My 16th Birthday and the Glenn Rendezvous Club
Syndicate Eatery To Open
Gambling's history: Colorful, Nasty, Corrupt
Organized Crime in Interstate Commerce :
My 16th Birthday and the Glenn Rendezvous Club The Glenn Rendezvous was located on July 16, 1939 Covington Gambling Lid Gives Newport a Boom By Three Investigators A Gambler's Paradise is Newport, Ky., Campbell County's largest city, located on the Ohio River across from Cincinnati and adjoining Covington. Covington, which is in Kenton County, is without gambling, at least openly, but gaming rooms formerly were operated there on as extensive a scale as they are now run in Newport. The situation at a glance is just this: Gambling spots in Covington have been closed since April 5, when the "Blue Ribbon grand jury" impaneled by Circuit Judge J. Northcutt, returned 196 indictments, forty-two against James Brink, proprietor of the Lookout House. Nearly all the indictments were for gambling. Prospects are that gambling spots in the county will remain closed for at least four more weeks, pending outcome of the August 5 Democratic primary in which Judge Northcutt is seeking re-election In adjoining Newport, nearly every café and restaurant has slot machines and handbooks are scattered throughout the city. They operate openly. The Beverly Hills Country Club, the State's and probably one of the nation's finest gambling houses, is located there. In one brief day, we were able to find two other gambling houses, operated on an extensive and lavish basis, either one of which is comparable to our neighboring Club Greyhound [an illegal casino in Jeffersonville, Indiana, across the Ohio River from Louisville]. Judge is Responsible And while gaming spots in Covington are closed, the "joints" in Newport are operating with increased business and being patronized by larger crowds. The man responsible for the whole affair is Judge Northcutt, who, since 1934, has waged a one-man battle against gambling in Kenton County, which ironically, has been a boon to the business in adjoining Campbell County. The Lookout House which was built years ago and was a roadhouse, began prospering as a night club and gaming sport in 1934. It was then that Judge Northcutt first began hearing rumors about gambling in the club. Immediately Judge Northcutt made an appeal to the local police officials, but was unable to get the proper results. In all, twelve raids were made but no arrests resulted. On one occasion, State Police raided the Lookout House and confiscated a "hazard table and a bushel basket of chips." "Once I even sought the assistance of some private detectives in Cincinnati," he said. "They agreed to help, but the next day they notified me that they would be unable to give me any cooperation." Knowing the Lookout House was running a gambling room open to the public and advised of the presence of slot machines and hand books in the city's cafes, Judge Northcutt selected the first grand jury to investigate the matter. This report was made June 13, 1936, and the body returned thirty-eight indictments. The report states the grand jury heard "overwhelming evidence that large sums of money have been collected by gamblers in Covington, Ludlow and Kenton County outside of the cities, especially at the Lookout House and its adjunct known as the Schlosser Place. The jury believes it reasonable to estimate that a thousand dollars a day is available for the purchase of immunity for gamblers in Kenton County." Continuing, the jurors compared the county's gambling spots to a "prosperous Monte Carlo" and stated that "perjury alone has prevented us from obtaining enough evidence to indict a number of these [law enforcement officials] for flagrant if not criminal neglect of their duty." No Results Meanwhile, while the grand jury was sitting, court proceedings were brought to enjoin gambling at the Kentucky Grill. They were followed by twenty citizens, who testified that there was gambling and that it was common knowledge. The injunction was granted, never appealed, but the place continued to operate. The injunction handed down, the court tried the thirty-eight defendants in which indictments were handed down but a hung jury resulted and the State never requested the cases reset for trial, according to Judge Northcutt. About this time an injunction suit was brought against the Lookout House and, as in the case against the Kentucky Grill, gambling was enjoined but the place continued to operate. Judge Northcutt said numerous gambling instructions to subsequent grand juries brought no results until the "Blue Ribbon grand jury" reported April 5, 1939, with 196 indictments. Their report resulted in closing of Kenton County's gaming spots. The report recommended that the next grand jury investigate the county's law enforcement officials. Immediately, Judge Northcutt began to make preparations for calling of a special grand jury to investigate the officials, but he was interrupted when, on the day or the arraignment of the prisoners on the 196 indictments, attorneys made a motion to quash because of irregularities in the action of the grand jury. This motion is still pending. Judge Northcut said on three or four occasions he has received threatening letters and twice word has reached him that it would be worth his while to ignore gambling in the county. Once he heard it would be worth $250 a week to him if he would let up. One of the threatening notes was postmarked March 11, 1939, in Louisville. Written with a typewriter on a penny postcard, it read: "Well, John, you show still further that you are not fit to be a Judge of any kind. All the cheap publicity that you ben asking for it show that you are a cheap WARD HEALER. Now Ward Healer John the Folks at the district will give you what is reely coming to you when the proper time come, however you may not finish the present term. Who Know?????" "Kind regards to the rest of the cheap Ward Heeler, and be careful, Judge." "So strong is the gambling element," Judge Northcutt said, "that a youth who testified before the grand jury was beaten and nearly blinded when Gangsters threw ammonia into his eyes." Meanwhile, Judge Northcutt regrets that his drive to destroy gambling in the country has resulted in increased business in the neighboring city. "Why," he says, so jealous are the Covington gamblers that it is rumored the Beverly Hills recent robbery was a reprisal from one of our local gambling groups. The judge told us the gambling element, which came to Kentucky from Detroit and Chicago, brought with it a group of mobsters and gangsters which overran the city. "One group had a Louisville businessman desperate with threats as they attempted to work the badger game on him," the Judge said. [A badger game involves luring a mark into a situation that can subsequently be used for blackmail.] The judge said that a State officer in his report of the gambling situation asked the report to be kept confidential because "I don't want to wake up some morning with a belly full of lead because lead is so hard to digest." Amazed by this tale of gambling and corruption, we thanked the judge and departed for Newport to see for ourselves. Being hungry, we decided to pick out a nice looking grill where we could get lunch. We found an attractive restaurant. After seating ourselves in the grill room, we ordered lunch and proceeded to listen to the a radio over which a play-by-play