On The Coat Tales of a Gambler
I have never met anyone who approached the likes of Scarpone. He was cut from a different cloth, bigger than life, in the way he did everything. Besides being tall, dark, and handsome, he had a special charismatic personality. Scarpone could make a prostitute want to pay him for sex when he turned on his Latin charm. He naturally attracted the attention of others. He could make anyone feel better simply by being in his company. Just being around, him made everything seem okay. You talk about energy… hell, Scarpone could gamble all day and night and into the next day looking like he’d come off eight hours of peaceful sleep. That was one reason he could take on so many road trips. He kept going and going and going.
I told you how I came to meet Scarpone through a buddy who I worked with at the firehouse. Woody used to tell us Scarpone stories during poker games at the firehouse. Woody was a good storyteller, but the guys thought that Woody’s stories were just BS. However, when Woody took me to one of the gambling houses outside of Robstown, where I saw Scarpone in action, for the first time, it convinced me of Woody’s stories.
It turned out that Woody was one of Scarpone’s close friends. They gambled together years before I met Woody at the firehouse. This next story was one Woody shared over several nights during the firehouse poker games. It is from his days before joining the fire department.
Author’s note: This story develops as though Woody is telling the story.
Scarpone had a girlfriend in Memphis, the ever so lovely, Mya Labose. She was a gorgeous girl in her early thirties. Mya was a long-legged blond, with no question about her “personality” on top. Stacked and packed, she could be every man’s dream. I know for fact she had Scarpone acting like a walking Zombie. She always wore sexy clothes, hanging out of her top, high heels and a tight skirt that seemed to grow her legs even longer, if you know what I mean. Her English was great, but she had a kind of smoky deep voice, with an ever so arousing European accent. The way she spoke her words, “Da’ling,” dripped off of her lips. She was from Ukraine and came over to the States after the war. I think the only reason Scarpone didn’t marry Mya was because of her age. (Plus, he was already married.)
The irony of it was Mya might have been his closest match and not just because of her stature. Mya had a similar survivor’s personality like Scarpone’s. She had a kick-ass, “can do” arrogance. She either got her way, or you better get out of hers. Meanwhile, Scarpone was doing everything he could to keep Mya happy. She had him on a string and made sure she was satisfied in every way.
In the fifties, early sixties, Memphis was a burgeoning city for guys like me and Scarpone. For one thing, Memphis was the birth of the blues. African American musicians were being recognized post war and were coming out with the next wave of music and culture. The British rockers were influenced by the blues, and that help add a lot to that recognition during the 60’s. Because of segregation in the South, blues had been confined to the juke joints. A juke joint was like a “party house,” staging blues musicians, great food, bootleg whiskey, beer, dancing, and there was always gambling in the backroom. Craps games were popular in the juke joints. There was no need for a table and chairs, cards, or dealers, just guys gathered together on the floor, tossing dice against the wall, taking turns banking the game, a.k.a. street craps. Eventually, the game got legs, portable dice tables, known as floating craps games.
Scarpone enjoyed blues music, so a game of dice or poker in Memphis was as much a vacation getaway, as it was a business trip for him. He told me how his father had Cuban music playing at the family’s cantina. Blues, for him, had the same kind of rhythm that touches the soul. He would say, “I feel the blues right here!” pounding his fist over his heart. There were a couple of radio stations in Memphis that played the blues. Scarpone could hardly wait to be in range of the broadcasts. He’d tune in to WDIA, an AM station that is still broadcasting blues today.
I remember it was hot and late in June about 1962, Scarpone was rounding up the boys to make a trip to Memphis for the Fourth of July. He asked Benny, who was probably as close to Scarpone as I am. Benny knew Scarpone before I came along, he nicknamed Scarpone. Of course, I also agreed to be in on the trip. The fourth guy was Scarpone’s driver and that’s what Scarpone called him, Driver.
Benny was not from the South originally. He was born in Brooklyn, all Italian, complete with a sharp New York attitude. Benny moved to the South to get away from some trouble he caused while in New York. Benny had an overwhelming sense of humor and was never without a wisecrack or a joke. To get a clearer picture of Benny, imagine a muscular guy, built like a fireplug, with a Napoleon attitude of not taking any shit from anyone, no matter.
Benny was a hot-headed Italian and as unpredictable as a snake. He always scared me. Scarpone shared a story from the old days with Benny. There was a poker game in the hill country west of Montgomery. Scarpone, with Bennie, and Driver drove to a barrelhouse where the game was held. The game was on the QT, because the cops were not paid off there. Scarpone and Bennie went inside first, while Driver parked the car.
Two thugs met them at the door. One of the thugs says to Scarpone, Who the F… are you? Scarpone quietly replied that the boss invited them to join the game. The thug asks, yeah, what game is that? Then Benny steps up and says, let me show you, our invitation. In his left hand was something like a book of matches. Out of nowhere, on his right hand, brass knuckles. When the bouncer looked down to Benny’s hand, Benny dropped kick the poor bastard in the balls. When he bent over grabbing himself in pain, Benny hammered him with the brass knuckles. In a calmed rage Benny, turned to the other guy and said, “Look mother F’er, we are the invited guests of your boss, Mr. whatever the F… his name is… Now, get the F… out of our way, and be smarter than this dumb bastard spelling blood all over the joint, thank you.”
