POOF! LIKE MAGIC, I FOUND A MORE AMAZING RANDY

This blog is dedicated to the constant flow characters, (coworkers and customers),  I met while working in Las Vegas casinos.  This perk was made better because most of the time, these funny/entertaining, oddball eccentrics, were just being their free-spirited self. Of course, some of these unique personalities were "sharpies" and weren't necessarily wholesome. 



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In my youth, I was fascinated by magicians.  I grew to appreciate Houdini, Morris Gold, Penn and Teller and my all-time favorite, David Blaine.

My first exposure to the craft was circa 1960, on the kiddie TV program, "WONDERAMA."

"WONDERAMA," IN DIFFERENT FORMATS, WAS A MAINSTAY OF NYC  KIDS' TV, 1955-1977.

"Wonderama," was a game show that also featured music, skits and novelty acts. The magician who did occasional guest shots designed for children was, Randall James Hamilton Zwinge ,but his stage name was, "The Amazing Randi."

The Amazing Randi, (born in Toronto Canada on August 8, 1928), enjoyed a long and prosperous career as an illusionist, (he still owns the world record for being sealed 104 minutes in a casket as well as being encased 55 minutes in ice). After being on over 50 TV shows, plus movies and personal appearances, he retired in 1988.

In between magic and retirement, Randi switched careers and gained more notoriety as an author and skeptic of paranormal activity. Along the way, he won a law suit over Uri Geller and disproved James Hydick, Peter Popoff, W. V. Grant and Ernest Angley.

Randi also came up with his "Million Dollar Challenge." This offer was a cash prize to anyone with evidence of actual occult power or supernatural events. The money gathered dust for decades and remains untouched.

TO ME, THE AMAZING RANDI WAS MORE AMAZING THAN THE 1962 NEW YORK METS AND MORE AMAZING THAN KRESKIN.  BELOW, YOU'LL DISCOVER, THERE'S ANOTHER RANDY WHO WAS MORE AMAZING THAN THEM ALL!

Indeed, Randi (with an "i"), was amazing. But the far more amazing guy I knew, spelled Randy, with a "y."

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I dealt craps at downtown Vegas' Hotel Fremont, (September 1979 until March 1980). The casino's policy was to maintain regular dice crews.  But, like a revolving door, the employee turnover was so high that I worked with different dealers all the time, including the one I called, The Amazing Randy.

Please note, on my my third day at the Fremont, before I met this new and improved Amazing Randy, I bought a beat-up car from a player who was down on his luck, (see my previous blog, "ONLY HOMICIDE DETECTIVES SEE MORE SHIT THAN CRAPS DEALERS."  I drove that heap into the ground for seven months until the Fremont transferred me to the Stardust.

The story below, ties that hunk of junk Ford, to my Amazing Randy.



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At the Fremont, I worked with Randy (25) several times. One-on-one, this tall, decent-looking guy was a nice person. On the job, his wild sense of humor and charisma was great to be around, plus he generated a lot of tokes, (tips). 

What he also had was the "it" factor.  This translated into a tenacious gift of gab that would make a used car salesman jealous.  So when you consider that he was perpetually penniless, the fact that he was a successful babe hound, defies logic.

Unfortunately for Randy, (and many people of both sexes who trusted him), this small town, mid-western boy got swallowed-up in the bright neon lights of Glitter Gulch. and its sex, drugs and rock 'n roll lifestyle. It was people like him that embodied the common theme of my stories; Vegas is a nice place to visit but you wouldn't want to live there.

Randy was a shady, flea-bitten, lying thief...which is a kind way of saying he was a drunken, gambling degenerate, drug abusing, whore-monger.  He drank himself to sleep and took amphetamines to wake-up.

He was such a low-life that he not only frequented prostitutes but he bragged that he could spot beginners. Randy used this advantage to prey on their naivete.

Technically, casino chips are not legal tender.  But it's impossible to prevent individuals from making personal payments, settling debts etc. with them. Also, downtown Vegas casinos had a reciprocal agreement (probably still do) that allowed players to freely gamble with chips from rival properties.

DOWNTOWN CASINOS WERE SO CLOSE THAT WHEN THEY HAD TOO MUCH OF ANOTHER PROPERTY'S CHIPS, THEY SENT A COURIER OVER, TO CASH THEM OUT .

Scheming Randy coupled the concept of casino chips used as cash with his discovery that a dealer school was owned by a casino.  The school's chips did not resemble the casino's.  However, they both had the casino's name and logo prominently imprinted on them.

Under the guise of a volunteer helping fledgling craps dealers, Randy visited the school and stole their non-negotiable chips.  When horny, this scumbag would target an isolated, young, pretty, rookie prostitute.  Randy would flash hundreds of dollars in worthless chips and tell her he wanted, "the girlfriend experience."

Randy would wine and dine the poor unsuspecting girl to a $3.00 steak dinner and 50c drinks.  After having his way with her, he'd wow her by paying double whatever they agreed on, in toy chips.



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Randy's main vice was gambling. And if you chose to believe him, he had plenty of outrageous stories that usually started with; I was down to my last...

On one of our shifts together, our craps crew amassed a putrid, $1.75...to split four ways.

Randy told us, "I never lose. Let's parlay this shit into a thousand."

He marched us to the Fremont's keno parlor and we bet our collective pittance. And lost !

Undaunted, Randy crowed, "I never lose two times in a row!"

He suggested taking a shot, (playing craps), at the Western, (the casino featured in my recent blog, "DEBBIE DOTSON."

I turned down the gambling opportunity because I didn't want to further exasperate my poverty and felt awkward returning to the cheap clip-joint that I had once worked in.  Plus, it may sound hypocritical because I did like gambling, but after work, I tried to stay out of casinos.

