THE H-MAN AND THE FOREIGN NAME GAME

One never knows where the humor will come from. 

A bunch of us at work were crowded into the small anteroom outside the dispatcher's headquarters waiting to be assigned.  This log-jam was caused because the usual, in-and-out flow of personnel was disturbed. That night, the lead scheduler and both of his savvy replacements coincidentally all called-out.  That left the office without an experienced router which resulted in, a first-timer (a friend, Arcine) being in charge of such a vital and complicated undertaking.

I was watching the poor girl running around like a chicken without a head when one of the thirty of us in limbo (another friend, Calloway), tapped me on the shoulder and put his index finger to his lips.  He pointed at the substitute dispatcher through the Plexiglas window, retreated to the back of the mob and took out his cell-phone.  Calloway's serious face turned into the mischievous grin of a leprechaun as he dialed into headquarters. 

Calloway's overwhelmed prank target picked up the phone as he said in a crisp Irish brogue, "Me name's Holden, Holden M'Groin, I'm supposed to start tonight but they didn't tell me what time to report."  Arcine picked up the master daily schedule.  We watched her shake her head as she searched for the phony name until she said, "What did you say your name is?"  Calloway fought off his laughter as he turned his back from the window and said, "M'Groin, Holden M'Groin, M-C-G-R-O-I-N.  Is there a problem, dearie?  You see, today's me first day..."  Arcine said, "Yeah, yeah, yeah..." and put him on hold as she looked around for help...but she was flying solo.  In a panic, she unnecessarily scanned ten lists of employees already accounted for. She was waving her arms in desperation and it looked liked she was screaming obscenities when she slid the window open and yelled into the crowd, "Do any of you know who's Holden M'Groin?"  A few people in the crowd snickered.  Then with all the charm and professionalism of a bag lady with Turrets Arcine roared, "What's so f***ing funny about me f***ing saying; who's f***ing Holden M'Groin?"  Then an older woman said, "If YOU don't know whose holding your groin, how would we know?"  Arcine's upgraded profanity rant would have embarrassed a longshoreman.  But it got still worse when she caught eye-contact with Calloway as he held up his cell phone and burst out laughing.

The point is, names can be sensitive issues.  I'm certain I wouldn't want to eat a food with the name shitaki...and I love mushrooms. And Cheez-Wizz despite being nearly all chemicals, implies that a main ingredient is, wizz...so I say no thank you to that too.

OF COURSE THERE ARE EXCEPTIONS, IN MEXICO THEY MARKET "SHIT" CIGARETTES.  THE GIMMICK IS,  IT'S ALL NATURAL AND THEREFORE SMOKING THEM, DOESN'T CAUSE CANCER.

In the case of people names, imagine moving to Norway and finding out that your name meant something strange like; sweaty butt.  Some prime examples of this situation that I have come across include, a Middle-Eastern kid in one of my son Andrew's classes named Anis.  When he understood the negative implication, it didn't take long before he demanded that his name be pronounced, "ANN-iz."  Similarly, a new-hire at my job was named Dung.  He asked his supervisor, "Why do people laugh when they read my name tag?"  His boss wryly said, "Because in English, dung means cow crap."  The next day his name tag read: Tony.  Plus the name Phuc and Phouc seem to come up a lot too and those guys all insist that it's pronounced; Foo.

This foreign name game happened again when I caught the, "TURNER CLASSIC MOVIES" (TCM) tribute to Japanese, late 50's horror movies. Included in this airing were four "classics."  I was familiar with the ones that featured enormous monstrosities like; "GODZILLA," "MOTHRA" and "RODAN." But the one I never heard of was, the one that took a different route.

GODZILLA WAS AN AMPHIBIAN, MOTHRA AN INSECT AND RODAN WAS A BIRD.  THE COMMON THREAD THAT RAN THROUGH ALL THESE CREATURE FILMS WAS THE PUBLIC'S FEAR, OF THE AFFECTS FROM NUCLEAR BOMB TESTING.

The fourth movie, "THE H-MAN," I liked best. It also centered on the side-effects on testing nuclear weapons theme but its antagonist was a murderous ooze that inhabits the Tokyo sewer system.

(Above), THE AMERICAN THEATER POSTER FOR 1958's, "THE H-MAN." THIS MOVIE WAS RARE IN THAT DEPENDING WHO WAS REPORTING ON IT,  THE REVIEWS HAD AN USUALLY WIDE RANGE...FROM, A DECENT TWO-STAR RATING WITH KUDOS FOR ITS SUB-PLOT,  TO A, TOTAL ZERO-STAR PANNING THAT CONCENTRATED ON ITS POOR SPECIAL-EFFECTS AND A SILLY SCRIPT. 

I'm guessing that the Toho Studios' superstar directing, special effects and producing team of, Ishiro Honda, Eiji Tsuburaya and Tomoyuki Tanaka felt that the age of giant monster (kaiju) movies had peaked.  So to get in on the ground floor of something new and more cerebral, they went with a jiggly, flesh-eating, radioactive slime that absorbed its human prey, yet rejected their clothing.  They soon reassessed this attempt at cleverness and realized that they missed their mark.  It's good thing too, because the giant monster genre would remain popular, (even when they ran out of ideas, the same grotesque beasts maintained enough of an audience even if they were poorly recycled versions of the same thing).

LED BY HONDA, WHO COULD FORGET THE TEAM'S 1964 SCI-FI SMASH, "GHIDORAH, THE THREE HEADED MONSTER." AS WELL AS THEIR CHEESY, RECYCLED CHARACTERS LIKE, 1962's "KING KONG vs GODZILLA," 1964's, "MOTHRA vs GODZILLA," 1965's, "FRANKENSTEIN CONQUERS THE WORLD," 1968's, "DESTROY ALL MONSTERS," AND 1975's, "THE TERROR OF MECHAGODZILLA."

I found "The H-Man" to be an unlikely source of humor.  That's why I side with its superior review.  It had enough uniqueness to entertain me.  This notion was reinforced when I shut off Godzilla in mid-stream because the calamities were basically identical.  But I got through the whole H-Man because an unintentional vein of humor kept cropping up and like an addiction to sugar, I wanted more candy...and always got it.

The H-Man appealed to me right away because in the opening credits, a surprisingly pleasant, jazzy sound track set the tone. And while I must confess that it had a less than stunning sub-plot that included drug dealers, hot Japanese girls and a sexy night club singer...IT HAD A SUB PLOT.

THE JAPANESE THEATER POSTER (above) DE-EMPHASIZES THE HORROR ASPECT OF THE MOVIE.  IT IS PROVEN BY THE FILM'S SEXUALLY SUGGESTIVE TITLE BEING TRANSLATED TO, "BEAUTY AND THE LIQUID MEN."  CONSIDERING THE TWO POSTERS AND THE TITLES, I KNOW I WOULD HAVE BEEN MORE INTRIGUED BY THIS ONE.

Like I said, you never know where the humor is going to come from.  In H-Man, I found hilarity in the female lead, who plays the nightclub singer, Shikako.  Even though I was disappointed to see how her name was spelled, I still laughed every time her name was clearly pronounced; Shit Taco.  I'm positive that during the naive 50's that this level of wordplay concerning awful Mexican food did not exist...that's what makes moving to Norway and finding out that your name means something disgusting, or asking people, "Who's holding your groin," all the more humorous.

