money. The Fox stockholders helped him pay it off.
Then there were the gambling ships moored just beyond the three-mile limit. One of them was the Tango , which began operating off Venice Beach in 1929 and was still there ten years later. The Johanna Smith billed itself as “the world’s most famous gambling ship.” But the one that seemed the most heavily patronized was the Rex , which was moored off Santa Monica for years, in full view of shore. To ferry people out to the Rex , there were three barges and a fleet of water taxis. The ads in the newspapers announced:
Only 10 minutes from Hollywood, plus a comfortable 10-minute boat ride to the REX.
25 cents round trip from Santa Monica pier at foot of Colorado Street, Santa Monica.
Ship opens at 12:30 p.m. daily.
From the way the ships were presented, you would have thought you were boarding the Queen Mary . Actually, the Rex was a converted fishing barge that looked . . . like a converted fishing barge, even though an ex-con named Tony Cornero had spent a quarter million dollars to convert it. But its unlovely appearance was much less important than what happened on board.
The ship itself had a 250-foot glass-covered gaming deck offering faro, roulette, and craps. Everybody’s gambling tastes could be accommodated, from high rollers to the penny ante. There were three hundred slot machines, a bingo parlor that seated five hundred people, six roulette tables, eight dice tables, keno. . . . There was even a complicated setup for offtrack betting. On a lower deck there was dancing and entertainment, a café, and several bars.
The notorious gambling ship The Rex.
The Rex could accommodate two thousand customers, and its daily profit could be as much as ten thousand dollars. To keep their profits safe from bandits, the boat was heavily fortified by security with a generous supply of machine guns.
Soon the waters off the California coast were dotted by gambling ships hovering outside the three-mile limit: the Monte Carlo , the City of Panama , the Texas , the Showboat , the Caliente. One ship, the Playa , wasn’t satisfied with the three-mile limit, and sailed twelve miles out, which was not only beyond Los Angeles County jurisdiction but beyond federal jurisdiction. The Playa served out-of-season food that was forbidden on land—elaborate stuff, but great stuff. In order to get people onto those boats, they hustled everybody and everything.
Supposedly law enforcement personnel were very frustrated by the presence of the Rex and the rest of the ships, but I don’t believe it. None of the many underground enticements of Los Angelesbefore and after World War II would have been possible without the apathy of or, more likely, the acquiescence of the police. The amount of payoffs from the gambling houses of Los Angeles and Hollywood that padded the pockets of the cops must have been nearly equivalent to their profits. It was an environment that spawned a lot of James Ellroy novels.
The gambling ships came to an end just before World War II, when California attorney general Earl Warren got serious and went after them, using as a wedge the fact that the water taxis that ferried the customers back and forth weren’t registered as public vehicles.
Only a few years later Las Vegas was born out of an effort to service the gamblers of Los Angeles.
But before Vegas there was Agua Caliente, a resort just across the Mexican border built for the specific purpose of enabling Americans to indulge in the pleasurable activity that was forbidden in their native country: gambling.
Agua Caliente was the brainchild of Baron Long, a man who ran gambling and bootlegging outfits around Los Angeles, usually skirting the law by operating just outside the city limits in unincorporated towns like Vernon or beyond the three-mile limit at sea.
In 1926 Long decided to take advantage of the “anything goes” atmosphere of Mexico and build a spa at Agua Caliente Hot Springs, six miles from
Then there were the gambling ships moored just beyond the three-mile limit. One of them was the Tango , which began operating off Venice Beach in 1929 and was still there ten years later. The Johanna Smith billed itself as “the world’s most famous gambling ship.” But the one that seemed the most heavily patronized was the Rex , which was moored off Santa Monica for years, in full view of shore. To ferry people out to the Rex , there were three barges and a fleet of water taxis. The ads in the newspapers announced:
Only 10 minutes from Hollywood, plus a comfortable 10-minute boat ride to the REX.
25 cents round trip from Santa Monica pier at foot of Colorado Street, Santa Monica.
Ship opens at 12:30 p.m. daily.
From the way the ships were presented, you would have thought you were boarding the Queen Mary . Actually, the Rex was a converted fishing barge that looked . . . like a converted fishing barge, even though an ex-con named Tony Cornero had spent a quarter million dollars to convert it. But its unlovely appearance was much less important than what happened on board.
The ship itself had a 250-foot glass-covered gaming deck offering faro, roulette, and craps. Everybody’s gambling tastes could be accommodated, from high rollers to the penny ante. There were three hundred slot machines, a bingo parlor that seated five hundred people, six roulette tables, eight dice tables, keno. . . . There was even a complicated setup for offtrack betting. On a lower deck there was dancing and entertainment, a café, and several bars.
The notorious gambling ship The Rex.
The Rex could accommodate two thousand customers, and its daily profit could be as much as ten thousand dollars. To keep their profits safe from bandits, the boat was heavily fortified by security with a generous supply of machine guns.
Soon the waters off the California coast were dotted by gambling ships hovering outside the three-mile limit: the Monte Carlo , the City of Panama , the Texas , the Showboat , the Caliente. One ship, the Playa , wasn’t satisfied with the three-mile limit, and sailed twelve miles out, which was not only beyond Los Angeles County jurisdiction but beyond federal jurisdiction. The Playa served out-of-season food that was forbidden on land—elaborate stuff, but great stuff. In order to get people onto those boats, they hustled everybody and everything.
Supposedly law enforcement personnel were very frustrated by the presence of the Rex and the rest of the ships, but I don’t believe it. None of the many underground enticements of Los Angelesbefore and after World War II would have been possible without the apathy of or, more likely, the acquiescence of the police. The amount of payoffs from the gambling houses of Los Angeles and Hollywood that padded the pockets of the cops must have been nearly equivalent to their profits. It was an environment that spawned a lot of James Ellroy novels.
The gambling ships came to an end just before World War II, when California attorney general Earl Warren got serious and went after them, using as a wedge the fact that the water taxis that ferried the customers back and forth weren’t registered as public vehicles.
Only a few years later Las Vegas was born out of an effort to service the gamblers of Los Angeles.
But before Vegas there was Agua Caliente, a resort just across the Mexican border built for the specific purpose of enabling Americans to indulge in the pleasurable activity that was forbidden in their native country: gambling.
Agua Caliente was the brainchild of Baron Long, a man who ran gambling and bootlegging outfits around Los Angeles, usually skirting the law by operating just outside the city limits in unincorporated towns like Vernon or beyond the three-mile limit at sea.
In 1926 Long decided to take advantage of the “anything goes” atmosphere of Mexico and build a spa at Agua Caliente Hot Springs, six miles from
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