Once Upon a Time in...

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LondonRandy Steedreminisces about abygone age

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M y globe-trotting, gaming careerbegan by faithfully attending TonyBlack’s Croupier’s school, located a

floor above the Mazurka Club on Soho’sDenman Street. I had arrived from Florida theprevious year (1964), to work at my father’selectronics business in the Holland ParkMews. The father & son thing soon proveduntenable and I found myself washing dishesand waiting tables in South Kensington whichbarely paid for my four quid a week bed-sitter.About this time I also started working as aboard-boy, posting the odds as they cameover the wire service from the race tracks.This was for the bookmaker/turf accountants“City Tote Ltd.” located in Shepherd's Market,just off Curzon Street in Mayfair…ten quid aweek, before taxes! It was challenging tolearn to deal the games in Pounds &Shillings, but even more of a challenge tohave to revert back to the decimal systemand dollars & cents upon my reentry to theUnited States in 1968, and employment indowntown, Las Vegas where I had to convertall bets back to Pounds and Shillings in myhead, and then back into dollars & cents justto make each payout!

My first Croupier’s job in London was at thelegendary sixties, show business hangout,the “Cromwellian Club” in South Kensingtonwhich was owned by Tony Mitchell, and theremarkable Aussie wrestling promoter; PaulLincoln, AKA Doctor Death . This was inDecember of 1965. I felt I finally had theworld in my youthful grasp after responding tothe portentous classified advert in theEvening Standard which read “Trainee DiceCroupiers Urgently needed.” I figured here-I-go, tuxedos and martinis, shaken-not-stirred;I’ll have a bit of that please! Actually, I gotvery lucky as Tony Mitchell had walked intothe school one evening and picked me out ofthe class along with two others. I think Tonyfigured Craps was the American nationalgame and my Petrol accent would prove tobe good for business. He was just re-openinghis dice game after the table had been badlyscorched by a Molotov cocktail tossedthrough the ground floor window one night,which of course landing squarely on the Craplayout. Dice tables being in short supply inthose days he sent it out to be refinished.This time the table was securely relocatedupstairs and the windows on the façade of

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The Private GamingClubs of Sixties London

T his is quite simply one man’s memories and recollections of aspecial time and place; the London casino experience of the1960’s. For many of us, the nascent casino scene of Swinging

London’s rambunctious, British rock era was our formative years, both inlife and in this new and exciting industry in which we found ourselvestotally and willingly immersed. As we all, myself included, tend to haveselective memories as the years roll on, I wholeheartedly and withouttrepidation invite comments, corrections, further insight and constructiveinput. This colorful and eventful decade certainly deserves to be suitablydocumented by those of us who were there. My own experiences tookplace primarily in the smaller, grass roots casinos, which in the States inthose days would have been referred to as “sawdust joints” as opposed to“carpet joints.” The exalted environs of John Aspinal’s Clermont Club,Quent’s, Crockford’s and The Pair-of-Shoes (which actually had anoversize pair of dice painted of the roof for easy viewing from the hotelrooms of the adjacent Hilton Hotel) were way beyond the aspirations of aeighteen-year-old, break-in croupier, feeling his way into this new andexciting industry. That being the historical case I leave the posher aspectsof London’s rich contemporary casino history to others.

the building were barricaded with iron security grates.At the time Tony recruited me I’d only been attendingthe dealer’s school for two weeks and didn’t knowmuch more than a bit of chip-handling and that seven-eleven was a natural and two, three, and twelve werecraps. The rest came from prowling the West Endgambling joints such as Charley Chester’s in Soho,and the Mint on Kilburn Road most nights after work;picking up as much as possible of the better movesfrom many of the extremely skilled dice dealers thatwere working around town in those days. The 45, laterto be known by it’s official name as the Cromwell Mintwas the Croupiers hangout of choice in those headydays. The name “45” still sticks as an icon amongveterans of the sixties casino scene. Eventually in late1968 the 45 would be my final London casino job priorto returning to the United States and employment inDowntown, Las Vegas. The original Cromwell Mint