The moral of my story is, the Honda, Tsubraya and Tanaka film-making team were not really visionaries.  If they were, they would have realized that the true, budding threat to our society in the late-50's wasn't the affects of nuclear bomb testing.  The true menace was, the global epidemic of narcotics abuse and the resulting mutant human beings created by drug cartels that continually...to this day, defeat the so-called, war on drugs.  Therefore, "THE H-MAN," title could have stayed the same, except the "H" wouldn't have stood for hydrogen...it would have stood for heroin.

I SHOULDN'T COMPARE FORREST GUMP TO THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST...TERRELL

A wise man once said; If it wasn't for the sameness, the odd hours, harsh working conditions, the customers and management...casino work wouldn't be so bad.

In less than four years, the casino business got the best of me. I was so burnt-out by 1983 that I put my condo in Las Vegas up for sale with the idea of going back to Brooklyn  At that time, the country was going through a bit of a recession so the bottom of the real estate market had fallen out.  Only two people looked at my place in thirteen months.   Luckily, the second one bought bought my place.  But even better that year delay gave me a chance to experience some great moments.  One could say that my last year out west dealing craps at the Golden Nugget...was golden.

One of my favorite extra memories from that period was craps dealer, Earnest Terrell.  Earnest's charm made him the darling of the players.  Management highly regarded him because his welcoming manner resulted in a gigantic following of returning customers.  The other dealers held him in high esteem because he was entertaining to us while he raked in big tips.

It seems impossible to imagine but in the casino environment, he had no enemies.  Earnest was a shining star and one the best, most interesting and fun people I ever dealt with.  He set himself apart by being so human in a sea of transient opportunists.  Therefore, weaker individuals (like me) gravitated to his qualities of sincerity, respect, tolerance and unconditional love.  We frequently dealt together until he was one of the thirteen people who were unjustly fired, in what became called the, "Nugget's Reign of Terror."  I wrote a short story with that incident in mind called, "A GUMMY CONSPIRACY." (However Earnest had a minimal role in it. So this column, is his story).

Earnest did not like nicknames.  Even something simple like Earnie annoyed him.  So when the movie, "E. T." became popular, he didn't like being called by his initials either.  More importantly, when he heard what we called him behind his back, he most definitely hated being called, "Yum-Yum."

The Yum-Yum name came to be because Earnest was a chick magnet.  He looked like a perfect, twenty-five year old version of actor Gene Wilder.  The only aspect of his looks that trumped his handsome face, wavy blond hair and sky blue eyes was his constant brimming smile.  Female coworkers hit on him all the time.  So did customers but he gently turned them down even when they stopped to gape at him or made aggressive sexual advances.

Earnest was no Puritan.  He was spoken for and earned his "Earnest" name by being completely faithful to Jen, a third generation American girl of Thai heritage.  Those of us who knew him were envious when they saw Earnest and Jen together, because they were the ultimate power couple.  They reminded me of Nick and Nora Charles because they always were on the same page as they happily gallivanted everywhere together.

An outsider might have thought that Earnest had it all but those of us who he confided in, knew he had many psychological and physical flaws.  It was these emotional and hereditary demons that prevented him from marrying Jen, co-habitating with her and most importantly...forced him to avoid pregnancy.

Earnest Terrell was born in rural Michigan.  While he was in kindergarten, he was stricken with a prolonged, life threatening disease.  His folks soon became financially drained.  For several years, his town held fund raisers, to assist in paying the astronomical medical bills. Even when he recovered, he had a difficult time catching up to same-age kids that were three grades ahead.  Matters worsened when his dyslexia went undiagnosed and his small town doctor treated him temporarily as if he had brain damage.

EARNEST WAS NOT ATHLETIC, HE DID NOT SERVE IN THE MILITARY, HE NEVER MET ANY PRESIDENTS OR PROFITED FROM COMING UP WITH CLEVER SAYINGS.  BUT HE DID LOVE A JENNY (JEN).  ON THE OTHER HAND, DESPITE PROVING THAT THE AMERICAN DREAM IS WITHIN EVERYONE'S REACH, HE WOULD PROBABLY KILL ME IF HE KNEW I COMPARED HIM TO FORREST GUMP.

Earnest was afraid to bring a child into the world.  It was sad to hear him say how embarrassing it was that every spring, advertising signs for his annual benefit (with his picture) would pop-up all over town. For that reason, he didn't want to risk his genetic burden on Jen.  But he especially did not want any kid of his to go through what he did and then be branded "the unfortunate charity case from Otsego Street." To his credit, through hard work and determination, Earnest did catch-up scholastically, conquer his dyslexia and later receive a BA from a local community college. 

When he was twenty-one, his feather in the wind destiny started when he bought a used VW micro bus and decided to drive to Tijuana Mexico.  As fate would have it, he never made it when his clunker died on him in Las Vegas.  Earnest felt no need to go home.  He settled in town and became a craps dealer.

Beginning in 1982, he and I dealt together at the Golden Nugget.  I was in a clique that included another friend with heavy-duty casino influence.  This friend used this "juice" to keep our "fantastic four" together as a permanent craps crew.  This arrangement pissed-off nearly everyone else except Earnest because he was always the substitute when one of us missed a day. (It has been said that juice is a terrible, unfair thing...unless it works in your favor.  Please note, I went through the proper channels for six months and failed to get into the Nugget.  Then one day, I stumbled through drunk and a friend had me hired on the spot).

WHILE WE WORKED THERE, THE CASINO WENT THROUGH A METAMORPHOSIS. SEEMINGLY OVER NIGHT, IT WENT FROM A FLEA-BITTEN, GRINDING SAW-DUST JOINT, INTO A WORLDWIDE, JET-SETTER DESTINATION.  MY SHORT STORY, "A GUMMY CONSPIRACY," FOCUSES ON THAT TRANSFORMATION AND THE CRONYISM, FAVORITISM AND EXTORTION WHICH WAS THE HALLMARK OF THE BETTER DEALER JOBS.

Before the Nugget made the big changes, Earnest was working with us one night.  During a lull (standing dead), we got on the topic of the crud that forms on casino chips.  We concluded that these greasy, gummy, black berries were the result of sticky dots of liquor combined with humidity and human perspiration that picked up every kind of filth imaginable.

INTERNET PHOTOS OF CASINO CHIPS ARE FROM COLLECTIONS OR FOR SALE.  SO I COULDN'T  FIND SHOTS OF THEM WITH BLACK FILTH DOTS.

When talking about dirty chips got old, Earnest told us how a Canadian school teacher in a short skirt was stalking him on his first two breaks.  "I tried to be considerate of her feelings," he said, "I told her I had a girlfriend.  But she kept telling me what she wanted to do to me. When I came back from break, she sat on a slot stool and when I looked her way, she exposed herself.  She cornered me when I went on my next break and wouldn't take no for answer.  That's when (fellow dealer) 'Meat-Bone' walked by." 

Mike "Meat-Bone" Fleischbien was an obnoxious womanizer...and because he was a virtual mirror image of Earnest, he was overwhelmingly disliked by his coworkers, (in, "A GUMMY CONSPIRACY,"  he was a major character).  Earnest introduced him to this woman and then ducked into the break room.  Later, Earnest told us that "Meat-Bone" said, "What was with that Floozie, I talked to her for a minute and she ran away."

