Over the years, he had developed working relationships with the city's politicians and bureaucrats. THINGS WERE certainly simpler back in the old days, before Bay 101, when the Bumbs were known for the Berryessa Flea Market, the family-owned business started in 1960 by 75-year-old family patriarch George Bumb Sr. Eight months later, the frame of the weapon was found in a Salinas pond near Venzon's home with the barrel and slide missing. The two, she said, never talked about what was going on while it was happening. "My issue with [George Bumb Sr.]," Jeff Bumb complains about his father, "was his control of where you lived, what kind of house you bought, where your children went to school, who your friends are, whether your children went to college, who they would marry, what kind of wedding they would have." Finally, in July 1994, the state cleared Tim and George and gave them a conditional OK to let the games begin. EVERY DAY THE CLUB stayed closed, the Bumbs lost more money. Jeff Bumb says he believes that state and local investigators at the time of Bay 101's limbo were investigating a rumor that Jeff had tried to get someone killed, a charge Jeff denies. Even though all the lights were out, she told police that she knew it was Matthew "because the moonlight shined into the room through the large windows that faced the ocean." Or at least he thought he didn't. Originally he was scheduled for questioning on March 10, 1997, but the old man's lawyers explained that their client was extremely ill, suffering from "severe life-threatening conditions," practically on his death bed. "It made you tough, made you get a thick skin." (In one case, George Bumb Sr. loaned Jeff $31,250 in 1992 for his son to invest in Bay 101.) Other allegations were more dubious: Investigators chased after a tip that the Bumbs were skimming cash from the Flea Market parking lot, an accusation that was never proven. Other allegations were more dubious: Investigators chased after a tip that the Bumbs were skimming cash from the Flea Market parking lot, an accusation that was never proven. OK--we didn't get out--OK? Seven of George Bumb Sr.'s eight grown children reside in the eastside foothills within a mile or two of their father, often on the same block. A nurse was present to monitor his condition. "I mean," Jeff later said at a deposition, "it was a time of hurt and heartache for us--and not my father, not my mother, not my brother George, not my brother Tim, not Brian could care less." The guy doesn't get a slap on the hand." Over the years, he had developed working relationships with the city's politicians and bureaucrats. Tim and George, under pressure from then Police Chief Lou Cobarruviaz, had already signed an agreement a year earlier that prohibited Brian, Jeff and their father from having anything to do with the card room. The investigation was given a shot in the arm after the arrest of Johnny Venzon in 1997, a cop who made headlines for burglarizing homes while on duty to pay for his mounting gambling debts. Originally he was scheduled for questioning on March 10, 1997, but the old man's lawyers explained that their client was extremely ill, suffering from "severe life-threatening conditions," practically on his death bed. ALL TOGETHER, the intrafamily litigation has spanned nearly three years. Christopher Gardner Though authorities were never able to prove a paid snuff plot, Jeff Bumb believes the allegations were a factor contributing to authorities' mistrust of him. Eight months later, the frame of the weapon was found in a Salinas pond near Venzon's home with the barrel and slide missing. He wanted to relocate and expand Sutter's Place in Alviso from a five-table card room to a 40-table one, matching the size of Northern California's largest card room, Garden City in San Jose. "They didn't teach anything about this. (In one case, George Bumb Sr. loaned Jeff $31,250 in 1992 for his son to invest in Bay 101.) He wanted to relocate and expand Sutter's Place in Alviso from a five-table card room to a 40-table one, matching the size of Northern California's largest card room, Garden City in San Jose. FROM THE START, Jeff's three brothers and father didn't share his enthusiasm for opening a lavish gaming house. Tim and George, under pressure from then Police Chief Lou Cobarruviaz, had already signed an agreement a year earlier that prohibited Brian, Jeff and their father from having anything to do with the card room. EIGHT MONTHS AFTER its approval by the City Council, the peach-colored Bay 101 held its "grand opening." He and his brothers had a plan, he says. Of the four brothers, Tim and George had faced the least resistance from state gaming