Casino was located in the basement. In subsequentyears it would expand upstairs into the noted venue itwas to become during the 1970s under theentrepreneurial stewardship of Stevie Rutland, an ex-hairdresser who had famously squirreled away everydollar he made while working as a dealer for EddieCellini in the Bahamian casinos. Eddie, along with hisolder brother Dino was Meyer Lansky's casinomanagement of choice. The Cellini’s in conjunctionwith the Ayub Brothers maintained a Croupiers schoolin London, located in Hanover Square at Fred Selby’srestaurant. Bobby and Freddy Ayub were of Lebanese- American decent and probably the two most

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Cromwell Mint wasthe Croupiers hangoutof choice in thoseheady days ofswinging London

Regular luminaries at TheCromwellian Club:From the top:Brian Epstein, Eric Burden, Lulu,Long John Baldry,

Tony figured Crapswas the Americannational game andmy Petrol Accentwould be good forbusiness

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proficient and best respected dice dealers to come outof the Steu-benville, Ohio casinos of the forties andfifties. They were to go on to operate dealers’ schoolsin Las Vegas and New York as well as casinos inAmsterdam and Yugoslavia till the Balkan wars brokeout 1991. The extremely well trained croupier/dealersthey turned out either went to work in Dino Cellini’s,posh Colony Club on Berkley Square, where theAmerican actor George Raft was installed as a CasinoDirector, or to the Bahamas to work either at the

Paradise Island Casino in Nassau or the LucayanBeach Casino in Freeport, Grand Bahamas Whatsticks most in mind was the huge Double-End, NewYork Style crap table that dominated one entire alcoveon the school’s floor. These huge tables with their 5%

vig on the buy-bets (no place bets, no come line) withthe two base dealers positioned at opposite ends ofthe table, along with a taunt string stretched across themiddle of the layout which the dice had to cross to becalled a roll, had their final hurrah in mid-eightiesNassau when Tommy Robinson; the American CasinoManager at the Playboy Club convinced the BahamianGaming Commission to bow to the new East Coastcompetition and introduce Vegas Crap Layouts. TheParadise Island casino at the time was under themanagement of another American Casino Manager;Dennis O’Brian who soon followed suit (Tommy andDennis were actually friends and colleagues’, having

worked together at the old North Shore Club in LakeTahoe in the early seventies). Anyway, back to London.Previous to Steve Rutland acquiring the Cromwell Mintproperty it had been controlled by a motley crew ofvillains and minor professional wrestlers; mostly strong-arm men of Polish extraction who worked for thenotorious London slum landlord, Peter Rachman. Theyhad successfully intimidated a young man by the nameof John Billings out of the operation. First someoneslashed the convertible top on John’s cherished AstonMartin, then sadly one night an altercation wasinstigated at the crap table where John was sitting box.

The East-End muscle that had been playing next to mebarged around behind the table and beat John quietbadly…not pretty. I’d had words with this fellow a fewminutes previously but nothing came of it. In retrospect(and fortunately for me) he was obviously on amission. We didn’t see much of John around the clubafter that. I know we were all embarrassed for John ashe was a well liked, obviously intelligent younggentleman. I learned in later years that he went on tomake a success of himself in the jeans business. Idoubt John could have been more than twenty-two ortwenty three years old at the time.The casino floundered through 1967 and 1968 till

Steve Rutland cut his deal. A humourous (in retrospect)side note to Steve’s foray into casino owner-ship waswhen his first casino, located in Brighton, literally

Being so tall, they hadto unfold him out ofthe back of a mini van

It was controlled by amotley crew ofLondon gangstersand minorprofessionalwrestlers

