The Devil’s Playground: The Wild History of Top O’ Hill Terrace, Arlington’s Secret Underground Casino

If you drive down Division Street in Arlington today, you’ll pass the quiet, brick-and-stone campus of Arlington Baptist University. It looks like any other small private college, but if you look closer at the old stone walls and the sprawling iron gates, you’re looking at the remnants of what was once the most notorious illegal gambling den in the United States.

Long before Las Vegas was a glimmer in Bugsy Siegel’s eye, there was Top O’ Hill Terrace. In the 1930s and 40s, it was known as "The Vegas before Vegas"—a high-stakes, underground fortress where Hollywood stars rubbed shoulders with the FBI’s Most Wanted, all while a fire-and-brimstone preacher vowed to burn the place to the ground.

Phase 1: From Tea Parties to High Stakes

The story starts innocently enough. In the early 1920s, Beulah and Thomas Marshall opened a refined "tea room" on the hill. Because it was located right on the Bankhead Highway (the main artery between Dallas and Fort Worth), it became a popular stop for socialites to grab chicken-fried steak and talk shop.

Everything changed in 1930 when Fred and Mary Browning bought the property. Fred wasn't interested in tea. He was a savvy operator who saw the potential in the nearby Arlington Downs horse track. He knew the wealthy crowds at the track needed somewhere to keep the adrenaline going after the sun went down.

Browning spent a fortune "renovating" the property. On the surface, it remained a luxury restaurant. But underneath? He literally lifted the house off its foundation to dig out a massive, secret basement that would house a world-class casino.

Phase 2: The Fortress of Vice

Top O’ Hill wasn't just a casino; it was a fortress. Browning knew that the Texas Rangers were constantly breathing down his neck, so he designed the layout to be virtually "raid-proof":

• The Guard Tower: A massive sandstone guardhouse sat at the entrance. Armed guards used a buzzer system to alert the main house the moment a suspicious car turned into the 900-foot driveway.
• The Checkpoints: To get into the casino, you didn’t just walk in. You passed through five separate doors, including two-way mirrors and peepholes where Mrs. Browning herself often vetted the guests.
• The Escape Tunnels: This is the stuff of legend. If a raid was triggered, a 50-foot secret tunnel led from the casino floor to the tea garden or out into the thick woods.
• The "Transformers": The gaming tables were mechanical marvels. In a matter of seconds, roulette wheels and craps tables could be flipped or covered with dining tops. By the time the Rangers kicked in the door, they’d find a room full of socialites calmly sipping tea and eating steak.

Phase 3: The Guest List (Stars and Scoundrels)

The sheer amount of money moving through the hill was staggering—estimates suggest the casino pulled in over $500,000 a weekend (roughly $10 million in today’s money). This kind of cash attracted the biggest names of the era.

• Hollywood Royalty: John Wayne, Clark Gable, Ginger Rogers, Mae West, and Dean Martin were regulars. Even Howard Hughes reportedly frequented the joint.
• The Infamous: It wasn't just movie stars. Notorious outlaws like Bonnie and Clyde and Bugsy Siegel were known to stop by. Fred Browning even built a private, oak-paneled stable for his prize racehorse, Royal Ford, who lived better than most people during the Depression.

Phase 4: The Preacher vs. The Gambler

While the elite were gambling away fortunes, a man named J. Frank Norris—the "Texas Cyclone"—was watching. Norris was the firebrand pastor of First Baptist Church in Fort Worth and one of the most famous (and controversial) preachers in America.

Norris despised Top O’ Hill, calling it "a blight on Tarrant County." He didn't just preach against it; he waged a decades-long war. He would broadcast the names of people spotted at the casino over his radio station and famously stood in front of his congregation and made a wild prophecy: "One day, I will own Top O’ Hill Terrace, and I will turn that devil's playground into a house of God."

At the time, everyone laughed. Browning was too rich and too well-connected to be touched.

Phase 5: The Fall and Redemption

The end didn't come from a single raid, but a war of attrition. In 1947, the legendary Texas Ranger Manuel "Lone Wolf" Gonzaullas finally outsmarted the lookouts. Instead of driving up the front gate, his team crawled through the brush and under barbed wire for hundreds of yards, entering through a back door before the buzzer could be pressed.

They caught the gamblers red-handed. While Browning dodged major jail time for years, the constant legal pressure and the rise of legal gambling in Nevada eventually bled the business dry. Fred Browning died in 1953, a broken man.

In 1956, three years after Browning’s death and four years after Norris himself passed away, the Bible Baptist Seminary (now Arlington Baptist University) purchased the property.

Norris’s prophecy came true. The casino floor became a library. The escape tunnels became a curiosity for students. The spot where Frank Sinatra once sang became a place for hymns.

What’s Left Today?

If you visit the campus now, you can actually take a tour (usually led by the legendary Vicky Bryant, who has dedicated her life to preserving this history). You can still see:

1. The Original Gate & Guardhouse: Still standing on Division Street.
2. The Escape Tunnel: You can walk through the very tunnel the high rollers used to flee the Rangers.
3. The Tea Garden: The beautiful, sunken stone garden where the "innocent" diners waited out the raids.
4. The Secret Room: The small hidden space where Browning used two-way mirrors to watch his patrons (and make sure nobody was cheating him).

It’s one of the strangest "hidden in plain sight" locations in Texas—a place where the history of the Wild West, the Jazz Age, and the Southern Baptist movement all collided on a single hilltop.