A Legacy Project

Deal me out.

I tossed my cards face up on the table and thought, There goes my hard earned money. It was a Saturday. I’d just cashed my check for a week’s work at my dad’s service station. I had thirty-six bucks in my pocket when I ran into Dave Marolf at the coffee shop. He said they were having a card game out at his house. Would I like to play? I said yes. I’d played cards with my parents, mostly hearts and euchre, and probably a little Yahtzee. This was different. There was money on the table.  Dave played. And Gary Graves. And Cordell Bloomer. And Warren Zeigler. For a while we played Black Jack, which I had always called Twenty-one when I played with my brother and Danny Leman and Dean Gaul. Those games we tossed red and blue poker chips in the pot. It was theoretical gambling. No skin in the game. At Dave Marolf’s they played with real money, tossing ones and fives in the pot, breaking tens and twenties. I lost half my paycheck in ten minutes. I watched them play for a while, then joined the table again when they played poker. I knew a little gambling lingo from the movies, one-eyed jacks, a full house, a straight, a royal flush, but those guys were way beyond lingo. It didn’t feel like play. They were serious. They took the rest of my money in fifteen minutes.

Years later, on a stopover in Las Vegas, I told myself, $25 and you’re done. I played slot machines and drank Black Russians. The drinks were free. I played nickel slot machines, won a little, lost a little more, and drank four free watered-down cocktails. I had $18 left when I migrated to a Blackjack table and lost the rest of my money in ten minutes. That was it–$25 and you’re done.

A few years after that, I was at a stag party when cards were brought out. Same program: $25 and you’re done. A few of these guys had been raised gambling. They must had a deck of cards in their play pen. I knew at least one of them flew to Atlantic City on weekends to gamble. I was a lamb among wolves. When my $25 was gone–and it didn’t take long–the host asked why I wasn’t playing. I told him I’d lost all money. “I’ll stake you,” he said. “That’s okay,” I said. “No, really, I’ll stake you.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. What, I thought. I’m going to borrow money from you and then lose it to you and these sharks? I told him, thanks, but I was at my limit. I would be happy having another Black Russian and watching.