Yesterday I drove from Tucson to Phoenix to have lunch with my dear friend, Dick.
I first met Dick in the early to mid 60s, when he came to the Cotton Palace, in Dallas. to beat the consortium that nested there. Not many road players showed up there and left with the money. Back then nobody played with an open bridge unless they were stalling. Dick played with one and a bridge about four inches long (another oddity to us). The only thing that kept us from laughing at him was he barbecued every one who got close to his table. For one pocket, we held Texas' local champion, U.J. Puckett on a pedestal. Dick, with is race horse style, toppled Puckett off of it numerous times, thus raising the bar on the game. Come to think of it, nobody around there ever reached it.
Enter Alfie, looking much younger and less shrewd than most thought, including Dick, I asked for and got 9 to 6, for fifty a game (Pretty good stakes in the 60s) from the new master of the joint. For those of you who read my book, you've heard this. Six games ahead and I quit, paid the time and boogied out the door. The next day, when I walked in, Dick immediately jumped at me. "Why did you quit me ahead, you chicken shit?" Unable to come up with a story on such short notice, I went for the truth:
"My wife just had our baby and I needed the money to get her out of the hospital." A little taken back, Dick said, "Hell buddy. Why didn't you tell me. I'd of given you the money for that." And, no doubt, he would have.
Anyway, yesterday we had a delightful lunch and toddy, reminiscing. At one point, he toasted, "To better days." Then he followed with, "Never mind that. We've had some pretty damn good days in the past." I am privileged to Call Dick one of my best friend today. Keep it respectful. Alfie
I first met Dick in the early to mid 60s, when he came to the Cotton Palace, in Dallas. to beat the consortium that nested there. Not many road players showed up there and left with the money. Back then nobody played with an open bridge unless they were stalling. Dick played with one and a bridge about four inches long (another oddity to us). The only thing that kept us from laughing at him was he barbecued every one who got close to his table. For one pocket, we held Texas' local champion, U.J. Puckett on a pedestal. Dick, with is race horse style, toppled Puckett off of it numerous times, thus raising the bar on the game. Come to think of it, nobody around there ever reached it.
Enter Alfie, looking much younger and less shrewd than most thought, including Dick, I asked for and got 9 to 6, for fifty a game (Pretty good stakes in the 60s) from the new master of the joint. For those of you who read my book, you've heard this. Six games ahead and I quit, paid the time and boogied out the door. The next day, when I walked in, Dick immediately jumped at me. "Why did you quit me ahead, you chicken shit?" Unable to come up with a story on such short notice, I went for the truth:
"My wife just had our baby and I needed the money to get her out of the hospital." A little taken back, Dick said, "Hell buddy. Why didn't you tell me. I'd of given you the money for that." And, no doubt, he would have.
Anyway, yesterday we had a delightful lunch and toddy, reminiscing. At one point, he toasted, "To better days." Then he followed with, "Never mind that. We've had some pretty damn good days in the past." I am privileged to Call Dick one of my best friend today. Keep it respectful. Alfie
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