Earnest was on a roll.  He then told us hilarious stories about the traditions in his WASP upbringing.  Then, mixed into his descriptions of gravy boats full of mayonnaise, overly well-done Thanksgiving roast beef and pitchers of room temperature milk, he also said that he invested in a small apartment complex on Cartier Street in North Las Vegas. He joked that his first million will be earned from being a slumlord.

Six months later, the when the Nugget's rebirth was complete, it was a palace.  It was so beautiful that it was hard to remember how chintzy the old, dark Western motif was, as we worked in the bright, lavish, white and beige Victorian-themed high-roller heaven.  That meant all the old tables and equipment were also replaced. Even better, the dealer's income more than doubled.  But attached to that monetary joy was the ugly head of favoritism.  Then the powers that be, (influence peddlers) terrorized the staff and had blocks of employees (mainly dealers) fired for flimsy or invented reasons so that in exchange for payola, they could hire their own people.

On a night that Earnest didn't work with us, my crew basked in our nouveau-riche attitudes, while his table had no players.  At the Nugget when a craps game is idle, the dice bowl is set on top of the chip bank until it reopens.  Earnest's table stayed open but his crew was sent home an hour early, (with full pay) and replaced by another crew from a different dead game.

When that game started back up.  The boxman (the immediate supervisor who sits between the dealers) noticed something under the dice bowl that was now positioned across the table in front of the stickman.  Everyone laughed because a sticky, hundred-dollar chip from the old regime had strayed back into the bank and was now stuck by the filth berries, to the underside of the bowl.  Then the boxman found the missing spot in the bank where the chip belonged and harmlessly replaced it.

The boxman thought it was so funny that he innocently shared the odd circumstance with the floorman (the next supervisor up, in the chain of command).  These were the days of the reign of terror so the misguided floorman figured that "they" might be testing him.  So in order to be perceived as diligent, he reported this nonsense to the pit boss.  The pit boss in turn made the mistake of telling his superior (the shift boss) who was unfortunately an influence peddler. 

This shift boss seized the opportunity for a big pay day.  He even went through the pretense of drawing up an incident report.  To further cover up his impending impropriety, he ordered an investigation.  He then went through the time, energy and casino's expense, to have the "suspects" individually interviewed and administered lie detector tests.  No one admitted anything and nobody implicated anyone else.  The casino claimed that with the case at a standstill that they were obligated to nip the problem in the bud.  So they fired all eight dealers, two boxman, two floormen and the pit boss...even though nothing was stolen or missing.  One of those dealers was Earnest Terrell.

Out of sight, out of mind. Earnest's feather in the wind destiny blew him so far away that I didn't see him for years.  Later that year, (December 1983), I found out that Earnest was still out of work.  Plus his dream of being a wealthy slumlord wasn't panning out either because his tenants infrequently paid their rent on time or in full and a couple didn't pay at all. So to save money, rather than move in with Jen, he took one of his unoccupied units.

When the holidays rolled around, I got his new address, bought a big box of chocolates and scribbled out a season's greeting card with a supportive note. On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, I delivered it, in the hope of brightening his day with my surprise visit.  It was a windswept, rainy day in the high forties. He wasn't home. I was afraid I wouldn't have a chance to return so I left my gift inside his storm door.

Two days later, I had the second person come to see my condo and he but in a bid.  Despite the reign of terror being long over, the Nugget being a great job and having a tons of friends, my level of casino burnt-out was red-lining my BILE-O-METER.  Therefore, I agreed to the buyer's outlandish terms and a week later, we went to settlement.

I INVENTED THE CONCEPT OF THE BILE-O-METER AS A SARCASTIC DEVICE THAT MEASURES CASINO BURN-OUT.  ON THE FAR LEFT, THE  BLUE "SAFE"ZONE TAKES UP 10%, THE GREEN "ALERT" SECTION COVERS THE NEXT 25% OF THE DIAL, THE RED "BILE DANGER" AREA, TAKES UP THE LAST 65%.

My last work day at the Nugget was January 9, 1984.  The next morning, I moved back to New York and by December, I was working in Atlantic City.  Seven years later, my wife Sue and I went back to Vegas on vacation.  I saw many of my old friends but nobody knew where Earnest was until I bumped into Mike "Meat-Bone" Fleischbien. He said, "I heard that Yum-Yum just got hired as a boxman at that shit-hole, the Imperial Palace."  Sue and I drove over there.  It shouldn't have been too hard to find him because that cheap clip joint only had two craps tables.

Earnest wasn't there.  We waited for the next break rotation. When we still couldn't find him, I asked the floorman, "Is Earnest Terrell working today?"  Maybe we looked like idiotic tourists but we definitely didn't look like a couple of collectors from the mob.  Still, this floorman sternly stared me down as if I had two heads and said, "If you saw this Terrell, would you recognize him?"  It sounded like a stupid question but I politely shrugged, "Yeah..."  Then the chubby boxman started laughing...it was Earnest.  We had some preliminary chit-chat until the floorman graciously gave Earnest an extra break so we could talk.

Sue and I couldn't believe how much he changed.  In addition to the extra weight, his thinning hair was  much darker and he was less smiley.  At the same time that I noticed his name tag read: EARNIE, Sue pointed to his wedding ring.  Earnest coyly smiled and said, "Oh yeah that.  You know life's a gamble...look what we do. I rolled the dice of life and won...me and Jen are married six years."  Then he took out his wallet and he showed us a photo of Kimmy, his five-year old daughter.  I said, "Adopted?"  He was shaking his head as Sue marvelled at the tyke's Amer-Asian features and said, "She's beautiful..."  Earnest interrupted, "And she's in perfect condition.  I only wish that when the time is right, you enjoy the same fulfillment." I pounded him on the back and Sue kissed him.

We told him about our life in Jersey and then a few minutes later he said, "I gotta get back to work."  Along the way he said, "I wound up making a ton of money off my apartment complex after all.  I was barely hanging onto it when a casino development outfit made me an offer I couldn't refuse."  Then his familiar smile returned to his face when he added, "But first, I had them sweeten the deal...by a lot." 

We were saying our goodbyes when I said, "Speaking of your apartments, did you try calling us after you got our Christmas chocolates? Because two weeks later, we moved."  Earnest laughed, "That was from you?  Me and Jen were visiting her folks in San Francisco.  We didn't get back till after the New Year. I thought it was a prank from an ignorant tenant.  By the time I got it, it was a mess. Everything melted, there were a gazillion ants everywhere and the writing inside the card was all messed up."  We all laughed.  Then I'm almost positive Earnest said, "Life is like a box of chocolates..."

Yes, you never know what you're going to get, Earnest's wish of fulfillment to us came true three years later when our blessing, my son Andrew was born.

So gentlemen, always remember:

• Count Your Blessings
• Understand the Importance of Being Earnest
• And Have a HAPPY FATHER'S DAY !

KAPPA-SKEW - POMP AND CIRCUMSTANCE - HAIL AND FAREWELL

I love my son Andrew.  But loving your kid is like doing your homework...you don't get any credit for doing it, you only lose credit if you don't.  So in his case, I not only love him but I admire and respect him as well.

