On The Coat Tales of a Gambler
During a phone call Sailor shared this last story about Scarpone. However, before he told me the part about Scarpone, he reminisced about his childhood. I enjoyed listening to Sailor stories he had me riveted to the phone. A natural storyteller, with a smooth soothing voice, Sailor reminds me of the actor Sam Elliot. His southern accent sets the scene the like a narrator in one of those historical documentary films. There is an element of suspense in his voice which leads the listener into the back rooms where illegal gambling took place.
I was in the ninth grade, fourteen years old, when my mother passed away. It was during the holidays, and it was sure tough on the whole family. It was sudden and the docs never figured out what took her. It’s hard when you are just a kid and have to be told Jesus called your mom away. It just didn’t make any sense to me.
I suppose that is what launched me into the work phase of my life. My dad was a great guy. He supported the family and all; he worked all the time. Getting part-time jobs seemed natural to me. It was better than being alone at home with nothing to do. Back in those days, a kid with money was almost rich. That’s how I was able to buy my first car.
I was only fourteen years old when I got a part-time job as a soda jerk at the downtown drugstore. I lied about my age and told them that I was sixteen. I guess that lie came back to haunt me. By the time I was sixteen, I stopped growing at five, seven inches, and I weigh 170 pounds. In high school I had several part-time jobs, as a construction laborer, and I pumped gas around town, Winn Dixie, Esso, Texico, and Sinclare. Most of them are long gone. I also picked cotton, did landscape work, and good money came from collecting soda pop bottles. I would get five cents per bottle, just for walking around picking up trash. Probably it was their plan as a way to get their bottles back to the factory for refilling, paying kids. You may be too young to remember, but a dollar went a long way back in the 40’ and 50’s. I am glad to be retired, but life is still too busy.
I bought my first car when I was in the ninth grade. In 1955, even seniors in high school didn’t have a car, but I did. It was a rolling chick magnet, and it ran fast for a 49 Ford. It was light green, and I paid $300 for it. It was sharp, with white walls, flipper hubs, leather seats, a two-door sedan with sun visor, fender skirts, it was the cat’s meow. I had girls after me from the tenth and eleventh grades. However, the Ford didn’t last long, it turned out to have a bum motor and quit on me. Live and learn. My next car was a big black four door 43 Chevy. It was tricked out just like the Ford. They don’t make cars like that anymore. I think that was the car that I got into trouble with when I went on a trip out of state with my girl that summer. (Author’s note: In Episode 12, Sailor tells us about a trip with his girlfriend, which takes place in the summer of 1956.)
I was on the football team too, which helped a lot. By the time I was a senior I weighed 190 pounds. Can you imagine, at five-seven, my buddies were at least fifty pounds lighter than me. We ate good at home. Dad had a big garden every year, planted two acres. We also got most of our meat from his brothers. I think I talked about the one uncle who I sometimes stayed with; he raised goats.
I guess telling you this has to do with my recent visit home after you informed me about Scarpone’s trial. You know, after you and I lost connection, I left Taos, and I was on the road. I had a fun time too. Just about every state has casino gambling. It was like crossing the desert and finding watering holes. I could stop for a few days, play some cards, and pad-out my wallet with more traveling money. That reminds me, when I was in Las Vegas, I was in a blackjack tournament with Jacobs. You know him from Taos. Anyway, it was at the Sahara, just before they knocked it down. I didn’t know Jacobs was there until we both showed up at the final table. He was the chip leader through most of the game. I thought he was going to win first place, but it was not to be. I caught the last three hands with two double downs and beat him. He missed first place by $30. That was an incredibly good win for me.
Oh, hey, remember I said I’d snoop around when I got back home to see if the gambling was still going on. Even though I suspected that it was, I could not get a hint of it. As I think of it, back in the days of Scarpone, it was that way too. Illegal gambling was there, but only the people who were connected knew about it, including the cops. The rest of the town went along with their regular business, not having a clue what was going on under their noses. The gamblers had a code of silence. They did not brag about games or do anything out in the community that would give cause to arouse suspicion. The gamblers lead two lives.
