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Nineteen twenties
of the rich and powerful, moved up Fifth Avenue, from East 26th Street to East 44th. Sherry's, its rival, was just across the way.
More important, just a few blocks west was Longacre Squarenot yet called Times Square-but already emerging as Manhattan's theatrical and dining epicenter. The people Arnold Rothstein was most interested in-gamblers-tended to congregate at Shanley's on Broadway between 42nd and 43rd. Far more prominent folk, however, gathered at Rector's. Here dined the cream of Broadway society-prizefighter Gentleman Jim Corbett; financier Diamond Jim Brady; his girlfriend, actress Lillian Russell; millionaire Harry Kendall Thaw and his bride Evelyn Nesbitt; architect Stanford White, whom the insane Thaw would kill in a jealous rage over his wife; theatrical producers Charles Frohman and Clyde Fitch; Broadway stars George M. Cohan and Anna Held; writers 0. Henry and Richard Harding Davis; composer Victor Herbert.
When every other place closed, one moved to Jack's at West 43rd and Sixth, across from the city's biggest theater, the brand-new Hippodrome, to breakfast on Irish bacon and champagne. Only the naive believed that Jack could serve so much liquor, so long after hours, without a well-compensated wink from Tammany.
The West 40s was now where the action was, and smart men like Richard Canfield knew it. In 1899 he purchased a four-story brownstone at 5 East 44th Street for $75,000, spent another $400,000 remodeling it (topping the $200,000 restaurateur Charles Rector spent outfitting his opulent establishment), and untold thousands more bribing cops to keep it open. Canfield's new Saratoga Club exceeded even his own exceptional standards. The New York Times marveled:
It is the finest place of its kind in this country if not in the world, and the nightly play is enormous. It draws its patrons from the wealthiest men in the country, and while it is not hard for a man whose appearance denotes a fair measure of affluence to pass its portals, the "shoestring gambler" does not long remain its guest.
The entire big brownstone house is fitted throughout with extreme magnificence. The rarest Eastern carpets are upon its floors, and masterpieces of art adorn its walls. The furniture, consisting mainly of divans and davenports, are marvels of beauty and luxuriousness.
The gaming room on the second floor extends the length and width of the house and is a noble hall in proportions. In it are the most elaborate gambling layouts in this country, consisting of roulette wheels, faro tables, baccarat tables, and rouge et noir. Baccarat, faro and roulette are the principal games, and at times for certain players the limit is absolutely removed.
Servants throughout the house attend to the wants of the players and the place is conducted much like one of the most exclusive clubs. Entertainment is free to the guests. The costliest dishes game, pates and the rarest wines are served throughout the night. Everything is conducted with the utmost decorum. There are no loud words or heated arguments, all such being quietly but firmly stopped at their incipiency.
Gambling, the gentleman's pastime.
A. R. read about Canfield in the papers, heard about him on the street. He aspired to meet his standards. The cheap stuss parlors of the Lower East Side and the sawdust-covered floors and backrooms of Bowery gin joints held little attraction. He coveted success not failure, upward mobility not barroom squalor. He wanted to rebel, but he also wished to rule.
Like Canfield, Arnold did not begin his gambling career in the Roaring Forties. Yes, he started out downtown but did not remain there long. An early haunt was Sunny Smith's poolroom on busy Fourteenth Street between Third and Fourth Avenues. Smith's was not a poolroom in the sense of today's poolrooms. It may have contained a billiard table of two, but originally the term "poolroom"and pool itself-referred to "pools" of money placed on horse races and baseball games. Smith's attracted