My admiration and respect for him is seeded in the notion that I want more for him, than I had.  On a deeper level, my hope was that he'd turn out to be a better person than me too.  I'm proud to say, he's on the right track. Andrew, through his own doing, has exceeded the limits of what I could ever provide and is destined to greatness.

Andrew always stood out in a crowd.  I appreciate that I had something to do with laying a solid foundation for him.  But as I look to college and beyond, it is clear to me that he will find his own way to success and personal fulfillment. Yes, on the rare occasion I will be there for him, with a swift kick in the ass to keep him focused, but only if my wisdom and experience, trumps his intelligence, sensitivity and generosity.  And even then, I will still trust his judgement to accept or reject all or part of my advice.  That's the essence of why he is unique, will have a better life than me, be a better person and stand out in whatever he does.

These wonderful traits became clear to me when he was young.

AT A FRIEND'S THIRD BIRTHDAY, IT WAS FUNNY TO ME HOW MANY MOM'S TRIED TO ADJUST THIS PARTY HAT.  HE WASN'T BEING VAIN, HE WASN'T BEING OBSTINATE.  HE WAS JUST BEING HIMSELF. 

At pre-school, the teacher's aide told us Andrew had an incredible sense of right and wrong for such a little kid.

WHEN HE GRADUATED PRE-SCHOOL, THE TEACHER KEPT TRYING TO STRAIGHTEN HIS CAP BUT ANDREW'S SENSE OF STYLE WON OUT.

Maybe there's something special to cocking one's hat?  And maybe Andrew should create the KAPPA-SKEW fraternity for individualists.  Because throughout his schooling, Andrew has been a beacon of positive energy that others have gravitated to and prospered from.  Now that he has graduated high school and I have read the voluminous yearbook comments from his peers who have fed off his force-field of confidence, optimism, fair play, humor and creativity, I see how they perceive and appreciate his individuality.

This past Thursday June 7th, the Absegami High School class of 2012 held their commencement exercise on the school football field. During the week, we all held our breath as the WEATHER CHANNEL predicted one beautiful day after another...with one glitch...Thursday June 7th.

All the way until that Wednesday, I encouraged everyone I knew to do a "NO RAIN DANCE." It must have worked because when I woke up for the big day, it was indeed a delightful morning.  Even the weather reports down-graded the rain to a mere 30% for late in the day. Still, it was a long time until 6:PM.

The early afternoon gave way to scattered clouds.  It seemed every time I got pessimistic, the sun would re-emerge for a couple of hours.  My heart then skipped a beat when a single engorged cloud wandered overhead and dumped heavy rain on Galloway.  Three minutes later like turning off a spigot, the cloud vanished.  I then envisioned being good to go, for the rest of day.

At 4:PM, we basked in the moment of a perfect 70 degree day.  We then had a photo shoot in front of our house before walking the ten minutes to the festivities, (to avoid the insane traffic on the way home).

IT'S SHOCKING HOW FAST ANDREW'S PRIMARY SCHOOLING HAS PASSED.

On the way to the school, we walked through the open spaces and saw that the clear horizon looked as promising as Andrew's future.  At the event site, harmless looking clouds appeared in the far distant south.  My wife Sue and I found ideal seats in the aluminum bleachers and took advantage of the social opportunity with the other early arrivals.

DURING THE DOWN TIME, I READ THE PROGRAM AND FOUND OUT THE CLASS OF 2012 HAD NAMED THEMSELVES, "SABBELEU," THE LOCAL NATIVE AMERICAN PHRASE FOR; TO SHINE BRIGHTLY.

Spirits were high as the gathering SRO throng exhausted every seat.  At 5:PM, I whispered to Sue that I wished they could start immediately because the far away gray clouds were gaining momentum.  At the same time, attendees with computers started spreading the word that out-lying towns were getting rained on. Then our worst fear came in the form of rolling thunder and a lightning bolt tearing through the clouds behind the school.

MOMENTS BEFORE THE CEREMONY STARTED, IT BECAME OBVIOUS THAT WE HAD A RACE AGAINST MOTHER NATURE ON OUR HANDS.

The band members began warming up.  Then right on schedule, the 476 grads, in their gold and brown cap and gowns, marched from the school, towards the north end zone. 

IT LOOKED LIKE THE CLASS OF 2012 EARNED THE "SABBELEU" NAME WHEN THE FATE OF GOOD FORTUNE SHINED DOWN WHEN A BURST OF BEAUTIFUL, GOLDEN SUNLIGHT RAYS WELCOMED THEM TO THE FIELD.

Sue and I were giddy as we watched for our son to appear.


ANDREW,  EVEN AS THE WIND PICKED-UP, REMAINED RELAXED, CONFIDENT AND LOVING THE WHOLE SPECTACLE. 


It seemed odd that the band remained mute as the precession of students took their places.

WHO STANDS OUT IN THE CROWD BETTER THAN ANDREW...NOBODY !

When everyone was in place, the principal announced that if it only rains...the program will continue.  For some reason, she didn't dwell on the pending thunderstorms or the need for a Plan-B.  Instead, she asked us to rise as the band played the "NATIONAL ANTHEM."  The musicians followed that with, "POMP AND CIRCUMSTANCE."  The band never played another note. 

Soon the administrative dignitaries were introduced.  Then the Salutatorian and Valedictorian made their speeches.  In both cases, the audience was distracted by the black clouds that had engulfed the sky as well as claps of thunder and nearing streaks of lightning.

The ceremony started to pick up pace.  Perhaps as an omen to the forbearance, the first person to receive their diploma, the student president of the school had her name butchered.  Andrew was in that first group, so his name was not hurried and announced loud and clear.

WE WERE LUCKY BECAUSE WITHIN MINUTES THE TEMPO OF THE PROCEEDINGS TOOK ON THE CHARACTERISTICS OF DESPERATION.

The time bomb of nasty weather starting to tick down to detonation.

TWENTY MILES AWAY, OCEAN CITY WAS ABOUT TO BE CUT UP BY THE STORM.

The alphabetized graduates waiting for their diplomas were still in the "M's" as the officials called up the grads at hyper-speed.  Most of the crowd waiting for the thrill of hearing their kid's name probably missed the cherished announcement because it was speedily garbled.

Only a small percentage of people saw the stormy writing on the wall...and left.

BY THE TIME THE "T's" WERE CALLED, THE OVERWHELMING BULK OF US, BLINDED BY STUPIDITY AND THE DESIRE TO HONOR EACH AND EVERY GRAD, LIKENED THE LOOMING SITUATION TO A TORNADO OF BIBLICAL PROPORTIONS.

The timing was perfect as the last "Z" was announced, the first two rain drops fell.

IN CELEBRATION OF THEIR ACCOMPLISHMENT, THE STUDENT BODY TOSSED THEIR POINTY CAPS IN THE AIR AND APPARENTLY RUPTURED THE EDGE OF THE WATER BLOATED CLOUDS.

The proverbial skies opened up.  Torrents fell on the screaming, panicky participants and onlookers.

IT WAS APROPOS THAT THE GIRL'S YELLOW GOWNS LOOKED LIKE RAIN SLICKERS WHILE THEY RAN FOR COVER.  IN THE MEAN TIME, SUE AND I WERE MOMENTARILY TRAPPED AS THE SPECTATORS SLOWLY OOZED FROM THE GRIDLOCKED STANDS.