officials. "My issue with [George Bumb Sr.]," Jeff Bumb complains about his father, "was his control of where you lived, what kind of house you bought, where your children went to school, who your friends are, whether your children went to college, who they would marry, what kind of wedding they would have." Well, George, whether you want to believe it or not I do love you and you are like a father to me." The teenagers had been drinking booze earlier in the night. He demanded $10 million from his brothers to compensate him for violating the purported secret Bay 101 deal. Eight days after the molestation incident was reported to police--and one day after Jeff Bumb formally refused his father's $6.9 million buyout offer--George Bumb Sr. sent Jeff a curt typewritten memo informing Jeff that he was terminated effective immediately and had to clean out his desk before 5pm. AN ATTORNEY involved likened the whole contentious affair to a divorce. Preventive Medicine: George Bumb Jr. is a co-owner of Bay 101, where a snakebite kit is kept on-hand as a family joke. During the Venzon investigation, San Jose police dug up an old file from November 1990 in which Venzon, a sheriff's deputy, had reported his department-issued Smith & Wesson 9 mm automatic stolen. And there were gamblers everywhere who had come looking for some action. Within weeks, Jeff says, his six-month-old dog was dead, his cat was dead and the tires of a family car were slashed. But he didn't cash out. In a fit, he took the paper he was writing on, crumpled it up and threw it out the office door. When Vice President Al Gore called to personally invite the elder Bumb to a fundraiser at the Los Altos home of real estate magnate George Marcus, Bumb put the VP on hold for several minutes, ultimately making Betsy take the call. AN ATTORNEY involved likened the whole contentious affair to a divorce. Jeff tells the story differently: "Matthew was my godson. "My wife broke the code," he says, "and I supported her." George Bumb Sr.'s loan-repayment demands came in July 1996, just as his oldest son and his wife were about to move to Los Gatos and break away from the family and its eastside enclave. His crimes included taking valuables from the bereaved family members of dead crime victims while pretending to console them. Though authorities were never able to prove a paid snuff plot, Jeff Bumb believes the allegations were a factor contributing to authorities' mistrust of him. Or at least he thought he didn't. According to Werner, molestation of his daughter became part of a laundry list of damning things Jeff threatened to disclose if his buy-out demands weren't met. "I mean," Jeff later said at a deposition, "it was a time of hurt and heartache for us--and not my father, not my mother, not my brother George, not my brother Tim, not Brian could care less." In fact, Tim and George had to agree not to collaborate with other Bumbs on any new business venture. The court saga evolved into a battle of wills between a father--a man who wouldn't even let the Vatican tell him what to do--and his oldest son, determined to break free from the old man's grasp. Along the way, Jeff raised the ante, hiring Frank Ubhaus, a lawyer who represented Garden City card club, Bay 101's crosstown rival. Of the four brothers, Tim and George had faced the least resistance from state gaming officials. Near the end Venzon writes, "They want to bring up the 'murder-for-hire' investigation again. George Bumb Sr., an avid card player, held a regular weekly family poker game at his home. And Jeff himself had been playing poker since he was 12. In a fit, he took the paper he was writing on, crumpled it up and threw it out the office door. When he was jailed, the desperate cop wrote a 15-page handwritten letter in pencil to George Bumb in May 1997 asking the Flea Market owner to bail him out. Almost four months later, on July 21, 1998, George Bumb Sr. appeared in the downtown offices of Berliner Cohen to have his deposition taken. Finally, in July 1994, the state cleared Tim and George and gave them a conditional OK to let the games begin. AN ATTORNEY involved likened the whole contentious affair to a divorce. Dealers stood at the tables, ready to deal the cards. The state, still busy conducting background checks, still hadn't approved the Bumbs and their partners' gaming licenses. Finally, in July 1994, the state cleared Tim and George and gave them a conditional OK to let the games begin. That promised to be a hard sell to the San Jose City Council, which would have to authorize both the new site and the expansion. Unlike other partners, neither Jeff nor Brian had buyback provisions in their written