Besides being a burglar and Scarpone’s henchman, Benny worked as a bartender at a Robstown beer joint. Scarpone went to the Raven’s Roost, the beer joint where Benny worked, to see if he could tear away for the Memphis trip.
Scarpone says to Benny, “Are you busy?” Benny’s reply was typical. “Me? No, I’m riding a bicycle, what the F… does it look like?” He followed that up with, “We were so busy today at lunch time, I shut the door. The customers were coming through the knotholes.” Then he let out a loud rolling laugh.
Before Scarpone could get to his question about the trip, Benny was already in control of the conversation. “Hey! Hey!” He says, Woody was in here earlier, looking for you. What’s shaken?” Scarpone simply asked, “Do you want to go to Memphis for some gambling?” Benny replied with, “Ya g’damn right I do! When do we leave?”
Scarpone said, “I’d like to get an early start. How about I pick you up after you shut the bar down next Wednesday, after I swing by to pick up Woody?” “Yeah, that’s good.” Benny said. “Now piss off unless you’re going to order something.” Scarpone said that Benny got up and walked away like he was never there, laughing that same laugh, like wheels on a bumpy road. He never asked Scarpone if he was going to have something to eat.
Scarpone and Driver picked me up and then, Benny, as scheduled and by three in the morning, we were on our way to Memphis. Scarpone loved having Driver as his chauffeur. He was not into the cops; so, keeping it close to the speed limit was Scarpone’s way. We drove straight through, only stopping only for gas before noon. During the stop, in Holly Springs, Mississippi, Scarpone called Mya to let her know they were about an hour away. He made sure she had booked rooms for the boys. He’d be staying with her, of course. I ordered sandwiches and coffee from the café, and Driver gassed up the Lincoln while Scarpone was on the phone. For a man of few words, he could go on with a woman. No matter how tough a guy thinks he is, I suppose we all have some weakness. For Scarpone, it was women.
After arriving in Memphis, Scarpone took over the car and dropped us at the flophouse which Mya booked. It was near Beale Street. Nothing fancy, for sure, but clean enough. Scarpone asked Mya to arrange for some girls to drop in on us guys. I had just unpacked my bag and was reading in bed. It wasn’t long before there was a knock at the door. When I opened the door and there stood a hooker. Practically hanging out of her dress, the lady of the night said I’m Mya’s friend. Though I never knew for sure, I always suspected Mya to be a prostitute or perhaps the Madame.
After a long drive, a long sleep was appreciated. Late, the next morning, Scarpone and Mya met up with us at a café on Beale Street. We kind of stuck out, and at the same time, it was not unusual for whites to frequent Beale Street for the music and food. The game we came to play was held in a juke joint, which Mya frequented. In fact, it was through Mya that Scarpone came to know about the game. Poker was the main event, but he knew that a craps game or two would be going on as well. After we ate lunch, we jumped into the Lincoln, Mya directed Driver through Memphis and on to the game at JJ’s Juke Joint, locally know as JJ’s.
Although JJ’s was a hangout for African Americans, many of poker players were white. There were high stakes games there and the house stood in for a rake of the pots. Each table had a dealer that took care of the rake. Having a real dealer was not new, but something we were not used to seeing in Robstown.
Mya said, “goodbye,” and caught a ride back to Memphis with another woman and her boyfriend. (For all I know, it could have been her pimp and another working girl.) There were a bunch of guys engaged in a loud craps game. There was a makeshift craps table, bankrolled by the house. No chips however, and the minimum bet was twenty-five cents. Two guys, with the house, ran the game. The joint offered some snacks at a bar for free, along with lemonade, but if you really wanted something to eat or drink, it was pay as you go. However, the prices were reasonable and Scarpone said that the food was the best barbeque pork, sausage, and ribs he ever had.
There were enough players for the joint to have four game going and there were open seats at each of the tables. Scarpone, Benny and I split up, each to a table. No point in making a long drive just to beat up on each other in a card game. The other thing was, everyone knew we came together and, even though Scarpone was not on any scam, he was not going to provide any reason for suspicion. Driver played some craps for a while, after a few more guys showed up, a lower limit poker game came together. There were eight poker tables in all.
Scarpone had thirty grand with him. Benny and I had around five each. Driver had less; he was not a big gambler. All up, in the dingy backroom of a juke joint, maybe half a million dollars cash between all the players was in action. There were some seriously wealthy businessmen from Memphis there, but you’d never know it to look at them, except for the cigars and fancy shoes. The African Americans were dressed to the nines. I was accustomed to seeing a lot of cabbage in a game, but seeing it going like it did, at JJ’s, it made my butt pucker.
After about ten hours of play, Scarpone called it a night. He told me that he was down in cash but in a good mood just the same. He just wanted a few hours break to bonk Mya and get some sleep. He went over to Benny, said something to him and then he asked Driver to take him to Mya’s place. Driver was ready to call it a night too. Benny was steaming and wanted to keep playing. Scarpone agreed to one more time around the table and told Benny to meet us outside. Waiting for Benny, Scarpone was a bit worried that the “hot head Italian” wouldn’t keep his cool. Driver left to get the car and by the time he returned, we were complete with Benny, who was happy to catch his last hand. Scarpone slept during the drive back to Mya’s. Before he got out of the car, he said breakfast was on him and to pick him up around nine.
Driver found his way back to the place where we were staying. He was like a blood hound on the scent when it came to him knowing his way around.
To be continued in Episode 17 – Going to Memphis Part II – I’m so dumb.