Abestia

Gino got a job at The Pabst Brewery on South Orange Avenue because of his old man’s seniority status. Once there, the relatively well paying job with health care, vacation and union security, was not enough for his character and ambition.  So he ran numbers, and as far as I know, kicked back to noone.  One guy, lets call him Little Mickey, was on a bad losing streak and couldn’t pay.  Gino waited a few weeks, like bookies often hafta do.  And he listened to the stories that bookies often hafta hear from their addicted clients.

“I got an insurance check coming, gimme a few more days.”

“Tomorrow I’m gonna shy it from Nicky Boots.”

“My wife wants to send the kids to St Joes so they don’t hafta go to school with the blacks at Lincoln - Gimme another week Gino.”

Gino decides to give the guy a free bet.  “You win, you’re even.  You lose, you don’t owe me double, just what you already owe me.  But Mickey, if you lose, I want the money tomorrow.”

The guy bets the Knicks favored by 6 that night at the Garden. They lose outright to The Lakers.  Mickey shows up the next day to work and doesn’t have the money.

My friend’s dad, Al V, who also worked the brewery tells the story like this:

“I’m workin in the brew house and your uncle and Nick M. grab Little Mickey and hold him upside down over the beer vat, each holding an arm and a leg.  The beer’s boilin.  If he goes in he’s fuckin dead.”

Gino: “He paid the next day.”

I never gambled much years ago because I had no money.  My first gambling experience was around 1964.  My girlfriend Bobbi and her husband used to call in horse bets to a bookie. One day she called me to see if I wanted to make a bet and I told her no way, I had no money. She told me I could make some money.  I couldn’t take the chance. The next day she called me to tell me she won, did I want to make a bet?  I told her the same thing as the day before.  The 3rd day same thing.  She won money, did I want to make a bet?  They were on fire and had another hot tip. 

I learned that day there is no such thing as a hot tip.  I said ok and bet $10.00 on a horse.  Now $10.00 in those days was like $300.00.  WELL I LOST.  I was sick all day and night. There wasn’t even anywhere I could get the money.  I couldn’t tell Shell.  He wasn’t even betting the horses at the time.  So I had to go to my mother.  I had to tell her the truth so she wouldnt say anything in front of Shell. 

Well she pitched a fit but gave me the money. It was some years before I ever bet a horse again. I lived on Smith St in Vailsburg then.

My second experience with gambling was a few years later.  Still lived on Smith St.  The pick 3 lottery was fairly new.  Shell bought his first new car.  1970 Valiant.  The license plate was 775.  Well that only cost 50 cents, so I could afford that.  I wheeled it for $1.50.  Aunt Norma, who lived across the street, heard me say I was gonna play the new license plate so she gave me $1.50 for her.

When I get to the store, I thought to myself, with my luck 774 or 776 will come out, so I played both of them wheeled for another $3.00.  Well lo and behold 776 came out and I won something like $150.00 which was like $1,000 at the time.  Shell was so excited.

Well Aunt Norma heard I won and thought she won also.  When I told her what I did, she was so mad and said why didn’t I tell her I was playing the other numbers, she would have played them also.  I told her I did it the last minute at the store.

So now I thought this was great, so easy to win the numbers. So for a week I played and lost about $20.00. I was sick.  It was many years before I played the numbers again.

Elaine Smith

Shell and I went to Delaware Park .  It was the first time we had ever gone there. Lost 4 or 5 races, was being cheap now.  The next race was Arabian horses and a very long race. There was a horse named Lucky Tess (Tessie, my aunt’s name). I bet $5.00 to win and an exacta. 

Race starts and Tess is in the back, the other horse is laying 3rd or 4th. Coming around the last turn, the other horse starts makng it’s move and takes first at the top of the stretch.  By now I cannot see who is who, but I hear the announcer say “And here comes Lucky Tess!” I began screaming, “Comeon Aunt Tessie, comeon Aunt Tessie!”

Aunt Tessie.  The backbone of the family women.  Great daughter, mother, grandmother, sister and aunt.  When she died everyone was fighting for her old pots, pans, & recipes.

Well, she won.  I had forgotten about the other horse.  I’m jumping up and down, the only person doing so, because she was a long shot.  Everyone was looking at me.  Then I remembered I had an exacta, and asked Shell what the number of the second horse was and when he told me I started screaming, “Oh my God, I have the exacta,” and started jumping and screaming again. Both were long shots. Shell said later that everyone must have been saying, how the hell do you pick out two long shots like that.  The reason I did was because of the Tess horse (like an anniversary or birthday), don’t remember what numbers they were.  I felt like Mrs. Rockefeller when we left the track.