We were drenched before we were on ground level.  We used the idea of the shortest distance being a straight line and cut across the field.  Luckily, lightning was not a factor. But the horizontal, windswept rain flew past us as biting bits of hail made matters worse.  I spotted a log jam of people at the exit and diverted Sue to the "safety" of the alee side of the field house.

I REGRETTED NOT HAVING MY CAR AS WE SHIVERED FOR TWENTY MINUTES AND ENDURED STINGING DIME-SIZED FALLING ICE.  WHEN THE WIND DIED DOWN, OUR TEMPORARY SHELTER WAS USELESS.

We made a mad dash for the school.  We waded through several ankle deep mini-lakes as two ambulances cut through the confused parking lot.  In the sanctuary of the building's warm lobby, I likened the mob to "Titanic" survivors.  People, soaked to the skin like drowned rats were scared until they were re-united with loved ones.

When the sun came back out, the destroyed spirits slowly perked up. The long awaited graduation was unceremoniously over.  A lot carefully designed outfits and hairdos were ruined.  The joy of lingering and saying bittersweet goodbyes were also washed away. 

While it is true that the sensitive allure of the sacred ceremony was abbreviated or lost, the strange circumstances, for the students, will live forever.

For Sue and I, there was no shortcut through the woods.  To avoid the muddy trails, we chafed during the long walk of shame home.  It was then that we realized that a few folks were hospitalized and the price of forcing in graduation could have been much worse...even fatal.

The next day, "NBC NIGHTLY NEWS" commentator Brian Williams did a nationally seen item on the severe weather during our graduation.  So did CBS and CNN. Absegami even went international as the BBC also did a piece.

WILLIAMS NARRATED OVER THE OMINOUS CLOUD VIDEO AND THE FLEEING PEOPLE.  HE IMPLIED THAT IN THE MIDWEST, THEY COULD'VE RECOGNIZED THAT IT WASN'T A TWISTER...BUT THIS HAPPENED IN NEW JERSEY.

So for my son Andrew, his friends and the rest of his fellow graduates, in this case, you will always share this unforgettable bond. 

HOURS LATER, THE STREETS OF GALLOWAY RETAINED THE TELLTALE SIGNS OF THE HAIL STORM.

I think, as a sign of their individualism, all the Absegami 2012 graduates should always remember the football field littered with their caps left askew and that even without the full blown pomp and circumstance that they richly deserved, they can proudly say; hail...and I do mean HAIL...and farewell.

YOU CAN'T TRUST A FART AFTER FORTY

PLEASE BE ADVISED, THIS COLUMN CONTAINS: ETHNIC SLURS, TOILET HUMOR, EXTREME VIOLENCE, RAW SEXUALITY, HARSH LANGUAGE, DRUG USE, FAMILY BETRAYAL AND WHAT MIGHT BE CONSTRUED AS CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.

Everybody loves Las Vegas stories.  Mine are usually sanitized for the enjoyment of the majority but today's has a hardcore spin on politically incorrect issues.

Casino life subjects its workers to knuckleheads and oddballs, on both sides of the table. I dealt, in both Atlantic City and Las Vegas, and my experiences out west were far more frequent and acute. In Vegas, it seemed every other person was an eccentric, weirdo or character. So looking back, it's laughable to think of the caliber of the loonies whose company I avoided when you consider the rejects I befriended.

The downtown Holiday International Casino, (1979), was a tremendous career boost. I only had five months experience and was working with savvy masters of the business . So during my four-month stint, I had fun getting quality mentoring by a kooky yet entertaining staff.

"THE HOLIDAY" WAS MY THIRD CRAPS DEALING HOUSE.  IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL, MODERN CASINO THAT WAS DESTINED TO FAIL BECAUSE OF ITS TERRIBLE LOCATION, AT THE NORTH END OF MAIN STREET.

The Holiday was step up for beginners like me but it was a hellish refuge for polished professionals who fell from high places. Paul "Shag" Darrow (33), a free-spirited coke-fiend typified that notion and was my favorite pit boss, ever..

IN THE 70's BEFORE CRACK,  USERS DILUTED THEMSELVES INTO THINKING THAT COCAINE WAS THE CADILLAC OF HARMLESS,  RECREATIONAL DRUGS.   STATUS-MINDED PEOPLE LIKE PAUL DARROW ADVERTISED HOW "COOL" THEY WERE BY WEARING COKE PARAPHERNALIA AS JEWELRY.  IN SHAG'S CASE, A RAZOR BLADE TIE CLIP.  

Darrow had dealt high-limit craps in the best casinos in town.  Despite his fancy credentials, he was only toiling at our dump until something better came along. To cushion his massive fall from grace and the boredom, was to be wired, (we used twenty-five cent chips and had a fifty-dollar house maximum).  He also had a strange curiosity concerning vermin.  His worldliness was limited to have only lived in upscale Newport Beach (California) and Las Vegas.  So he took a liking to me because I was a New Yorker who could spin exaggerated yarns about roaches, water bugs and his favorite, rats.

My four main supervisors under him were characters too.  Jess (26) a Vietnam vet who shared his graphic sexual exploits with innocent civilians he "met" while in action. 

Dwayne (28) the pride of Bend Oregon was a ridiculous liar.  If he said the sky was blue, I wouldn't bet on it. He concentrated on implausible gambling dribble but his audience knew it was nonsense due to his tell, (the habit of widened his eyes and leaning in close to his target). 

Noah (32) was spacey but the most intelligent of the group.  He dwelled on missing the hippie lifestyle and fantasized about moving to a commune in Maine.  

The biggest screwball of them all was Dick Paynlewski (41).  He was a dopey loser, who drank too much, gambled too much and with the exception of prostitutes, had trouble relating to women.  

In their own way, these men were all supportive in helping to hone my craps dealing craft. But Paynlewski stood out as the only one, I ever thought of as a friend.

PUT A YOUNGER BOB UECKER (above) IN A CHEAP, WRINKLED SUIT.  ADD BAD TEETH,  A CONFUSED, DOUR AND PASTY COMPLEXION AND YOU HAVE THE PERFECT ACTOR TO PLAY DICK PAYNLEWSKI IN THE FILM VERSION OF HIS LIFE.

Dick was a prime character in my short story, "AGNES CARMICHAEL, OF THE CARMICHAEL CALIFORNIA CARMICHAELS."  If you think the title is mouthful then you're a perceptive person.  Because there was a two-year gap from the time I worked with Paynlewski at the Holiday until I saw him again...that's when Agnes "the Mouthpiece" Carmichael, (in a match made in heaven), became his first ever "real" girlfriend.

In 1981, I lost my craps dealer position at the Stardust Casino. Similar to the Holiday, the best rebound  job I could muster was a toilet called the Vegas Club.  To lament this devastation, after my first night, I met my former roommate Ciro the Hero, (before he became Ciro the Zero), at Binion's Horseshoe.  

We caught-up for an hour and at 5:AM, we crossed the street to Hotel Fremont and shot craps. The one other player at their only open table, was a  plumpish woman around thirty with a shiny face full of purple zits and a low-cut blouse.  She approached.after our unsuccessful session and tried hitting on Ciro.  Up close, she had frizzy, disorganized hair and chipped tooth that made her goofy.