description of the Cincinnati-Pittsburgh ball game was being called. Suddenly we heard: "They're off at Latonia." We left out chairs and walked over into the adjoining barroom. There, seated at a table adjacent to the street door, we saw a red-faced robust man, racetrack rundown sheets and racing forms before him and a radio nearby. It was over his radio that the call had come. Even though we had been warned that we would find things in just such a condition, we failed to hide the surprise we felt. The operator asked what was the matter and we informed him that we were from Louisville, where even the rear room handbooks were destroyed by police. He laughed. "Here," he said, "You will find that most of the small restaurants and cafeterias have handbooks. You may eat your meals and either listen to the ball game or bet on race horses. After listening to the running of several races - a pleasure which had been denied to us in Louisville for several months - we walked over to the corner and began playing a slot machine, for the place had several machines lining the wall. (We recently authored an article in which it was asserted that persons playing slot machines had little or no chance to win.) The Yorkshire Grill After eating our meal - we found it rather hard with the constant blaring of "they're off at Arlington" or "Mcormick hit a double scoring a run" - we decided to ride out to the Yorkshire Grill, 518 York. Entering the grill, we bought a drink and played a few moments at a group of slot machines which were lined up, back to back, in the middle of the room. Noticing a couple of swinging doors in the rear, we took a chance and walked through them. A small man, with a mousy appearance, apparently noticed that we were looking around rather closely and asked us if we were looking for the men's room. We said we were, and left. Returning to the gaming room, we discovered that it was furnished with modernistic leather chairs, contained two large dice tables along the left wall, a black jack table near the door as you enter the room, and a chuck-a-luck table adjoining the card game. [Chuck-a-luck uses a simple cage containing three dice. Players have the option of betting on the numbers (1-6). If one of the numbers you bet on come up once, you get paid even money. If one of your numbers come up twice you get paid 2-1. Should your number come up three times, you get paid 3-1. The house odds are so good that virtually no current gaming authority will allow it.] But No Music Along the rear wall were a number of racetrack boards. Persons were lined up before the boards listening to the calling of the last race at Latonia. Having the plant well in mind, we left the room and walked several blocks to the famous Glenn Hotel, 928 Monmouth. The outside of the hotel is very plain and shows the age of the building, which is almost a landmark in town. Entering, we found ourselves in a rather dark and cramped lobby. Walking several feet, we were in the grill. Looking around, we were accosted by a shirt-sleeved man, apparently the manager, who asked us what we wanted. "Have you any evening entertainment?" we asked "We used to have music but we done away with it," he replied. Still looking around, we said: "We're from Louisville and were told we might have a good evening's entertainment." By now our eyes had lighted on a couple of swinging doors leading from the right of the room. "Maybe you would like to see our club room," he asked. We assented and passed through the doors. We found we had walked into the most pretentious gambling rooms of our experience, and that takes in Indiana's Browns, Gorge, Club Greyhound, and several places in New Orleans. To the left of the room, placed on a large balcony, were a blackjack game and a dice table. Very few persons stood around the card table, but the crowd stood two-deep at the dice table. On the main floor was a dice table, blackjack and chuck-a-luck tables. This wall, as in the Yorkshire, was lined with racetrack boards. However, by now the crowds had departed and only the trash on the floor was left to tell of the crowd that had stood eagerly awaiting the results of the holiday cards. "The room isn't too big, but it is nice if you like to gamble," the man stated. "We keep it air-cooled and will show you a good time." Robbed Twice Promising to return, we departed and started for the Beverly Hills Country Club, which is located on the outskirts of Newport. Approaching our destination, we saw huge neon signs telling us of the fine, expensive floor located within. Driving up a long roadway, bordered by electric lamps and a huge chain - the club is situated at the top of a large hill - we drove up to the doorway, turned our car over to the doorman, received a check, and entered. Walking to the rest room, we struck up a conversation with the Negro boy. He told us the Club was three and a half years old and said the large, rambling brick home, adjacent to the club, belongs to the club's proprietor, Glen Schmidt, who, he said, personally buys all the food for the kitchen at the club. Jumping from one topic to another, we were informed that the club had been robbed twice, never raided, and shut down during seasonal intervals when business was bad. The first robbery occurred a year ago and netted $9,000,a nd the most recent several weeks ago. It netted about $11,000 we were told. "Mr. Schmidt had gone to the market and the club was deserted when the armed robbers took the place," the Negro said. "The bookkeeper had just opened the safe and was preparing to take the money to the bank when the men entered. If they had come at night, you can bet they wouldn't have gotten any money," he stated. Leaving the washroom, we entered the outer lobby, which embraces a luxurious bar. It was packed with perspiring and well-dressed persons, seeking to curry favor with Lady Luck. The walls of the room were lined with slot machines - twenty-nine in all - including nickel, quarter, half-dollar and dollar devices. Players stood before each machine and the air was filled with the din caused by the clang of the device being set in motion. Seldom was the clatter interrupted by the jingling of returning coins to victorious players. However, we noticed one woman hit three oranges and received ten silver dollars on the dollar machine. It surprised us at that. We didn't know there were enough silver dollars in existence to operate two one-collar machines. Crowd Surrounds Tables Walking from the dining room through a door over which a neon sign reading "Club Room" glittered, we climbed a stairway and walked into the gaming rooms. The gambling room was crowded, and at first glance, it was hard to tell just what was going on in the room, it was in such a state of confusion. An investigation disclosed the four dice tables, four roulette wheels, a money wheel, chuck-a-luck and black jack tables were in operation and all were surrounded by a crowd. And in the crowd we discovered a host of Louisville and Jefferson County acquaintances, persons holding private and official positions. Among them we discovered city officials, local detectives, and a prosecutor, all trying their luck. The money wheel being nearest to the door, we stopped and found the game, in which bets from a quarter up may be made on different numbers which pay odds in proportion to the frequency with which they appear on the wheel, being played chiefly by women. We