Elaine Smith

I had for many years looked up at the clock exactly at 11:11.  It became my practice to start making wishes and later affirmations, at the sight of those elevens.  When I met Alan Smith at the bar on a Sunday afternoon in December, the Giants were playing the Cowboys. After a few lagers and a few missed field goals I suggested the wager: if the giants make this field goal, you take me out for dinner, and if they don’t I’ll take you out for dinner.  Pretty clever on my part I thought, goal or not this guy and I were going to have dinner.  A few lagers later some how we all ended up at our friend’s tattoo shop across the street picking out star patterns to recklessly but permanently place on our body. 

“Ever make out in the back of a tattoo shop?” Al’s question came from outer space but through a straight face.  I never laughed so hard, could this guy be for real?  I mean seriously, it was crazy enough I had a new tattoo on the inside of my arm, I wasn’t about to make out with some strange guy, in the back of some tattoo shop in Jersey.  I’m a good girl;   I waited till the next day.  Three days in a row we hung out, laughing, talking, smoking lots of weed and kissing. But it was a gamble.  A retired fireman who was now trying to live like a Buddhist, a political activist, and a writer (or so he claimed).  Al was only the second man I kissed since my divorce 2 years earlier, I was pretty sure all men were evil.  But Al was fun and exciting, and free during the day which made hanging out easy because I was out of work at the time.  Full of stories from his past, he almost seemed like he was two different people.  But for all his change of heart, and his living a more conscious life, I knew he wouldn’t love me any time soon.  I always seem to fall for the guys who don’t want to be in love the same time I do. Love is always the biggest gamble of all. 

A month’s worth of 11:11s had passed by when Al asked if I wanted to go to a Super Bowl party.  He had chalked up $500.00 and entered into a pool with his old fireman buddies.  These were a shady bunch of salt of the earth characters from Newark having their annual party at some Italian restaurant.  A gang of firemen who, no doubt, were secretly jealous and hated that Al was able to retire at such a young age and live free. He explained that the pool was worth $25,000.00 but he got in on it late and was stuck with the two worst numbers you could get. 1 and 1.  My heart skipped a beat, 11 was magic for me, he was sure to win if I went with him. Then I looked at the clock and sure enough 11:11. I pointed to it “make a wish” I said.  What would he do if you won all that money? He was about to sell is house in Rutherford, so he figured he would by a van and drive around the country for a while. Or something like that. I devoted every 11:11 wish every day twice a day for almost two weeks to the thought Al would win $25,000.00 and take me with him.  He also joined in on the ritual and began seeing 11 everywhere, and started wishing the same wishes.  Well not completely the same, he didn’t know I was going to tag along. 

I took a seat at the bar picking at the ziti from the buffet, drinking a stiff drink, and fielding questions.  Where was I from, how did I meet Al, and what in the world would I ever find attractive about him?  I just told them it was his great sense of humor and his big dick, and we all had a good laugh.  In my heart I knew Al was going to win this money, he deserved it. Living and working with these guys, how did he do it?  He was so different now from these dudes. It was hard to imagine he ever fit in.  I was sure now that he was two different people.  

He promised the bartender and me if he won he would give us each $1,000.00.  But in my head I gambled with the notion that, maybe because we were both at a certain cross roads in our lives, and because those numbers were magic, that if he won that money, he would take me on his road trip.  Even though I knew he didn’t love me, I gambled on the thought that he might want to take me anyway.   

It was a crazy game, missed field goals, interceptions turned to touch downs, two point conversions, safeties, and all of it unraveling just as it needed to for those numbers to end with 1 and 1.  It was thrilling.  I actually started to believe that you could will anything you wanted to happen.  The whole universe opened up, anything was possible. All of the firemen were going crazy… No way! Al was going to actually win this money!  It was a blow out, Tampa Bay was sure to win 41 – the Oakland’s 21 so everyone started congratulating Al.  But he kept saying it’s not over yet there’s still a minute to go… It didn’t matter who won he just needed the numbers to end with 1 and 1.  With thirty seconds or so left to go Al leaned over and told me to find my keys, and to start the car. We had to take off as soon as the money was in his hands.  He might owe a couple of guys here some money.  HOLY SHIT this was is it! We made it happen, and I was going to be freed from the misery of Jersey!   

