Read Online Rothstein by David Pietrusza - Free Book Online

as you think you are; Conaway can take you easily.
    It was the Times Square equivalent of calling out a gunfighter. Rothstein couldn’t afford to have his skills or courage denigrated and snapped at the bait. Later, some Times Square observers thought he was suckered. Others thought he knew precisely what he was doing. A. R. peeled off a roll of bills, saying, “I’ll bet $500 I can beat Mr. Conaway.”
    A. R. chose the venue, John McGraw’s pool hall, just a few blocks south on Herald Square. John “The Little Napoleon” McGraw was one of the biggest men in baseball-actually, in all of sport. In the 1890s he played a hardscrabble third base for the rough-and-tumble Baltimore club, the immortal “Old Orioles,” and was the toughest, savviest man on baseball’s toughest, savviest team. As a manager, he transformed the hitherto-woebegone New York Giants franchise into baseball’s powerhouse, establishing himself as baseball’s greatest field general.
    Most ballplayers and ex-ballplayers dreamt of running their own saloon. McGraw settled for a pool hall on Herald Square. In February 1906, with Willie Hoppe on hand, McGraw opened an establishment boasting fifteen of the most expensive tables “ever placed in a billiard room in the world.” McGraw’s partners were Jack Doyle, a prominent local gambler, and Tod Sloan, once one of the world’s greatest jockeys. Sloan pioneered the upright or “monkey-on-a-stick” stance for jockeys, and served as the model for George M. Cohan’s character “Little Johnny Jones,” Cohan’s ode to “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” Sloan’s betting habits got him banned from racing in 1900. He now supported himself as a bookmaker and actor.
    In October 1908 McGraw moved across Herald Square, to the brand-new Marbridge Building, next door to the New York Herald. McGraw had some new partners, including Hoppe and Giants club secretary Fred Knowles. There were rumors of silent partners, among them young Arnold Rothstein. Business had picked up for Rothstein by 1908. He could swing a piece of McGraw’s place and bring more than money to a partnership. His friends at Tammany Hall (some said A. R. had the gambling concession at Big Tim Sullivan’s Metropole) had influence. Police protection for pool halls cost $300 a month, and even the great John McGraw had to pay it. A fellow with Rothstein’s connections could prevent “misunderstandings.”
    Rothstein and Conaway started that Thursday night at 8:00 P.M. Their first match was for 50 points. Conaway squeaked by. The second match went to 100. Conaway led again, but Rothstein staged a spectacular run to win by a single ball. Betting now reached extremely serious levels. The rivals continued, playing game after game. At 2:00 A.M., McGraw’s normal closing time, Rothstein seized a clear lead, but Conaway jeered that his foe was merely lucky. Rothstein knew better. They kept playing.
    At dawn they were still at it. Friday came and went. The crowd kept betting, and A. R. kept winning. As evening arrived, with both participants exhausted, the game no longer featured championship quality play-only grueling tenacity. Conaway won occasionally, but couldn’t quite catch up. Closing time came and went once more. By 2:00 A.M. McGraw had had enough. “I’ll have you dead on my hands,” he growled at the two weary combatants. “And if you don’t want to sleep, some of the rest of us do.”
    Rothstein and Conaway begged McGraw to relent. But two hours later-at 4:00 A.M., thirty-two hours after play started-the Little Napoleon finally shut down. “You’d better get to a Turkish bath-the two of you. You can continue your little game some other time.” And that’s just what they did. Some said Arnold won $4,000 from the game at McGraw’s. All in all, A. R.‘s “friends” lost $10,000 backing Conaway.
    On the way to the baths, Conaway and Rothstein agreed to meet in Philadelphia for $5,000. One can’t be sure their rematch occurred, although