Reno Sweeney

Reno Sweeney was one of the dealers in Reno who "turned me out," trained me, and showed me the ins and outs of being a clerk. We were called "clerks" in those days, the IRS had no classification for us, so we were listed as Clerks on our Income Tax, thus, the term Clerks. If you ever hear that someone working in a casino was a good clerk, you know they are talking about an "old timer."

My first night, I was nervous and apprehensive, told to report to the "post" .... finally someone pointed me in the right direction, said something stupid to the gentleman in the white on white shirt, a gorgeous pair of cuff links, a spotless white necktie, and a watch showing under those starched french cuffs that exposed a circular face ringed with diamonds, very classy. Mark, as it turned out, told me to go shill on number 3. My dumb stare was greeted with a gesture that pointed me in the right direction.

I sheepishly approached the ten foot table, a man on one end, a woman on the other, the woman knew of my innocence reached down into a tube of silver dollars and handed them to me. She knew without looking that she had handed me 20 of them. The table was void of customers at that time, so she told me, "put one there and throw the dice." I did, and that was my introduction in to a world I knew nothing about, but was intrigued by the prospect of learning about.

After an hour or so at the table, "shilling," I was told to take a 30 minute break and report back to Mark. I will never forget my entrance in to the coffee shop that morning, I was "one of them" an employee of a casino, soon, to be a ..... dealer ..... the pride I must have shown walking in, I owned the place, I belonged here. I remember well what I had, a Nevada Club Special .... an 8-inch French Roll, sliced lengthwise in half, piled high with prime rib, the top half placed back on, on to a plate, and covered with a rich broth. How much better could it get.

Mark directed me back to a table, I was escorted "behind" the table, where the dealers stand, I had stepped into ... a mystic realm .... a "stick" was handed to me, "Hi, I'm Reno Sweeney," call the dice .... the rest of the night went by fast, but a blurry fast. I remember entering in to the sunlight next morning, at 11, a beautiful day, someone had given me a "green apron," during my shift, a dealers apron. I carried it proudly so all could see as I made my way up Virginia Street to my car.

Harold's Club

There is a documentary being prepared on Harolds Club in Reno. I have spent many hours there, and some of these faces are quite familiar. Nevada and the entire casino industry can thank the Smith family for pioneering state and the entire industry.

It is difficult to explain a visit to Harolds Club. it was a world unto itself. There were fun collections, silver dollar bars, so many different "themes" in each area on the various floors. The Seventh Floor was unique, very intimate. I have seen Carl Ravazza entertain there often. He was a "matinee" idol  and a singer and a band leader from years past and lived in Reno.  The houselights would dim and he would enter from the back of the room and slowly make his way to the front singing some intimate lilting French song, and then for an hour captivate you with songs, stories and golf jokes. I have seen many well known entertainers while out there, but none as memorable as Carl Ravazza.

Anyway, this clip gives you a taste of Harolds Club. Notice she states that they all were taught to deal the same way. On my Nevada Club blog I have given my explanation and reason for them doing that. Harold was smarter than other owners, and I have never seen it stated before, but, in my opinion, we detected one of the reasons why they were so successful.

Be patient, it may take a while to download.

THE HAROLDS PROMOTIONAL DOCUMENTARY

Harolds success ........... on the 21 table

Well, not sure of the validity of this post, but a few of us were convinced. Some of us always wondered why Harolds club maintained such a good table average, they seemed to win more frequently than other places. They were good about giving away used playing cards, and some of us took it upon ourselves to find out why they were consistently winners.

A few of us, got used cards, over quite a period of time, and scrutinized the used decks. A few of our "group" had turned out there, and knew the training procedure they used.

They did "shuffling" but not too much "whacking" around with the cards, just shuffling, our findings, the kept the "progression" of the cards intact.

A new deck has a large group of "faces" in the middle of the deck, and each deck we checked, after usage, limited usage, still had that grouping in tact. Dealers were given a box of cards at the start of the shift and were encouraged to go to new decks often.

Our conclusion, that the grouping of high cards gave Harolds a bit of an edge. Other clubs wanted a shuffle, and then a slap, slap, slap, or a cutting of the decks, not Harolds.

In afternoon "test deals" at various apartments around town, it was our conclusion that "their" way of dealing gave them a few percentage points edge, as opposed to other methods. It worked for them, made not only Harolds, but the entire state of Nevada, successful.

