted, if not prostituted to unlawful ends. Thus the whole machinery of the law was under the control of one man, resulting in a veritable despotism on a small scale, under which one person, the mayor, was the important factor for good or for evil in the city.

Gamblers, saloon-keepers, and the sporting classes generally, welcomed his election with one accord. City ordinances regulating liquor selling, were to be calmlycalmly 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, asas in all other trades and professions, there are grades. The habitues and customersand 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.

In the meantime, Frank Shaw announced his intention of defying Sullivan and Flanagan and opening up whether they liked it or not, and he too was admitted into partnership. Then Sawyer, who with “Bob” Potee used to run the famous No. 3 Missouri Avenue in Kansas City, appeared on the scene, and declared his intention of corrallingcorralling some of the large profits that rumor said were going into the pockets of the combination. He was permitted to open, paying the combination a certain percentage of the profits. However the screws were gradually put on, and ultimately he was forced out of business in Minneapolis and went to the Pacific coast. Sawyer was anything but popular with either his associates or patrons. He was cold with the former and supercilious toward the latter. Within the last year or so Mike Shelley, a native of Minneapolis and a local sport and saloon-keeper, has become identified with the gambling interests, taking the place of John Flanagan, who has retired on a moderate competence, amassed by a strict attention to business, and the practice of careful domestic economy.

At the present writing, in the year of grace, 1889, gambling is nominally confined to one club, which, however, is really open to the world at large and all mankind. In fact, gaming is just as general as it ever was, except that the combination, instead of running two or three establishments in open defiance of the better class of citizens, now quietly runs but one house and only caters to the moneyed men and clerks, the “dinner-pail brigade” not being considered desirable customers.

Such is a succinct account of gambling in Minneapolis, as the term gambling is generally understood. But other forms of the vice flourish unchecked and unmolested by the authorities. Bucket shops, under the guise of produce exchanges, the “clock,” policy playing, “crap” games, and the sale of lottery tickets run on as though there were no let or hindrance imposed by State law or municipal ordinances. All these enjoy an excellent amount of patronage.

The bucket shops naturally get the largest play, that is to say the heaviest. The immense amount of wheat daily received at the city for consumption by the mills, has made Minneapolis a great grain receiving port, and this fact has doubtless given an impetus to this form of gambling or speculation, as it is more politely termed. The Minneapolis Chamber of Commerce resembles the Chicago Board of Trade, and it is there that the “big guns” try to rob one another on the turn of the market, just as one card sharp tries to fleece another, or a greenhorn, on the turn of a card. Those outside the pale must perforce be satisfied to stake their money in the bucket shops against the Chicago quotations. In the opinion of many reflecting men this is the most pernicious form of the vice, because a large number of eminently respectable people persist in not regarding it as gambling, but consider it as merely a speculation. This delusion blinds many victims who would not for the universe enter a gambling house and put down their money on a fair layout, or bet on the whirl of the roulette wheel. The play against the bucket shops is steady, and it is a cause for wonder where all the money comes from. Margins are continually being wiped out of existence, but the speculators exhibit a recuperative power that is truly astonishing, since after being “knocked out” in one round, they continue to “come up smiling” in the next, and, strange to relate, no instances have been made public of employes who have stolen in order to continue a wild career of speculation, that ultimately ended in flight, prison, or suicide. Either fickle fortune must distribute her favors with comparative impartiality, or speculation does not run riot with that exuberant luxuriance known in many of the large cities. The chief establishment in Minneapolis, that of Pressey, Wheeler & Co., failed about a year ago, not from lack of business, however, but because it was not content with a steady income from the commissions received and became imbued with the idea that it was within the realm of possibility to beat the Chicago Board of Trade. It was a costly experiment; the firm went under, but its business reputation was such that plenty of financial backing was easily secured, and they are now doing business at the old stand, with a third party interested. The minor establishments of this character pursue the even tenor of their way, apparently satisfied with the assured prospect of a comfortable living.

The “clock,” a device worked automatically, which at intervals of half a minute threw out two cards, which were supposed to represent stock or bonds, the lower one showing that the stock fell a certain notch below the previous quotation, and the upper card a like increase, has had a checkered career, but on the whole cannot be said to have made an abundance of money for its owners. In its fundamental principle it resembled the faro bank, but it was a little more trouble to play the game, and its patrons were never very numerous, after the novelty of the thing had worn off. It was beaten out of almost a thousand dollars one day through collusion between a player and the man whose duty it was to place the cards in the clock at the beginning of the day’s work. But this trick has never been repeated, one experience of the sort having rendered the managers cautious in the extreme.

Policy has always been considered the colored man’s game, and 4-11-44 has a familiar sound to thousands of people who have not the faintest conception of the meaning of “saddles” and “gigs.” Its patrons in Minneapolis are confined mainly to negroes, although occasionally a Caucasian will hire a dark-skinned waiter or barber to play a few numbers for him, just to tempt the fickle goddess. It is a difficult matter to get the facts in this particular instance, for the reason that the policy vendors are almost constantly under police surveillance, and a raid is by no means infrequent. This may be attributed to a lack of political influence, and the small proportion of colored people to the entire population.

