On the Coat Tales of a Gambler
Craps was never really my game, but I sure enjoyed watching Scarpone.
A note from Sailor: Michael, great June newsletter. You sure do make my stories come back to life. You know, on losing streaks, my way is just to quit. When I gamble, I figure ahead of time how much money I am going to put at risk that day. I always think I am going to win, but that does not always happen. I learned from my time with Scarpone, and watching backroom gambling that the winner was the gambler who knew how to manage his losses. The desperate player, the guy that would lose it all chasing a loss, was exactly the kind of player the professionals wanted in the game. Scarpone did not always win, but he knew to cut his losses and run. I will tell you a story about that later.
Sailor begins his story.
I played a bit of dice in my time. A few games were memorable. Mostly I did not have much luck playing craps. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I have a short attention span. I could not manage to stay long in a game before being distracted. I am easily irritated in a craps game. I mean from the people around me… drunks, cigar smoking loud mouths, and then the jerks that think they know it all and are telling me how to play. The same guy is tossing money around on sucker bets, losing his money and complaining about it like it’s not his fault, blaming the shooter and the dice.
It gets me the way some players shoot the dice like they just don’t care. They just grab the dice with one finger and the thumb and just fling them with a flip high in the air. There is no control, dice going everywhere, hitting chips, the mirror, hands and so on. The ones that drive me nuts are the showoffs. They think that by throwing the dice hard helps to make their number. They throw the dice without any respect. The dice go flying off the table and the game stops because the idiot wants the same dice. Meanwhile, the pit boss is on his hands and knees looking under another table trying to find the precious dice. Who needs that nonsense? Hell, I was playing craps before them, and have forgotten more of the game than today’s punks will ever bother to learn.
That’s the problem with this new generation of gamblers. They got more money than sense. They throw their weight around… “Look at me!” And you can tell, just by looking at them, they don’t have a clue about the game. Scarpone and his bunch may have come along too early. Of course, in today’s world, wide open gambling is not likely to attract hot shots with money and attitude anyway. These guys, today, have to be “seen” pretending the part of a gambler. They’d just be a snack for the likes of Scarpone.
I was spoiled hanging out with Scarpone at an early age. The first time I ever saw a real money dice game was in a motel room with Scarpone, Little Eddie, Mike the Knife, Carl “Swan” and three or four other guys. Again, I was just watching. I was not in the league of Scarpone and his pals. But because I was trusted to the end, I was always invited. Scarpone liked having me around and he looked after me. It became known that I was Scarpone’s lookout. Not that I ever had to do anything. Just the fact that Scarpone had “eyes” behind his head was enough. For this, Scarpone took me under his wing. I think because I was not a player in the big games that it helped my cause too. I played a lot of small stakes poker and dice, you understand. Because I was not one to get into the high stakes game, well, I guess Scarpone saw it like I would not be distracted. I enjoyed observing the gamblers do their thing and tracking how the money moved around the table. It was like a story unfolding with every game. Lots of drama and excitement and as long as Scarpone felt like I had his back, well, I got to tag along often, and take part in the fringe benefits, if you know what I mean.
Now, with these guys, it was a science as well as their business. It was orderly and courteous. These guys were working. They played with reverence. Gambling was their sacred profession. Playing cards, shooting dice, this is how they made their living. You see so many “want to be” gamblers in Las Vegas. They don’t care if they win or lose. In fact, most of them expect to lose, never mind their stupid and sloppy play. To them, it is just entertainment. Hey, it is entertainment for me too, but I expect to win, and I play to win. I don’t just play to play and get all the free drinks that I can drink. Michael, I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. Just that in my day, gambling was illegal and the pros who were doing it wouldn’t mess with a casino game. If there was an edge to be had, these guys were the ones to be holding that edge.
In those days, a game could be set up in any little town, in any cheap motel room. Kind of a hit and run deal. Of course, there seldom was any sleeping going on in the room. Everyone knew to keep it quiet so as not to draw attention or to cause a reason for a guest in another room to complain. Sometimes, three rooms would be taken. The middle room would be where the game took place with the two outside rooms serving as noise buffers. It cost more for three rooms, sure, but in those days, motel rooms were cheap. A lot of places were in business for nothing more than run-a-way romances. You know, Mr. and Mrs. Smith… “No tell motel.”
The games moved around from motel to motel, town to town, so as not to have a predictable pattern. The way the word got out for a game was sent through a network, a grapevine of sorts. There were plenty of backroom games going on in just about every burg. Like I said before, the cops were on the take and turned a blind eye to illegal gambling. Hell, most of the cops were in on their own version of “poker night” along with a judge or two. I could name some names from the old days, but I don’t want it getting out, and I certainly don’t want it coming back to me. I am heading back home later this summer and I plan to nose around a bit and see if any of that is still going on. I would not be surprised. Understand, I am not talking about rinky-dink gambling, like that newspaper story I told you about. I am talking about the continuing large stakes games of the likes of Scarpone and his buddies. The Dixie mafia.
