The Numbers Game

also a member of the American Correctional Association since 1957. Bennett was awarded a Doctor of Humane Letters from Ashland College. He received the E.R. Cass award for outstanding achievement from the American Correctional Association in 1985. Bennett Cooper, Emmett Cooper, and their families were also featured in Ebony magazine on three different occasions. Dr. Bennett J. “Godfather” Cooper, Sr. passed away on March 3, 2013 in Cincinnati. He was survived by his wife, Zelda, of over 70 years, as well as his three children and By Suzanne Parks, M.Ed Recently a local historian asked her Facebook followers to share their families’ involvement in playing the numbers. She then asked them to be transparent, to spill the beans on what was once an illegal pastime, but also the foundation for a thriving shadow economy within the black community. Her post was immediately flooded with this and that accounts of grandma’s relationship with the numbers man to daddy was a numbers runner recollections. With fondness and a sense of pride, the participants in the thread became nostalgically reminiscent about a past when playing the numbers was a way of life among black folks. They were downright eager to tell their stories of family members who were technically breaking the law. I have my own stories about family members. They were more than just runners or players. First, there was Tim Treadwell or Uncle Tim to us kids, who was the kingpin and the person who brought the numbers to Columbus; an aunt who daily totaled the day’s policy slips and cash collections on an adding machine before the winners were determined; and The Vanity Box, my grandmother Irene’s beauty salon, the first black beauty shop in Columbus was a front for the business. Many in my family at one time, played at least a small role in the family enterprise. Even yours truly, for a brief moment while I was in college, was a miniscule runner who picked up the occasional bet. As noted, the numbers racket was illegal. Once called policy playing (a wordplay for insurance) the activity began to flourish not only within the African American community, but also among ItalianAmericans, Jewish-Americans and CubanAmericans who called it Bolita or Little Ball, as early as the 1800s. In New York City and prior to 1860, betters would place bets in policy shops or with bookmakers also known as bookies. Since moral America several grandchildren. Cooper paved the way for countless men and women as he served as the first African American in numerous capacities. He also embodied professionalism and served as a successful administrator. He encouraged education and always tried to help others achieve like he did. He was a devout Christian (Catholic) and he loved his family. Dr. Bennett Cooper served as a role model for hard work, education, integrity, ingenuity, dedication, and faithfulness. I urge everyone to read more about Dr. Cooper and look to him as a source of inspiration for achievement. https://www.thompsonhalljordan.com/ http://ohiocjoralhistoryjournal.blogspot. com/2009/11/oral-history-of-dr-bennetcooper-first.html https://nabcj.org/ Ebony magazine (February 1951, November 1973) Rodney Blount is an Educator and Historian. He received two Bachelor of Arts degrees from Ball State University and a Masters of Arts degree from The Ohio State University. His work has been featured in several publications. Rodney is a native of Columbus, Ohio and is a member of several organizations.

THE NUMBERS GAME: PRECURSOR TO THE STATE LOTTERY

Works Cited and legislators considered gambling to be an abomination against good Christian values, legislative assemblies began to issue laws making the activity illegal. Despite efforts to legally curtail gambling, policy shops starting popping up between 1878 – 1892 in Chicago and Louisiana. Initially, the game was played through the sale of numbered tickets where betters could choose numbers between 1-75. Eventually the rules of the game evolved into what became known as The Numbers. Players placed a bet on a three-digit number between 000-999. They played the number for either straight, boxed or for a straight up hit. Selecting one’s number was often mathematically calculated, somewhat scientific in nature, based upon a gut feeling and an artform. People played numbers associated with dreams. For example, if one dreamed about death, they played 769. Some would sit down with pencil, paper and engage in advanced mathematical formulas to calculate the odds in order to determine the number most likely to fall. When the stock market rang the closing bell for that day’s activity, the winning number could be found in the results. It can be assumed that within every household in the black community, regardless of the family’s personal wealth balance sheet, one would find the evening newspaper opened to the US Stock Market Data section because it was there the players would find the winning number. The odds for winning were around 999:1 against the better with an average return on one’s investment around 600:1. Therefore, playing the numbers was very lucrative for all involved. Numbers kingpins and queenpins were fabulously wealthy because the profits were non-taxable income generated by a neverending flow of customers. To demonstrate just how much money was being made, a 1964 article in the New York Times headlined a story with the following caption, “Dimes Make Millions for Numbers Racket; 600-1 Payoff Lures 500,000 a Day to Make Bets Here.” Although considered part of the rackets, Numbers CEOs were highly regarded, if not beloved within the black community. They operated parallel banks and were willing to take risks on giving loans to black people who would have been discriminated against by a mainstream financial institution. Black entrepreneurs secured additional revenue for their businesses, sometimes in exchange for allowing the enterprise, whether a grocery, barbershop, bar or restaurant, to operate as a front or “clearinghouse parlor.” It was a beneficial arrangement for all. Uncle Tim, who listed his occupation as a farmer, ran a “casino” or gaming room on an actual farm. He was also the sole proprietor of The Pit (sometimes called Javans), a barb-que joint that was tucked away in a part of Columbus that made one think they had gone into the woods, because there were no street lights. As a child I remember going to The Pit with my parents, always after dark. The nighttime curtain seemed to add to the mystique of the restaurant (which was actually a house) because tucked behind the dining room was the smoke house. The air was filled with the most delicious smelling aroma. In my mind’s eye, I can still see the silhouette of the man who worked his rib magic over an open fire. He almost looked like he was surrounded by giant dancing flames My cousin David, Uncle Tim’s son, told me the grill master’s name but I no longer remember it, which is a shame. Anyone who could burn like him not only deserved to be remembered, his name should have been embossed in the Bar-b-Que Book Hall of Fame. David said it was the wood Uncle Tim had him use, Cherry, that made the meat so delicious. Inside the restaurant, the walls were adorned with family photos and maybe pictures of Uncle Tim’s pals, another reason why The Pit was so special to me. Regardless, the ribs, the chicken, the two slices of white bread for