I STILL USE THE SAME JOKE I MADE-UP IN 1979:  GAMBLING DURING MY OFF TIME, WOULD BE LIKE A GREYHOUND DRIVER GOING ON VACATION, BY BUS.

Randy's choice was the Western. In terms of Las Vegas' least desirable toilet to work in, it was tied for second worst with: Slots-A-Fun, Lady Luck, Nevada Club and Orbit Inn, (they were so bad that an actual pecking order would be irrelevant).

CAESAR'S PALACE WAS (STILL IS) AN ELITE WORLDWIDE CASINO DESTINATION.  HOWEVER, DIAGONALLY ACROSS THE STREET, IN A SMALL STRIP MALL, LITTLE CAESAR'S WAS THE WORST JOB IN TOWN, (SO BAD, THE INTERNET HAS NO REFERENCES ON IT).

The Western's one craps table had a fifty-dollar maximum. Randy took Otto and Wendell, (the other two dealers from my crew) and they each bought-in for $20.00.  It was no lie, they proceeded to break the bank.

The Amazing Randy won $1,800.00 and the other two, made over a thousand each. To prove they broke the bank, the next day, the Western fired all their craps personnel and removed the table.

I missed out on that windfall.  Amazingly, Randy was broke in two weeks.



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Long before my big score of getting transferred to the major leagues, (the Stardust),  Randy's habits escalated. He got so desperate for money that he stole chips from the Fremont, to pay-off drug dealers and loan sharks. He was fired and became a retread dealer, bouncing from one bad downtown job to another.

When I got to the Stardust, I felt like I became a member of the aristocracy.  It's located on the fabulous Las Vegas Strip, where image was everything.

My rise in status caused me to recall the following profound statement by Joe Vanilla...my hometown Canarsie's, Patron Saint of Parking Spaces, "The only thing more important than what you drive, is the quality of your parking spaces." So I rushed out and bought an all new and improved, used car.

I COULDN'T DARE DRIVING THAT UGLY, FADED GREEN, 1971 FORD LTD I BOUGHT FOR $95.00 INTO THE STARDUST EMPLOYEE LOT, (IT WAS ONLY IN SLIGHTLY BETTER CONDITION THAN THIS ONE).

On the same night that I bought my new, five year-old Chevy Monte Carlo, I bumped into Randy at the Friendly Club's bar. He was wearing a Nevada Club uniform and had pronounced, dark circles under eyes. He bought me a drink and we settled into a pleasant conversation, (I got the next three rounds).

Randy remembered my LTD and asked, "What happened to it?"

I said, "It's in the Nifty Nickel classifieds, for $250.00."

He said, "Does it run?"

"Yeah runs great..."

Before I could mention that it burns a lot of oil he said, "I'll give you $200.00.  Right now!"

I said, "Cool.  Give me the two-bills and I'll have it here in an hour."

He said, " Can I give you twenty and owe..."

I said, "Forget it!"

He took my number and said, "I always win at the Golden Gate. I'll call you later when I run these two Hamiltons into two Franklins."

On my way out I said, "Good.  But remember, cash only.  I don't take casino chips!"

He grinned.

When I got Randy's call he was all business, "I was down to my last two bucks..."

After finishing his incredible gambling tale, we arranged our buy to be behind the Four Queens, on Carson Street.

The lucky bastard handed me two hundred-dollar bills for my heap. I checked them for counterfeits before giving him the keys.

He didn't care that the drivers window was stuck 3/4 of the way up and that the smashed-in trunk was unusable. He shrugged when I told him that there was no A/C and he wasn't listening by the time I mentioned that the jack was on the floor, in the backseat.

I neglected to tell him that the Colorado license plates had expired or the part about the car using as much oil as gas. Randy was given a hand written receipt. And like when I bought the car, he got no title or registration card.



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Months later, in the front bar at Binion's Horseshoe, I spotted Randy wearing a Lady Luck dealer shirt and apron. I tried to duck him because I thought he'd bust my balls about the car. Instead, I got a big pat on the back and he bought me a drink.

He brought up the car and smiled, "I ran that bad-boy into the ground. Then, I owed Petey Watson three-bills and gave it to him."

Instead of getting the next round I said, "Good-bye."

Randy called back, "Can you spot me a twenty?"

Without breaking stride I said, "Sorry."



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I returned to the east coast in early 1984. By December, I moved into my first South Jersey apartment. Part of the cable company's new client enticement was a thirty-day, free-trial of their premium package.

My wife and I were watching the PLAYBOY CHANNEL. Between features, a gorgeous blond reporter, in a bunny costume was in Las Vegas.  She was asking people walking along Fremont Street to tell a dirty joke on camera.

I couldn't believe it, like magic, my Amazing Randy, in an El Cortez dealer shirt materialized out of the crowd and was handed the microphone. He looked sleazy and had aged a lot, in the year since I saw him.  Still, he was confident as he told a lame joke. He was so cool that the blond remained locked on his every word and giggled when he finished.

From that floozy's vibe, something tells me that she was primed to have her pants charmed off, (in this case, bunny outfit).

I turned to my wife and said, "Randy's so amazing.  It looks like he's gonna lure her into an alley with a handful of dealer school chips."



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Atlantic City casinos have their own strain of characters.  But in my thirty-five years here, they'll never be able to compete with the sheer volume and caliber of peculiar folks, who, in only five years, graced me with their presence, in Las Vegas.

So, THANK YOU Randy and your brethren.  Your peccadilloes have been an added benefit that has fueled me to continue, during my long and (at times) difficult career.