noticed a flashily dressed, redheaded woman, formerly employed at the Club Greyhound as a shill, seated at the end of the table. She won and lost her bets with little apparent concern as her eyes wandered round the room. $5 Minimum Two other women, their faces showing concern as they were greeted with success amd more frequent failure, sat at the end of the table and pooled their money. One of them was heard to remark, "If we lose much more we will have to hitch-hike home." Moving to the next table, we found the black jack dealer turning all of the players' cards face up and one of his face down. Surprised, we turned to a well dressed woman standing alongside and remarked that where we came from, the Greyhound, they didn't play that way. "Oh, you must be mistaken, that is where we used to do our gambling and they sometimes played the game that way there. You see, the player knows whether the majority of cards out are low of high," she advised us. Thanking her, we moved on to the chuck-a-luck table where, just as at the dice and black jack table, the smallest bet was a dollar and not less than $5 worth of chips could be purchased. We noticed a nice looking white haired woman, who would have looked more at home at a church social, playing chuck-a-luck. As she cashed in her chips - $40 worth - she had to call the cashier's attention to the fact that he only gave her $35. Such occurrences were frequent. From there we went to the roulette wheels, all closely aligned. At each table, groups of women sat in serious and studious attention. The women - nary a man was playing at either of the four tables - were having average luck. Instead of betting the numbers, the players were playing odd and even, and red and black, but even then, 0 and 00 came up on the wheels at frequent intervals and the house took all the bets. No dimes Like all of the other tables, the minimum amount of chips one could purchase was $5, even though the chips were only 10 cents each. One woman leaned over the table and put a dime on a number only to have it picked up and returned to her by the gamekeeper. Our attempt to buy $1 worth of chips also failed. Walking to the dice tables, where the players, predominantly men, were standing two and three deep, we met a Louisville friend who warned us that "I am told that if you just win a little up here and leave the table it is all right, but if you try to win a lot they will throw in bad dice on you." Thanking him, we started watching. We noticed players frequently threw $20 and $50 bills on the tables and asked for chips. One Louisville player approached us and said that he had been cheated of $4. "I was betting on a nine, the man made nine, and they refused to pay off. They said I was betting on a five." He asserted. About this time, the photographer complained the room was full of guards who mingled in the crowd and appeared to be watching him, although his small camera was hidden under his coat. We advised him we couldn’t help that and went back to work. The croupiers' shouts of "they're coming out, all bets down," caught out attention. "Four is the point. Get your bets down," he said. Throughout all this, the croupiers' assistants at each of the tables were kept busy removing bets and paying off with each roll of the dice. We were enjoying this when we received a tap on the back from a young man, not more than 18, who asked if we were playing. Being only kibitzers, we relinquished out place to the youth, who threw a $20 bill on the table and asked for $5 in chips. Returning to the money wheel, we were met by a Louisville detective who truck up a conversation. He told us of the attempt of two Louisville men to take advantage of the ease and success with which gambling resorts operated in Newport Dropped $7,500 According to the other officer, two Louisvillians opened a gaming spot in Newport. The gaming proprietors, who work together, apparently resented the intrusion. Obtaining the cooperation of the outfit supplying race results, the Newport men arranged to have the results withheld for several minutes from the new gaming house. Other persons were given the results so that they might make bets at the new spot. At the end of a few weeks, the Louisvillians were sadder but wiser. They returned to Louisville minus $7500, and with their only remaining piece of equipment, a dice table, on the back end of a truck. We left, danced a few steps in the dining room, paid our bill, and departed, after first producing the car stub and a receipt showing we paid our check. Driving on through Newport to Covington, we entered a number of small restaurants but were unable to find a slot machine in operation. Entering the Lookout House, we were informed that the gambling rooms were closed tight and had been for some time. The club was being operated at a 60 per cent loss in the hope that it might weather bad times for four or five more weeks until the primary is held, a musician said. It was explained it was hoped that Judge Northcutt might be defeated and the gambling permitted again. "Why," we were told, "since our gambling has been stopped we haven't been able to draw any business. IT is all going to the Newport joints." Leaving, we entered our car and departed. There has rarely been any problem about betting a buck or buying a babe in Newport, Ky., a red-brick town just a nine-minute, $1.35 cab ride across the Ohio River from Cincinnati. The town's traditions trace back to the female followers who camped around the local U.S. Army barracks in the 19th century. Since then, Newport has developed such a gaudy brand of gambling and prostitution that it stands today as one of the nation's most blatant sin centers. Thoughtful Newport grocers used to keep stools handy so the local tots could climb up to play the slot machines. Cincinnati high school kids came roistering across the river to take advantage of the whorehouse specials: $1 for the prostitute, $1 for the madam. When one statistics-minded citizen clocked the trade at New port's biggest brothel, he discovered that the eleven girls averaged a new customer every seven minutes from noon Saturday until 6 a.m. the following Monday. The town had its spattering of killings, but they were generally shrugged off as "self-defense." One Easterner was shot in selfdefense—while sound asleep. Old Virtues & New. As the years passed, Newport—like any limited-industry town—hustled to keep up with the times. Newporters claim that the pari-mutuel machine was developed there. Gamblers from coast to coast discovered that Newport was a place where they could "lay off" their bets (i.e., get well-heeled Newport gamblers who would cover all or parts of bets too big for the ordinary bookie to handle). Some 45 phone lines run into the Tropicana Club, where the layoff headquarters is in Room 315. One bar accepts as much as $75,000 a day in layoff bets alone. In all, Newport's take from gambling and other forms of assorted vice now amounts to $25 million a year. Though the price has soared to $20, prostitution is still so common that bartenders seldom go through the formality of selling a customer a drink, merely shrug: "The girls are upstairs." A man can still lose his wad in the gambling joints that wink with neon along York and Monmouth Streets and glow softly in the bottom land down by the river. And though three whorehouses Lave recently flourished within a block of the station