George Raft

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collapsed one day into a pile of dust and rubble, seemsthe timbers propping up the building’s exterior wallscould have borne a bit more scrutiny. I believe MikeConti was the manager at the time. I was later to workwith Mike in Port-au-Prince, Haiti in the early eighties;first at Mike McLaney’s, Royal Haitian Hotel, and laterthe historical, and exquisitely decadent, HabitationLerclerc, owned by famed American choreographerKatherine Dunham. For me, at my then formative age, the Cromwellian

Club proved to be an exciting and rewarding intro tothe business; I was now able to afford the luxury of aseven Guinea bed-sit on Hounslow Square. TheCromwellian had only five tables, but possessed afaded, hip elegance which attracted the show businessand rock star elite of those times; on any given nightyou’d be dealing across the tables to the likes’ of BrianEpstein; the Beatles first manager, and numerous otherluminaries of the exploding sixties, music scene. Starssuch as Tom Jones, Lulu, and Eric Burden of theAnimals, and Jonathan King were regulars and couldbe found hanging out downstairs most nights, in therestaurant-disco where the Long John Baldry Band,featuring Reginald Dwight aka Elton John on keyboardsheld sway. One memorable night the American filmactor, Lee Marvin wandered, more like staggered intothe club (Marvin being so tall and gangly they had tounfold him out of the back of a mini-van) and started

playing Pontoon (a distinctly Brit version of Black Jackwhere the house took the pushes, égaletes’, stand-offswith two aces beating a black jack which paid onlyeven-money). Mr. Marvin kept writing checks on hisBeverly Hills Bank till he finally wised-up and unsteadilynavigated his way to the poker game (this was the oldLondon five-card-stud game played with a stripped, 32card deck that was de rigueur in those days.) Thisparticular game attracted many of London’s betterbehaved villains who were quite happy to have thisinebriated American actor sit down at their table. As

fate would have it Marvin nailed a full house on this firstand only hand to out-draw the rest of the table. Hegave it a brief moment’s thought and gathered hiswinning chips into his arms (yes his arms, these wereFrench style jettons’ which were rather slippery andunwieldy) and calmly but wobbly made his way to thecashier’s cage. There was dead silence in the room asthe faces’ at the poker table stared in amazed disbeliefat their easy-money walking away…not a word wassaid, just stunned silence. After a year and half at the Cromwellian Club Tony

Mitchell sold his partnership to the wrestlers and I

moved on to his close friend’s New Apron Strings Clubon the Fulham Road. I remember blowing off a fewhundred quid from the float while undergoing myaudition on the lovely old French “Caro” wheel. (Itshould be noted as a matter of historical record that thefirst Roulette tables to operate in sixties-London werethe traditional French games, complete with four mancrew.) The Apron String’s was a favoured haunt ofyoung British nobility and their ladies. There was justbarely room enough on the ground flood for oneBritish/American Roulette and a Crap table. Downstairswe had two, maybe three Black Jacks, and a FrenchRoulette table. Two complimentary Backgammon tableswere also provided for the enjoyment of members andguests. You could have easily squeezed this entire clubinto a four-car garage. I do remember one smaller venue on Mayfair’s Curzon

Street that was so excruciatingly tiny they had to shoe-horn in a two-man-tub crap table or have no game atall. In later years I would take my London experiencewith these one & two-man-tub crap tables at the EarlsCourt Card Club and the Villa on Bayswater Road anddesign a similar but updated layout for use onNorwegian Cruise Line’s smaller ships. This layout, firstmanufactured by Paulson Dice & Card Company of LasVegas is now the standard one or two man dice layoutoffered by the major casino supply companies. I mustremember to copyright my creative efforts in the future. From my first night working at the Apron Strings’ I felt

a decidedly chill reception from my fellow Americandealers working there at the time. Apparently one of

From my first nightworking at the ‘ApronStrings’ I felt adecidedly chillreception from myfellow Americandealers working thereat the time.

