Poker Articles

Texas Tales, Part II
By Nolan Dalla
(All Rights Reserved)

Is Hitchhiking Legal?

You can usually tell something about a poker player by the kind of car he drives. Back in Dallas, the best players always drove the fanciest cars. If the parking lot was full of Caddys and Lincolns, the game was pretty tough. Either that, or fresh blood was being served up at the poker buffet. Naturally, the "house cat," which is what we called the guy raking the game, always drove the nicest car of all.

I went through an interesting succession of automobiles -- some clunkers and even a sports car or two. It all depended on how the cards were falling for me. During the tough times, I drove a vehicles that couldn't pass the state inspection. But I never worried about that. If things got really bad, I could always rely on the chauffeured services of a $60,000 transit bus. Imagine, riding a bus to a poker game with $1500 in your pocket. There were some good times too. Once after a really big score, I bought a new Volvo from Precision Motors. Damn, I was proud of that car. Three months later, I went bust betting NBA games and had to sell it to raise some stew.

The most unusual car I ever drove was a '82 Oldsmobile Cutless Supreme. It was maybe five years old, but it looked brand-new and was loaded up with all the bells and whistles. But the car had a big problem. The car had $1200 worth of transmission troubles that wouldn't let the car disengage from second gear. So in effect, I couldn't drive the car over 40 mph -- at least until I made enough cash to buy a new transmission.

My chance to make a few dollars came when I heard about a big poker game in Tyler, Texas -- about 90 miles east of Dallas. Everybody talked about a bundle of loose money floating around out there, and things around town were pretty slow. I did some quick math, figuring it would take about three hours to drive to the game in the Olds. Fortunately, Charlie "Tuna" came to my rescue. We decided instead to drive to Tyler in his little Fiat, which was the size of a matchbox.

I should have known about teaming-up with Tuna, driving a Fiat and all. I mean, who in the hell buys a freakin' Fiat? The car was metallic green. No wonder Tuna stayed single. About 30 miles outside of Mesquite, his car started smoking. We pulled off the road. The radiator was leaking something awful. I mean water was just pouring out and the engine was smoking. It was like 105 degrees and here we were in the middle of nowhere with an Italian sports car with our entire bankrolls inside our front pockets.

We managed to make it another few miles, then had to let the engine cool down. This went on for at least a couple of hours -- starting and stopping, to fill the radiator back up again and again, every dozen Miles as we entered a new town. Well, it finally got to me. I couldn't take it anymore. Tuna had been needling me about my car's transmission troubles for weeks, so it was my turn to let him have it.

"Hey Tuna," I said. "If we had taken my car, we'd have been there by now."

By the time we got to Tyler, the game had broke. Seems the locals got tired of waiting around for the two guys driving in from Dallas.

The Angler I

Of all the people I ever played against, dollar for dollar, Neil Wheeler was perhaps the best player I ever saw. TJ Cloutier once described Neil's father, the late Johnny Wheeler, as one of the best of his day. But if I had to back someone with my last buck at the time, I'd put it on Neil. He had an uncanny way of knowing where he was in a hand at all times. Above all else, Neil was an honorable person, which made a very big impression on me in my earliest days as a gambler.

One afternoon, we were playing pot-limit holdem over at Neil's place -- just off of LBJ Freeway in North Dallas. A surly fellow named Bill was in the game, who was known to be something of an "angler." What that meant was, he couldn't be trusted with the church collection plate, let alone a deck of cards. We were in the middle of one of those marathon sessions, where everyone at the table had been playing all night and were into the second day. I got involved in a big pot head-up against Bill.

All I can remember is that the board showed four diamonds. I had the King of diamonds in my hand. At the showdown, we both flipped over our cards and Bill announced "three-of-a-kind." I figured everyone in the room saw the four diamonds, and I released my cards showing the king-high flush. As I waited for the dealer to push me the pot, Bill suddenly reached-out and started grabbing the chips right out of the pot and stacking them in his pile! I nearly experienced heart-failure!

"Hey, I had a flush!" I screamed. Bill mumbled something about not seeing four diamonds. Yeah, right. Problem was, the other players were all so fatigued that they apparently didn't notice, either. I had committed a fatal error. I released my hand before the hand was officially over. Despite my lingering protest, Bill was awarded the pot. Later that night, Neil -- who was running the game -- cut Bill down to size with a big hand and flopped me a few blackbirds ($100 chips) to compensate for my earlier loss. To this day, I always thought that was a sign of real class. I mean, he didn't have to do that. But that's the kind of guy Neil was. There's an important lesson here: Never release your hand until the chips are pushed in front of you! Never!

The Angler II

A similar thing once happened to TJ Cloutier. It was a pot-limit game (or no-limit, I don't remember exactly) run by Jack and Doc behind the Doubletree Hotel off Central Expressway. It was late at night and all the cards were pushed toward the muck as a crafty but dishonest opponent reached out for the pot, which contained several thousand dollars.

TJ is about as cool a character as you'll ever meet, either at or away from a poker table. He never raises his voice, nor does he try to intimidate anyone with his size. Anyway, TJ pushed his chair back, stood-up from the table, and demanded the pot.

"Now wait a minute....I had a straight," he protested. Interestingly enough, after a bit of discussion, TJ was awarded the pot. Charlie "Tuna" had seen the whole thing and vouched for TJ -- that indeed, he had the winning hand. It certainly didn't hurt TJ's case that he was so respected back in those days and he was given the pot.