house, Newport's police still look on their town with innocent eyes. "I never seen gambling at the Tropicana," Detective Pat Ciafardini has testified. "As for clear-off or layoff betting, or whatever you call it, I don't know nothin' about it." Attempted Pass? Of course, Newport has its share of reform-minded citizens. Inevitably, they have launched many a reform movement—with little success. "The reformers don't stay around here," says Lawyer Daniel W. Davies. "They catch too much hell from the merchants. Everybody expects a little gambling, a little vice. Everybody's liberal around here." Last week a latter-day reformer was about to be liberalized out of business before he even got started. He was George Ratterman, 34, father of eight and a onetime T-formation quarterback who was a bench-riding substitute for Johnny Lujack at Notre Dame, then for Otto Graham on the National Football League's Cleveland Browns. Although in his playing days he had never been noted for confining his antics to the football field, Ratterman was thrust forward as the candidate for sheriff by a local reform group called the Committee of 500. But fortnight ago. Newport's cops found Ratterman bedded down with a Brillo-haired stripper named April ("I'm an exotic dancer"') Flowers in Room 314 of the Tropicana. This week April testified that Ratterman was trying to complete a pass when the cops showed up. Ratterman maintained that he had been drugged and framed. After a trial of five days, he was cleared on evidence that April's lawyer had been involved in a plan to photograph an unidentified man at the Tropicana under circumstances suspiciously similar to those that plagued Ratterman. This week a county grand jury will start poking into Newport, and next month a federal grand jury in Lexington will take up the chase with the backing of Attorney General Robert Kennedy himself. December 7, 2008 The restaurant in the landmark Syndicate closed two years ago. Owner Sharon Forton focused on the catering and banquet hall. The restaurant Mokka used space in the Syndicate before moving next door last month. The success of the banquet hall gave Forton the confidence to reopen the restaurant. "We took some time to focus on getting the banquet business built up," Forton said. "Now we have time to put into the restaurant." The restaurant will open Dec. 17 and will host a New Year's Eve bash along with country radio station B105. Forton expects about 1,000 people to attend. Forton envisions the piano bar, dance floor and menu drawing a diverse group of people enjoying a night on the town. Forton said she will have live musicians and DJs performing. "Once the restaurant is done serving, it will become like a club," Forton said. "The dance floor is huge. There are still a lot of people that want to dance and are not necessarily in their 20s." The 50,000-square-foot building has served as a vibrant night spot since The décor retains a 1940s nostalgia with a "The dining room is done in some rich colors," Forton said. "It is pretty incredible. The original Syndicate restaurant had a gangster theme. When it was redone, it was more of a The menu will feature staples of the catering menu and new additions, including several Italian dishes, she said. The dining room will be open from 5 to 10 or 11 p.m. Monday through Saturday and serve brunch on Sundays, Forton said. Forton bought the Syndicate in 2005 after she had worked there for 10 years. "As the economy gets difficult, people still need to be entertained," Forton said. "You can come in here and not spend a lot of money." The Saturday Evening Post of March 26, 1960 James A. Maxwell The Rev. Dudley Pomeroy, a Baptist pastor of In early 1959 a number of Protestant ministers and highly respectable, churchgoing laymen of The reason for this seeming departure from rectitude became known in February when the clergymen and parishioners, representing the Social Action Committee of the Newport Ministerial Association, appeared before the Campbell County Grand Jury to seek indictments of The testimony presented against the officials was voluminous and detailed. Gambling was flourishing openly throughout the town. State and city laws governing the sale of alcoholic beverages were being flouted. Prostitution, or at least solicitation—the investigation was understandably incomplete in this area, was prospering with almost no police interference. These conditions, the witnesses said, were a matter of common knowledge—numerous newspaper reports were introduced to support this contention—and because the city fathers had done nothing to correct the situation, they had obviously and deliberately failed to carry out their oaths of office. Impeachment was therefore, demanded. To the astonishment of almost no one familiar with the customs and mores of this northern “I wish those guys had been thinkin’ that way when they had me up there on a burglary rap,” one accused malefactor is reported to have said wistfully while reading a newspaper in his cell the next day. In taking a lenient view of The 1920’s were The brothels of Although the city has become considerably more circumspect since that time, the citizens have never shown a burning desire for a radical change in the basic modus vivendi. The experience of the most recent reform movement is typical. In the November, 1949, election a group of candidates won the approval of the voters with a mild “clean-up-but-don’t-close-up-Newport” platform. However, when the new officials took over, they found that the gamblers, café owners and liquor dealers, long accustomed to unfettered operation, fretted under even such minor restrictions as legal closing hours and no sales on Sunday. Soon the regulations were being generally ignored. After several months of dismal failure to achieve minimum regulation, the authorities reached the unhappy conclusion that the only way to clean up the city was to close it up. Gambling laws were enforced, and all of the major casinos were shuttered. This uncomfortable situation was permitted to exist only until the next municipal election in 1951, when the reformers were ejected from office by an overwhelming vote. There has been no organized political movement to alter “If we don’t go too far, we can clamp down on prostitution and maybe do something about after-hours sales of liquor without raising much fuss,” one Yet, in this unprepossessing setting, gambling is estimated to be a $20,000,000-a-year business. Employment is high. One out of every 145 adult residents holds a fifty-dollar “gambler’s stamp” issued by the Federal Government, and this ratio includes only those who work with the numbers pool or accept bets on racing or other sporting events. The numerous persons who operate the crap tables, roulette wheels and similar on-premises games are not required to have stamps and are, therefore, officially uncounted. Despite the vast amounts of money which change hands within its one and half square miles of municipal territory, Economically For newspapers, There is considerable validity to this belief. Relations between “If those bridges ever fall down some night,” one resident of At the moment, though, the bridges are still firmly in place, and The Yorkshire Club and its nearby neighbor, the Flamingo, are typical of the more elaborate institutions. Each is large and fairly attractive in an overglossy fashion, and the The Flamingo’s casino, which differs only