This Game of Ours, Chapter Seven
published on 10/22/08 at 8:14 am
Nothing in my poker career thus far could prepare me for my first experience of Vegas as it was in the early 80s. I felt like a Greek peasant villager must have felt when going to Athens for the first time. The sheer scale of a city entirely built on gambling and entirely run for gambling was overwhelming. And to see the way this game of ours had blossomed into an entire industry was staggering. I knew and understood poker as an underground game and this brash, bold, all-singing all-dancing incarnation was an astonishing revelation.
My sense of wonder and surprise was heightened by the manner of my arrival. I had been cooling my heels at home one morning when Joey arrived out of the blue in a limo. “We’re off to Vegas,” he said. And he treated most of the old crew to a trip out west on a private jet. We were like kids in a candy store. We couldn’t believe the game we’d been playing with each other since children could be presented like this. After years of seeking out games, coaxing invitations and working hard for every seat we could hustle, we were in a place where action was handed to you on a silver platter.
Looking back, we saw the tail end of Vegas’ glorious era – the whole industry was still new enough to treat the gamblers and players with respect. In those days, within minutes of stepping onto the floor, the pit boss knew your name, the dealers knew your name and the waitresses knew your name. By the time you returned on day two, your favorite drink would be there waiting for you. The poker rooms were extremely personal in their level of service. The establishments prided themselves on the warmth of the welcome they provided.
By comparison, Vegas today is Disneyland with cards. Everything is impersonal and there’s a blatant disregard for the players. So many people go through each casino’s doors every day; they just see their customer-base as a nameless, faceless mass. They don’t have to worry whether you’re enjoying your time there, because if you’re not, there’s someone walking in right behind you just itching to drop their money. You can understand why they behave like that of course – it’s just a matter of economics for big corporations, but back in the early 80s individuals ran the casinos and knew how to treat the players.
And we got to meet the greatest individual of all – the man behind the Horseshoe, Benny Binion himself. Back then, anyone who gambled anywhere in the country knew about the Horseshoe. It was regarded as the gamblers’ establishment and he was regarded as the gamblers’ host. If he wasn’t quite
legendary, he was certainly a household name. The Horseshoe may not have had had the glitz or glamour of the plush surroundings of the Strip casinos, but it was known for offering some of the best action. The Sands and the Flamingo were the big name establishments at that point, but a stop at the
Horseshoe was essential for us. It was a casino with no limit. So long as you could carry in the amount you wanted to wager for your first bet, you set the limit at that amount.
We met Benny Binion in his own bar. In fairness, he met us. It was extremely casual. I was sitting at the bar with Joey and a man walked in. A bunch of people jumped up to greet him, so I asked the bartender who he was. “You’re kidding me, aren’t you?,” he said. “That’s Mr Binion himself.”
We’d been there pretty much all day by this point and were well up from Mr Binion’s poker tables. He came over to the bar and was an extremely sociable individual. He pretty much greeted everybody. The casino had that kind of atmosphere. He shook my hand and asked me how I was finding the place. I said it was great and that was that.
After years paying our dues in smoky card rooms, Vegas was a literal breath of fresh air. It combined the best aspects of Atlantic City and New York. AC gave you safety, but small payouts and poor games, while New York offered high stakes and good payouts, but an attendant risk factor. Suddenly in Vegas, we found high stakes and good quality play in a safe environment. And, most excitingly of all, we were introduced to a whole new crowd of players.
In terms of game variety, stud still held strong, even in Vegas. I would estimate that 70 – 80% of the action was stud, with five card just edging seven for popularity. The reasons for that in a casino is obvious – five card stud means the house can get more people to a table, which increases the amount of money in play and therefore the level of action for their rake.
We ate it all up and took full advantage of the action offered. The competition was tougher than AC, but I still managed to end the weekend more than 26Gs up after a good couple of sessions at the tables in Binions. To put it in proportion, a good car cost less than 4G’s at the time, so this was of hell of a payday.
It was probably around this time that we first became properly aware of the tournaments that took place in Vegas. Back east, you’d hear the occasional reference to big games out in the desert and then you’d hear tell that some players competed for what they called a world championship. To be entirely honest, we weren’t remotely interested in the idea. Coming from an environment in which you always downplayed your own ability in order to get paid, wanting to be able to call yourself the world champion seemed to us like an extraordinary ambition.
You have to remember that despite the high stakes we played for, and the stable nature of many of our native card rooms, at least in those days, poker was an illegal activity outside of places like Vegas and AC. So you didn’t run around with a big sign saying, “I’m the best gambler in the world”. Apart from anything else, the Internal Revenue Service are the biggest pimp in town and you didn’t want them looking for 40% of your action.
My buddies and I were quite content to get our winnings quietly at the tables, flying under the radar as it were. To be quite honest, the whole notion of tournament play struck us as laughable. We didn’t have any hierarchy among ourselves or worry about who ranked above whom in terms of ability, because we knew there was enough money out there on the tables for all of us.
So even when we were out in Vegas and heard more about tournament play, we weren’t tempted to try it then. We took our winnings from the cash games, bid the place a fond farewell and looked forward to our next visit.
Arriving back in New York after a whirlwind weekend, I was naturally excited about the new poker potential that had been opened up to me. It was a real eye-opener and showed me there was a whole world of poker there to explore. At the same time, I was incredibly grateful to my oldest friend for his spontaneous generosity in taking us all out there. I decided it was my turn to reciprocate and immediately arranged a night out for us both the following Friday.