Katherine Donham

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their colleagues had just been fired and I was the newunknown kid brought in to fill his spot. I was paid fivepounds a night (once again tax free) and 5% of thenet-win each week. This was very significant money tome in those early years. It soon became painfullyapparent why there was never any 5% waiting in anenvelope for me at the end of the week. The Americandealers had done everything but back a truck up to thetables in their effort to part the club from it’s bankroll;they succeeded. I was so young and green at the timethat it caused me a bit of concern to realise this sort ofthing went on to any degree. I thought everyone mustbe as thrilled, excited and privileged as I was to be inthis incredible business. That illusion soon went theway of the wind. The unregulated, wide-open sixtiesera of British casino gaming had begun with thedetermined and beleaguered British casino pioneer,John Aspinal, thumbing his nose at the government’sstance in 1960 or 1961 that casino gambling wasunquestionably illegal. The government had tried toprosecute Mr. Aspinal for operating private Chemin deFer games in private residences scattered about theposher neighborhoods of London. The government’scase was based on antiquated laws and statutesdating from the seventeenth and eighteenth century’s.Needless to say Mr. Aspinal’s Barrister’s made amockery of the government’s case. The situationremained in legal-Limbo for most of the 1960’s asvarious test cases slowly wound their tedious waythrough the ponderous British legal system. With theestablishment of the rather eccentric 1968 Gaming Actthe writing was on the wall for all to see that the goldenera of unregulated casino gaming as we knew it wasrapidly approaching an inglorious end. Many nights wewould be visited by Scotland Yard’s plain clothesofficers’. These gentlemen were well known, especiallyas many of them had been regular punters, so wewould change the rules accordingly upon their arrivaland revert back to standard operating procedure assoon as they exited the establishment. The zero on theRoulette wheels was often replaced with a labouredlyhand-painted “R” to denote re-spin (all wagers wouldbe left in place till the result of the next spin.) DinoCellini’s Colony Club even went so far as to leave thebusted hands uncollected on their Black Jack gamestill it was determined if the dealer subsequently bustedor not, in which case the punter was rewarded with apush/standoff/égaletes. Of course these counter-measures were only a

stopgap to the inevitable. All casinos in the U.K.supposedly ceased operation in 1969 while theregulatory licensing process of the 1968 Gaming Actwas put into effect. Sadly only a select few of thesepre-regulatory casinos, such as the Cromwell Mint,Victoria Sporting Club, and John Aspinal’s, esteemedClermont Club were to survive the government’stransition to over regulated, exorbitantly taxed, casinogaming in 1971. My next job was back at Pepe’s Mazurka club in

Soho. I worked there for a young Italian gentlemannamed Nino. A facet of the Mazurka Club common to

most small London clubs in those days was that manyvenues had different persons or small syndicatesbooking the action on different games. In essence youcould be working in a small club with one partybooking the Craps action, someone else the Roulette,Black Jack and so on, always interesting, and neverboring. The other facet that I liked the most was that adealer was paid directly proportionate to his or hersvalue to the casino operator. As these were very smallvenues, usually opening at eight or nine in the eveningand closing when the last punter went home (or thepoint-of-diminishing returns had obviously beenreached) in the early morning hours, it was imperative

to get as many rolls, spins, or cards dealt as possible.Needless to say game protection was paramount andquickly acquired in day-to-day dealing to this cagey,colourful player base. One night as I walked in throughthe Mazurka’s armored-plated door to begin anothernight’s work there was a palpable silence pervadingthe room. I glanced over at the poker table wherePepe was sitting quietly ensconced with two younggentlemen who looked to me like Americans, completewith dark suits, white shirts, thin ties, and short darkhair. Seemed a bit odd that a couple Yanks wouldcome into the Mazurka. When I enquired of my fellowcrap dealers (probably a bit to loudly) as to why it wasso quite in the joint they all went shisssssh at once -“It’s the twins!