in detail from the Because competition is stiff there are a number of places which operate as night clubs, complete with floor shows, to entice the customers. The best of these is the The adjoining casino has nothing so crass as blackboards and racing entries. In this oddly quiet, well-decorated room, the customer walks on deep-pile carpet, is soothed by soft unobtrusive music and, if he tires of or is beaten by roulette, dice, blackjack or chuck-a-luck, he can sit at a comfortable table at one end of the room and revive his spirits with drinks and sandwiches served by sympathetic and understanding waiters. Even if he happens to be there on a Friday night, when the casino is usually jammed—most of the business is done on weekends—there will be little noise to disturb his contemplation. Patrons line the various brilliantly lighted tables and place their bets, throw dice, murmur a request for a card from the blackjack dealer, all with blank faces and lack of animation. The sound of the equipment in operation, the click of chips and the low, monotone voices of croupiers are the only audible evidence that one is not in the reception room of a funeral home. On a less elegant scale is the Glen Rendezvous in The casino at Glen Rendezvous is livelier and much smaller than Slot machines, which once were to be found in abundance in However, I did encounter a row of mechanical pirates at the Copa Club, a huge, barnlike establishment which features leading Negro acts. There were, of course, other forms of gambling for those who like to have company while losing money. Although Newport has its full quota of “bust-out joints”—establishments where the dice exhibit the training of Seeing-Eye dogs and the backs of cards convey as much as the fronts to the dealer—most of the larger places zealously guard their reputations for honesty, maintain the decorum of a church social in the casinos and make no effort to lure casual visitors into the games. However, the Silver Slipper, a major establishment on The attendant at the table presents the patron with a key ring or ball-point pen and then generously offers two free throws of the dice to the visitor. These are not ordinary cubes, but Egyptian dice, eight-sided affairs with a number on each facet. The visitor rolls the dice, and the croupier adds up the numbers which appear on top. “Four-seven-nine-thirteen-sixteen-eighteen-twentytwo-twentysix,” he intones at a speed rivaling that of a calculating machine. The eight dice are placed in the cup before the average player has totaled more than three of them. The attendant points to a chart bearing numbers which rests on the table, and the lucky player finds that he has won two dollars. A few moments later the game becomes more complicated. Some totals, it seems, are neither winning nor losing numbers, but simply require the house to double the amount the player may potentially win; but he, in turn, must also double his bet. Before long the situation becomes feverish. The stack of possible winnings is now enormous, but so is the amount of money the player has already lost in an attempt to win the big prize. He is further unnerved by his complete inability to do mental arithmetic at one tenth the awesome rate of the croupier. A few moments later, just as the player is within a half point of taking the grand prize, he makes the horrible discovery that his wallet is empty. Is he finished now that a small fortune is within his grasp? Not at all. Suddenly another pleasant man, apparently equipped with some kind of fiscal radar, is at the player’s side offering to extend credit upon the presentation of proper credentials. The player receives his financial transfusion, and he’s back in the game—for a while. Later there is a check to be signed when he finally gives up. Not long ago a salesman who lives in “We all seemed to be hypnotized,” he said in a disbelieving tone when he told me of the incident later. “I’m no gambler—I’d never lost more than ten dollars before in my life—and there I was playing for more money than I could possibly afford to lose. And the funny part is, neither my wife nor my parents tried to stop me. They must have been as dazed as I was.” The morning after the experience, the salesman decided he’d been fleeced and ordered his bank to stop payment on the check. His wife and, to a lesser degree, he were worried about possible retribution from the gamblers; but so far he hasn’t received even a telephone call asking him to make good on the check. Most of the big gamblers in To be sure, there are occasional publicized protests, but these, while embarrassing can usually be ignored or strangled with bureaucratic red tape. To guard against the unlikely possibility of an intractable grand jury’s seeking firsthand evidence, the gamblers simply store their equipment whenever the jury’s in session and take a vacation. But the problem was somewhat more awkward in 1951 when Estes Kefauver’s Senate Committee to Investigate Organized Crime in Interstate Commerce took an interest in The committee first established the scope of gambling in northern Next, the committee called in some For example, George Gugel, who has been chief of police in Newport since 1946, said that he was astounded at the testimony that there was gambling in his fair city. Rudelph Halley, chief counsel of the committee, asked the police chief if he wasn’t familiar with the fact that any local cab driver could take a customer to a gambling emporium in a matter of minutes. Gugel said humbly that never in his life had he ridden in a taxi. After several equally unrewarding exchanges, Halley asked with some awe, “Would you be surprised to know there is gambling going on?” “For me, yes, because I’ve never been in there,” Gugel said virtuously. “All I know is what somebody told me.” A curious incident which took place a few years later revealed that during the interval Chief Gugel had become at least partially acquainted with the seamier side of his city. Some background information will be helpful in understanding what follows. It seems that for years the police force and the detective bureau had operated more or less independently and coordination of activities was often lacking. In any case, detective Jack Thiem, for reasons still unknown, decided to raid Glenn Schmidt’s Playtorium, one of When Thiem and his companion burst into the casino, the officer was astonished and embarrassed to find Chief Gugel and three detectives from Thiem’s own office among those present. The photographer, of course, snapped a picture of the encounter, but it never saw publication. Gugel immediately placed the cameraman under arrest and destroyed the film. Gugel was briefly suspended from his job, less because of his choice of divertissement than because of the uproar the newspapers created over his highhanded treatment of a member of the press. Thiem was summarily fired, presumably for gross infraction of fraternal courtesy. Because Gugel, detective chief Leroy Fredericks, the mayor and the city commissioners had proved to be something less than effective allies, the reform-minded Social Action Committee attempted for some time to interest state officials in a cleanup of Newport. Thus far the men in In the summer of 1958, for instance, The Louisville Times ran a series of articles about wide-open gambling in With Governor Chandler’s door firmly closed, the reformers tried another tack a few