agreements, an intentional omission meant to appease state gaming officials who wanted them out of the picture. The ensuing delay forced Jeff Bumb to lay off 600 workers he had hired. Tim and George Jr. worried that pressuring state and city officials to deal Jeff back in at Bay 101 would backfire and authorities would close down the card room. He and his brothers had a plan, he says. In a statement to police, Jeff's daughter recounted how the first incident had happened the year before on the Fourth of July at a family beach house near Santa Cruz when the older boy allegedly started fondling her while she was asleep on the living room couch. "My wife broke the code," he says, "and I supported her." When Jeff and Brian were denied licenses for Bay 101, Tim (above) and brother George Jr. jumped in. According to Werner, molestation of his daughter became part of a laundry list of damning things Jeff threatened to disclose if his buy-out demands weren't met. When he was jailed, the desperate cop wrote a 15-page handwritten letter in pencil to George Bumb in May 1997 asking the Flea Market owner to bail him out. (In one case, George Bumb Sr. loaned Jeff $31,250 in 1992 for his son to invest in Bay 101.) Just so everyone got the point, Jeff Bumb announced to the press that he and Brian were divesting from Bay 101, and records show he eventually sold his shares for $1.4 million. And that ain't happening because I can't afford it." But the Bumbs are hardly traditional political players. In fact, Tim and George had to agree not to collaborate with other Bumbs on any new business venture. As a compromise of sorts, he was debating whether he should apply for a license as a gaming-club manager instead of as an owner. "They had to find Snow White and Cinderella," Tim Bumb says, "and that was George and I." In response to Jeff's legal attacks, George Bumb Sr. and Bumb & Associates filed two separate suits of their own to collect nearly $1 million in loans and interest they claimed Jeff never paid. "My issue with [George Bumb Sr.]," Jeff Bumb complains about his father, "was his control of where you lived, what kind of house you bought, where your children went to school, who your friends are, whether your children went to college, who they would marry, what kind of wedding they would have." "I mean," Jeff later said at a deposition, "it was a time of hurt and heartache for us--and not my father, not my mother, not my brother George, not my brother Tim, not Brian could care less." As legend has it, the Bumbs still send a monthly check to the widow of a former head of security who died of a brain tumor 20 years ago. A FEW DAYS AFTER returning from his son's Oct. 13, 1995, military graduation in San Diego, Jeff and his wife, Elizabeth, got some appalling news: Their 14-year-old daughter had been involved in a sexual relationship with an older male cousin. Christopher Gardner One month later, the state attorney general's office made a devastating announcement: Authorities had come across issues of "such magnitude" and "concern" that they would need at least another month to decide if gambling should be allowed at Bay 101. And he [Jeff] wants me to violate the condition which says in it that I sign away my rights and they close us down. When he was jailed, the desperate cop wrote a 15-page handwritten letter in pencil to George Bumb in May 1997 asking the Flea Market owner to bail him out. Before the end of the month, the Flea Market laid off Jeff's daughters Anne and Rebecca. In response to Jeff's legal attacks, George Bumb Sr. and Bumb & Associates filed two separate suits of their own to collect nearly $1 million in loans and interest they claimed Jeff never paid. For all his quirks and controlling behavior, the old man is regarded as a benefactor by most family members and some Flea Market employees who know their boss to be capable of great generosity. He followed that with suits alleging breach of contract, wrongful termination and misrepresentation. In fact, on the day he was arrested, records show that Venzon pawned a 14-karat-gold diamond cluster ring and a ladies' gold tennis bracelet for a total of $298 at American Precious Metals, a jewelry store at the Flea Market run by Joseph Bumb. The ensuing delay forced Jeff Bumb to lay off 600 workers he had hired. Jeff tells the story differently: "Matthew was my godson. First, Jeff tried to have the Bumb & Associates partnership dissolved after accusing his family of trying to force him out without paying him a fair price. When Werner broke the news that Jeff's brothers wouldn't write a letter on his behalf, he says Jeff became furious. Dealers stood at the tables, ready to deal the cards. There