Ciro politely brushed her off.  We tried to pass but she blocked his path, arced her back to promote her stretch-mark ravaged cleavage and said, "What's the rush?  I just want to be friendly."  Ciro got serious fast, "Get your fat tits and fat ass out of my face."  She grabbed his arm, "Hey, my father can make big trouble for you.  He's a big man in Carmichael...everyone in Sacramento knows him."  Ciro said, "Well you ain't him and the last time I looked Dorothy, you ain't in Kansas no more."  She said, "Daddy's a big man here too.  He has a forty-thousand dollar credit line at the Landmark (casino) alone.  Everyone in Vegas knows the name Cyrus Carmichael.  And when I finish blackjack school, he's gonna juice me into any casino I want."

Ciro faked an apology.  She smiled, "That's okay, let's go for a drink."  He said, "You're cute but I have a girl and she's the jealous type."  It was a half-truth because his girlfriend was a married woman that he was having Thursday afternoon relations with...and she didn't care how he spent the rest of his time.  Coincidentally, this girl was an assistant cage manager at the Landmark.  The next day, Ciro called her at work.  She confirmed that Cyrus Carmichael owned a real estate company and was indeed a big player from Carmichael California.

In the weeks that followed, I didn't transition well to the lowly Vegas Club.  In addition to making peanuts compared to the Stardust, one of my new supervisors, Ralph Winters, (a Wayne Newton wannabe), kept trying to jackpot me, (get me in trouble).  

Winters' reputation as an ignorant hater was well deserved. Once on a live game, a blackjack floorman Edmund Khalifa (a Catholic born in Dearborn Michigan of Arab descent), came to take up a collection for our terminally ill shift manager's surprise party.  Winters was such a prick and scoffed in front of the customers, "Beat it you fuckin' pushy camel jockey."

Khalifa left in a huff. To lighten the mood Winters bragged to us, "There's a new keno writer, a real train-wreck, who loves to give head."  We were a captive audience at our craps stations and compelled to listen.  He rattled off names of our coworkers who, "The Mouthpiece" had already serviced on the roof of the Horseshoe garage. 

That keno writer was Agnes Carmichael.  Her Mr. Wonderful daddy, didn't make good on his promise to get her a great dealing job.  So "Carmichael" as her name-tag read took her future into her own hands...or in this case, mouth.

Soon her persuasiveness or as she called it, "friendliness" paid-off as she sucked her way to a blackjack dealer job, at our bottom-of-the-barrel Vegas Club. She had a couple of weeks experience when I saw my long-lost supervisor Dick Paynlewski walk in.  He was with a local casino hustler, Simon "Coat-Rack" Rhett.  When Rhett left, fate brought Paynlewski to Carmichael's BJ table.

On one of my breaks I spotted Dick dousing a chili dog with hot sauce, at the snack bar.  He was drunk, slurring his words and holding the counter for stability. I didn't mention the dog crap-like dollop of beans on his brown shoe as he made it obvious that he hadn't changed.  

Paynlewski was still at the Holiday and frustrated about gambling away all his money.  He said unkind things about female Asian dealers and added, "I don't even know why they let scum like that in our country.  Hell, they ain't even Christians."  I said, "Dick, I'm not Christian."  "Don't worry buddy," he burped, "you know you're okay."

He grilled me about Carmichael but I wanted to know why he was hanging around with that parasite Coat-Rack.  Coat-Rack (70+) had been famous for selling table game systems to naive suckers, as a "past-poster," short-change artist and rail thief. In his advanced age, he evolved into supposed leigtamacy by being a walking pawn shop.  He loaned down-and-out gamblers money but took disproportionally expensive items as collateral.  

I asked, "What did you hock with Coat-Rack?"  Dick said, "Nuthin'.  This time I bought a big-ass attache case full of eight track tapes.  Now tell me about Carmichael?"  I shrugged, "She's new.  I don't really know..."  Dick interrupted, "She's really funny.  Wanna hear what she said?"  Before I could respond he added, "After I lost my last buck she said, 'After work, I'm having a party in my mouth.  Wanna come?'''  He saw my raised eyebrows and said, "Get this.  Then she says, 'don't worry about my chipped tooth, I know what I'm doing.'"  I said, "Sounds like a keeper."

We were walking back to my game and Dick whined, "I'm tired of all the Pollack jokes...do you think I should change my name?"  I said, "To what...Joe Paynlewski?"  He called me an asshole and added, "Remember the time Shag was all coked-up and threw a ferret on our (craps) table.  At that split second, how was I supposed to know that he was the one who did it.  Shit, I broke my nose trying to catch that rat." 

How could I forget...that is the funniest thing I ever saw inside a casino...or out.  Dick showed me the scar where the varmint bit him, "I was a victim of circumstance.  That could've happened to anyone but every goddamned day, all I hear at work are dumb Pollack jokes......" I cut his rant off, "When did you splurge and get a car and since when do you listen to music?"  He pointed to his temple, "I got an old beater off Coat-Rack and for ten more bucks, he threw-in all those eight tracks.  I don't need a player for it 'cause it's an investment. I'm going to resell those babies."  I went off-topic because my head was about to explode, "Dick, don't change your name.  Save your money, that shit is expensive.  Besides, you should be proud of your heritage.  Don't let small minds influence you."  I didn't think he was listening as he asked, "Could you spot me a twenty till pay-day?"  I said, "Sorry. I work here. I'm broke."  He muttered, "Some friend you are."

Carmichael and Dick soon were a couple.  He became a mature father figure who provided unconditional acceptance to her shortcomings.  And he got his first prolonged relationship and a sense of calm.  But after a short time, their co-dependency, (drinking and gambling), accentuated the boundless insecurities of their purposeless, helter-skelter lives.  Still, Carmichael came off as happy-go-lucky but when Dick found out that she considered her ongoing oral sex escapades as an act of friendliness, he became more irrational each time.

In the middle of a Vegas Club shift, I snuck out to take an audition for a better job, (the Horseshoe).  On my way back in the stinking alley behind the Golden Goose Slot Parlor, I saw Dick and Carmichael having a violent argument.  He said, "I heard you took on five guys last night."  She said, "I'm faithful to you.  That isn't sex...I was only being friendly...besides, it was only three guys."  Dick palmed her face like a basketball and shoved her down onto the wet, filthy pavement.  He cried, "Even one guy is cheating!"  Dick was about to kick her side when I said, "Hey!"  He ran off and yelled, "Whore!"

Why they stayed together, I'll never know because she never changed. It seemed that whenever I saw them, they were drunk, gambling, arguing or all three simultaneously.

   

Around that time, Ciro's casino cronies were meeting at a spa on an Indian Reservation, near the Utah state line. He invited me along.

(STOCK PHOTO)  I CAN'T REMEMBER THE NAME OF THE PLACE. BUT I KNOW THE KIDDIE POOL WAS SHAPED LIKE A TOMAHAWK AND THE ONLY BUILDING HAD A BAR, GIFT SHOP AND LUNCH COUNTER.

At the resort, we were surprised to see Carmichael and Dick in the tiny crowd.  She greeted me enthusiastically in a one-piece crimson bathing suit.  Dick, in brown trousers, a dress shirt and loafers looked like he was ready to go to work.  He and Ciro seemed acquainted. They shook hands but Dick remained serious and indifferent.  Carmichael smiled and poked his rib, "I know Steve from work but..." Dick snarled, "Ciro, this is Agg.  It's short for Aggravating." 

