Evil could lurk in unlikely places a century ago. Your moral well-being might be at risk in a restaurant, a fruit stand or even a pawnshop. One of the more nefarious manifestations of bad habits was the slot machine, which popped up like dandelions in Bangor whenever virtue turned its back. In the spring of 1907, many of these “nickel in-the-slot” machines dispensed cigars to winners. Slots that paid out actual cash seemed to be keeping a very low profile at that time in the Queen City.

One of the greatest enforcers of virtue – a “spotter” in the parlance of the day – was the Rev. Henry N. Pringle, secretary of the Maine Christian Civic League. He appeared in the Queen City on Monday, June 24, to swear out a warrant against several proprietors of business establishments harboring slots. Then, accompanied by an intrepid band of sheriff’s deputies, namely Emerson, Spratt, Powers and Friend, the Waterville minister set out to crush these dens of iniquity where a man could deposit a coin in the hopes of winning a cigar.

By the end of this foray, they had seized nine machines – one from P.H. McNamara’s store on Exchange Street; two from Paul Martini, a fruit dealer at the corner of Central and Harlow streets; two at Charles Adams’ restaurant on Hammond Street; and two more at the Rialto restaurant on Main Street where Frank Daley was the proprietor. Perhaps the strangest catch of the day, however, was the raid at Max Cohen’s pawnshop on Exchange Street where two more of the devilish devices were expropriated.

Tuesday morning, several of the defendants and their attorneys appeared in the Bangor Municipal Court before Judge Harry J. Chapman. He ordered the machines destroyed. Only McNamara appealed. The mere destruction of these insidious devices, however, was not enough for Pringle. He also had sworn out warrants accusing the men of running gambling establishments.

The fireworks did not begin until Wednesday when the defendants reappeared in court to face the charges. Pringle and Chapman had a long-standing feud simmering. Pringle had tried to have Chapman impeached by the Legislature in March for not enforcing the prohibition law (that event is described in my column on March 26). Ironically, one of the charges Pringle had leveled against the part-time judge was that he owned a cigar factory and showed favoritism to saloonkeepers who stocked his brands.

Pringle failed miserably. All of his charges were crushed by lawmakers. He emerged from that donnybrook looking something like a fool. Now it was time for Judge Chapman to get his revenge.

Pringle got into trouble almost immediately when he tried to participate in the hearing along with the lawyers and sheriff’s deputies. As the case at Adams’ restaurant was being heard, he rose to his feet:

“Your honor …”

“Sit down,” said the judge.

“But in this place machines were removed and put back.”

“That makes no difference. You sit down.”

Meanwhile, Adams’ attorney, Frank Plumstead, commented that his client’s offense was only a minor one. Playing a machine for cigars was no worse than buying books of chance or reaching into a grab bag at a church fair. Bringing a respectable citizen to court on gambling charges after he had consented to the destruction of the machines was a burlesque, the attorney complained.

The Martini case elicited another clash between the Rev. Pringle and Judge Chapman.

“Your honor … ,” interrupted Pringle, jumping to his feet.

“Sit down.”

“But your honor …”

“You sit down. I can attend to these cases myself. All you want is a conviction. Now sit down or I will fine you,” shouted Judge Chapman, and that was the last heard from the Rev. Pringle in the judge’s courtroom that day, at least in the pages of Bangor’s two daily newspapers.

The Rev. Pringle got what he wanted, however. Adams, Daley and Martini were found guilty and each was fined about $10. Only Max Cohen emerged unscathed. Testimony revealed that the machines at his pawnshop had been left there by a man who had since died. They were being stored pending settlement of the estate. Not guilty, said the judge.

Poor Pringle won most of his cases, but as usual he emerged looking battered and broken in the newspapers. Abuse was heaped upon him by nearly everyone. Martini’s attorney, Donald Snow, described his client as “a man who does more work in one day than any 30-cent reformer in the state does in a month.” Others accused Pringle of filing these cases and previous ones to collect witness fees from the court, a charge he denied.

The Bangor Daily Commercial reporter went so far as to call him “the officious official of the officious league.” This was back when reporters were known to jump right into the middle of the fray. The Commercial was an anti-prohibition paper that catered to Democrats. Pringle had instigated a lawsuit to force its owners to stop running illegal liquor advertising.

It would take another century before a slot machine would be regarded by the government as a means to fatten its purse rather than as a one-armed devil. The Rev. Henry Pringle and the majority of Mainers back then would be surprised and disheartened to see how things have changed in favor of the “nickel in the slot.”

Wayne E. Reilly can be reached at wreilly@bangordailynews.net.