were flowers everywhere. Jeff Bumb says he believes that state and local investigators at the time of Bay 101's limbo were investigating a rumor that Jeff had tried to get someone killed, a charge Jeff denies. "We made it very clear to Jeff and everybody else concerned," Tim says, "that I'm not going to stick my neck on the line here. Jeff Bumb later explained to the press that they didn't know partnerships were required to file such reports, and they paid the state a $1,250 fine. And as with any divorce, embarrassing private details about the family and its businesses made their way into the public record. On Nov. 8, 1995, attorney Albin Danell, Elizabeth's brother-in-law, contacted the police, apparently after consulting with Elizabeth. Unlike other partners, neither Jeff nor Brian had buyback provisions in their written agreements, an intentional omission meant to appease state gaming officials who wanted them out of the picture. Whenever trouble arose at the Flea Market with city code or building inspectors, the Bumbs sent Jeff to settle things. He demanded $10 million from his brothers to compensate him for violating the purported secret Bay 101 deal. One month later, the state attorney general's office made a devastating announcement: Authorities had come across issues of "such magnitude" and "concern" that they would need at least another month to decide if gambling should be allowed at Bay 101. Finally, in July 1994, the state cleared Tim and George and gave them a conditional OK to let the games begin. Jeff Bumb says he believes that state and local investigators at the time of Bay 101's limbo were investigating a rumor that Jeff had tried to get someone killed, a charge Jeff denies. The Bumbs' reputation as an unconventional, insular, wealthy, large brood keeps tongues in political circles flapping. VENZON WAS well known to the Bumbs. Dealers stood at the tables, ready to deal the cards. "Hell, no," George Bumb replied. Even though all the lights were out, she told police that she knew it was Matthew "because the moonlight shined into the room through the large windows that faced the ocean." Matthew Bumb's attorney argued that the relationship was consensual. He demanded $10 million from his brothers to compensate him for violating the purported secret Bay 101 deal. Now that their gaming license had been denied, a decision needed to be made--quickly. George Bumb Sr., an avid card player, held a regular weekly family poker game at his home. "The thing they probably value most is their privacy," Bryant explains. Tim Bumb says writing a letter on Jeff's behalf would have violated the agreement with the police chief and put the club in jeopardy. Police reports would suggest she had, "for about a year," been giving "blow jobs" to 19-year-old Matthew Bumb, son of George Bumb Jr. "I'm a big boy." "My issue with [George Bumb Sr.]," Jeff Bumb complains about his father, "was his control of where you lived, what kind of house you bought, where your children went to school, who your friends are, whether your children went to college, who they would marry, what kind of wedding they would have." The guy doesn't get a slap on the hand." "Could he [Jeff] do any other work on his own behalf?" "My wife broke the code," he says, "and I supported her." It's like we had no life except for the family." Soon after his confession, the word started spreading in the family about what happened. But his dream, which now seemed so close to being a reality, was about to become a nightmare. He demanded $10 million from his brothers to compensate him for violating the purported secret Bay 101 deal. Unlike other partners, neither Jeff nor Brian had buyback provisions in their written agreements, an intentional omission meant to appease state gaming officials who wanted them out of the picture. He also disputes that such a letter was even necessary for Jeff to get licensed. Over the years, he had developed working relationships with the city's politicians and bureaucrats. Christopher Gardner As legend has it, the Bumbs still send a monthly check to the widow of a former head of security who died of a brain tumor 20 years ago. And as with any divorce, embarrassing private details about the family and its businesses made their way into the public record. George Bumb Sr.'s loan-repayment demands came in July 1996, just as his oldest son and his wife were about to move to Los Gatos and break away from the family and its eastside enclave. Werner said no. attorney Frank Ubhaus asked the Bumb patriarch. Just so everyone got the point, Jeff Bumb announced to the press that he and Brian were divesting from Bay 101, and records show he eventually sold his