months later. As do most states, State commissioner Alfred Portwood was, if possible, even less helpful than the governor had been. “They [the newspapers and other complainers] are painting a picture that does not exist there,” Portwood said. His investigators had looked into the complaints, he continued, “but we did not find any evidence to prove the information that was reported.” Since this second defeat in Mayor Alfred G. Maybury, who left office on January 1, 1960, was especially sensitive on this point because, in an incautious moment during a campaign, he once promised to take exactly that step. In 1958 he became so unnerved by demands that he fulfill his pledge that he said he was delegating the authority to call the state police to city manager Oscar Hesch. Hesch, who had served both as mayor and city commissioner of Newport, is an experienced hand at tossing hot political potatoes, and he immediately heaved it back with a note from the city solicitor to the effect that certain of the mayor’s powers, including the right to yell for help, can’t be relinquished to a deputy. The unwanted authority remained stuck on a hall ceiling midway between the mayor’s and the city manager’s offices. The Social Action Committee remains astonishingly good-natured in spite of its frustrations, setbacks and complete lack of progress. “We knew when we started out that we couldn’t change things overnight,” Christian Seifried, the chairman, says mildly. “But eventually we’ll win.” Seifried, who has lived most of his life in He is, however, a man with strong religious convictions and, in the course of delivering mail, he has daily contact with a number of In 1956 he decided the time had come and he went to the Rev. Harold Barkhau of the Northern Kentucky Association of Protestant Churches with his plan. The Social Action Committee was then formed with a minister and two laymen representing each of the Protestant churches in “We first wrote to J. Edgar Hoover for advice on our problem,” Seifried said, “and he told us that our main job in the beginning was to bring conditions to the attention of the public. I think we’ve done fairly well with that.” He smiled ruefully. “I can’t say the results have been very impressive so far, thought,” he added. Gambling's history: Colorful, Nasty, Corrupt In the late 1940s, working as a Kentucky State Alcohol Board field agent was a pretty good gig. There was a certain agent working But the agent lived pretty well. Adjusting for inflation, his net worth was $344,000, he lived in a $207,000 house that was paid off and he owned two cars, stocks and bonds. So how did he did own so much while making so little? The answer is in a U.S. Senate inquiry into organized crime that became known as the Kefauver Hearings, named for the Tennessee Democrat, Estes Kefauver, who led the probe in the early 1950s. As I write this column, I was just interested in what it was like back then. For local history buffs or those with similar interests, I suggest logging on to an Internet search engine, typing in "Kefauver hearings" and then taking a trip back to a different place I have come to know, as a political writer and 26-year resident, as a law-and-order bastion of conservatism. The hearings, fictionally recreated in "The Godfather II," were conducted in The hearing that touched on Northern Kentucky gambling was held in mid-January of 1951 in In the days after World War II, the money was flowing and the graft was pervasive across the region. According to the Senate committee's final report, our liquor agent confided in a Testifying before the committee, the agent explained that when he came across a bar that also offered illegal gambling - and at the time more than 100 bars in "We are not instructed to interfere with them," he said, "and have not been doing so." More than 1,500 slot machines were operating in Across the Licking River in Even local officials claimed to be surprised by the size and scope of the gambling. William J. Wise, the Many of the operators were members of the Cleveland Syndicate, which had set up shop in Those who got in the way of the mob invited trouble, intimidation and violence. A civic leader who was spearheading a campaign against gambling was repeatedly threatened. Twice, garbage cans full of "filth" were hurled through the plate-glass front door of his home. A group of gamblers known as the "Tavern Owners Association" promised to discontinue giving money for a local hospital drive unless civic and church leaders fighting gambling were "persuaded to lay off." The gamblers eventually were pressured to move out of town by reformers, clean politicians, muckraking reporters and committed law enforcement. Places like The comparisons between illegal, mob-controlled gambling and the type of casinos being proposed today - highly regulated operations owned by publicly traded companies - are unfair and hardly apt. But mention the potential of casinos returning to CRIME IN MEDIUM-SIZE CITIES
My father, Robert 'Bobby' Davis was a 'buck and wing' dancer during the vaudeville days, and later an assistant to Newport mayor Fred McClaine, yet as with several other family members, was always involved in show business. In the early 1930's he became MC of the Glenn Rendezvous, at the time a palace of gambling, live entertainment, and fine food.
As a young girl, I started dancing at the Glenn Rendezvous with my sister Marian, and we were billed as the Davis Sisters, and later on as a trio with a young Doris Day. For my sweet 16th birthday my Father threw a huge celebration at the Glenn Rendezvous, this would be in 1935. Since my father was involved in politics, the party was attended by most
We played local clubs like the Cat and the Fiddle, where the stage would rise up from underneath, and we were dressed as Chinese girls in a production called '
About a month after my 16th birthday, my Father passed away after coming down with pneumonia and having a massive heart attack. I'll never forget the day he died, Marian and I were at home alone, and our screams actually brought him back to life for a few more hours, he was only 42 years old. Our lives changed after that, money was tight, my mother went to work at a shoe factory, now a widow with 3 kids, the youngest our brother Murph who was only 6 at the time. I danced for a few more years, with my sister Marian moving onto
The years passed, From the March 7, 2006 MySpace page of “Bud Light” Dottie an 89 year old lady from
The Louisville Courier Journal
Off at Latonia
Time Magazine
May. 26, 1961
Sin Center
Syndicate Eatery To Open
Historic night spot sticks with
Kefauver Committee
Final Report
Aug. 31, 1951
to Investigate Organized Crime
in Interstate CommerceKENTUCKY
About 100 persons were observed in the
The fact is that
The committee had held hearings in
The committee found that the city of
The committee's investigators visited the Beverly Hills Country Club, the Latin Quarter, the Yorkshire Club, and the Alexandria Club, all in
At the
In
The committee conducted open hearings in
In March 1050, a meeting was held in
We who have met and conferred concerning commercialized organized gambling and law enforcement conditions in
This pledge subsequently turned out to be meaningless as far as the public officials were concerned. Six months later, a news article reported that
On January 22, 1951, shortly after the committee's hearings in Cleveland, the Kenton.