Scarpone had a green army blanket he’d spread over a bed. He’d tuck up tight to the pillows. He had a way of rolling the dice down the blanket that would keep the same faces up. In this way, he could control the outcome, more or less. He was so good rolling on that blanket. It was almost too good. But no one in those days expected anything. Amazing, when I think about that. In those days, guys were so hungry to get in a game; no one was the wiser about Scarpone’s manipulation of the dice.
I am sure that way before the days of Scarpone and the likes, there were others already doing the same. The idea of manipulating the dice for a desired outcome was not hatched, as it is proclaimed, in the last twenty years by those characters on the east coast. It has been going on since there were dice. The guys that were so skilled with blanket rolls, switching out loads, or otherwise influencing the game, were professionals. It would hardly serve them to let it out that they had ways to insure the outcome in their favor. These guys were not just good, they were the best and they had the good sense to keep it to themselves. In those days, that last thing a “mechanic” wanted was notoriety.
Sometimes, in a rouge game, Scarpone collaborated with an accomplice. Slick Vic was one of the best cheats I ever got to see. Vic and Scarpone had a scam working together in a motel game. After setting up the blanket, Scarpone would be at one end, the shooting end, with Vic down by the pillows. After Scarpone rolled a point, Vic would collect and return the dice back to Scarpone. Depending on the point rolled, Vic would switch out the dice, one die at a time. By the third roll, Scarpone would have loaded dice that favored his point. He would set the dice up with the proper faces and do his thing… like bowling, the dice tumbled down the army blanket and banged out the number. Once the point rolled, Vic would switch out both dice again back to the fair dice. Keeping the loads out of the game was the tricky part. You would have to be pretty sharp to detect the loaded dice, but these guys were pros and were not about to let their reputation be soiled by being stupid. So, Vic kept the loaded dice well hidden. Anytime someone might say, “Hey, let me look at those dice!” they would inspect fair dice. Vic was so slick; I once saw him slip out the loads and hand the guy fair dice when questioned. Of course, I did not actually see Vic make the switch. Only that I knew the loads were in and then out of play when the guy inspected the dice. He said all right, looking at the true dice, and let the game continue.
Scarpone could switch out dice like Vic but as he was the better roller, the team play had Vic doing the switching and Scarpone doing the rolling. Of course, when the other players were rolling, the dice would be fair dice and the betting by Scarpone would be more conservative. Everything these guys did was orchestrated.
Now, not every game involves cheating. I saw plenty of fair games. You have to understand that these gamblers knew one another and played together a lot. That being said, the cheats were not going to try to pull one over on each other. They also loved playing the game so much they had to keep to an honest game between themselves.
It was a kind of a brotherhood. They pros kept a sense of honor amongst themselves. It was one reason for the nicknames, and it also had to do with the camaraderie they shared. They all had a bit of larceny, and some were petty criminals. They would get caught for robbery or burglary. Because of this brotherhood-like community, no one ever gave up information to the cops, trying to make a deal. They’d take their lumps, go to jail, do their time, and come right back to the old ways. Scarpone was not one to hang out with the petty criminals. He was not about to let himself be exposed to that kind of liability, no matter what. Do you recall that motel story I told you about the guy that stiffed the motel owner? That was the end of his close involvement with Scarpone. He was lucky that just being kicked out is all that happened to him that trip. Scarpone had a brutal temper.
I’m Running with the Wrong Crowd.
One time, at a cockfight, a guy was not going to pay Scarpone on a bet. He was going on about how there was not a real contract before the fight and there was nothing Scarpone could do about it. This was one time when I thought Scarpone was going to kill a guy. He got so mad…. Steaming mad! But he did not do anything there at the barn with all the people and he did not cause a seen. He kept his cool and remained calm. He suckered the guy to go around to the back where the cars were parked. Telling the guy, he had a case of good whiskey to sell to him since there was no bet. Scarpone got the guy to follow him out into the dark. I tagged along to keep it looking clean.
After we were out and away from the activities, Scarpone bends over like to open his trunk. Instead of reaching down to unlock the hatch, he takes out his pistol from inside his coat. In an instant, Scarpone grabs this guy by the balls hard, shoves him up against a car and at the same time, jams the barrel of the pistol up the guy’s nose. He was pushing so hard, I heard the nose breaking and when Scarpone cocked the pistol, I was bracing for the muzzle blast and blood. But then, Scarpone asked in a calm voice, almost politely, if the guy was absolutely sure they didn’t have a bet on the cockfight. With blood running down the barrel of the “38” and urine down the legs of the dead-beat, came a whimper of, “Yes mister, we had a bet. Take your money. Please don’t kill me!”
I was never so scared. I was never so grateful that Scarpone did not shoot that guy. He whacked him on the head with the pistol butt and the guy fell to the ground crying. I guess it was around the time of this incident that I started to wake up to the idea that I might be with the wrong crowd. I certainly got it that night. Scarpone was one ruthless, and dangerous son of a bitch when made angry.
On The Coat Tales of a Gambler continues in Episode 9 –
Personal Note from Sailor