As a young man, I gambled for my living, and to put myself thorough college. That alone was a crime in Texas. I was arrested several times at other people's poker games, and once at a dice game by the fabled Texas Rangers. They asked if you had a job. The folks I played poker with were gamblers, pimps, dice men, con artists, bookmakers, lawyers, and thieves. So they would charge us with Vagrancy by Association, and put KG, for Known Gambler on your record or sheet. This meant that, technically, they could arrest you anytime they wanted if you could not show visible means of support. Fancy clothes, diamond pinkies, and fat bankrolls did not keep you from being labeled vagrant. I went to jail once with Odessa Red, who had $44.000 on him, if memory serves. That is like $444,000 today. Yeah.

Sherman Davis, Tennessee Longoodie, and Bill Smith, World Champ 1985, were getting a banana split in the Carnation, an ice cream joint in Lubbock,Texas about 1959, when the Texas Rangers, a.k.a. the Big Hats, came in and arrested them for gambling, and suggested they must plead guilty right then, and come down to pay the fine. They agreed, as was the custom. The Rangers had raided the wrong apartment at the Stardust Apartments, and needed to look good by arresting Known Gamblers. If you did not cooperate with the laws, they could raid every day. They knew all the gambling joint, saw dust and carpet.

I did not have a job. So that was against the law. Playing poker in the biggest games was illegal, even if they did not catch you playing, or even if you were not playing. Associating with the gamblers and cross-roaders, many with colorful records, was a crime. The laws always knew where we were. We rarely hid the cars, except in times of extra amount of heat. They raid gamblers before elections in Texas. A custom.

I have read about poker raids all over the country. The police act terrible. Don't they? They dress up like Ninjas, washed out of a real SWAT Team, and come busting in, cursing, abusing their power, and everyone else. There is a real division between the police and the citizens.

When they used to arrest us for gambling, it was fun. Every time. I was young, but the older guys didn't mind it any. They didn't put our names in the newspaper, as a policy. The police were laughing and joking, and no guns were drawn.

Sometimes they didn't arrest us, just came in. Once at a poker game, in the back of a car lot, this law came running in, and this lookout, and ex-policeman, tackled him. There was a hole in the wall where old decks of Bee Brand paper cards were thrown. When a new deck came in, old decks were destroyed to keep down cold decks, hold outs, and such. Sand threw the cards down the hole. We never used chips, just money, which you quickly shoved in your pocket if someone knocked too loud. Without cards, or chips as gambling devices, they decided to let us go, even though someone had jumped an officer, the only time anything remotely like that happened. Sand had $20,000 cash, which he threw in the trash. I wondered what he would do if they took us down?

We played every Tuesday at Morgan's whore house. The trick room was closed. The laws came there, but they waited outside a while with flashing lights. The Detectives visited the working girls some mornings. We all sat in the living room with coffee. All booze, cards, and whores were hidden. They politely arrested us for Vagrancy by Association, but were apologetic. They'd put one cop in each car and let us drive them down there. The bondsman, who everyone always suspected of snitching off joints, was there waiting at the jail. They fingerprinted us, took photos, put all our money in property envelopes, took belts, and put us in a cell, slammed the door, opened the door, and we got our stuff. Jail time, under one minute.

This was the same routine for several poker games, and we'd go back and play there again. Dice games were more serious, and they would have to move on.

I was arrested at a dice game once. I worked there as a shill, pretending to be a player, to get the game started. The Texas Rangers, two Big Hats, came walking up the sidewalk. All joints had a lookout, because of the laws, and heisters, but the Big Hats did not knock. The lookout jumped to open the door, before a fancy, hand-tooled, leather boot came crashing through. He yelled, "Rangers." We tore down the spread. A dice spread was set up for a raid. It was plywood and a blanket, covered in green felt. There were no numbers printed there, which would be a greater felony. We kept the point with playing cards, 4,5,6,8, 9, 10 to mark the point. The stickman would pull out the point card and lay is east.west. Come bets were placed on the edges of the playing cards.

Reverend Pruitt and Stinky Davis knew these Rangers well. They had been arrested often. The Rev offered them a beer. They said if we would all plead guilty, they'd have a beer. We did. The house paid the fines by custom at dice. Everyone paid their own fines at poker. Rev promised to bring the cash down the next day. He begged them to keep the spot, but they said he must move.

