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.

"Fitz"

Lincoln Fitzgerald, Fitz, a Nevada pioneer who does not get the credit he deserves for his part in making the state what it is today.

My first glimpse of him was in 1956, April or May. I was just discharged from the Navy and headed to Reno. An ad in the newspaper caught my attention. HIRING DEALERS. I had no idea what that entailed, but I decided to look in to it. Prior to applying, I hears many stories about Fitz, Gangster, Purple Gang in Detroit, he got shot in a mob hit, all scary stuff to me.

I entered the old "back door" of The Nevada Club, admittedly with shaking knees and sweaty palms. I walked through the club to the "cage," the cashiers cage, which was his realm. There was this elderly man, white hair, white shirt and tie, suspenders standing behind the bared window. I have no idea what I said to him, at least I was coherent enough to let him know I wanted a job. He asked me a series of questions, where from, discharged from service, as I recalled he was interested in my Father and Mother, married, children, that sort of thing. Really not a lot of questions.

"Take this down to the police station and when you are done, come back here."

"Yes sir."

The police did a background check, handed me a slip of paper and told me to go back to the club. I did, handed Fitz the slip of paper. He looked at it. "Come back in the morning at three, wear a white shirt and tie."

That was it. I really had no idea what I would be doing at three, but I knew I had a job.

I think Fitz liked me. After I became a "dealer" with training on craps, the wheel and Twenty One, we knew I had "sweaty hands." He wanted to to deal Twenty One, but the sweaty hands were a problem. At the end of one shift, he handed he a bottle of "formaldehyde" and wanted me to take it and soak my hands in it, might help. I did, and it didn't. So, I was relegated to the crap table.

I left him after a year and returned to Ohio for a while, decided I wanted to return, called him on the phone, asked about getting my job back, he told me to come on out, I did, and he sent me to his new club at Lake Tahoe, The Nevada Lodge. Only a select few were chosen for that job, I was one of them.

Fitz trained many of the dealers in Nevada in the early years, some went on to some great jobs in the industry. Many years later, I am till proud to say  that "I turned out as a clerk for Fitz." No one knows what that means though. In those days the IRS had no classification for dealers, so we were listed as clerks.

Fitz was a pioneer in Nevada, he, and some others are responsible for making Nevada what it is today, and I imagine few are familiar with his name. I, for one, will never forget him. In my pocket now is a $5 Nevada Club chip, and one I cherish, is a $20 blue chip from the Chesterfield Club in Detroit, which Fitz was part owner of  before he moved to Reno. Nearby also, a pair of Nevada Club dice.

Thanks, Fitz, as Bob Hope would say, "Aw thanks, for the memories."

Don Eammelli at the Prima Donna

Don Eammelli was my Shift Boss at the Primmadonna in Reno in the late 50's. He was also a friend and a mentor of mine. I have often searched the internet for information on him, and the other day I found a telephone number for Janice, his daughter. Called and learned that he had passed years ago, we chatted a while, the highlight, she remembered my name. Brought back a flood of memories.

Not the Nevada Club, but just across the street. I went from working at the Nevada Club to the Primm. Actually, Don's wife once worked at the Nevada Club.

Don was from Steubenville, Ohio, so we had an immediate association that way. I'm thinking of men who have had a strong influence in my life, Don is probably in the top five. My Dad, Brother, Lincoln Fitzgerald and Don, would take me up through most of my life, maybe pit Danny Fagan from the Nevada Club in there too.

When I started at the Primm I immediately liked Don and admired him as well. He was perhaps one of the brightest and smartest men I have ever known. He was a gambler, had his own "count" system on cards, which had won him a great deal of money, he had invented a few items, had devised a more efficient monetary system than we presently use, and had come up with a "shot" on a crap table that he showed me, and one that I have used successfully on a few occasions. Janice told me that the state of Nevada had hired him to teach their people how to recognize "cheaters" and what they do.

I remember one morning we had a card "marker" come in the club. Don was sitting at the end of the bar drinking coffee. Don kept giving us the signal to not worry about it. He finally nonchalantly walked into the pit, got a new deck of cards out of the cabinet, and took them to the table the marker was playing on. Cards were changed on a regular basis, so no one thought anything. The marker went to another table and started working on another deck. Don, after a while, repeated that scenario. Before he got wise, we had relieved him of over $5000, all very quietly done, Don know what and how he was doing it, and at appropriate times, before he could win "big," changed decks. That was Don, very low key, and probably knew more than anyone who tried anything.