And then some guy named Smith intercepted a tipped pass and returned it 50 yards for a touchdown with two seconds left to finish the scoring. I repeat …. Some guy named Smith intercepted a pass in the last two seconds of the game, and ran it 50 yards to change Tampa Bay’s score from 41 to 48.  Alan Smith had lost to another guy named Smith who showboated in another touchdown. IN THE LAST TWO SECONDS OF THE GAME.  I dug those keys so deep into my hand I thought they would come out on the other side.  He lost.  I didn’t really know Al all that well… was he going to lose it and smash his barstool into the big screen TV (also part of the booty now going to some other dude)? Was he going to cry in front of all his fireman buddies?  Was he going to get plastered drunk or want to go get some dope?  How was he going to cope with this?  I didn’t know what to say I felt like I had lost too.  Inside I knew everything was over, there would be no road trip, and our relationship was ticking like a bomb, I knew he didn’t/couldn’t/wouldn’t love me.  It was all over.  

We stayed for a few pity drinks.  Al handled it all in stride, laughing it off.  He might have even said something like “you win some you loose some” or even “it wasn’t really mine to begin with”. Buddha might have been proud.  It was more unbelievable then actually winning.  We drove all the way home through the snow in silence.  The pit in my stomach was getting sour I knew it would be moments in till I threw up.  Sure enough, I ran right to the bathroom as soon as we got back to his place.  I just wanted to go home, I was sick.  Al figured I was just too drunk and wouldn’t let me drive.  Reluctantly I agreed to stay, feeling like he might just need some company even though I knew it would be another few trips to the bathroom till the room would stop spinning.  Little did I know I was about to begin a night of the worst sickness I had ever experienced.  The entire night that was supposed to be a celebration turned into a festival of throwing up and eventually through down as well.  It wasn’t long before Al was joining me in the festivities.  And with only one bathroom, not only was this embarrassing for the both of us it was down right dangerous.  I lined a trash can with plastic bags and we designated that for our vomit so one of us could be sick in the bathroom while the other could be sick from the couch or the bed or anywhere else.   

Finally the sun came up.  I just wanted to get home and curl up in my own bed. The telephone kept on ringing, everyone wanted to express their sense on loss for Al.  But all he could talk about was how we just spent the night getting our sickness out, and trying to figure out if anyone else that was at the party as sick as we were?  We were a greenish gray and weak and there was no end to this madness in sight.  Neither one of us was strong enough to drive, but I was having a break from the constant vomiting, and hadn’t had any signs of the throwing down in at least an hour, so I convinced Al we should go to my place.  After all I had two bathrooms which were proving necessary.  And besides I needed a Gatorade in the worst way and he had nothing in his house, so we had to go out anyway.  We scurried through the snow in our pajamas and made it to the car.  It felt like we had just trekked to the North Pole.  Completely surreal. The 7-11 was packed but I got our supplies, 6 Gatorades, soda crackers, fire wood and a trashy magazine.  I was home, but nothing was the same.  Al may have lost the $500.00 it cost to enter the pool and the $25,000.00 in the last two seconds of the game, but I lost too.  I lost my way out of dirty jersey, and the illusion of love. 

I returned to Harrahs from one of my shore excursions on a recent trip to Atlantic City, and learned that while I was playing in the surf on the Brigantine beach , my wife was involved in a not for fun experience at the casino, and at the same time, playing out a fantasy of her own. It happened this way:

Elaine took notice of the short, wiry, brown-skinned, fortyish looking man standing next to the ATM machine she was about to use, and concluded that he was waiting for someone, but, she decided the situation warranted some necessary precautions —- just to be safe.  she shortened the hold on her handbag, grasped her cash card tightly, and planted herself firmly for defensive action, if it should be needed.  The bystander waited until she submitted her card and punched the numbers in before acting.

The accused logically would have assumed that his grandmotherly looking mark should behave in an appropriately grandmotherly fashion.  He had no way of knowing that this particular grandmother was not only an expert on scams, but an unsung genius in the area of criminal activities.  Years of assidious attention to, and the study of, television police programming, has given her the ability to name the bad guy in a police drama (with uncanny accuracy) in no more than five minutes after the opening credits.  Nor could he have known that she has memorized every offensive and defensive maneuver ever used on screen by Chuck Norris and Steven Segal —- and is able to anticipate their actions with frightening precision.