My favorite arrest was at a time all the big cross roaders came to play Lubbock because the poker was higher than a hawk's nest. I was arrested with several guys that are in that picture of the early World Series in Doyle's SuperSystem Book. Bill Smith, Tennessee Longoodie a.k.a. James Roy, Joe Floyd, a.k.a. Joe Lloyd, Pat Renfro, Dave Wilkins..yeah, right. Joe Floyd had a road partner, Joe Barnes, also arrested with us, whose brother George is pictured there.

They took 13 of us to jail in jovial, party spirits, with the jokes going a mile a minute on both sides. "I'm been looking for work twenty-seven years, officer."

"I got me a prop bet that y'all po-lice play poker on the cheap."

Two brothers were the I.D. officers in charge of photos. The same two brother cops were friends with Big Fred who ran "the Shop" for thirty years, a big open poker game that was never robbed or raided. They came around Christmas for a drink and food, and they'd go bird hunting together. At Big Fred's funeral, we found he had been buried a few feet from one of the brothers. One old gambler said, "He is going to have his hand out."

These police got out all our old photos of arrests. Sherman and Moody had been arrested together in the 1920s. They had on these fancy suits, and they were so young. My photo of being arrested at age 14 for popping fire crackers in a crowded theater at the midnight show on New Year's eve got me ribbing for years.

They asked Joe Barnes if he was the same Joe Barnes arrested for bunco in Oklahoma several times. He said,"I have never been near Muskokee in my life." which got the biggest laugh of the evening. Joe Barnes and Joe Floyd or Lloyd both went by the road name, "Oklahoma Joe", and traveled together. Every body who played the same money should have the same name.

I trained as an all around gambler, gaining advice and wisdom, joyfully given by the men who really knew all the tricks of the road. It was the same traveling bridge tournaments. The top experts would answer questions and teach.

In the late fifties there were gambling scandals at the colleges, because of point shaving, and betting with bookies. Naturally, being young and a dumbass, I decided to open a small hand book at the Texas Tech pool hall, where I already spent hours a day, playing gin, betting on others playing pool, and playing nine ball, if I got the seven as a money ball, and it came back up. And steering for the poker games. There was an old woman whom I conned some, made fun of, acted like a fool.

I put out parlay sheets around the pool hall. Players pick three teams in the college, pros, and I pay five for one, since they put up a buck up front, minimum. First week, I made $57, and had only one winner. Second week, the old lady tells me the FBI had a meeting with the Student Union head, and they are after me. She said this well-dressed guy with books was undercover. What a great old lady. Saved me. I moved to all poker, all off campus, and didn't enter the pool hall for a year.

The vagrancy laws were thrown out by the Supreme Court at some point in time, erasing those particular charges from everyone's record.

Johnny Hughes

Johnny....awesome story as always. Keep them coming.

It was a hot and dry day in El Paso when I played that hand in 1849. I'm not sure why I decided to return to the saloon, and once more risk losing it all; maybe it was boredom, days on end of seeing nothing from my porch besides hot, dry sand and desert lizards reflected in the rising steam. God knows where that steam came from. There wasn't water for miles.

I burst through the doors of The Broken Spoke holding all that i had earned from my 3 long months working on the ranch of Dallas Bill, one hundred and two dollars. I looked down back to my usual table: the usual suspects were at it again: Switchblade Joe, Tumbleweed Tim, Vegas Black, and Double Dee. Me? They call me Six-Shooter Sam.

I took my seat. The name of the game was $100 NL, the highest stakes in town. I shouted at the bartender. "Hey Lady, bring me some goddamn whiskey." Luckily, she had it. I would have taken horse piss. Anything to rid myself of the grit on the back of my throat.

First hand I'm on the big blind, and I look down to find the king of hearts and the ten of spades. Folds all around to me, except for Vegas Black who makes it three to go. I eyed him over carefully. He was a smooth one, that Vegas Black; unpredictable, like a cross-breed between a rattlesnake and a scorpion: you never quite could tell which way he was slithering, but one sting from him and men were pushing up daisies. Vegas Black was known in Texas to raise pots with any old hand, he could be sitting on anything from 2 7 offsuit to a pair of bullets. I saw a drop of sweat roll down my forehead and hit the felt. Vegas gave me a sinister grin. "Call." He urged. "I dare ya."

