May 1975

My friend Andy Kornfeld, a blonde co-ed from BU, and I were cross-countrying in a drive-away station wagon. Boston-Sterling, Colorado-Thompson Canyon-the Id Lounge in Roosevelt Utah before hitting the Stateline of Nevada around noon. Several small casinos lined the two-lane highway. It was my birthday. Age 21.

“I’m feeling lucky.” I veered off the road. It was time to change drivers and lunch. Carol had to use the ladies’ room. Andy and I wandered into the gaming room. The motif was western. An older woman was dealing blackjack. She wore a cowboy hat. Andy’s luck ran the other way. He quit after two hands. Carol watched from my shoulder. I ran up $220 in an hour. I didn’t earn that in a week at my summer job. I quit ahead, but made Andy stop at every town on the highway. Wells, Elko, Winnemucca, and Lovelock. I was up $1400. A new GTO cost a little under $5000. It would be the perfect birthday gift to me.

Reno was at my mercy.

A half-hour at the blackjack table and I was up to $2100. The dealer was friendly. A leggy waitress asked if I wanted a drink.

“Jack and Coke.”

I don’t remember much after the fifth drink and woke the next morning by the Truckee River. My hangover felt like the casino goons had beat me up for winning too much. A quick check of my pockets confirmed the opposite. I was busted. Not a dollar to my name.

Andy sat by the river. Carol was in the car. She didn’t look happy. Her boyfriend was waiting in San Francisco.

“Did I lose everything?”

“It was pretty amazing. You gave me $500 and told me not to give it to you.”

“And you did?”

“Never heard anyone beg like that. Not even a junkie.”

“Shit.” 2700 miles from Boston without a dime to my name. “At least we didn’t sell the car.”

“Yes, but you tried.”

“Idiot.” I washed my face in the mountain stream and we drove the Lodi. Carol got off at the bus station. She didn’t say good-bye. We dropped off the station wagon to an elderly couple. The car didn’t have a scratch on it and we had cleaned it. They tipped us $20. Andy took $10. I had hoped that he would have given me the full 20.

The couple gave us a ride to the highway.

Andy was hitching to San Diego. I was hitting the PCH to Big Sur. He smiled guiltily and handed me a paper bag. Inside was $500.

“So I didn’t blow it.” This was the opposite line from Captain America’s in EASY RIDER.

“No, but I didn’t trust you with the 500 this morning because I thought you’d go back and really blow it.”

“Yeah, you were probably right.” The $500 lasted a month and I learned a valuable lesson. I’m no gambler. A drunk sure but no Cinncinati Kid, but also that nothing hurts your luck in cards more than a pretty girl with a glass of whiskey.
Other well-known gambling phobias

Never sit at seat #10 at a poker table.

Always wear red underwear when gambling.

In craps, always blow on the dice before you roll them. That apparently seals in the luck. However, should the dice leave the table, the next throw will be bad.

Poker players should switch card protectors if luck is running bad

For some, dropping a card during a game is a real no-no; it’s very bad luck. Others, however, contend you should raise your next bet in that circumstance suggesting that it’s good luck.

Always enter and leave a casino through the same door.

Singing can be either good luck or bad luck while you gamble.

Don’t count your money during a poker session.

Stay away from sex the night before you play. (Not the most popular superstition).

Never let dogs near a gambling table. (Apparently they’re bad luck and no good at poker).

Never accept being paid with a $50 bill. They’re called “Frogs” and are said to be unlucky.

Never touch someone’s shoulder while he is gambling.

Don’t enter a casino through its main entrance; it’s cursed.

Switch on all the lights at home before leaving to gamble.

And never drink.