Later, Ciro and I were walking into the men's locker room and Carmichael followed us in.  She blithered about how great the mineral hot springs were and unzipped her swimsuit.  She removed one of her shoulder straps and said, "Am I getting a sun burn?"  Before we answered she pouted, "Maybe its hard to tell."  So she pulled down the other side, to fully expose her boobs.  Ciro said, "A lady needs privacy when she gets undressed."  She said, "A gentleman would look the other way."  He walked up to her, guided her into a shower stall and began kissing her breasts.  I scurried out.

I went into the U-shaped bar. I found Dick nodding out with his elbow on the bar with his hand propping up his head.  A half eaten hamburger, some nibbled onion rings and a double-scotch was in front of him.  I went on the opposite side and ordered a beer.  

In a while, grinning Ciro marched in.  Dick suddenly woke-up and bolted out the door.  Ciro and I laughed at his odd behavior.  Dick returned, gulped down his drink and blushed, "You can't trust a fart after forty."  Ciro couldn't hold back his hysterics and walked out.  Dick got the attention of the Native-American bartender, held up his empty glass and used a poor, stereotypical accent to say, "Hey chief, me trade-um wampum for heap more fire-water." 

Outside, Ciro bumped into Carmichael and she led him back in.  Instead of sitting with her boyfriend, she stood between Ciro and me.  She pinched Ciro's nose and declared, "I'll be your best friend if you buy me a beer." She chugged the big mug dry and began massaging both of our crotches at the same time.  Her hands were hiddened by the bar as Dick said, "You better not be giving Ciro a hand job."  He was walking out in disgust as Carmichael said, "I wouldn't think of giving Ciro a hand job."  She whispered to us, "I'm giving Ciro AND Steve a hand job."

On the hour-long drive back Ciro gushed, "Carmichael is fuckin' talented.  It must come from gobs of experience.  If giving head was an Olympic event, she'd win the gold medal. She puts these exploding Pop Rocks candies in her mouth when...wait!"  He interrupted himself and said, "Forget that, check this out.  Carmichael said Dick farts in his sleep, farts during sex and once shit in the bed when he came."  I said, "No?"  Ciro said, "Well, even a medium-sized wet fart would be shitting the bed to me." We laughed all the way back to Vegas.

That night at the Vegas Club, Edmund Khalifa told Carmichael that Ralph Winters complained to the terminally ill shift manager about getting strong-armed for his now, non-surprise birthday party. She told off Winters and turned her interest to family man Khalifa.  A week later, after a few oral sessions in his car, Edmund implied that he was leaving his wife for her.  She decided to dump Dick.

Khalifa brought Carmichael to one of his brother's unoccupied rental properties.  Two hours later, at six-thirty in the morning, he insisted on giving her cab fare.  To save time, they waited outside on the second floor landing.  Khalifa become aloof.  He looked at his watch and calculated that he might be able to get home before his wife.  Carmichael didn't appreciate how the festivities were unfolding.  She thought that Dick would never discard her this way, until with a deep sigh she realized that Edmund just rocked her world like no other...and for so long.  Her disappointment in "Eddie" for not taking her back to her car subsided as a new sensation radiated within her.  She smiled grabbed Khalifa's crotch, unzipped his fly and said, "Eddie, you were right, I did like it in the butt.  Let's go back inside and..."  Suddenly a yellow taxi turned the corner. He pulled up his zipper and said, "What are crazy?  I have neighbors."  He gave her a ten-dollar bill...and the bum's rush.

Back in her car, the digital clock atop the Mint Casino read, 7:11.  She felt lucky and headed home to cook her twelve-year old daughter Harlene breakfast and drive her to school.

The Gilbert O'Sullivan song  "Alone Again, Naturally," came on the radio as Carmichael drove south on Paradise Road.  She was singing along as she entered the Charleston Boulevard intersection.  Carmichael smiled lightly.  She was squirming from the pleasant feeling in her rectum as a speeding drunk ran the light and plowed into her driver side door.

Carmichael spent the next seventy-two hours in ICU, clinging to life with the help of a respirator.  

Harlene had left a message for her powerful grandfather. He didn't come to town, return her call or contact the hospital.  Instead, a reprentative of Carmichael Realty Enterprises arranged with the billing department, "to spare no expense."  Carmichael was situated in a deluxe private room.  By the third day, the room was adorned with three over-sized bouquets with an identical new "note:"  From Cyrus Carmichael.

On that third day, Harlene phoned Dick.  The lost soul was tipsy but arrived fifteen minutes later at the hospital with the apparent sobriety of a judge. He bickered with the nurses but because he wasn't family, he wasn't allowed in...until sobbing Harlene insisted.  

Carmichael had feeder tubes coming from her abdomen.  She was breathing on her own but was still in a coma. Dick's belly shuddered as a nurse summarized from her chart, "Ms. Agnes has suffered a broken hip and has internal bleeding." He cried as she continued, "In addition to innumerable other injuries, her spleen and a kidney have already been removed, and she'll never get pregnant again."

Harlene left with her friend's parents at 10:PM. Dick decided to stay the night.  He lovingly, kissed Carmichael's face, rubbed her arm and whispered words of encouragement.  Hours later, he emptied her bedpan and was washing it as he began rehearsing a marriage proposal. He returned to her side and contorted his body so he could clean her bottom. He was giving her one last wipe as she painfully moaned.

Dick sprang up.  He was about to ring for help as Carmichael softly groaned, "Eddie, put it in my butt again..."  Dick couldn't believe his ears.  He snuggled up to her and whispered, "What did you say?"  There was no answer.  Dick said, "This is Eddie, what do you want?"  Barely audible she croaked, "You were right Eddie, I did like it in the butt...do it again."

Paynlewski punched the wall.  In a frenzy, he paced while trying to figure out what to do.  Carmichael garbled, "E-E-Eddie," he grabbed her throat and choked her.  At that same instant Dick's stomach seized up on him.  His mad dash avoided a tragedy and the ultimate embarrassment.  He got out of the toilet, smashed one of the lavish bouquets to the ground and stormed away.

Dick guessed that Eddie was Carmichael's coworker.  He sped through the sparse traffic downtown.  At 3:AM, he haphazardly parked on Ogden Street and jogged to the Vegas Club's rear entrance.  Dick began asking employees, "Is Eddie working tonight?"  His quest was made more difficult because everyone knew Khalifa, only as Edmund. Finally a roulette dealer answered, "There's no Eddie's on this shift...unless you mean Edmund, he's the floorman watching that last BJ table."

Paynlewski was seething in hatred and bent on revenge.  He recognized Edmund's Middle Eastern coloring and wanted to attack the reprehensible heathen who defiled the girl he wanted to marry.  Dick noticed an approaching security guard and decided that this was not the time to confront his rival.

Dick ran out and began searching every downtown casino.  Hours passed.  He was so sleep deprived that it looked like he was in a trance.  The third time he checked the Union Plaza Casino he saw a short, downtrodden hustler and asked, "Have you seen Coat-Rack?"  The flea said, "No, he's probably home.  Simon only comes out at night."  Dick said, "Night? What time is it?"  He slowly pulled out a beat-up, antique, silver pocket watch and said, "That's funny.  I bought this off Simon five years ago..."  Dick stopped him, "Yeah, yeah whatever..."  The man said, "Hold your horses buddy boy," as he donned a pair of glasses with one frame missing.  He held the watch to his ear and muttered, "Jeez.  It musta stopped. But I can tell you with certainty that it's half past noon."  Dick was confused as the man pointed to the digital clock on the roof of the Mint Casino.