shares for $1.4 million. OK--we didn't get out--OK? Unlike other partners, neither Jeff nor Brian had buyback provisions in their written agreements, an intentional omission meant to appease state gaming officials who wanted them out of the picture. And then police remembered the old rumors about a murder plot at the Flea Market, where Venzon had worked as a security guard for more than 15 years. And then police remembered the old rumors about a murder plot at the Flea Market, where Venzon had worked as a security guard for more than 15 years. Meanwhile, Jeff and his lawyers spent 15 months trying get his father to appear at a deposition. Eight days after the molestation incident was reported to police--and one day after Jeff Bumb formally refused his father's $6.9 million buyout offer--George Bumb Sr. sent Jeff a curt typewritten memo informing Jeff that he was terminated effective immediately and had to clean out his desk before 5pm. "And when I visited you at your home I told you that other than God you are the only person I've gotten down on my knees for," Venzon says on page 7. AN ATTORNEY involved likened the whole contentious affair to a divorce. He also pulled off an armed robbery of the Aloha Roller Palace. Christopher Gardner Police reports would suggest she had, "for about a year," been giving "blow jobs" to 19-year-old Matthew Bumb, son of George Bumb Jr. (Tim Bumb, the school's director, says it was put there to save on rent. Don't Shoot: George Bumb Sr., the publicity-shy patriarch of the Bumb family and creator of the Flea Market, in a rare photo which appeared in California Today magazine in 1980. Dealers stood at the tables, ready to deal the cards. They recorded the conversation. He wanted to relocate and expand Sutter's Place in Alviso from a five-table card room to a 40-table one, matching the size of Northern California's largest card room, Garden City in San Jose. But Jeff says that privately he and his brothers had an oral agreement--which Tim Bumb now corroborates--that would one day let him repurchase his shares and become a partner in Bay 101 again. Or at least he thought he didn't. And for nearly a month, they did. AN ATTORNEY involved likened the whole contentious affair to a divorce. He can't ignore it. she said, referring to the family-run Catholic school at the Flea Market. During the Venzon investigation, San Jose police dug up an old file from November 1990 in which Venzon, a sheriff's deputy, had reported his department-issued Smith & Wesson 9 mm automatic stolen. VENZON WAS well known to the Bumbs. "What am I going to say to the vice president?" Christopher Gardner But the Bumbs are hardly traditional political players. "I don't need their help," he barked at Werner. Tim now runs Bay 101, which he says is no easy task. But Jeff and his family started hearing that instead of showing concern and support for his daughter, George Bumb Sr. and others in the family were blaming his freshman daughter for the incident and not her adult-age cousin. Some improprieties did turn up: Bumb & Associates, a partnership including the four brothers and their father, had failed to file required reports disclosing more than $100,000 in political contributions made between 1989 and 1992. After learning of the incident, Jeff and wife Elizabeth did not report the matter to police immediately. "Could he [Jeff] do any other work on his own behalf?" THINGS WERE certainly simpler back in the old days, before Bay 101, when the Bumbs were known for the Berryessa Flea Market, the family-owned business started in 1960 by 75-year-old family patriarch George Bumb Sr. Originally he was scheduled for questioning on March 10, 1997, but the old man's lawyers explained that their client was extremely ill, suffering from "severe life-threatening conditions," practically on his death bed. He started telling people around the office that he wanted out of the family business. And then, just when it seemed as though family relations couldn't get any worse, they did. "Hell, no," George Bumb replied. ON AUG. 11, 1995, Jeff sat in his Flea Market office scribbling on a piece of paper, plotting his grand return to his peach palace. They recorded the conversation. In fact, Tim and George had to agree not to collaborate with other Bumbs on any new business venture. And as with any divorce, embarrassing private details about the family and its businesses made their way into the public record. Other allegations were more dubious: Investigators chased after a tip that the Bumbs were skimming cash from the Flea Market parking lot, an accusation that was never proven. OK--we didn't get out--OK?
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