How a poker game turned deadly became one of Alaska’s best documented early true crime cases

Part of a continuing weekly series on Alaska history by local historian David Reamer. Have a question about Anchorage or Alaska history or an idea for a future article? Go to the form at the bottom of this story.

On July 14, 1911, Borisa Rakocevich and Fred Sellers were part of a group playing poker in the Imperial, a Fairbanks cigar store. At the dramatic moment, Rakocevich claimed he had three kings to win the pot. He began pulling in the chips when Sellers interrupted and asked him to show the hand. The cards were flipped to reveal only two kings compared to Sellers’ superior hand with two pairs. The disagreement from there intensified.

When it comes to its history, Alaska is relatively poorly documented. Events of a quality that would have been extensively covered in a variety of sources elsewhere sometimes received little to no notice here. Smaller populations and difficult logistics are key factors. This is especially true before World War II. After the war, the rise in population and federal investment meant a concurrent increase in newspaper coverage, books, magazine features, reports, studies, and other media. In the best of times, the past exists as fragments. In Alaska, those fragments are smaller, fewer in number, and more scattered compared to, say, most of the Lower 48.

History stories and books reflect the quality of their particular sources, in the details and fullness of their timelines. If there is only a little known, historians can only write a little about it. In practical terms, this means frustration, most especially for the historians, who live and die by the satisfaction of their curiosity. The tale of Borisa Rakocevich is a little different. It is better documented than most true crime cases of its era. Newspaper accounts, National Archive records, photographs, and one especially tearful letter allow an opportunity to follow a tragedy through its lengthy coda. We can shadow Rakocevich as he enters and exits the American justice system. Further, the details offer a better-than-average view of the context, the impact of crime upon a town, the victim’s family, and the perpetrator himself.

With his cheating discovered, Rakocevich threw the chips at Sellers in a rage. Per the Weekly Alaska Citizen, a Fairbanks newspaper, “This action was resented by Sellers.” Sellers responded with one punch and then another. They rose to battle properly when the proprietor set himself between them. Most in the room thought the confrontation was over. For Rakocevich, it was an opportunity. With the pause in action, he pulled a gun and fired. Sellers tried to shield himself behind a door but was hit four times.

Rakocevich joined the rest of the crowd fleeing the scene. He ran around the building and cached the gun in a box behind the Imperial. He was quickly cornered and captured at the corner of Cushman Street and First Avenue. The gun, an ivory-handled .32 caliber, was recovered during the investigation.

Sellers was a generally well-known and well-liked man about town. He had worked for years at the Model Café. He was a baker, professional wrestler, and young-ish. So, they naturally called him the Baker Kid. His mother, Ada, lived in Iowa and asked for her son to be sent home. In less than two weeks, area residents raised $751, roughly $25,000 in 2024 money, in donations to cover the shipping. Of that amount, $300 was left over after costs, which was also sent to the mother. From wounds, time, and travel, his remains were in rough shape by the time they arrived. His mother was blocked from seeing the body.

About two months later, she wrote a letter of thanks to the people of Fairbanks. “Oh, dear boys, if you have a mother, don’t forget her and always try to be with her or near her at least. I suppose that by the time you get this, you will know something of the fate of that poor fellow who killed my boy. I hope they do not hang him for that would do no good.” The mail from Alaska took so long that she received a letter from her son after his death, more than two months after he sent it.

In Alaska of this era, cigar shops and pool halls were often thinly veiled fronts for illegal activities, including drugs, bootlegging, prostitution, and gambling. In the wake of Sellers’ murder, local law enforcement raided several known gambling operations. The Imperial owners were fined $700 in addition to the costs of the raid. At least two other Fairbanks cigar shops were also raided and fined for gambling violations.

Humanity has changed little in the past century-plus. People have the same motivations — shelter, security, greed, companionship, and lust prominent among them — even as the context around them shifts wildly over time. A sensational crime prompted public demands for change. And in response, officialdom swung a heavy hammer onto what had been a tacitly accepted cultural aspect. How often have you heard that story?

The Weekly Alaska Citizen editor went further and advocated for increased gun control. He wrote, “The killing of Sellers last week once more calls attention to the serious consequences liable to follow the carrying of a concealed pistol, and emphasizes the fact that such practice should not be tolerated in a civilized community.” He continued, “In an Alaskan town there is practically no use for a gun, except to the man with a criminal motive.” In conclusion, he declared that strict enforcement of concealed gun prohibitions “would amply safeguard the general public against the coward that ‘packs a gat.’ ”

Rakocevich sat in the Fairbanks jail for five months waiting for his trial. On at least four occasions, he tried to kill himself. For the fourth attempt, he grabbed the bars and attempted to bash his skull repeatedly against a sharp edge. His fellow prisoners stopped him before he could do more than inflict a few flesh wounds onto his forehead. The guards believed he was faking his mental health issues. After the fourth attempt, his cell was padded.

Even with other prisoners and guards around him, he was isolated by his culture. Born in Montenegro, his English was somewhere between poor and non-existent. After his arrest, questions were filtered through an interpreter, to which Rakocevich notably declined to respond. While there is no doubt he killed Sellers, there is room to wonder whether he received proper due process.

Many other immigrants accused of crimes in Alaska around this time notably struggled with the language barrier. The Russian Jim Kasoff killed a man in 1916 Anchorage. He did not speak English and reportedly refused to account for his actions. In 1904, Vuco “Charles” Perovich killed a man outside Fairbanks. Perovich was also Montenegrin. More than two decades later, he argued that language barriers had denied him a fair trial. A sympathetic judge ordered him released from prison.