Paynlewski's reflex was to hit him, instead he demanded, "Where does he live?"  The opportunist extended his right palm, "Don't get so bossy.  My memory ain't what it used to be."  Dick slammed a five into the derelect's palm and yelled, "Where?" 

Dick ran back to his car.  He ripped a parking ticket off the windshield and raced away. Six blocks away, he saw a dilapidated two-car garage behind 37 Cincinnati Street. In a shady spot, Coat-Rack, in green leisure-suit pants, a western shirt and bolo tie, sat on a tree stump sipping apricot brandy from a pint bottle .

Paynlewski grabbed the old-timer's elbow and prodded him inside."Simon, you gotta gun for sale?" Coat-Rack drawled, "Whoa big fella...before I tell you if I have such an item, you gotta tell me what you need it for."  Dick didn't answer.  Coat-Rack probed Dick's eyes and said, "You look like shit."  He didn't wait for a response. "This ain't another one of your stupid POE-LACK ideas...you know you still gotta back-up the five C's you owe me from last week's Poe-Lack bullshit."  Paynlewski nodded as he  silently absorbed the shame.  The old man shouted,  "Y'all think I just fell off a turnip truck?  C'mon now Buster, speak up!  Swear to me that you ain't aimin' to kill nobody?"  Dick was staring at the ground as he sniveled, "I-I swear."

Through a sea of hapharzard merchandise littering every inch of the floor, Coat-Rack tip-toed to a bureau. His matching polyester suit jacket was dangling on a hangar from the open drawer as he shuffled through small items until pulling out a .25.

The sermon started with keeping the good name of Simon Rhett out of any police reports.  He took a deep breath, "Lookey here sonny, if the cow patty hits the fan, you found this piece behind a dumpster!  If you fuck-up, remember, this pee-shooter might be hot.  Plus you got no license and you ain't getting no paperwork neither.  Jesus H.  Christ, I don't even know if you know how to use this damned thing."  Dick said, "Looks like a toy"  He grabbed for it but Coat-Rack pulled it back, "Sixty, in cash, now."

Armed with a two-minute tutorial and a loaded Saturday Night Special, Paynlewski returned to his tiny efficiency apartment. In a juvenile manner he stood in front of the bathroom mirror and practiced drawing.  Soon, he felt like a pro and put it in his pants pocket.

Dick went to the hospital and trudged up the corridor towards Carmichael's room.  At the nurse's station, he got mobbed and was given the rock star treatment.  The women called it a miracle and congratulated his TLC and patience for pulling Agnes out of her coma.

In the room, a fourth bouquet was set next to the reassembled one that Dick had broken.  He was surprised to see Harlene and her friend cheerfully sitting beside lucid Carmichael.  The patient was sipping cranberry juice when Dick asked the two adolescents to give him a little one-on-one time with Carmichael.  The gigglers were on the way out as Zombie-like Dick confidently gripped the concealed gun .  He was swooping in for the kill as Carmichael gasped, "I'm sorry." Dick withdrew an empty hand from his pocket.  She continued, "I was weak, I strayed, please forgive me...I did 'it' with another man."  Tears streamed down her face.  Paynlewski was at a loss.  His anger melted.

He took her hand. She sobbed, "They told me what you did for me...I almost died."  Dick gingerly kissed all over her face.  She was becoming woozy and weakly grabbed at his groin.  She was on the verge of passing out as she felt the gun's short barrel, "Wow, you are happy to see me."

The head nurse barged in, "Visiting hours are over."  She looked at Dick, "This one's dead on his feet.  Go home, Aggie will be fine."  Carmichael strained to be heard, "My own fuckin' father never came and neither did any of my friends."  She started coughing, "Dick, I'm never going to be 'friendly' again....I love you."  Dick's heart was pounding but before he could spit out his marriage proposal, the nurse pulled the curtain and ordered him out.

Dick went home.  He was emotionally wrought and physically exhausted but Edmund's face was indelibly etched in his psyche.   Consumed by vengeance, he decided to stay awake until eight.  All he could think about was blowing away that sodomizing Arab bastard.  Dick started hallucinating.  He washed his face and stood out on his tiny terrace.  He stretched and took deep breaths of fresh air but still felt lightheaded.  Dick returned to splash more water on his face. He stared down his reflection and drew his pistol as he mumbled cliches from old westerns.  Finally he croaked, "Edmund, this town isn't big enough for the two us," and fumbled the weapon.

The gun went off.  The sound in the claustrophobic bathroom was deafening.  It was followed by his lingering painful wail from shooting himself in the foot.

The next day, Dick phoned me.  I couldnt believe he had my number and shocked by what happened. Far stranger, I remained skeptical that he was handcuffed to a hospital bed.  He added, "Steve, I told the police that I found the fuckin' gun by a dumpster, I was messing around with it and didn't realize it was loaded.  They gotta investigate first. Hopefully those jerkoffs won't press charges."

I agreed to visit Carmichael. and tell her the story.  Before we hung up Dick added, "Do you think Coat-Rack sells engagement rings?"  "I said, "Wow.  I guess?"  He was grabbing his stomach and said, "Lookit, my gut is killing me. I gotta run but one more thing.  I went through with it and legally changed my name."  I said, "Isn't that expensive...I thought you were broke?"  "Yeah, I borrowed $500.00 from Coat-Rack."  I was speechless as he continued, "Anyhoo, you are now speaking with Richard Thomas Payne.  Like the Revolutionary War patriot, you know, the dude who wrote that 'Common Sense' pamphlet.  From now on, no more Pollack jokes."  I said, "So you want everyone to call you Richard?"  He said, "No, I'll still be Dick."  I said, "Then your name will be Dick Payne...like dick pain and Carmichael will be Mrs. Dick Payne."  Richard Thomas Payne angrily said, "Steve, you're crazy, nobody thinks like you."  I was about to say, good luck as Mr. Dick Payne shouted, "FUCK! I just shit myself."

Something tells me, he'll always be 'Mr.  Payne...in the Ass,' too.

                                                                         # # #

I've always said, "Vegas is a great place to work but I wouldn't want to live there." The main reason is, it's a transient town .  Most people gravitate there to live a permanent luxurious and carefree lifestyle or wanted a quick fix to "restart" their lives, or were running away from something.

At some point, reality sets in and most leave.  This creates a revolving door of neighbors and coworkers.  Leaving the town with, a decent percentage of  desperate dregs struggling to live. 

For me, reliable friends were difficult to find.  Sadly, the ones I took into my life usually had harsh, hidden agendas too. This wasn't an environment where my wife and I wanted to start a family.

Since leaving in 1984, the few friends I kept in contact with dwindled.  By 2009 when we spent part of a family vacation in Las Vegas, all that was left was Ciro the Hero.  Unfortunately for all involved, our hour-long meeting didn't go well.  He was such a major diappointment that I was embarrassed to have exposed the newly dubbed, "Ciro the Zero," to my wife and son.