I am not sure how many were aware of this, and thanks to one of the most brilliant "minds" I have ever known, I am convinced this added to the success of Harolds Club, and it was entirely legal, just cost them more in cards...

From Joe Conforte

This is a Facebook entry from Joe Conforte. Apparently someone had asked him about his "time: in Carson City where he reportedly ran the casino. One magazine back then had a foto of him standing at the crap table. This was his reply to that question:

"I more or less ran the casino in the prison when I was in there, we called it "The Bull Pen". I had my own waiter, nice old man named Williams, he used to bring me my steaks so he could have some spending money, $2 a week. He killed a couple of lawyers in the Washoe County Court House. There was a black kid, he used to get $3 a week for fanning me while I played bridge on hot days, and a guy called Penguin got $3 to bring my bathrobe and slippers after dinner and set up my chair to watch tv."

GREAT LINK .

A great link, in case you have not seen it ............ HERE

Some Nevada footage

This link has some interesting footage. About halfway through some of the interior of the Nevada Club, the way I remember it ...........

VIEW HERE

More memories .........

I was fortunate to receive a copy of "The Rise of the Biggest Little City," written by Dwayne Kling. Full of Nevada history, brought back so many memories. I knew or had heard of many of the names he mentioned.

I was so fortunate to be and work there during the time that I did. Many of the "old timers" were still around, the people who actually molded the state. But more so than that, some of the dealers, cocktail waitresses, keno writers and maintenance people, people in the background, I got to know.

I got to hear tales of the early days, from the old timers. Burt used to relate stories about the "wheel houses" in Florida, and "stores" or "rooms" back East, where he had worked. He worked the boats off of Long Beach, had lived a colorful life, but loved his little farm not to far away. One of his that I have always remembered .......... dealing craps on a boat off of Long Beach ..... a big game, stacks of chips all over the table ........... the dice rolled ......... one die was a "leaner" ........... SEVEN OUT .... a groundswell hit the boat, turned the die the other way to a WINNER.... most of the money was already taken in .... he said a heck of a brawl broke out. Burt had only one eye, always wondered how he lost the one eye, never asked.

Jack Bailey, expensive suits, tailor made shirts, silk ties, always wore old shoes with a hole in the sole. Someone would lose money, complain, Jack would be sitting box, or standing at the end of the table, he would show them the sole with the hole in it, "things are tough all over." It generally worked. The shoes were Alligator though, very expensive, he never went in to that.

Doc Ledford, I think it was, on the floor at the Nevada Lodge, a natty, diplomatic gentleman. Many knew of him, talked little of his history. Word was that he had been in "hiding" for a few years, and for some reason, could finally come out. He was on the floor the morning we needed a 21 dealer at the lake, dealer was on a break, and I stood there to fill in. My hands always sweat when I get nervous, thus, I rarely dealt 21. I tried many remedy's but none worked. Some customers walked up to my table, I looked at Doc, he said, "You're a dealer, deal to them." I did, for about an hour, all went well. When the customer leave, it is customary to "fan" out the cards in the middle of the table. With a grand flourish, I made the move to fan the cars, which I did, but the cards did not fan, the whole deck was stuck together and move accordingly.

Don Eammelli, a mentor of mine, a floor boss at the Primm, I was in awe of him. He was from Steubenville, Ohio, had done a lot in a lot of places. He has lost a leg in a car accident. He was actually brilliant, he devised a system of numbers, he designed a machine to test and color code resisters. He could sit at the bar, drinking a coke, and by looking in the mirror on the backbar, knew everything going on in the pit. He knew just how to handle any "cheat" on any game, he knew every move, and if he didn't know the move, he knew what it took to do the move.

We had a "card marker," an Oriental man, Don was watching him in the mirror. About the time he was ready to make his "move," Don would casually go to that table, look at his watch, "four thirty  time for a new deck here." We took him for over 5000 and he never knew what Don was doing to him.

Don was a card counter, the best, had his own system. He won a lot of money around town, owned a lot of real estate around town. I used to help him with his rentals, his "stump" always hurt, but he never complained.

I can honestly say that everyone I came in to contact with, in a casino, in a management capacity, at any level, were personable, gracious and polite. They had to have the ability to pacify people, when they lost money. Takes a special kind of person. Dealers could be "aloof." They would just take and pay, politely, but not necessarily with emotion.

Those were the good old days.

