MINNESOTA GAMBLING

Forty-seven years ago. . . 
Gambling in Minnesota was big, big business


Picture row upon row of slot machines, with patient customers
lined 10 deep for their chance at the one-armed bandits. Others
dance to the latest music as cheerful employees circulate among
the patrons offering change for a buck.

Grand Casino Hinckley? Mystic Lake? Las Vegas? No, it's the Bar
Harbor Nightclub overlooking Gull Lake. The year is 1946.

Nearly 50 years ago, gambling was big business in the land of
10,000 lakes. More than 5,000 individuals and companies paid the
$100 special federal tax on slot machines back in 1946, according
to the U.S. Treasury Department. 

The total number of Minnesota slots was estimated at 8,500 in
1946. Surprisingly, that's only 1,500 fewer than the current
number of video lottery machines in American Indian casinos in
Minnesota. 

But there was one very big difference between the proliferation
of gambling then and now: Each one of those slot machines was
illegal 47 years ago, although few seemed to care.

While law enforcement officials looked the other way, bars,
legion halls, and private clubs took in an estimated $8 million a
year in illegal slot machine revenue, according to the Saturday
Evening Post. Places like the Winona Country Club counted on the
machines to attract customers and used the $7,000 in annual slot
revenue to pay the bills. One of every four American Legion posts
had slot machines.

That is, until Luther Youngdahl entered the governor's office.

Youngdahl was a Christian first and a politician second, someone
who once said that "politics is the machinery by which society
makes its moral decisions." The Republican son of devout Swedish
immigrants who "read the Bible a lot and were definitely opposed
to sin," Youngdahl made it his personal crusade to rid the state
of illegal gambling.

After a successful gubernatorial campaign emphasizing
law-enforcement efforts, he set to work on what became known as
the anti-slot machine bill. Publicly, he proclaimed he would use
his authority to "oust sheriffs and prosecuting attorneys who did
not enforce the laws to the letter," wrote biographer Robert
Esbjornson in A Christian in Politics.

While bingo was made legal in 1945 as a way to help religious and
other "charitable" organizations raise money, other forms of
gambling were not, including raffles, punch boards, and slot
machines. Bar games like 14, 26, and Hooligan were also illegal.
But the problem was they were also extremely popular. Local
authorities turned a knowingly blind eye, and Youngdahl cried
foul. 

He began a vigorous campaign to rid the state of "one-armed
bandits," and oftentimes accompanied the police in their
widespread raids across the state.

Those who complained the loudest about the crackdown were the
resort and bar owners, who claimed any attempt to trim the
gambling business would irreparably harm the tourist industry --
then generating about $200 million each year.

Youngdahl's detractors called him a "blue-nosed governor" who was
forcing his morality on the rest of the state. But instead of
moralizing, Youngdahl pointed out that gambling was illegal.
Local officials, he argued, ought to be enforcing the existing
state laws. 

He also raised the specter of organized crime, arguing that half
of the slot revenue -- $4 million -- went to "shadowy figures and
racketeers." Youngdahl supporters, some of them clergymen like
George Mecklenberg of Minneapolis, spoke of the "underworld
syndicate" who sought to undermine Youngdahl's anti-gambling
legislative efforts.

Whether they were underworld or not, a reported 600 people packed
a public hearing on the bill (HF698) that would allow authorities
to revoke the license of any operation found to be in "knowing
possession" of a gambling device. A gambling device was defined
as any slot machine, roulette wheel, punch board, number jar, or
pinball machine that paid coins, slugs chips or tokens redeemable
for merchandise or prizes. Despite the hundreds of opponents, the
committee approved the bill.

In the spring of 1947, the Minneapolis Tribune  took a poll to
test the public pulse on the issue, and a full 70 percent of the
respondents approved of the governor's efforts. When the
opposition looked to be mobilizing, Youngdahl took his case
directly to the people, where twice a week on 17 radio stations
he made his case.

"Organized vice and corruption can exist only where officials are
lax in the performance of their responsibilities and when the
public is apathetic in its duty," said Youngdahl.

A week later he gave examples of public officials openly dealing
with slot machine owners in direct violation of state law: In
Savage, there were slots in the municipal liquor store. In Benton
County, the sheriff admitted to being a mediator for machine
owners and county officials. Youngdahl invited constituents to
register their outrage with their legislators.

And they did. Esbjornson writes that "some [legislators] declared
it was the largest avalanche of mail they had ever received."

On April 9, the anti-slot bill was brought before the House and
approved on a 98 to 9 vote. In the Senate, attempts were made to
ease the prohibitions -- allowing private clubs to keep slots
among them -- but they were ultimately defeated. When the bill
was finally voted upon, not one senator cast a dissenting vote.
It passed 58 to 0.

In June of 1947, Youngdahl met with 174 local law enforcement
officials from around the state to discuss a "uniform enforcement
program." When the day-long proceedings were over, he was
guaranteed their support, prompting the Des Moines Register to
write: "Youngdahl has a trait puzzling to professional
politicians -- he means what he says. . . . The Minnesota record
proves that old-fashioned civic morality can still be sold to the
public."

Reporter Rufus Jarman of the Saturday Evening Post wrote that the
resorts behaved themselves "like Boy Scouts" after the law was
passed. Most willingly removed their slot machines, some
replacing them with signs reading: "Youngdahl was here." While a
later Minneapolis Tribune poll showed approval for Youngdahl's
gambling plan had dipped to 48 percent, the governor would win
two more stints as the state's chief executive, and will always
be remembered for his ousting of the one-armed bandits.

--John Tschida



Originally printed in 1993 in Session Weekly, a weekly
newsmagazine published by the Minnesota House Public Information
Office.

***Last Update 8/5/94 (jtt) Last Review 8/5/94 (jtt) ***