THE SIX-WEEK LIFE OF THE MAFIA STAFF CAR

Isn't it amazing to look back at a pivotal, yet accidental good decision in our youth and see how it spawned our present success.

This blog concerns itself with personal independence, self confidence and a willingness to persevere. In 1979, energized by buying my first car, I looked beyond my cloudy, long term prospects of being a Las Vegas craps dealer, opted to trust my instincts and patiently waited for better opportunities. Of course that radical decision was made easier, by the fact that someone told me, "NO!"



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In the fall of 1978, at the New York School of Gambling, I gravitated to four guys in my craps class. They were around my age and like me, were Las Vegas bound.

Our little rat-pack, included three Italians. Ciro (before he was either Ciro the Hero or Ciro the Zero),  JLUPY and John Heaverlo.  Our enclave was rounded-out with BB, (a lush who drank his lunch at the Ireland's Eye Bar and chain smoked Merit menthol 100's)...and me.
 
In November, Ciro and BB were the first of,  "The New Mafiosa," (Ciro's nickname for our group), to graduate. They became roommates.  JLUPY, John and I were invited to stay with them when we hit town, (January 1979).  I arrived second, behind JLUPY.  He got to sleep on the sofa.  I was scheduled to have full reign over the floor but after New Year's Eve, BB took ill.

Stereotypes should be set aside but, BB was an ethnic mix of Irish and Native American. He was probably an alcoholic before coming to Vegas so the free, top shelf booze while gambling and 50c drinks at the casino bars made him like a kid, in a candy store.

On New Year's Day 1979, BB rang in the new year by being rushed to the hospital.  He was diagnosed with acute alcohol poisoning.  His life was in such danger that his mother and sister flew out to be by his side. In the mean time, JLUPY slept in BB's unoccupied bed and I was upgraded to the couch.

Two days later, John Heaverlo arrived and took his place on Ciro's floor.  The next day, John started dealing craps at the El Cortez and JLUPY was hired at the Lady Luck.  A few days later,  (January 10th), I started at the same casino as Ciro, Slots-A-Fun.

SLOTS-A-FUN WAS A TERRIBLE JOB AND AN AWFUL EXPERIENCE.  SOMEHOW I MANAGED TO KEEP ONE SOUVENIR...AND IT'S THE CHINTZIEST PIECE OF  CASINO CRAP, IN ALL OF NEVADA. 

A couple of weeks later, BB made a full recovery. By that time, John Heaverlo got his own place and sent for his wife. Soon JLUPY and I became roommates at the Fiesta Apartments on Harmon Avenue, (two blocks behind the Aladdin).

JLUPY quit his Lady Luck job and joined Ciro and me at Slots-A-Fun.  Unfortunately, all three of us, were on different shifts.

My roommate, JLUPY had a car.  He was generous with his rides during our off time together but I had to commute to work on my own.  It was a long walk to the bus stop.  Soon, I realized that if I walked in a diagonal path all the way to work, it wasn't much farther.

Being a New Yorker, I didn't mind the walk because it was always sunny and usually in the sixties.  By April, those morning strolls to work became tiresome, in 80+ degree temperatures.  During these hikes, my mind usually wandered to the futility of my shitty job. I was considering a move to Reno where my friend, the "Amazing Mr. K" said he had juice, (help me get a good job).

A few days before flying up to visit Mr. K., I was waiting outside Slots-A-Fun, for the city bus to go home.  A coworker from the change department named Dara (Da-Ra-Ra-Booms-EE-Ay) came out of the casino.

She said, "I saw you walking on Kovall Lane one morning.  I live near there.  Can I give you a lift?"

Dara had an overbearing personality, a big mouth...and a big everything.  Plus she had a loose reputation (thus earning her nickname). I wasn't interested in her...but a ride after another in a series of bad days was another story.

I was grossing about $170.00 a week in that toilet. Dara made less.  Her 1970, Datsun Sunny-140Y, was a rolling hunk of junk.  She said she only kept the piece of shit because the "D" logo badge in the grill, made her feel that the car was personally monogrammed.