A representative of the Kenton County Protestant Association spent 55 minutes before the grand jury giving testimony about three dozen places that were violating the law. He told the grand jury he had seen slot machines and other gambling in practically all of these establishments, but the grand jury and the commonwealth attorney manifested no interest in the documentary he had with him and no indictments were returned. As soon as the grand jury adjourned, gambling was resumed.
Frequent threats of bodily harm were made against a civic leader who was spearheading a campaign against the gambling interests. Also, the plate glass front door of his home twice has been the target for containers of filth. On one occasion, gamblers operating through the Tavern Owners Association which had made a pledge of $52,000 toward the local hospital building drive, to be paid at the rate of $1,500 a month, threatened to discontinue payments on the pledge unless those promoting the campaign against gambling were persuaded "to lay off."
W. Sharon Florer, executive secretary of the Kenton County Protestant Association, testified that two large industrial concerns that would have employed hundreds of persons refused to locate plants in or around
Leonard J. Connor, sergeant at arms of the-Kentucky State Senate since 1942, member of the elections commission for
This public official further testified that his income from gambling far exceeded that from his bar. He estimated that the handbook averaged a gross of about $1,300 a week in race-track bets and that the slot machines were good for $6,000 to $7,000 a year. Asked if he intended to open up again, Connor replied that he hadn't made up his mind, he was "just waiting."
Testimony of the most amazing character was received from Theodore Hageman, field agent for the Kentucky State Alcohol Board. Mr. Hageman insisted that operation of a gambling establishment or the commission of any other violation of law was no basis for refusing a liquor license. The form of application for a liquor license or renewal contains a question whether there are any gambling or any gambling devices on the premises. Hageman testified that "almost 100 percent" of the applicants answer this question in the affirmative.
Where gambling is found on licensed premises, Mr. Hageman said, "We are not instructed to interfere with them, and have not been doing so." He maintained that the board never suspends licenses for gambling alone, although it may sometimes be included in general charges of disorder. He does not consider it his duty to bring gambling violations to the attention of the alcoholic beverage control board.
Hageman acknowledged that he had been active in political campaigns including one in 1950 of which he was chairman. He admitted he collected between $7,500 and $8,000 from liquor licensees "who desire to make contribution" and he estimated that 20 or 25 licensees had come through with donations.
Hageman's present salary is $3,840 a year and he testified that the most he ever earned was during his tenure as city manager of
Hageman's testimony was especially interesting in the light of what the committee was told by John J. Moloney, who became a city commissioner in
Mr. Moloney said that he gradually became aware of the presence of the
Next, Mr. Moloney wrote a letter to the city manager demanding that the gamblers be forced to cease operations and to move their equipment out of the city. An order to this effect was issued by the city manager but there was only partial compliance on the day fixed for the cessation. At about the same time, Mr. Moloney was approached by a friend, who said he had been authorized to tell Moloney that he could have complete control of the police department, all hiring, firing, and promotions, and could also have the final word on all hiring and firing in the gambling establishments if he would terminate his campaign to drive out gambling.
Mr. Moloney refused and continued thereafter to try to persuade his colleagues on the commission to go along with his campaign for a clean-up. But he has been completely ignored in this effort. Mr. Moloney testified that he was told that the mayor was to receive $150 a week, the commissioners $100 a week, and the city detectives $150 a month, if they would not interfere with gambling.
Mr. Moloney also related to the committee the story of a police officer who seized two slot machines in a
In February of this year, Mr. Moloney received another indirect approach and this time a figure of $50,000 was mentioned. Whether this was a bona fide offer Mr. Moloney was unable to determine. He frequently received telephone calls threatening him for his activities and he produced two anonymous letters which had been sent to him. One of these said, "This is a warning. You had better not close
Judge Joseph Goodenough of the
Judge Goodenough asserted that the crime record of
Admitting that there are never any prosecutions under the felony statute for gambling, Judge Goodenough could not explain why grand juries refused to indict. He admitted that it might be possible to indict the
Mr. Quill, in his testimony, admitted his authorship of the report of the May grand jury. The committee found it difficult to reconcile obviously contradictory portions of the report. In one section, the grand jury observed that "gambling had gone haywire" in the county, and in another it said that "at the time of our original convening, the only gambling in the county was slot machines and handbooks." Requested to explain the grand jury's failure to do anything about conditions it recognized had existed, Mr. Quill claimed that the grand jury felt it "unjust and inequitable" to return indictments for conduct that had been acceptable for years.
The following colloquy between Senator O'Conor, chairman of the committee, and Mr. Quill throws interesting light on the attitude of this enforcement officer:
Q. Mr. Quill, you are an experienced prosecuting officer and a man of wide experience generally, having been in the legislature and otherwise. It is very apparent that you are quite conversant with conditions generally and you are a man of ability. * * * I am asking you for a simple fact, whether you do not agree with us that widespread gambling activities such as have been shown here to have existed and are admitted could not exist without the connivance and the protection of law-enforcement officials.* * * * * * *
A. I would say permitted or suffered to happen. I know I tolerated a good bit of it simply because it had been there since I was born and I knew that was the way the community had grown and that is what it had all these years. I felt to improve that condition takes not only law enforcement but takes education.* * * * * * *
Q. Mr. Quill, wouldn't you think also that such widespread gambling operation with a large amount of money being realized from the operations could easily lead to corruption and to graft on the part of the police and other enforcement officials?