I called his raise. The flop comes 10 clubs, 7 clubs, A spades. Vegas bets out strong, $6, clearly trying to bluff me out.

"It'll take a lot more than that to get me out of this pot, partner," I said to Vegas in a raspy voice, my throat raw from the sand and the whiskey. "$20 to go."

Vegas lit a cigarette and sucked the smoke through the gap where his left front tooth used to be before he lost it taming Memphis, the wild black stallion that townsfolk rumored Vegas found at the gates of hell after getting shot by Kentucky Jack on the longest day December. "$50."

"I call."

The turn comes up, the Ace of diamonds. Vegas checks. Now I'm in for it. My pair of tens is looking worse by the minute. I check behind.

The river comes, the ten of hearts. Vegas checks again, settting his trap, except this time I can fight back. "I'm all-in."

Vegas looks at me and gives another wicked grin. He stands up from the table, pulls his pistol out from his holster, and pointing it at his own head says to me, "I raise you your life."

A lot of things went through my mind at that moment. My wife, my children, my future goals of saving enough money to move out west to california and strike it rich, but for some reason, I knew Vegas Black wasn't holding an ace.

"Vegas," I said, with shaky hands, pulling out my six-shooter from its brown leather holster, "you're a dead man." I pointed my six-shooter at my own head with my right hand, and flipped over K10 with the other. Vegas flipped over 88 and shot himself dead, in the middle of The Broken Spoke, on that hot and dry 1849 day in El Paso, when I made the biggest gamble of my life.

+1

sick life

Did you ever play in the Balinese Room in Galvaston? I love hearing stories about that place. After Ike destroyed it, I found out my grandmother used to go play craps there when she was 19.

From Wikipedia:

The club's illegal gambling made it a hub of mob activity. It was well-known that the casino, at the far end of the pier, was operating in violation of the law. But the Maceos had many allies in the local government and on the police force, so charges were never filed. The sheriff of Galveston County at the time, when called before the Texas Legislature to testify about why the club remained open, replied that he wasn’t a member of the private club so he couldn’t get in.

In 1956, Will Wilson was elected as Texas Attorney General after campaigning to "close down Galveston" and its illegal casinos using the Texas Rangers. The Rangers set up shop in a hotel near the club, and raided the casino often. But their efforts were thwarted by the length of the pier — by the time they ran down to the tail end of the long, narrow club, tables, cards and chips had disappeared into secret wall and floor pockets. The band often would strike up the song "The Eyes of Texas" upon their arrival.

The Rangers did eventually shut the club down, but not through heavy-handed tactics — they simply sat in the casino all day, every day. Customers, intimidated by the Rangers' presence, began to stop coming. As a result, business was so bad that the club eventually closed its doors on May 30, 1957.[4]

good read.

LOL Texas Lawaments.

Awesome story

Very cool story. Some people really have lived interesting lives. My life is lame and pedestrian by comparison. Would be awesome if you had a copy of the 14 year old mug shot, lol.

definitely worth the read

It was a hot dry day in my moms basement. I had 6 PLO tables going and Redtube up with my favorite whores going at it on repeat. My Starcraft friends were mostly under online arrest for the rest on the weekend for stealing a Starbucks card from their sisters birthday cards. I was tired of getting sucked out by newbs for the night , I needed some action!

I grabbed my Xbox controller and pushed down hard on the middle button only to be met with the RROD. Ugh. I grabbed my only towel. Well used and gummy ( thks Redtube Whores) and wrapped that baby tight. While waiting and hoping that my Fallout fix could wait, I stacked my MtG cards in my own special way and dreamed of the good old days. Sitting around the card table, trading cards while aruging about whose Huffy was the fastest.

I shake my head and rejoin the present with new hope. I will get that weapon upgrade if it kills me or anyone in my way. I unstick the towel and fired it up. Oh sweet green flashing ring. Such adventure!

" Mom, can I turn of the dryer now ? I can't hear my Game!"

I ****IN Love this story
Thanks

Good read Johnny!

excellent as always mr hughes