When I enquired ofmy fellow crap crew,why it was so quietin the joint they allwent shsssh - It’s theTwins!

‘The Twins’:Ronnie &Reggie Kray

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“So, this was the infamous Kray Twins; Ronnie &Reggie of East London gangland lore, come to pay asocial visit…or least it appeared to be social as theyleft quietly without incident, so I can only surmise theyhad dropped by to pay their respects to Pepe. Another eventful night at the Mazurka came after

having been recently been promoted to the position of“Boxman”. This time I getting paid the princely sum ofseven Pounds a night and the usual 5% percent of theweek’s win. I had tried to stop an angry, disgruntledpunter from leaning over the table to grab the base-dealer’s working stack of five-pound chips. As Igrasped his outstretched hand, his other hand camearound, swiping neatly across the bridge of my nose,just barely slicing it with his fingernails. He then agilelyleaped up upon the table and stood there trying to kickme in the face. As I was tangled up in the box man’schair between the table and the wall all I could do wastry to beat him off with the proverbial stick. He then hetumbled back off the table, grabbed a poker chair andstarted to come after me as I was still tying to extricatemyself from said table, chair and wall. Fortunately (andI’m forever grateful) one of the Italians had the nerve tograb the chair from behind this villain as he raised itover his head to bash in my noggin. As this lovelyfellow was being wrestled out the door, which he thenproceeded to keep pounding on with hishead…,remember this was an armor plated door, I washidden away for the rest of the evening in the kitchenwhere the staff solemnly informed me I had crossedswords (sticks) with Mad Tony! Apparently Mad Tonywas certifiably and sadistically mad. They regaled mewith gruesome tales of his breaking a Sea Captain’sknee caps with a tire-iron. I got home Ok that night butupon my return to work the next day I walked down thehall (outside the armored-plated front door) to use thetiny men’s room and lo-and-behold who should bestanding at the urinal but good ol’ Mad Tony! Before Icould execute a fast about-face, Tony turned, facedme, smiled and held out his hand to shake, “Sorrymate for last night!” Apparently Pepe had, had a wordwith Mad Tony’s minders and he’d been told to come inand apologise. Always a relief not to meet an ingloriousend in a toilette somewhere. As the popularity of the crap game at the Mazurka

gained momentum we had the need to purchase moredice as ours were getting a bit beat up in the daily taxidriver grind play. Oddly enough we could never put anick in dice we later got hold of from the Wagon Wheelcasino in South Lake Tahoe. They lasted for weeks

without noticeable wear-or-tear. We had a nice younglady dealing Black Jack for us who’s Americanboyfriend, (I’ll conveniently forget his name) operated adice game on the Finchley Road at the pine paneled ElToro Club as well as being a partner at the Mint on theKilburn Road who we figured should have an abundantsupply of extra dice. We asked her to ask him if wecould purchase three sets to tide us over. This younglady promptly came into work the next night andhanded me three sets of nice new dice. The onlyproblem was when I did the time-honored boxmans-caliber-spin between thumb and forefinger theywobbled in a decidedly portentous manner. Uponexamination these dice proved to be not only shapes(convex or concave, I can’t remember) but loaded aswell. They would sort of wobble side-to-side as theyrolled down the table before flopping over in theirpredetermined resting place. I was still veryinexperienced and not quite sure of the diplomatic,professional way to handle this situation. In retrospectit was more like self-preservation. If I showed Nino andPepe the dice there would most certainly be aconfrontation with the American casino operator. To

make matters worse Nino had been playing in thisfellows club a couple nights previously and had lostheavily. This was not getting any easier. Giving thegirlfriend the benefit of the doubt as I thought theremight be a chance she had nicked the three sets fromhis dresser drawer to make few extra quid, I confrontedher with the situation at which point she promptly brokeinto tears and said she had absolutely no idea theywere dodgy dice and she had just taken what wasgiven to her to deliver. I decided (poorly in retrospect)to keep my mouth shut and stash the dice in my carthing till things blew over, but several days later uponreturning to my usual parking spot in the back streets

They regaled me withgruesome tales of hisbreaking a SeaCaptain’s knee capswith a tire-iron.