A. I certainly think it could, sir, yes, and maybe in many cases does.
Q. And do you think it might have possibly existed in this case?
A. I would certainly say it was within the realm of possibility.* * * * * * *
Mr. Quill admitted that he had never made any effort to subpena the partnership books and records of the Lookout House in
Mr. Quill said he had no idea that the profits of this establishment ran so high until they were dug up and publicized by this committee.
Mr. Quill told the committee that when he first became commonwealth attorney "there was very little sympathy" for enforcement of gambling laws, but that, as a result of this committee's exposure of the Lookout House as a syndicate operation, "people became exercised and the laws are easy to enforce now." He was reminded that the people were exercised as far back as 1939, as evidenced by the injunction that nobody bothered to enforce. His reply was that this was an action brought by the attorney general of
Mr. Quill asserted that gambling at the Lookout House ceased after the committee's Cleveland hearings and that he would have pressed contempt proceedings under the injunction had operations there continued. He professed to have no personal knowledge of gambling at the Lookout House since he became commonwealth attorney but acknowledged that several years ago, while he was a member of the legislature, he had lost $40 in a dice game there.
Sheriff Henry A. Berndt of
"We do not really try to make any attempt at law enforcing," Berndt said bluntly. He claimed that he repeatedly had told the grand jury that his office could not do so and at the same time perform its other duties, too. Berndt never heard of the
Chief of Police Alfred Schild of
It was Schild who told the committee that gambling clubs in
Schild could not tell the committee how the gamblers receive "tip-offs" about impending raids. He conceded that his department had a rule requiring that all warrants be registered at headquarters before being served. "I don't know why. It's been a rule for years and years," he added. Schild testified that he was a friend of John Rigney but professed not to know that Rigney was a leader of the slot machine syndicate, a matter of common knowledge in
Turning to
A reform administration came into control of the city government of
Mr. Warren testified regarding the injunction proceedings brought by the attorney general of
Commissioner Eha, who was one of the candidates supported by the Newport Civic Association, related some of the difficulties experienced by the reform group in its war against the gambling interests. He declared that the citizens are now aware that the city is better off without gambling. He, too, has received threats because of his activities against gambling. City Manager Rhoads, who had been a witness at the committee's
The Bobben Realty Co. clearing house bookmaking operation has been broken up and a. similar outfit has been routed from the
Mr. Rhoads reiterated a statement he gave to the committee in
The gambling interests, according to Mr. Rhoads, first try "to buy what they want." If unsuccessful they move into the second stage, which is to harass officials moving against their operations. The third is a smear campaign impugning the integrity of those who oppose gambling activities.
Gambling in
Suppression of gambling has helped business in
Chief of Police Gugel when called as a witness, also expressed surprise that a committee investigator had found gambling in the Alexandria Club in June because his men had told him there was none. Since the
Lack of cooperation on the part of Chief Gugel serves as an obstacle to law enforcement in
William J. Wise, Commonwealth attorney of
The committee's investigation showed that the Beverly Hills Country Club had gross receipts of $975,000 for 1948 and 1949, a net of $426,199 for that period, distributed to the following: Samuel Tucker, Moe Dalitz, Rothkopf, and Kleinman, $44,019 each; Charles Polizzi, $32,014; T. J. McGinty, $34,301; John Croft, $26,583; Harry Potter, $20,008; Mitchell Meyer, $17,150; Samuel Schroeder, $54,024; and Marion Brink, $40,017. In addition, Tucker was paid a salary of $10,000 annually from 1945 to 1948, Meyer and Potter were paid $3,900 each for 1948 and $4,110 each for 1949. The money wheels took in $70,000, chuck-a-luck, $17,000; blackjack, $51,000; craps, etc., $244,000, and slots, $69,000.
It is of interest to note that the partners of
When confronted with these figures, Mr. Wise conceded that they were "fabulous" and admitted that he had never heard of some of the individuals named.
The committee found that the operations at the Yorkshire Club were even more extensive for the same 2 years, with gross receipts amounting to $1,526,000, the gross profit was $614,000 and the net income, $427,597. The following shared in the profits: Maurice Ryan, Fort Thomas, Ky., $30,018; Fred Hallam, Bellevue, Ky., $47,662; Morris Nemmo, Fort Thomas, Ky., $30,493; Robert Bergen, Fort Thomas, Ky., $24,121; Sam Gutterman, Cincinnati, $10,406; A. R. Masterson, Fort Thomas, Ky.; E. R. Lowe, Tucson, Ariz.; James H. Brink, Fort Mitchell, Ky.; Claude Hines, Fort Mitchell, Ky.; George and Frieda Bregal, Melbourne, Ky., $17,493 each; Alfred Goltsman, George Gordon, Samuel Tucker, and Ruby Kolod, all of Cleveland, $20,992 each; Abe Schneider and John Croft, Cincinnati, $34,987 and $33,092, respectively; and. George Bear, Detroit, $24,296.
Mr. Wise conceded that this operation was "much more sizable than any of us thought or could have imagined."
Sheriff Ray Diebold of Campbell Count whose principal qualification for his job seems to have been that he once served as a "good will" man for brewery, made two appearances before the committee. The first time he testified that he had never been in the Beverly Hills Club, the
James Winters, chief of the Campbell County police, told the committee that he had reason to believe that gambling was going on in places like the Beverly Hills Club and the Latin Quarter but his men never found any when they made inspections. Pleading that he had only six men to patrol 508 miles of highway in the county, Winters said they had little time to look for gambling violations.
Jack Kuresman,