I have an account of what might be the story of Scarpone’s demise. Those guys that I ran with, back in the gambling days, are no longer in Robstown. I had to be cautious if I were to mention Scarpone’s name. About a week or so after being in Robstown, last summer, I met up with a guy who told me he thought he had a photo of Scarpone. I was at the counter paying my tab at the cafe, when the guy sitting a couple of stools down mentioned gambling at an old farmhouse. I thought remembered him from high school, back in 1959. I introduced myself and asked if he was Mark. Sure enough, it was Mark. I said that I overheard him talking about gambling and asked him if we could have a private conversation.
When we met up and I asked Mark if he had ever heard the name Scarpone? A puzzled look came over Mark’s face. He stared at me as if I had just guessed a dark secret. I could see he was quickly considering his next words before asking, how I knew Scarpone? I could sense the mental processing happening in about a second and a half. I told him that I knew Scarpone, briefly, years ago. I told him that I was just back in town visiting family. Mark confessed that he recognized the name from a story he was told.
Mark played football for Alabama with a guy whose uncle owned the old farmhouse where gambling took place. Mark did not provide a name, so I am naming his friend Jay. During a summer break, Jay invited Mark to meet his uncle. During their visit, the uncle spoke about the old days when he ran an illegal gambling joint. Jay’s uncle was acquainted with Scarpone, of course. His uncle passed away in ‘84’. Here’s the story according to Jay’s uncle.
The uncle talked about the old days, mentioning Scarpone in a shootout involving two guys at a roadhouse, along with other wild events at the farmhouse. He went on to say how most of those guys eventually got caught and were sent to jail, some got killed, and some just faded away. The uncle said and that’s what happened to Scarpone, he got himself killed.
The uncle told a story about Scarpone and his wife at the time, taking a road trip to a poker game near Tupelo, Mississippi. (Sailor interjects: This part of the story is suspect to me. First, He did not like driving, and he never gambled alone. Second, Scarpone’s wives were never with him when he was gambling or were even around for that matter. I mean if he were in the mood for a woman’s company, he’d have no problem picking one up along the way. In those days, a dashing, well-dressed man, could easily charm a young beauty to join him, with a crisp hundred-dollar bill. Plus, when I knew Scarpone, his marriages were short lived, because he was often away for extended periods at a time.)
Scarpone had a buddy from the war, who lived in Tupelo. Like Scarpone, this guy lived on shady lane. He invited Scarpone to pay him a visit since they had not seen one another in a long time. He told Scarpone about a gambling joint, near Tupelo, which was protected. He suggested that Scarpone could collect some travel money there during his visit. Tupelo, that’s the birthplace of Elvis Presley, you know. His buddy had a gun that he wanted Scarpone to have. It was a .32 caliber, Savage, auto-load pistol.
(Sailor interjects I had heard Scarpone mention a buddy in Tupelo once or twice. He had the usual war stories of how they looked after one another. The guy ran a gun shop, along with his hobby, in the rear of the store. He was a bit of a gangster as I envision the guy. A collector of weapons, guns, knives, clubs, brass knuckles, and anything legal or illegal that a thug could use to hurt another person.)
The poker game took place at a roadhouse, south of Tupelo, off the road to Verona. It was a typical backroom poker game set up. His wife did not go with him to the game. She stayed back at the motel in Tupelo. It was early the next morning; the game had been going all night. There were eight players and over $200,000 between them. (Sailor interjects: This would have been a Scarpone setting for sure, and in his league of play.) The cards were on the table along with a pile of cash. The two players left in the hand were Scarpone and a guy known as “Bugs” because the thick glasses he wore made him look bug-eyed.
