On the Coat Tales of a Gambler
Sailor has a mixed bag of memories.
The big cockfights were in Georgia and Mississippi, I went to a two of them. The real big one and I mean big money… thousands of dollars, you had to drive to Georgia or Mississippi. The ones in Alabama were small and held in the back woods. Now, those could have been easily busted. The big ones were safe from the cops, they had been paid off for over 100 years. In fact, the one in Georgia, the paid cops were there. The one in Mississippi, where it was, I don’t recall but just north and west of the border, because it didn’t take too long once into Mississippi. It was towards Tunica; I want to say Ludlow or something like that. You know a lot of gambling went on in Northern Mississippi, between there and Memphis. No wonder the casinos set up shop there in the middle of nowhere.
Sometimes guys would just go out by a river or into the deep woods and drink, roll dice or they’d play poker. I never went out into the woods myself for anything except to see cockfights. Out in the middle of nowhere, drinking and guns… least I was smart enough that way.
Scarpone told me a story when he and two others drove over to Mississippi for a cockfight. Something happened and it got called off. The cops didn’t get paid, or someone got wind of it and that would have caused it to get busted. Anyway, Scarpone was mad after going all that way.
They stopped at a roadhouse on the way back, just before the state border. After a few drinks, they asked the bartender if there was any action to be found, dice or poker. The bartender told them of a place out a ways, in the country.
Turns out, the bartender was setting them up. The joint in the woods was a bootlegger’s lair. There was a rough crew there, according to Scarpone. Anyway, they got into a game. After a while, Scarpone caught one of the bootleggers cheating. Well, Scarpone was not about to take anything from cheats. He pulls out that 38, and tells them, listen muffers we’re taking the money on the table, and two cases of booze. The way Scarpone told me the story, he had that 38 on the nose of the boss man. I don’t know. He shot a guy once.
Apparently, whatever Scarpone said and then did, it got’em enough time to get back to Scarpone’s car, with the whiskey in the trunk and they hit it. Scarpone said at the time that he was kind of surprised that getaway was so easy.
However, Only once they were back on the road, the crack of a bullet smashing the back window answered that question. The cops were chasing after Scarpone and his two friends. Well, Scarpone pushes down the peddle and the big’o Lincoln’s engine just roared down the road. They raced like the devil was on to them until they hit the main highway back to Alabama. Now, Scarpone really knew that highway. He shifted into overdrive and then turned his lights out. He told me he was going over 100 in the light of the moon, when he shut off the lights. I think that was all bull. But when he told me the story, I acted like I believed him all right. They got away once they crossed over to Alabama. Scarpone was still pissed because the cops shot some holes into the trunk and the bullets busted some of the whiskey bottles. Scarpone was mad to lose the whiskey, but the broken window and bullet holes didn’t matter so much to him. He changed cars often.
My oldest uncle, John, would be well over 100 if alive today. He lived far out in the country. He had a front that he was a farmer but, all his life his livelihood was as a boot-legger. There were lots of boot-leggers in the south, still are for sure. Even the sheriff came to buy from my uncle.
My uncle and aunt never had any kids. I used to love to go spend a couple of weeks during the summer with them. I was just a kid. I’d play in the creek, make up my own adventures, you know. I was really free to come and go. We ate a lot of goat meat. My uncle raised goats. Stinky animals, goats, especially the Billy goats. You know they piss themselves.
My uncle lived so far in the backwoods, there was no electricity or running water. He had a root cellar. I played there too. My uncle made white lighting in the kitchen. He hid some of it in that root cellar. A good smell in that root cellar, I can still recall it. He played a little poker but not much, just with friends. All my other uncles were upright with honest legal jobs. Grandpa was an honest farmer and had a sawmill.
All those times with Scarpone, I never had to run for my life. But once, one of the guys was supposed to go in and pay for a four-day stay at a motel, two rooms for four guys. We were waiting for him in Scarpone’s car. He got in car and said, “Let’s go!” Scarpone said, “Did you pay the bill?” He said yes. But, as we started to pull away, the office man runs out of the motel office waving his arms. Next, the man who said he paid, says, “Step on it Sailor, I stiffed him!” Scarpone said, “If I didn’t know you all these years, I would kick your ass good! Getting us in trouble over a few bucks, you’re a dumb son of a bitch.” It was a long time before that guy came around Scarpone again.
A guy could owe Scarpone money, and he’d be okay with that. But something like lying and cheating really got up his nose. I had been around when Scarpone lost his temper, and he’d could get really scary, crazy like. Then, a few minutes later, he’d be calm, even laughing, like nothing happened. He always treated me okay.
On the Coat Tale of a Gambler continues with Episode 5 – Good o’l boys.