John Lennon,Georgie Fame &Paul McCartney atThe CromwellianClub in 1967

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A s noted the first Roulette games to open inLondon in the early sixties were thetraditional French tables with two croupiers

seated either side of the wheel, alternating spins,with another Croupier (usually the apprentice-trainee) seated at the bottom of the table with ashort rake to facilitate the payouts and to help thepunters place their bets. Given the four man crewand an Inspector, these large tables were certainlynot cost effective to operate in small clubs. Thehardened American casino professionals who hadrecently come to town were quick to reinvent-the-wheel by placing the obligatory, single-zero Frenchwheels on American tables. This hybrid innovationhas obviously become the standard in most of theworld where single-zero, British Roulette holdsreign. It’s perversely amusing to witness a self-assured American casino supervisor employedabroad for the first time (Istanbul comes to mind)deal with the barrage of call bets such the Voisinsdu zero, Orphelins en plein, and Finales a chevaletc. as-well-as the skyscraper bets that a 2.78%(2.63 with En-Prison) game engenders, rather thanthe understandably, underplayed 5.56% American

game. Fitting revenge for those break-in dealerssent on the long quest down Fremont Street bythese same smug fellows to fetch the infamousWheel-Crank. Plastic Black Jack shoes had not yet come into use

at this time so beautifully crafted, wooden Chemmy(Chemin-de-fer) or Baccarat Shoes were usuallyutilized on Black Jack games. Plastic cut cards hadalso not come into use as yet so a Joker wasusually reversed in the four-deck shoe to signify theend of the shoe was approaching. When I first arrived in Las Vegas in the autumn of

1968 the only Nevada casino using Black Jackshoes was the Stardust. The dealers were obviouslynot pleased with this recent turn-of-events. Oneheavyset, comical dealer would tuck the shoe underin his armpit and deal it like a hand-held, single-deck, good for a few laughs at the time. Accordingto a conversation I had in later years with EddieCellini in El Salvador where he now operates thevery successful Bingo Club, he stated they had firstintroduced Puento Banco or Baccarat shoes ontothe Blackjack tables of Havana in the late forties tobring the Cuban dealers under a bit of restraint.

Footnotes,trivia, andrecollections

of Soho I discovered that my old Mini had been brokeninto and only the dice were missing, even my passportwas left untouched. There was one very blond hairstuck in the frame of the rear view mirror -- theAmerican casino operator in question was very blond. Inever did mention this incident to Pepe or Nino asthere would have been severe consequences for allconcerned…matters such as this were settled of courtin those days. As twilight loomed over employment prospects in the

waning days of 1968 I managed to make ends meet byworking an lacklustre few weeks at the Lions CornerHouse Casino in Piccadilly owned by Fritz Demetriousof Bays water’s, Olympic Casino and then a morememorable few weeks for a demonically temperedPersian named Kouras who operated the Villa onBayswater Road. Kouras would not permit the Dealers

to go home each night till every shilling had beenaccounted for. I recall Kouras throwing an empty drop-box across the room at one on the young lady dealershe was displeased with. Scenes like that were nightlyoccurrences at the Villa so I moved on to my finalLondon job at my home-away-from-home the Forty-Five. Sadly the Mint lost it’s following by this time anddespite being given a hefty cut of the action; 10% ofnothing is still nothing. After weighing up my decliningprospects as well as the rapidly diminishing bankroll inthe ol’ skyrocket, reluctantly, after four grand,adventure filled years I boarded Icelandic Air for thelong propeller driven flight back to the U.S.A. andDowntown Vegas; that’s another story. CL

Published with kind permission of Randy Steed - this feature firstappeared on the website www.scarabcasinomanagement.com