When it came to the showdown, both men held a full house. Scarpone had a big full house holding the nuts. Bugs was “all-in” with the little full house. (Sailor interjects: Honestly, this next part does not make any sense to me, but it is how Mark finished the story.) Bugs was called by Scarpone, so he turned over his cards, saying to Scarpone, show your Aces and Kings. Buggs thought he had the winning hand and that Scarpone was holding two pair. Before Scarpone showed his cards Bugs was on his feet and reaching with both hands, he started to drag the pot of cash to his side of the table. Scarpone shouted loudly, hey, SOB, not so fast, and rolled the winning hand.
(Author’s note: I asked Sailor why this part of the story did not make sense to him. He replied, in a big game, betting all in with the small full house could only work against a weak player, and certainly it would be a stupid play for the bettor, with only one player in the game, who was calling the action and not wondering why.)
Bugs flipped out. He called Scarpone a cheater, embellished with strong profanity. (Sailor interjects: In those types of high-stake games, there would be a dealer running the cards. No way would Scarpone have any influence on cheating.) As Bugs continued to rake in the cash Scarpone pulled out the automatic pistol. Bugs said, “What? You’re going to shoot me?” And Scarpone did just that. He put a 32-round high into Bugs’ left shoulder. However, that “32” just did not have the knockdown power of Scarpone’s 38 revolver, which would have laid Bugs out on the floor. Bugs just stood there for an instant. Then, in the blink of an eye, he pulled out a six-inch stiletto secured in a sheath, from behind his neck.
Scarpone pulled the trigger a second time, to hear the last sound that he would ever hear; a click of the hammer dropping, but no shot fired. The 32-pistol jammed. Bugs, already in mid-flight, lunged over the table driving the knife into Scarpone’s heart. Scarpone’s last gesture was staggering to stand up, grasping at the knife buried in his chest as he collapsed, face down, dead on top of the money.
Home “court rules” played in Bug’s favor, and he got off with self-defense. Scarpone’s wife had him buried there in Mississippi. Scarpone died, literally, dead broke. All his known cash was in that poker game. As there is no honor among thieves, Scarpone’s money simply was not accounted for beyond explaining that he lost it all gambling. Scarpone’s wife took home a story that he died in a traffic accident, hit by a car while crossing a street in Tupelo. She died a few years later in an alcohol-induced coma. That is how Mark’s story of Scarpone ended.
Sailor concludes: Scarpone was a brash man, and he was not one to let others push him around. Somehow, I do not feel that this is the way that he went down. He was too clever and too careful. He could talk his way through any predicament. I have to wonder if perhaps he was robbed and murdered, and the uncle’s story told, is just that, a story. Scarpone carried a 38 revolver for two reasons. It was a powerful weapon, and it would never jam. Maybe it is just my sentimental memories, and I don’t want to accept Scarpone dying that way. At the same time, perhaps it is a fit ending to my story about a man who lived his life on a knife’s edge.
Scarpone was several years older than me, but he could still be alive today. Maybe he did slip through the system, and he faded away in the witness protection program, like my granddaughter said.
I have always wanted to taste the famous Tupelo honey. Perhaps my journeys will take me that way and I will have a look around for John “Scarpone” Ladrón… and Elvis too, while I am at it. I hope you can make down for a visit. I have a bunch of casino comps.
Sailor enjoys a comfortable and charming life; he retired to a lovely place, happily, near the casinos. He continues to play blackjack tournaments, and he still finishes in the money. He will be 84 next month.
On the Coat Tales of a Gambler
– The End-
On the Coat Tales of a Gambler
By Michael S. Vernon
As told to him by Sailor Harris
First published in 2006
Revised and updated 2025
Copyright © 2006-2025 Michael S. Vernon
Taos, New Mexico
United States of America
The photograph is the one Sailor mentioned in Episode 32. Sailor took a picture of the photograph and sent it to me. Sailor pointed out the pinkie ring. It’s a Star Safire surrounded by seven diamonds. Scarpone was never without the ring. He used to say, if you can’t see the star, you’re no friend of mine. Date and place of the picture is unknown, however, Sailor believes it was early 60’s, before his time.
Most Dangerous Man in the South