slopping up the best sauce ever, established a bar of excellence for me that has never been met by any other Bar-b-Que proprietor. Anyway, many of the kingpins and queenpins had legitimate ventures or facades which were used as a cover. Noteworthy, was the Detroit resident who was a community leader and a mother, but was also one of the city’s most storied Numbers queenpins. There is a host of fact-based legends and lore associated with the Kings and Queens of the Numbers. In addition to being shrewd business savvy individuals, they were benevolent, generous and civic minded. I grew up on stories describing how Uncle Tim used his wealth to sow back into the community. He once opened a department store, during the depression, on the main street in Brownsville (what the colored neighborhood was called back in the day before the city officials co-opted the name and changed it to the King-Lincoln District in order to satisfy white developers). Uncle Tim opened the department store during that risky time not to accrue more wealth, but to create jobs and to restore the dignity of the average person who desperately wanted earned income instead of a hand-out. If someone had a financial need, Uncle Tim would just give them the money. Or he would foot the bill for a community project like a playground. The Kings and Queens of the numbers owned a lot of the teams in the Negro Baseball League. If an afterschool program or some other community-based project needed funding, the community leaders went to the Numbers Man (or woman) to secure financing instead of wrangling with City Hall. While the kings and queens amassed great fortunes during their glory days, they still operated under a shadow of illegitimacy. Their off-spring, although well dressed and in possession of the best money could offer, were still the children of racketeers, even if the stigma only existed among Europeans. Moreover, the Numbers power base lacked any real authority that is often associated with great wealth. They could be influential in some matters, but their kingdoms were comparably small. Because of turf battles, they had to sometimes ‘go to the mattresses’ with warring factions. Incarceration was a real possibility, especially if there was an ambitious prosecutor who used the position not so much to rid the community of crime, but to promote their own political ambitions. Once Uncle Tim’s farm was invaded by thieves who ripped off everyone who was there at gun point. That night, Uncle Time was relieved of about $30,000, a loss for sure, but a loss that could not be claimed as a loss on a Schedule C. Furthermore, without the protection of the state or a judge whose palms were greased to look the other way, many ended up poverty stricken, especially if they got hit with tax evasion. But those risks outweighed the benefits. But all of that began to change in the early 1970s when state governments decided to appropriate the black community’s favorite and most lucrative hustle. Historically speaking, what happened next to the Numbers was not the first time where something that Americans with African DNA had cultivated for their own survival and wealth accumulation, ended up being high jacked by white people. Nor the last. Ohio State Senator Ron Mottl spearheaded an initiative to begin an Ohio lottery in 1971. By 1973 the Lottery Commission had been formed and in 1979 the first Pick 3, formerly know as the Numbers began. Legalizing the lottery had a profound impact on low-to-moderate individuals of African descent. Sure, the players could still play. Moreover, since it was legalized the stigma was gone and the likelihood of being busted was eliminated. But the return on the investment never matched what was lost in our communities. Not even close. Besides the fact that the street numbers could not compete with a state sanctioned Lottery Commission, legalizing the Numbers Game contributed to racial wealth inequality and ironically became a component of systemic racism. Social programs under Republican control are always at risk of being eliminated. Moreover, the favored boot strap rags to riches stories for African Americans were limited to the exceptional, in other words those able to circumvent systemic racism. Once the Numbers were stolen from blacks, legalization snatched the straps and the boots, thus making wealth accruement opportunity less likely and the road to riches even more difficult to navigate. More significantly, the intentionally black economy ceased to exist along with jobs that supported extended family members.

One of the most difficult pills to swallow is white hypocrisy which contributes to not only inequality but in this case, the demise of black wallets, which were the hardest hit. What was once considered illegal and immoral quickly became a boom for the State of Ohio. Back in the 1960’s a dime for a Pick Three box hit was roughly $60. In today’s economy, that would be the equivalent to $519.71. Now a player has to bet $1 for a straight hit in order to win $500. Ouch! With the Numbers under state control, the benefits, code for revenues, go into the state coffers. Supposedly, 100% of the staterun lottery is allocated for K-12 education. However, is it not ironic that the worst performing schools are in urban communities, those same neighborhoods where the illegal lottery once thrived and where enrollment is predominantly African American? Thus, begins another chapter in the continuing saga for the unfair distribution of state revenues for education based upon one’s zip code, wealth and taxes. Nationally, states lotteries generated 668 billion revenue dollars in 2015. The state of Ohio made approximately 66.8 billion in revenues which exceeds the $48.7 billion generated by corporate income taxes. So, when I see black folks lined up at the lottery machine, I cannot help but reflect with resentment, that it is us who foot the bill for public education with our contributions to the Ohio Lottery, but because of unfair tax codes, we benefit the least since our children are more than likely educated in the poorer school districts. No wonder out of the 614 billionaires in the US, only five are of African descent. That is significantly less than 1%. References available upon request Suzanne Parks is the Director of Asset Development for the Ohio CDC Association, where she oversees state-wide asset building projects serving low to moderate income individuals. In her spare time, she likes to perform in community theatre productions and write. Ms. Parks was conferred a Bachelor of Arts degree from the Ohio Dominican University and a Masters in Leadership Education from the Mid-America Christian University.