DARA'S CHOCOLATE-COLORED CLUNKER WAS ACTUALLY IN SLIGHTLY BETTER SHAPE THAN THIS.

On the short ride in her stale cigarette-scented car, she lit up a joint.  She shrugged when I turned down her offer for a hit.

I was getting out when she said, "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

JLUPY's black, 1972 Buick Electra convertible was outside.

I knew I was safe so I said, "Okay."

To my pleasant surprise Ciro and BB were also there.  JLUPY handed Dara and me a can of Olympia beer. She guzzled hers down before I took my second sip.

Ciro said, "Let's make this a party."

JLUPY said, "I'll do a beer run."

BB said, "And a bottle of Jack Daniels."

Dara said, "Shit, I gotta go.  But definitely another time."  She took my phone number and added, "I like you and all your friends, I'll pick you up and drive you home whenever our schedules match."



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On my next day off, I flew up to see the "Amazing Mr. K."  He lived up to his nickname by showing me an incredible time.

During a lull in the action, I asked about his offer, to help with getting me a good job.

He said, "I never said anything about getting you a job."

If I moved without a solid work opportunity, Reno had nothing to offer. I decided to stay in Vegas.



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When I got home, my bedroom reeked of smoke.  On the nightstand, I found a half-full pack of Merit menthol 100's.

The rarity of those specific cigarettes led me to ask JLUPY, "Was BB in my room?"

He said, "Yeah.  Him and Da-Ra-Ra-Booms-EE-Ay, sorta spent the last two days in there...and if BB was telling the truth, you might want to turn the mattress."

I said, "Burn the mattress?"

He said, "No.  Turn your mattress...but you might want to do both."

It pissed me off that my bed was getting more action without me.  I confronted BB the next time I saw him.

Indifferently he grunted, "She was hurtin' for a squirtin'."

I said, "Yeah but..."

He cut me off, "She was groanin' for a bonin'."

I said, "No..."

BB smiled, "C'mon buddy.  You know, any port in a storm."

I was still nauseated but I couldn't hold back a smile.  When I factored in that he almost died, I let it slide.



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In the morning I told JLUPY, "I gotta buy a car."

I ran outside and pulled the classified section from my crazy neighbor's newspaper (Old Man McHugh, the accused cat poisoner).  I had $225.00 cash and was willing to spend the whole shebang to keep Dara out of my apartment and to not owe her any favors.  I soon discovered that there were no cars out there I could afford.  I was stymied and refused to sponge-off my dad from three thousand miles away.

JLUPY read my frustration and said, "You can get a used Vespa (scooter)  for under a hundred."

VESPA IS ITALIAN FOR WASP.  THE NAME COMES FROM THE BUZZING BEE ENGINE SOUND.

I said, "I don't want a scooter!"



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Around that time, I started seeing Mary, (a blackjack dealer from work).  Luckily, Dara kept her distance.

I left Slots-A-Fun for a better job, the Western Casino, (downtown). In early May, I quit after three weeks and got hired at the Holiday International Casino.  A pit boss Paul "Shag" Darrow knew I didn't have a car and wanted to spite another dealer, (Dale Marson).  So he manipulated Marson into picking me up a few times a week.

Marson was such an asshole that I began another car search.   That search led me to an ad for Supreme Motors, (a used car lot).  They had eight cars under $375.00.  The one that caught my eye was a 1971 Pontiac Le Mans for $339.00.  The caption read; looks sharp, runs great.

I detailed my visit to Supreme Motors in my October 29, 2018 blog, "SURROUNDED BY RETREADS AND SHARPIES."

Unfortunately, the only car on the lot under $500.00 was a dented, faded yellow, Ford station wagon. It was priced $399.00.  I had $370.00 in my pocket.  I was desperate so I took it for a test drive.  Later, JLUPY inspected under the hood and crawled underneath too.

He confided to me, "It's worth $399.00 but I bet you could chisel him down."