Don taught me a lot, showed me a lot, introduced me to some "right" people, gave me the opportunity to become a "box man," (supposedly, at that time, I was the youngest box man in Nevada), even let me take over the "pit" on a few occasions.

Talking with Janice about her Dad was a great link to my past, not many of them exist anymore, Looking back, Don Eammelli was a very important influence on my life. I could do a book on him, maybe I will do more, check back.

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.

A good "group"

Came across an interesting "group," and have heard from a few of the members. We all seem to share an interest in Reno history. I imagine some of the old buildings in Carson City are there, probably Virginia City also, preserved for posterity. Yet, in Reno, most of the buildings that actually made Nevada what it is today, are all gone. Why did Harold's Club and the Nevada Club have to go?

Harold put Reno on the map. I wonder if all the new places have "air curtain" doors. You could walk that one block of Virginia street, go in every club, and not have to open one door. I remember on many occasions, I would see a face I recognized, wave a "Hi Grant," as the Governor walked by, or a wave to Bill Harrah when you saw him.

At Harold's and The Nevada Club, and others, a 21 dealer going on a break would open the little drawer on the table, take out their "tokes," and head out on a break. If the IRS got you for an audit, you would quickly make up a list of tokes, from memory, to to the IRS office, the subject of tokes would come up, he would throw out a date, a quick check of your list, "Ah,, on that day I made $7.50." Then he would mention that they had an agent in the club who gave you a $15 toke. He then would tear up your list. You were in trouble, they would come up with THEIR amount.

One time a 21 dealer from Harold's was in California for a few days, somehow did an interview with a reporter, got carried away and told the reporter how much she made in tokes, exaggerated the amount a bit to impress her. The IRS read it and used her figure as an estimate for all Harold's dealers. She was almost run out of town. Tokes were pretty good though, and in those days, silver dollars. Not uncommon for a dealer to have a dresser drawer full of silver. I had a glove box full on my car, good old days.

Joe Conforte

His book is ready and can be purchased at this site. It is also in some book stores. I have gotten a few inquiries. He lives in Argentina,  he is on my Facebook, and seems to be doing well .................

http://joeconforte.com/

Looking Back

It has been many years since I left Reno, but some of those memories are the fondest that I have. I keep reminders with me all the time. On my memory table, a small table that my Dad made many years ago, and I have next to my chair, there are many memories. A pair of dice from the Nevada Club, along with a $5 chip. I have a $20 from the Chesterfield Club, next to my bed.

We used those $20's when I started out as a dealer. They had been brought out, by Fitz, from the Chesterfield Club in Detroit, and the stories those chips could tell. Every time I hold it, a flood of thoughts go through my mind, people who could have held the chip. Capone, Siegel, Wertheimer, all of the old timers, that were in the Chesterfield and later on, the early days of the Nevada Club in Reno. Fitz and Meta have held it, Danny Fagan, Eddy Beatty, Bettye Johnson, Thelma Ganz, if only that chip could talk.

Other clubs used $25. Of course, we used silver dollars in those days, and when called for, we converted the silver into $5. We got in the habit of pulling 20 silver dollars out of the speed racks, drop five, and then drop three stacks of five, to make $20. When I went to work at the Primm, I had to adjust my thinking to $25, doesn't sound like much, but old habits die hard.

The Nevada Club and Fitz were unique, early pioneers in Nevada history, and unfortunately, mostly forgotten. Fitz trained MANY dealers, it was THE place to learn to be a "clerk." In those days, the IRS did not have a classification for dealers, so we were called clerks, and that term stuck for many years, at least with the old timers. "He's a  good clerk," was a compliment.

In those days we kept our own "tokes" or "tips" ..... as they came in, they immediately went into a drawer on the table and when you left on a break, your tokes went with you. I had a few REALLY good nights. You could almost live on tokes. I had a drawer full of silver dollars. I knew some that had buckets full of silver dollars. Good old days ....