Debate still rages as to how much Allen R. Glick (1942- ) resembles the clueless nebbish portrayed by Kevin Pollak in Casino. Glick was, writes John L. Smith in Of Rats and Men, "a Vietnam veteran born in Pittsburgh," who’d earned a Bronze Star and with whom "it was unhealthy to argue." He’s notorious for fronting a massive skim that took place at four Las Vegas casinos: the Fremont, Marina (now part of MGM Grand), Hacienda and Stardust (both since demolished). The exposure of the scam would bring about the downfall of the Mob in Sin City.
Given his subsequent proximity with rampant illegality, it’s ironic that Glick followed his college studies at Ohio State University by taking a law degree from Case Western Reserve. He then served in ‘Nam as either a helicopter pilot or an Army intelligence officer (accounts vary). Following his discharge, Glick relocated to San Diego, where he performed legal work for homebuilder American Housing.
However, Glick wanted to be a developer himself and launched his own firm. In tandem with Denny Wittman ("a nice, wild guy"), Glick began sussing out opportunities in Nevada in 1972. The duo wanted to redevelop 60 acres on South Las Vegas Boulevard as a mobile-home park. But the land was occupied by the insolvent Hacienda casino-hotel. Since Wittman balked at getting into the casino business, Glick went it alone. It was a fateful decision.
(In a harbinger of problems to come, Glick was sued by former San Diego Charger Ron Mix for allegedly welshing on a $105,000 commission for introducing Glick to Oakland Raiders owner – and future Glick business partner -- Al Davis. The case was dismissed.)
After snapping up the Hacienda for $3 million, Glick made a run at the bankrupt King’s Castle casino in Lake Tahoe. In the course of his pursuit, he became acquainted with the Central States Teamster Pension Fund. The King’s Castle deal didn’t pan out but Glick had met an important new financier.
When Glick’s eye alit upon the Stardust and Fremont casinos, Teamster pension-fund manager Al Baron tried to warn him off the investment. Glick could have obtained the money from Idaho potato mogul J.R. Simplot but, rather than surrender majority ownership of his casino company, Argent, he went back to the Teamsters. He was then introduced to fund trustee Frank Balistrieri.
Glick’s newest potential investor was also the Mob boss in Milwaukee. Upon learning this, most men would have gone back to the potato grower instead but Glick plowed ahead with his Mafia sponsor. In words that summarize his career, Glick said, "The things I didn’t want to think about I didn’t want to think about." By his own account, as told to author Nicholas Pileggi, Glick actually believed he could call the shots.
Armed with $62.7 million in Teamster money, Glick outbid Dunes owner Morris Shenker for the Fremont and Stardust, with the deal closing in August 1974. The new owner was informed that his casinos would be run by Frank "Lefty" Rosenthal, an imperious oddsmaker. Lefty had made a career out of staying one step ahead of the law.
The relationship soured rapidly. Within two months, Rosenthal supposedly informed Glick, "If you interfere with … or try to undermine anything I want to do here, I represent to you that you will never leave this corporation alive." When Glick complained to Balistrieri, he was told to do as Lefty said.
Despite public professions of respect for Glick, Rosenthal’s internal communications with his ostensible boss told a different story. In Dennis Griffin’s The Battle for Las Vegas, "Connie," a former Argent vice president of marketing recalls being told by Glick to take no further orders from Lefty. When this got back to Rosenthal, he rang up Glick’s La Jolla residence. According to "Connie," Lefty’s end of the conversation ran, in part: "We need to get something straight, Allen. I run things around here. Connie works for me, not you. And if you ever approach her … I’ll break both of your legs. Do you understand that? That’s good. Good evening, Allen." Glick never said a word to "Connie" after that.
The following March, with Glick and Rosenthal still at loggerheads, the two flew to Kansas City for a sit-down with some made men. Local Mafia capo Nick Civella supposedly threatened to gouge Glick’s eyes out. He and other Mafiosi told Glick, at gunpoint and in no uncertain terms, that he was just a puppet. As a Metro homicide detective described him, Glick became "a zombie. A nonperson."
If Glick was a prisoner of the Mob, his was a very gilded cage. The perks of being a Mob front included being able to afford a La Jolla, Calif., mansion as well as a private jet. Glick also reveled in a car collection that included – according to Pileggi’s Casino -- a Stutz Bearcat with mink carpets and upholstery. (Glick’s judgment in décor was a dubious as his choice of business partners.)
Another benefit of casino ownership was a revenue trough into which Glick dipped. He gave an open-ended, $10 million Argent loan to other Glick-controlled companies, as well as paying himself a six-figure management fee. He’d also raked $317,500 off the top of his initial Teamster loan to (among other things) spruce up his mansion.
Not even the failure of his Saratoga Development Corp. and a default on the Hacienda purchase loan could topple Glick’s fantasy kingdom in Las Vegas. Notorious slot cheat Jay Vandermark was installed to oversee the skim, which sucked so much money out of Argent’s casinos that they posted four years of losses, despite revenue growth.
For all of his "straight-arrow naïf" public image, Glick himself could be a liability to the Mob. Caesars Palace pit boss Edward "Marty" Buccieri had facilitated Glick’s relationship with the Teamsters, an act which he felt earned him $30,000 in "finder’s fees." In May 1975, Buccieri confronted Glick (in a sauna, by one colorful account) and attempted to throttle him.
That same month, Glick investor Tamara Rand sued him for partial ownership of Argent, claiming a hidden 5% stake, purchased for $2 million. Casino novice Rand was also receiving a $100,000 consulting fee. She later upped the ante to criminal fraud and was able to subpoena records of the Teamster loan, a paper trail that might have led back to Balistrieri and his associates.
But arguing with Argent’s CEO could be lethal. Buccieri was gunned down in Caesars’ parking lot soon after his altercation with Glick. The following November, Rand was assassinated in her San Diego home. Since he was their human façade, Mafia bosses needed to protect Glick. Or, as Balistrieri is alleged to have said, "We’ve got to keep the genius with a clean image." ("Genius" was one of the Mob’s pet names for the chrome-domed Glick. "Baldy" was the other.)
Irked at being publicly linked to the Rand murder, Glick issued a lengthy and brazen public statement. "To associate me or any department or employee of my company with so-called ‘organized crime’ is false," he said, in a shrill crescendo of self-righteousness. "I do have one fact on my side which cannot be distorted, maligned nor falsified when it is known – that is the truth that Allen R. Glick has never, nor will ever be associated with anything other than what is lawful."
Glick was lying through his teeth, even if he supposedly couldn’t figure out why Argent’s casinos were operating at a deficit. With typical Glick ineptitude, he tried putting Lefty under surveillance but his covert operation didn’t stay secret for long, resulting in a threat from the Milwaukee Mob: Cut it out or you’ll get whacked.
Sunday: The downfall of Allen Glick (tomorrow is Fezzik Friday and Saturday we feature the results to the last Reader Poll).