I bickered over the price and got the salesman down to a flat $390.00.  Still, JLUPY had to look in his glove box and under his car seats, to scratch-out three bucks in small change, (with fifteen pennies), in order to lend me the last twenty dollars.

I MUST OF STRUCK-UP THE BEST POSSIBLE DEAL BECAUSE THE WEASEL SALESMAN HAD NO SHAME AND ACCEPTED JLUPY'S PENNIES. 

The car might have been a bomb but it was the first one I ever bought and therefore a memorable benchmark in my life.

***INTERNET PHOTO***  MY CAR WAS AN EIGHT-YEAR OLD, FORD LTD WAGON.  TO COVER A RUSTY DENT, CIRO GOT ME A BUMPER STICKER THAT READ; MAFIA STAFF CAR.  BB REMARKED IN REFERENCE TO ALL THE OTHER BLEMISHES, "CIRO, YOU SHUDDA BOUGHT THIRTY OF THEM."

To celebrate my new found independence, I rounded up the New Mafiosa, (minus John Heaverlo) and the four of us went to a dumpy Mexican restaurant called, El Cholo, (or as Ciro called it, El Choko).

The beer and tequila was out-weighing the tacos and burritos when JLUPY said, "Let's see what your heap can do. Let's go up to Mount Charleston."

Forty miles later, lost in the midnight darkness, our excursion to the ski lodge bar was never realized.  However two conclusions were gained about the Mafia staff car; it drove well in mountains and the brakes worked perfectly.

I discovered the latter as I accelerated and JLUPY pressed his foot down on top of mine.

He yelled, "Let's see what this baby can do!"

Within seconds on the pitch black, twisting road through the forest, a herd of wild horses galloped across our path.  I slammed on the brakes as the last stallion scampered safely into the woods.

NEAR LAS VEGAS, ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS, I SAW WILD BURROS, (DESCENDANTS OF THOSE ABANDONED BY MINERS).  WILD HORSES ROAMED THE WILDERNESS TOO.  THE HERD I ALMOST HIT WITH THE MAFIA STAFF CAR WAS THE ONLY TIME I SAW HORSES.

On the Third of July, due to Independence Day, I had trouble parking for my 6:PM shift.  I ended up five blocks away, with the last spot on the roof of the Four Queens.  I was walking down Fremont Street when I was stopped by a scrawny, pimple-faced girl handing out coupons in front of the Friendly Club.  From inside, I heard my named called, it was BB at the bar, (still in his dealer uniform after his graveyard shift).

The bartender said, "What'll you have?"

I was shaking my head as BB got off his stool and muttered, "Any port in a storm."

He advanced on the coupon girl, offered her a Merit Menthol 100 and chatted her up.

The barman motioned me over, "Never saw anyone like your buddy.  He's been slamming bourbon and beer for five hours and he's not even tipsy.  Where does he put it?"



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My casino was busy for the big weekend so we had to work two hours of overtime.

On the way out, my friend and supervisor Dick Paynlewski said, "Let's go for a drink."  At the Golden Gate Casino, he swilled two double scotches before I was half-done with my draught.  He had a third drink in his hand as he said, "I'm gonna play me some blackjack...sit with me."

He downed that drink and ordered another before we sat down.  He was slurring his words when he bought in for eighty dollars (about his day's pay).  He had lost his first two hands when his fourth double arrived with a bottle of Lowenbrau.

He lost again, sucked the beer bottle dry and giggled, "Damn the booze is expensive here."

Paynlewski struggled but managed to pile the rest of his chips in the betting circle.  He belched with double-edged satisfaction when he hit to a six-card twenty.  The young Asian girl dealing to him was showing an ace. Then she turned over a second ace.

Dick smiled and yelled, "Paint, paint..."

But he sank in temporary silence when the dealer revealed a nine.

He was loudly cursing her heritage and stoic expression.  So I shushed him.

He grinned, "Lend me twenty till pay day."

I turned him down and added, "Let me drive you home."

He said, "I'll find Carmichael (his girlfriend), I'll borrow some dough from her."