Like Joey, I lined up a limo to transport us to the evening’s entertainment. Our destination was an exclusive club that had recently opened a fair way out of town in the suburbs. We were well used to enjoying good nights out, but to thank him for the Vegas trip I went above and beyond to push the call of duty.
Having gotten to the club about midnight, we soon found out it lived up to its reputation and were having the time of our life. Two hours or so later, I was wandering back to the bar when I saw two people standing quietly in the corner of the room, watching us. One of them was wearing a black leather coat – a fashion statement in those days, but a highly suspicious one in the heat of summer. I pointed the pair out to Joey and asked him if he knew them. His response was immediate. He grabbed my arm and started heading towards the back door.
But he never made it out clean. We had gotten as far as the kitchen door when I heard the first gun shot. It was a hit.
As I said, this club was a fair way out of town, which made it even more baffling to work out what was going on. But at that time, such curiosity was the least of my concerns. I can’t really work out even to this day how it all happened, but we both ended up back in the car somehow. At that point I realized I had been shot in the arm and Joey had taken two slugs in the back.
My immediate worry was getting Joey back to Brooklyn. He was my responsibility as I was the one that had dragged him out of his own neighborhood and I knew the first question would be to ask why the hell he was doing in such unfamiliar territory. To be honest, I was more worried for my safety with regard to the reaction back in Brooklyn than I was about the bullet wound in my arm.
Despite my own less serious injury, I managed to get Joey back to the city, but he was obviously in bad shape. I tried unsuccessfully to get hold of his uncle and eventually the confusion began to make some kind of sense. There had been a change of leadership higher up the chain of command. His uncle had been gunned down earlier, before they came to finish the job by whacking Joey. After leaving my badly wounded friend with his people, I was told to go home and stay put. So I did.
Another friend of mine came round with his girlfriend, who was a nurse. They stitched my arm up, as I could hardly go to the hospital. Not only did I not want to face possible questioning from the cops, I had been told in no uncertain terms to go home and stay there and this didn’t seem like a good time to question or disobey orders.
I was contacted later that morning. Joey’s right hand man, the same one that had rescued my car, came to see me. Joey did not make it through the night. He filled me in on the chaos in the city which had been all over the papers this morning. He also told me it wasn’t safe for me there. I had witnessed last night’s events and there was no way they would leave a loose end walking around. I had to get away…far away, especially from my family, which I was putting in danger with my mere presence. I could not go to the cops for protection. That was not even an option. First of all, you did not know which of them could be trusted. Secondly, I had the “rules” burned into my brain at a very early age. What happens in the neighborhood stays in the neighborhood. You did not rat anyone out, even if your life depended on it.
I knew that as far as the guys who had whacked Joey were concerned, finding me was currently their number one priority. As time went by, I would recede from being an immediate threat to a potential one, but in the meantime I couldn’t afford to be found. My read of the situation was correct. In the days that followed every person I knew was contacted, my mother, my friends, and every place I frequented was visited. They were looking for any trace of evidence for my reappearance.
But years at the poker table had given me the clarity of an efficient decision-making process. Even this situation, life and death though it was, were just another hand of cards. To continue the analogy, the weaker player here would stay wedded to his hand, would decide to stay and hope things
worked out ok. But that wasn’t the smart play. The only consideration I could afford to have in my mind was finding the course of action that represented the least possible risk to my family. No other factors mattered. In this case, that was laying down my hand and walk away. I would have to leave.
That afternoon, fewer than 24 hours after Joey was hit, I went to see my mother and told her I had decided to join the Marines. I told her I thought a tour in the military would do me good. I didn’t explain any more than that. Because of being sheltered by her family and my father, she would have been unable to comprehend the reality of the situation anyway. After spending so much time at home and having things done for her, she had no real frames of reference. On the way out, I left the majority of my bankroll on the kitchen table – more than enough to cover the remainder of my sister’s law school tuition and the household expenses for the next year or two.
I went straight to the Marine Corp recruiting office and sought out the staff sergeant. He was a poker buddy of mine. Even though he only had a small bankroll, he had grown into a quality player during the time he has posted in New York and we had become friends. I explained the situation to him, especially the fact that I wanted to be posted overseas as soon as possible after my training. Despite the fact that my test scores and academic ability gave me pretty much my pick of military operational specialties, I decided to enlist in the infantry as that gave me the greatest odds at drawing a wining
hand and leaving the States quickly.
My buddy sorted it all out for me and I was on the next plane to Paris Island, South Carolina for Boot Camp. Only eight days after the euphoria of our trip to Vegas and two days after ill-fated club trip, I found myself on a military base in the middle of no where. I figured it was the best possible outcome. If I didn’t know exactly where I was, how the hell could anyone else possibly find me?
I wouldn’t find this out for a couple of years, but the people responsible for the hit on Joey were disposed of barely a few months after I left New York, as the mob’s internal power struggles came to an end. That knowledge was of little use to me, however. Because by the time my best friend’s assailants were cold and in the ground, I was on board a transport ship in the mid-Atlantic, en route to Beirut.
John “The Greek” Leontakianakos is a professional poker player with 27 years of experience. He runs his own website called JohnTheGreekPoker.
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