Dwayne Kling .... where are you"

For Mr. Dwayne Kling .........

I received a copy of your book today, "The Rise of the Biggest Little City," from an internet acquaintance who sent it to me, Jerry Garrity, who I have been communicating with, via the internet.

Have not been able to put the book down, brought back many memories. I do remember seeing you around town, and at Harolds. I remember Jeanette Fenner and Alice Tuttle, I knew Dan Orlich a little, his Mom and Dad, and went out to see him one in Vandalia, where he was shooting.

Some names I remember. Danny Fagan, Bettye French, Thelma Ganz, Don Eammelli and a good friend, Joe Francis from Harrahs. He was my boxman at the Primm for a while. Most all I know from then are gone, as you have found out.

Fitz liked me, He let me work the Lodge in its early days, downtown some, and, according to Danny Fagan, had I stayed with him (I left and went to the Primm), he might have given me a shot to manage the Bal when he got it in '57. I was not aware of that, Danny actually kicked me in the butt on one occasion, for blowing such an opportunity. Also had a chance to get in to the entertainment side with Fitz when I was up at the lake, but, I was having too much fun as a dealer, up at Tahoe, what great days those were.

I remember a dealer or box or floor at Harolds, somewhat crippled, forget his name. Thanks to Harolds, I had a lot of nice western wear I got at his "store."

If you happen to see this, my email is joedooley@yahoo.com. Would like to hear from you. I see you are also involved in the movie ... nothing much left but memories. Have seen it on Facebook .....

Crossroaders ..... I wonder where they are now?Wesley

Crossroaders were a rare breed, they were unique, intelligent and fearless. There were some "legitimate" players who had the heart of the crossroader. They lived by their wits and the "moves" they had honed. I have seen things that were impossible, accomplished. I learned early on in my days in Nevada, that if I heard, or someone who said they could do something, regardless of how impossible the task was, believe him, or her, because they had probably put in many, many hours of practice, doing it.

They were all good actors and could play whatever part was necessary, and play it well. They were all, "diplomats." They were all, "patient," they would spend hours, days and weeks, perfecting one "move." One I knew rather well always had his hands in motion, generally with a book of matches, carrying it in the palm of his hand. One book of matches would be sitting on a table. He could pick it up and drop the one he was "mucking" in his hand, and it would land exactly where the other one was. Wesley practiced that, incessantly.

Buster was more of a front man, an arranger. He also worked as a boxman and a floorman in the casinos, and I think ended up working in Las Vegas.

I left Nevada and headed for Ohio, years ago, and attended the Millersport Corn Festival. Money flowed freely, for charity, and who was there, Buster and his band of merry men, "knocking over" those little games of chance, dice games, card games, etc., not taking a lot so they were not obvious, but enough to insure a nice "vacation."

I'm sure nothing will ever be written about them, they loved their anonymity. How they did what they did, few know. Some may have left no mark on the world in their leaving, because they were unknown, except to a few, while they lived.

I forget their names, but there were twins who lived in California, had their own airplane. They would fly in to Reno or Vegas, wherever the action was going to be, do their thing, and fly home. One of their last that I was aware, early 60's, they left Vegas with a "bundle of cash." Did their "thing," got on the plane and flew home, all in a days work.

One I knew, "Blondy," lived in Reno, beautiful rented home by a golf course, leased car, lived a very quiet life. When the occasion arose, he was an expert golfer, bowler, pool player, was a marvel with cards, and could do wonders with a pair of dice. A golf tournament in Reno each year, with some local and a few well known pros, would find him in the pro-am, unable to hit the ball. But on Monday, some would stick around with some "heavy" money being wagered. All of a sudden he would "find" his game. He picked up a new golf cart on one occasions, took it home, and battered it, so it looked well used.

I had not been dealing long at the Nevada Club. Early one morning, an old farmer looking type walked up to my table. Asked about the different bets, and made a few "foolish" wagers, which he won. How lucky. He made some more bets, and won. Fitz let out a yell from the "cage." The player took his winnings, cashed in and left. I learned a great lesson. I always felt that Fitz put him up to it, to teach me a lesson. I thought I knew it all.

Buster, Wesley J., the Preacher, Blondy, Don, The Magician and the others I knew are probably all gone by now. They were a rare breed, never to be forgotten, by me, anyway.