Craps, a dice game, always a favorite with the colored man and brother and the street gamin, is being introduced into the more aristocratic circles, and has become quite popular as a game of chance. The quaint expressions of “come seven, come eleven,” “where’s my point,” “little Joe,” “big Dick from Boston,” and the like, are now frequently heard from the lips of the high-toned white gamblers as they carelessly toss the dice in the early morning hours, after the regular games are closed. The play at times runs high among the white votaries, but in their hands it lacks the sauce piquante with which the game is flavored by the lowly descendant of Ham.

Minneapolis can boast of a full-fledged pool-room, owned and controlled by Frank Shaw. Since the inauguration of winter racing at New Orleans and the tracks at Guttenburg and Clifton, the place runs during the entire twelve months of the year. The establishment purports to give track odds, but in many instances shortens them materially. The proprietors have decidedly the best of it, for the play is constant, and as it is for small amounts there is but little chance for the house to make any considerable losing on any one book. The bookmakers are very cautious, and refuse big bets on “short horses” for fear they may be worsted through some sort of crookedness. In the books as low a wager as fifty cents is recorded, and in the combination and Paris mutual pools the small sum of twenty-five cents is thankfully accepted. It can be easily seen that the temptation is great to invest a quarter or a half with a bare possibility of having it returned tenfold in the brief space that elapses between the time the shout that “now they’re off,” and the moment when the announcement of the winners is made in the dulcet tones of the telegraph operator. One glance at the habitues of the pool-room shows plainly the folly of attempting to beat the races. The majority of them are poorly dressed, unkempt and frowsy. Every dollar that finds its way into their possession goes straight into the hands of the bookmakers, and hope gradually changes into passive despair, as the names of the leaders of the race are announced, and as the quarters are recorded by the “tick-tick” of the electric instrument. Those, and there are many of them, that have crossed the last ditch and are unable to raise a cent, spend their time in “touting” and importune each newcomer to buy this or that horse, confidently assuring the victim that it would be impossible for him to lose. In the event of their prediction being realized, they get a dollar or so, and proceed to back some “short” horse, on the improbable chance of “making a scratch” and winning several times the paltry amount which they have staked. This lost, the same old process is repeated. It is lose, lose, lose. The bookmaker is a veritable Minotaur, who must be appeased by frequent sacrifices. Honor, friendship, truth and reputation, all go in the futile attempt to gain money without the proper equivalent of hard work. It is pitiful, yet still the law does not interfere, and the work of destruction goes on, fresh recruits being constantly received into the ranks, only to find that instead of being generals, they rapidly degenerate into very ordinary privates, to whom the shelter of the guard-house is a boon. The rarity of Christian charity is amply exemplified daily in this pool-room. No matter how much money a victim may have spent, he would not be given enough to buy a loaf of bread, and he knows this only too well. The owner and employes grow fat and prosper, while the victim dresses in rags, and oft times goes hungry after investing his last half dollar or quarter in a vain endeavor to win back the money that has gone before.

Although the sale of lottery tickets is prohibited by law, and papers are forbidden to print advertisements of lotteries, the statutory provisions are openly violated, at least so far as the sale of tickets is concerned. There is no avowed agent, as is the case in several other cities, but people who wish to invest have no difficulty in securing the tickets without going through the formality of sending their money to New Orleans. There are several saloons whose proprietors are really the representatives of the lottery companies, and would-be purchasers, who are well known, experience no trouble. The drawings are posted in a conspicuous place, so that it is extremely easy to ascertain just how near you have come to drawing the capital prize.prize. This once fell to two Minneapolis citizens who had invested a dollar apiece, and in return received $15,000, less the cost of collection. Numerous small prizes have been drawn at various times, yet the greater portion of the money spent for lottery tickets never comes back in the form of prizes, at least to Minneapolis. But as a well-known Chicago gambler once sagely remarked, “A sucker is born every minute,” and there is no lack of people to buy in the vain effort to get something for nothing.

On the whole, it may be said that while Minneapolis is not so bad as some other cities that might be named, there is nevertheless a wide field for a law and order society that would not be afraid to promote and aid, by all proper methods, the rigid enforcement of the laws against gaming.

In what has been said above, no reference has been made to private gambling. Its constant increase, however, is a fact as certain as it is deplorable. Gentlemen gamble at their clubs and teach the mysteries of poker to their wives, their sisters and their daughters, by their own firesides. Ladies of recognized social position may be found who are as familiar with “jack pots” and “bob tail flushes” as they are with the etiquette of the drawing room. Herein lies the most dangerous menace to the future of the young men of the city. Men who are willing to subscribe liberally toward a fund to be used in the suppression of public gaming seem to be cursed with such an obliquity of moral vision that they are able to see nothing objectionable in playing a “social game for trifling stakes” amid the more refined surroundings of home. If they could but have their eyes opened to the possible consequences of such infatuation, they would hesitate long before they ran the risk of transforming the “home” into a stepping stone in the path to the “hell.”