Most of my memories from the early days of dealing are not of games or hands but of people.
As in any small poker room in the country, we had our regulars. Over the years I have come to realize that the same player "types" can be found in almost all clubs, large or small. The faces and names change but the behavior & traits stay the same.
My days of being a rookie were made easier by the relative kindness and understanding of the old guard. The old guard at our club were: Jackson, "Lady"(name withheld at her request), Charlie, Mel, Big Bob, John C. and Vince.
You could set the clock by what time they all walked in the door. They were the starters. The other regulars were: Debbie, Mexican Danny, Gail, Woody, Chuck, Terry C. and John R. and Roger. Then semi regulars, ones who played once a week, once a month or when their wives were on vacation.
We were open 6pm-2 am M-F and 2pm-2am on Sat. & Sun. The 2am closing was due to the City ordinance, the opening time was because of the owner, Kenny's regular job schedule. He was smart in that respect I thought, he had a real income besides the poker room. We also had Don who was Kenny's right hand man, he ran chips, got coffee, cleaned up and occasionally played. Don had played for years but now got his kicks staking a select few in games, later I would become his #2 favorite horse, after Jody.
It wasn't long, maybe 8 months before I became the main dealer at the Round Up. I worked 6 days a week and made $7 an hr plus tips which were VERY good. The club was closed Monday's but Terry C. had a sign shop with a poker table and had games Monday nights, soon I was working for him on my days off. My life was dealing poker.
Then came the "after hours games". The city ordinance governing the hours of the poker room only pertained to the city limits. The boundary was a few blocks east of main street where the Round Up was. Not only was the Round Up the only game in town it had a dynamite location right on the corner and behind a popular bar which gave us access to serve beer & wine.
The only game in town until the Petticoat Junction made a poker room in back of there place on HWY 99E that is. Of course I worked there but that is for another post.
Back to the players. I had my favorites of course and not because they were good tippers either. As a matter of fact my 2 favorites were not great tippers and of they were "stuck" they may not tip at all. Liking a player has never hinged on how they tip for me, it is how they conduct themselves.
I have to list "lady" as number 1. We have remained best friends to this day, so how could I put her anywhere else but right up front? She was kind, understanding, sympathetic and helpful to a new dealer. It wasn't long before we were going to breakfast after closing almost every night if there wasn't an after hours game. She was a joy in a game, she never got mad, never threw her cards, never drank and was a class act all the way. If we had a new player in the game she was nice and so helpful trying to make them feel welcome and at ease. No other player (not counting myself) was ever so encouraging to new players as "lady" was. "Lady" understood the importance of introducing new players to poker. As I learned from Kenny, where will poker rooms be in 20 years without new young blood? Dead as most of our 60 something players would be is where.
Plus who wants to beat your head against the wall with the same players day after day? Back then there was no TV coverage, poker was a back room game and you didn't want most people you knew to even suspect this is how you spent your evenings!
My other favorite was Jackson. We of course called him Action Jackson (because he was anything but action) or Jackson wheel because if he was putting action in the hand that is what he was going to show you. Jackson was a heavy drinker and chain smoker. If he drank beer he was fine, if he got on the Brandy, watch out. He could be a cranky cuss on the Brandy. We had our bad days, but he was one of my dear friends and was usually at breakfast with me & Jody.
To his credit no matter how drunk he was he never blamed the dealer (me), just the cards or his bad luck. Once he said "you don't deal worth a shit" I replied "you mean I deal like you play"? He about fell off his chair laughing and never again made a comment about my dealing except in jest.
He played in every place I dealt in the 80's and too many times to count I was his driver and when I wasn't, "lady" was. He even dated my Mom for awhile, he was like a member of my family. We went out drinking and went to other clubs to play on the rare occasion's I had time off work. He was always there, hardly a day went by I didn't see him either across the green felt or somewhere else.
Jackson was probably "Lady's" best friend in the world. She has great stories, like the 2 of them going off to Reno and getting stuck in a snowstorm, running off the road and getting a dive motel room for the night until they could get the car towed out of a snowbank. As she says: "We each had our own rooms in that motel in Westwood when we fell off the mountain. I spend a good deal of the time under the bathroom sink because it was hunting season, not that I knew that, and my room had an about 10 foot sliding glass door right by my bed and as soon as I heard that first rifle shot in the night I hit the deck, crawled to the bathroom and hid in there for a long, long time! I was scared."
When he died in 89' "Lady" and I were the only 2 players at his funeral. The man had played, made friends and bought drinks in every club around for many years, yet no one felt any need to pay their respects but us. For me, I had to fly up from L.A. for his funeral, for his other "poker friends" they couldn't drive 5 minutes to say goodbye. Lady and I have talked a lot about this, we realized then that these people you play with day in & day out for years are not friends. They are poker acquaintances, nothing more. We know if it had been us who died, Jackson would have been there he was a friend in every sense of the word.
My favorite memory of Jackson: He was deaf in one ear, so he misunderstood things because he didn't hear what was said. One night the action was on him and I said "Go ahead Jackson". He looked up from his hand and very seriously said " Why you calling me a Goat Head"??
Everyone was laughing so damn hard no one could play for a good 2 minutes. When someone told him what I really said he roared, laughing at himself harder than we were laughing at him.
As for Lady and myself, we will always miss Robert Jackson. He was one hell of a guy and we consider ourselves lucky to have known him.
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