On the day the trial was to begin, Rakocevich and his attorney agreed to a deal with the prosecutors. In exchange for pleading guilty, the charge would be reduced from first to second-degree murder, thus avoiding possible death penalty or life imprisonment. Instead, he was to serve 25 years in prison. The lack of trial meant no testimony. As he had already declined to explain himself to law enforcement, there is no public record of his account of the fateful night.

Before passing the sentence, Judge Peter Overfield spent 15 minutes lecturing the attendees on their complicity regarding gambling in Fairbanks. They all knew gambling was pervasive, yet there had been no outcry until someone died. He explicitly included himself in that criticism. He said, “I cannot help but feel to a certain extent that the officials of this court are to some extent at least to be taken into consideration. Whether we have all done our duty, I am going to leave to each officer to answer for himself, as I must answer for myself.” He knew the extent of gambling in Fairbanks but had not taken action against. As he saw it, Fairbanks residents collectively allowed the context for Sellers’ death and were therefore partly culpable.

Most territorial Alaska true crime stories end somewhere around this point, usually for one or both of two reasons. First, the primary story has been told. Second, the source material tends to dry up, from access issues or simply no longer existing. In Rakocevich’s case, the National Archives has digitized his prison record, allowing a deeper glimpse into his post-Fairbanks life.

Convicted on Dec. 18, 1911, Rakocevich left Fairbanks in the company of another prisoner, a deputy marshal, and a guard on Jan. 29, 1912. He arrived at the McNeil Island penitentiary southwest of Tacoma, Washington on Feb. 15. Clerks there noted he was five feet, six and a half inches tall, with a sallow complexion and weighing only 118 pounds. He was nearing 40 years old, though sources do differ on his birth year. That September, he was transferred to the Leavenworth Penitentiary in northeast Kansas. By then, he had packed on a little extra weight, up to 137 pounds.

Sometime around the spring of 1913, Rakocevich’s brother, Peruta, learned about the murder. Peruta wrote to the warden at Leavenworth. Despite hearing about the crime most of two years later, Peruta was sure that Borisa “killed that man in self-defense and there are many that would testify it.” The warden may or may not have replied, but these newfound witnesses did not win Borisa his freedom.

In the summer of 1915, he was made a trusty, suggesting model behavior. While in prison, Rakocevich primarily worked as a barber, though he also worked as a stonecutter and in the tin shop. In late 1915, the prison was allowed to spend $5.50 for glasses to correct his astigmatism.

He first applied for parole in 1920, which was summarily rejected by the attorney general. He tried again in 1922. His records noted that he violated only one rule during his incarceration, coincidentally earlier that year. The reprimand stated, “Said prisoner rolled a cigarette while seated at the breakfast table.” Parole was granted, and he was released on March 17, 1922.

His belongings consisted of the clothes on his person, his parole papers, a pocketbook, ring, pocket knife, package of letters, stamps, and $120.97 in cash. The stationery and stamps were for him to maintain contact with his probation officer. A watch listed with his possessions in 1912 McNeil Island went missing sometime in the interim.

The Society for the Friendless was established in 1901 to care for discharged prisoners, with a special appreciation for their moral and spiritual health. They essentially adopted Rakocevich, offering shelter, transportation, and employment leads. Parole officers then sometimes relied on volunteers to track parolees. Called first friends, they would report directly to the parole officer. This setup was most common when the parolee lived a significant distance from the parole officer. A member of the society acted as Rakocevich’s first friend for the duration of his parole.

Now almost 50 years old, Rakocevich immediately relocated to Minnesota. He hoped to find work as a barber, but there were no openings. In the short term, a church in Chisholm hired him for odd jobs. After that, he worked as miner for the rest of his parole period. The letters from his first friend are often detailed. In late 1923, Rakocevich fell upon some loose timbers at a mine site and injured his leg. His first friend, a Methodist pastor, immediately wrote to the parole officer, explaining the extent and impact of the injury. The pastor worried that if Rakocevich’s inability was not explained, his parole would be revoked.

His original sentence would have ended on Feb. 14, 1937. But on Nov. 28, 1928, his parole expired, and he was fully a free man. In response to the final first friend report, the parole officer replied, “It is a source of satisfaction to the members of the Parole Board to know that you have conducted yourself so creditably while under this restraint.”

And then, Borisa Rakocevich disappears from the available historical record. He is notably not visible in the 1930 Census, barring horrific yet all too common misspellings of an uncommon name. He possibly returned to his home country where he still had family. Even while imprisoned, he sent bits of money to his mother there. Reduced in remaining time, perhaps he paid his bill and moved on.

Key sources:

“Aftermath of the Fairbanks Murder.” Iditarod Pioneer, July 22, 1911, 3.

“Court Appeals to Prevent Gambling.” Fairbanks Daily Times, December 19, 1911, 2.

“Fred Sellers Killed in Gambling Quarrel.” (Fairbanks) Weekly Alaska Citizen, June 19, 1911, 8.

“Friends Raised Big Sum.” (Fairbanks) Weekly Alaska Citizen, June 26, 1911, 1.

Inmate File of Borisa Rekecevich; Inmate Case Files July 3, 1895-November 5, 1957; Records of the Bureau of Prisons 1870-2009; National Archives.

“Packing a ‘Gat.’” (Fairbanks) Weekly Alaska Citizen, June 19, 1911, 4.

“Prisoner Makes Fourth Attempt at Killing Self.” Fairbanks Daily Times, August 5, 1911, 4.

“Sorrowing Mother Thanks All for Aid.” Fairbanks Daily Times, September 10, 1911, 4.