LaVere Redfield

Another legend in Reno, LaVere Redfield. My first encounter with him almost cost me a job. I had been a dealer at the Nevada Club for a few weeks, had just turned out, and after a few weeks of training, when I had that little green apron on, well, I was very proud of myself.

One early morning, I was standing by an empty table, and a scroungy appearing man walked into the club. Well, with chest puffed out I motioned for security. Unfortunately, he was also new and started to move toward the man.

A loud noise erupted in the cashiers cage and one of the cashiers came dashing out to put a stop to the ejection. She then explained to me that the guy in the tattered jeans and threadbare wool shirt was none other than LaVere Redfield, multi millionaire eccentric and often a customer of the Nevada Club, who either won or lost a ton of money. And, I was going to throw him out. I learned a valuable lesson, never judge anyone by their appearance.

He often played the wheel, and as I understand it, Fitz let him "deal" his own game, with Mark  and Thelma Ganz in attendance, keeping an eye on the bets. The few times I saw him, he was just a player.

When he won, he wanted to be payed in silver dollars, and I have seen security officers wheeling bags of silver out to a truck to take to his home, and send the bags down a coal chute to his basement.

He has been known to ask a female dealer to have dinner with him, perhaps do a little wagering with him, and those I knew of personally were payed quite well, just to have dinner and spend the evening with him. I know of on one occasion he "dated" a stranger, who had an accomplice, left a door unlocked, and they got away with a small fortune which they took from his basement, coins and stocks and bonds.

After his death, his estate was valued at over 100 million dollars. I have on occasions seen him driving a fork lift at a lumber yard he owned,  old jeans and a plaid shirt. Wonder if he was buried that way.

Next time I will go into how I heard he made his first "bankroll" which got him started, interesting story and I think it is true. Got it from someone who knew him.

The Nevada Lodge

Lake Tahoe, late 50's, before the Olympics, and one of the first times the North Side was open during the Winter months. It was great, not very crowded, had the Crystal Bay Club, the Lodge, the Cal Neva when Sinatra had it, a drug store and a few other places, and that was it. We had it pretty much all to ourselves.

That clear, pine scented mountain air, the deep blue color of Lake Tahoe, I loved it.

At first, I had a room in a basement unit in a place, nice room, about 100 yards away from The Lodge where I worked. I think Fitz started me out on days. Doc Ledford, I think was the Shift Boss, many rumors about him. I have related this before, but thinking of Doc brings the story back.

Early one morning, few customers, one gal, 21 dealer was due for a break, no one to relieve her. Doc put me on the 21 table. Well, I always got nervous dealing, and my hands would sweat. Some customers came in and came to my table. I looked over at Doc, and he said, "Deal to them."

I did had a good game going, not sure how the table did, but dealt to them for a half hour or so. When they left, I took the deck, set it down, and did the normal "fan" across the table. One problem,, the cards were stuck together and the whole deck moved across the table, which everyone in the house seemed to see. Never lived that down.

Fitz always wanted me to be a 21 dealer, we tried everything. He even had me soak my hands in formaldehyde once, got it from an undertaker. It didn't work, but  I will never forget the odor.

I used to put in my eight hours at the Lodge, then cross the street to the Crystal Bay Club and spend the evening. Jack, don't recall his last name, was the bartender, got to know him well. I remember Slim, one of the owners, and some others whose names escape me. Slim was a genuine "Nevada Character," a part of Nevada history. Rumor had it that he had participated in the '39 Olympics in archery, but don't know that for sure.

Before the North side started staying open in the Winter, they say that many of the dealers lived up there, and when they would close in the Winter, they would go on unemployment. Since there was no office up there, someone would drive up from Carson City with their checks, and pass them out in the Crystal Bay Club. All these folks made a LOT of money in the Summer, had nice homes and nice cars. On "check" day, the parking lot at the Crystal would be full of nice cars, they would all meet inside, get their checks, many would endorse them, throw them on the back bar, and have a BIG party till the checks ran out. They say it was a blast.

On a number of occasions we would be in the bar at the Crystal in the morning, either from the night before, or getting an early start, and a group of us would head to someones place for breakfast. There were sometimes a few, and sometimes a crowd, We had great times. Bacon, eggs, home fries in a Cedar Log Cabin on Lake Tahoe, gets no better than that.

I still vividly remember that pristine lake, like it was in those days, a few clubs, a drug store, with soda fountain, Spanish Leather, oh such fond memories.