He staggered a few feet into the keno lounge, collapsed into a seat and said, "You're a good egg...even if you don't lend me the twenty...but will you lend me..."

I cut him off, "No."

He was blithering nonsense until he said, "People can be such pricks. I hate all the Pollack jokes...even Carmichael uses 'em.  But I have an idea.  I'm going to legally change my name."

"To what?  Larry Paynlewski?"

"Don't be such a jack-off," he said.  "How does Richard Thomas Payne sound?"

I said, "It sounds like a good, strong name...and if you are really so annoyed...you should do it."

I re-offered him a ride home but he refused and said, "Steve, drive safe.  There's a lot of drunk assholes on the roads tonight."

Outside, maybe because of Independence Day, I was mulling Dick's proposed new name when the historic significance of Thomas Paine came to mind.

THOMAS PAINE (1737-1809) WAS A FOUNDING FATHER, POLITICAL ACTIVIST AND PHILOSOPHER.  HE IS MOST FAMOUS FOR INSPIRING THE AMERICAN COLONISTS TO REBEL WITH HIS (1776) PAMPHLET, "COMMON SENSE."

I laughed to myself when I considered Dick Paynlewski and the notion of "common sense" being used in the same sentence.  It was even funnier when I realized that he'd be changing his name to; Dick Paine



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At 4:30AM, on my way to my car, I was passing the Friendly Club.  I ducked my head in and was shocked to see BB passed out at the bar.

A different bartender said, "This kid is one hurtin' buckaroo.  He's been knockin 'em back since one in the afternoon.  His roomie (Ciro) was just here.  He's getting a cab to take him home."

I was curious to find out if BB got anywhere with the coupon girl but I was exhausted and left.  Moments later, in the Four Queens parking lot elevator, I figured, I'd swing by and see if Ciro still needed help with BB.

At that late hour, the Mafia staff car stood alone on the top level.  I stopped for a few seconds to admire the view of glittery Fremont Street.  Then in the opposite distance, I was happy to see that my route home on I-10 south was free of traffic. Those distractions made me forget about BB.

In the middle lane of the interstate, I had the road to myself.  The Lynyrd Skynyrd song, "FREEBIRD," came on the radio.  I was lustily singing along as I approached the Sahara Avenue exit.

1974's FREEBIRD, IS MY FAVORITE SONG AND PERSONAL ANTHEM.  CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW TO HEAR THE 13-MINUTE FULL VERSION.

http://www.lyrics.com/free-bird-lyrics-lynyrd-skynyrd.html

While pouring out the lyrics, I noticed in the rear view mirror, a car flying in the left lane.  He was about to whiz by when the driver veered towards me.  I cut the wheel right but it was too late.  I got sideswiped and lost control.  He sped off as I slammed the brakes. I skidded towards the exit ramp...and BOOM !  I hit a streetlamp and careened back onto the interstate.  I did a 180 degree turn and stopped, facing oncoming traffic in the center lane.

Hissing steam was coming out of my car's newly gouged V-shaped hood.  I tried the ignition... and nothing.  Dazed, I hobbled to the shoulder, sat on the neck of the downed street lamp and waited for the police.

It killed me to think that I was one of the few sober people out that night.  Then I flashed back and wondered...if just one of the oddball things that happened that night was different, I wouldn't be in my predicament, (working overtime, drinks with Dick, stopping at the Friendly Club, not helping Ciro with BB, walking to the Four Queens, admiring the view from the roof as well as every stop sign and red light).

My $390.00 heap was totaled. I was eulogizing the short life of the Mafia staff when true anxiety gripped me,  a throbbing pain in my left hand.



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It's crazy to think that buying the Mafia staff car and breaking my hand in the crash was a vital step in my eventual forty-year run as a casino dealer.  Instead, I feel it was the standing on my own two feet and resisting the temptation of Reno's lower hanging fruit, that paved the way to my future success.  The true hero of my life probably was the Amazing Mr. K. and the fact that he couldn't help me get a better job.