Lawyer recalls battle against Galveston gambling

(6/12/07 - GALVESTON, TX) -- Fifty years ago, Jim Simpson almost single-handedly took on the island's gambling rackets and won, bringing an end to the Free State of Galveston.

Now 80, his eyes shine as he begins to talk about "judgment day," the day the slot machines at the Balinese Room stopped paying out for good.

"It was the passing of an era," he said.

In the early 1950s, Simpson was an ambitious Texas City lawyer and aspiring politician who abhorred gambling. It was an unusual combination in those days.

He attributed his strong feelings to constantly observing the juxtaposition of vice and innocence.

"I had always had a pride in the town in which I lived," Simpson said.

"I didn't have that feeling here. I could walk down the street and see a gambling joint within sight of a grammar school. I just wondered: How is that affecting the children who are growing up in that environment? Are they going to adopt the corrupt practices they see around them?"

Although gambling was illegal, Galveston was filled with casinos that operated openly. Local law enforcement and elected officials turned a blind eye, encouraged, many people thought, by more than a few bribes.

Burning with his passion for ending the flagrant violation of state laws, Simpson ran in 1954 for county attorney, the position now called district attorney. He promised to clean up the rackets and put prominent bosses such as San and Rose Maceo out of business.

Simpson lost the Democratic nomination, but only by eight votes, a sign he said indicated that public sentiment toward gambling was changing.

But the racketeers still had a strong emotional hold over the island's residents.

"Public opinion was shaped largely by the racketeers," he said.

"They carried out the most thorough, intelligent program of indoctrination, of brainwashing so to speak. For instance, when the Texas City Disaster occurred, the Balinese Room had a fundraiser for the victims of the blast.

"But that was all for a very real purpose. If you let me write the laws and administer them, I would be only too happy to part with some money."

The well-earned community goodwill and their relationship with local officials had so far made the gambling bosses immune to all previous attempts to shut them down.

Even the famed Texas Rangers, whose well-publicized raids are often given credit for bringing the rackets to their knees, could not still the dice for long.

"Those raids were all show," Simpson said.

"And they didn't work. They'd have a raid, and a couple of weeks later, the rackets would be back in business."

Even when the raids were successful and charges were filed, sympathetic district judges would drop the cases.

Simpson knew that, if he were going to make any progress enforcing the law, he would have to take a different course.

Two years after his failed attempt to gain the county's top law-enforcement spot, Simpson was pleased by Will Wilson's election as Texas attorney general.

Although the two men had never met, Wilson had a reputation for shutting down the rackets in Dallas, where he was previously county prosecutor.

Simpson wrote Wilson a letter saying he hoped he was serious about his intentions of cleaning up the rackets statewide and encouraging him to remember Galveston.

He was surprised to get a telephone call from Wilson in return.

The two met in Austin and Simpson outlined his plan.

To get past the corruption in the criminal court system, he told Wilson he should file civil injunctions against the gambling clubs and the prostitution rings that usually went with them.

The burden of proof was lighter in civil cases and, with no requirement for a jury trial, the punishment was immediate.

As soon as an establishment reopened, Simpson could file another civil action.

Simpson said all he needed was an honest state district judge and he knew two -- William E. Stone and Donald Markle.

Wilson liked the idea. He named Simpson special assistant attorney general and gave him free reign in Galveston.

Simpson looked for two men with no previous law-enforcement experience who could be trained using techniques he'd learned during a brief stint in the FBI.

He chose James D. "Buddy" Givens, 33, of La Marque, and Carroll Yaws, 37, of Alta Loma, and began training them at his office in odd hours.

During the day, both men worked for the oil companies and were members of Local 449 of the Oil, Chemical and Atomic Workers International Union, which Simpson had previously represented.

"They risked their lives," Simpson said. "If they had been detected, I wouldn't have wanted to have been in their shoes."

Finding evidence was not hard.

"You could hardly go into any store without seeing a slot machine," Simpson said. Major gambling clubs were just a short walk from the courthouse.

Givens and Yaws performed superbly, keeping detailed notes of their undercover operation.

They spent about $3,000 of the state's money, compiling records of the gambling houses.

Their evidence was so strong that, when Simpson began to file his motions seeking to restrain illegal activity, most of the larger operators just gave up, padlocking their properties for good.

After Givens and Yaws had wrapped up their cases, Simpson began filing the paperwork in court. On June 10, 1957, the first day he began filing papers, he sought and received 47 orders enjoining businesses from illegal activity.

Unlike the cosmetic law enforcement raids, it was clear that the game was over, he said.

He recalls telling people who violated the orders to take their toothbrushes when they came to court. People were going to jail.

Simpson was elated by his victory, but not everyone in town shared his glee.

"I was shunned," he said.

"I was shunned even by friends. I hate to even mention this because it hurts me even to this day. I could meet friends I had known for years, and they would turn their back on me. They didn't want to be seen shaking hands with me."

Toward the end of 1957, a reporter asked Simpson whether the effort and expense had been worth it.

Simpson answered the question by telling a story.

"I got a phone call one day at the attorney general's office saying, 'Mr. Simpson, I wanted to thank you,"' he recalled.

"'Formerly, my husband could never reach home with his paycheck because he had become addicted to slot machines and tip books. Now, as a result of your work, I can put shoes on little feet, bread on the table and clothes on their backs, and so I wanted to thank you."'

Simpson struggled through the story. His eyes welled up with tears that rolled down his wrinkled cheeks.

"You bet your boots it was worth it," he said.

"Worth every penny and every ounce of energy."

(Copyright 2007 by The Associated Press. All Rights Reserved.)

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