The ’scam’ as Elaine explained it to me later, worked as follows:  When the scoundrel was sure that the user had entered his or her numbers into the machine, he went into his act, harassing and intimidating the victim until she became flustered enough to leave the machine primed for a withdrawal.  He took a card out of his pocket and slid it into the machine above the card that was already there, while shouting indignantly — its broke — its broke.  Elaine, neither flustered nor deterred held onto her card with an iron grip and hit the cancel transaction order with her free hand.  The villain then made a near-fatal mistake.  He tried to forcefully nudge her away from the machine with his body (he had a better chance of moving the machine) and immediately realized he was in over his head — and if at that point he saw the expression that I am certain she must have had on her face —- he knew for sure it was time to exit the casino. When he turned and saw Elaine following, he picked up speed —looked again —- she was hot on his heels.  He panicked and bolted.  Her first intinct was to assume the policeman’s shooting stance, but the weapon she was holding was only a check card, useful for other forms of annihilation.  She took off after him, at first trying to avoid jostling as many people as possible, but he was fast and elusive, and a desperate situation called for desperate measures. She began  body-blocking anyone that got in her way.  Cups of quarters were flying like meteors —- shouting “Stop that man,” she leapfrogged over a woman in a wheelchair, jumped up on the craps table, and was in diving distance of the perpetrator, when a team of security guard’s surrounded her and ended the chase.

She wanted an APB sent out — all bridges and tunnels blocked — asked for a map of the area, and of course gave them a detailed description of the assailant with instructions to have a composite police drawing made.

Exaggerations aside —- the rascal did scamper through and out of the casino before Elaine could alert security, but if I were him I would not rest too easy —- she never forgets a face.

I hit the jackpot at an Atlantic city casino, early one morning.  In point of fact, I was outside Harrah’s Casino, when a slot machine labeled “moments to remember” paid off for me with a winning combination of BAY VIEW - SAILBOAT- SUNRISE. The noiseless payout came in the form of a few serene moments, rather than the clatter of falling quarters, but the prize had a far longer lasting reward than the traditional cup fillers.  Since that time, whenever we visit Harrah’s, I have made it a habit to rise early and try my luck at the same machine.  Using the same technique each time (patience and a cup of coffee) I have yet to experience a losing outing at the site.

About 730am or so, I pick up a newspaper and return to our room - wake my wife for breakfast - give her a few minutes to shed the cobwebs - and wait - sometimes it takes as long as five minutes.

I cannot believe you come to Atlantic City to wake up at 5am to go down and look at the same bay you see every time we are here.  What do you see there? Its just weeds and water!

She’s right of course - so after breakfast, I take the car over to Brigantine Island, for a change of scenery.  The beach is more of a hands on experience — or more accurately, a feet on experience, as I walk the shoreline searching for God knows what — shells of my past? — or a glimpse of the future in the next wave? I have never been able to explain properly, to Elaine, just what it is I see when I look “out there.” I do know that any slot machine that can produce an environment that puts your mind at peace, —- whether it for an hour or a minute —- is one worth playing.

The day my father was buried, we went back to my sister’s house, we had the food catered.  While we were eating Gino went to the corner store and bought lottery ruboffs. That took almost 2 hours.  Everytime someone won money, Gino took the tickets and bought more.  On and on this went.  Early evening we all decided to go to the Pegasus restaurant at the Meadowlands racetrack.  We had a table of about 20 (all from the funeral).  My father must have been turning in his grave because we were already spending his money.  We were all drinking and everytime Gino had a drink he would lift it into the air and say, “Here’s to you Dad.”

The last race everyone was buying trifecta tickets, so many tickets on the table.  When the race was over, everyone was throwing their tickets all over the table cursing.  From the corner of the table came a small voice saying “I won.”  It was Shell.  He had the trifecta.  Everyone was cheering and yelling.  Gino asked him how much he had on it, and he said $1.00 box trifecta, it cost him $6.00.  We were all losing our shirts and he had his first $1.00 box trifecta ever. 

WELL, Gino started yelling all over the place.  “Son of a bitch has the only trifecta and he’s got a fucking dollar box.”

Everyone started laughing and Shell said, “Well I had the winner, I didn’t lose.”

Gino never forgot that one.

Elaine Kuebler Smith