Getting Our Money's Worth

Iranian Mike and I used to hang out together. We were always playing poker, betting sports, or going to the racetrack in Hot Springs or Bossier City. One week, Mike and I hit a local bookie for a pretty good score. He was a new guy. Problem was -- the bookie didn't have money to pay us.

So what were we to do? The bookie was just starting out. It was around $1,000, not a huge sum, but he still refused to settle. Now, let me stop here for a second. I happen to be from "the old school," which says that a man's word is his honor. You pay your gambling debts before you pay rent, food -- anything. That may sound cruel, but that's they way I look at it.

Fortunately, we knew the bookie ran a small restaurant, so we knew where to find him. Frustrated, we went to the restaurant to collect our money. The bookie complained about owing money to tax authorities, that his family was pestering him, and gave several other poor excuses. Neither Mike nor I were sympathetic, since we surely would have paid him "his" money, if we lost.

The bookie finally made us an offer we couldn't refuse. "Tell 'ya what -- I'll let you guys eat free here as long as you want," he said. "Anything in the place you want, it's on the house." We thought about it for a few minutes and figured getting food and drinks was better than nothing at all. So, we took the offer.

For the next three months, Mike and I went to the restaurant and ate lunch and dinner several times a week. I must have put on 20 pounds. After it was over, the bookie had probably given us $1500 worth of food and drinks. Covering the point spread meant dining on 12 ounce ribeyes and drinking fine wine. Not a bad deal.

Everett Goolsby

In the mid-80s Everett Goolsby was one of the biggest betters in the South. The man was a living legend. It was said that Everett controlled so much money, that when he laid-off action on a sporting event -- he could actually move the Vegas line by a point or two. He'd have more money riding on a single basketball game than I made in a whole year. I later heard that Everette got into trouble with the IRS and moved to the Caribbean and later passed away. Anyway, the first time I ever met Everett, I didn't know who he was. Here he was a gambling giant and I was a punk kid, struggling to pay the rent (not that much has changed, since then).

We were playing no-limit holdem at Neil Wheeler's place. I was running pretty good at the time and had several thousand dollars in front of me. I was dealt A-K, so I raised the pot a few hundred. There was only one caller. I found myself head-up with the table's newest player, a large older man with thick white hair. His name I would later learn -- was Everett Goolsby.

The flop was an absolute dream for me: T-J-Q. I flopped a straight which seemed like an infallible lock. Already up big in the game, I figured to make a small fortune here. Everett had so much money out in front of him it looked like the perfect double-up hand.

Everett fired a $500 bet at me, I think it was, and I smooth called, careful not to let him know I was sitting on the stone-cold nuts. At that point, Everett could have had just about anything. The turn was a rag. So, Everett pondered his action and this time bet $1,000. Well, now it was a tough decision. Should I raise all-in here? Or, should I let Everett shoot-off more of his money on the river? I decided to raise all-in, hoping Everett would call.

I remember my hands shaking as I pushed in literally my entire net worth into the center of the table.

Everett nodded, knowingly. "Do you have a straight, Son?" he politely asked in a fatherly way.

I tried to show no emotion. The man studied me hard. I mean real hard. What was about three minutes of time seemed more like three hours. Of course, I had nothing to fear with the best hand, but I still couldn't get passed the feeling of having my life hanging in the balance of a single poker hand. Everett released his cards and showed three tens. As the pot was pushed toward me -- someone behind me from the rail asked the dealer to peel another card off the deck. It was the fourth ten.

Had not raised then and there, Everett would have taken my whole stack and I wouldn't have won a few thousand, but instead would have lost everything. I'll always remember that hand...keeping in mind -- that it's better to win part of something, than all of nothing.

A few months later, I bought a brand new Volvo. Oh, that's right -- I've already told you that story.

Big Erwin

There was another fellow who started out in Las Vegas at the Desert Inn, working security back when Howard Hughes was its most famous resident. While Erwin was working in Vegas, he came into some money from a large family inheritance. He moved back to Dallas. Someone once said Erwin was worth over $5 million dollars at one time.

The problem was (wouldn't you know it?), Erwin loved to gamble. By the time I got to know him in the mid-80s, most of the money was gone. Erwin had gambled it away at crap tables and in other losing ventures. But he was a prince of a man. We got to know each other playing low-limit poker. He was also hustling small-time bets as a bookmaker to make ends meet.

Over the course of time I lost contact with Erwin, but ran into him one night at a blackjack table at the Preston Towers. He asked me to call him the following day and gave me his phone number. I called the next day and someone picked-up the phone.

"May I speak with Erwin, please?" I asked.

"Just a moment," a gruffy sounding man replied. In the background I heard some very strange sounds -- a lot of crashing and banging. It was the sound of bowling pins crashing all over the place. Poor Erwin was working in a bowling alley.

Now, there's nothing wrong with good honest work -- God bless the working man. But that moment always stuck with me. Here was a guy who was a multi-millionaire at one time, and now here he was making $6 an hour handing out smelly shoes at a bowling alley. It's too bad, really. Erwin was a pretty decent poker player. Had he played more poker and spent less time at the craps table in his earlier days, I'll bet we might be seeing his name as a tournament champion. But alas, he just played his cards wrong.

The Right to Bear Arms

My final story is not so much of a story as it is an observation. One thing that's most memorable about the stories told by TJ Cloutier and Doyle Brunson in their books was how frequently guns were carried in local games, back then.

Some people may view carrying a handgun, or having a loaded shotgun sitting off in the corner, as an odd thing for a poker game. But in all my time as a player, I never saw guns misused in any way. Come to think of it, I think having so many guns in the room actually served to protect the games from hijackers and other would-be thieves. It may not be politically correct to say this, but back in those days it was damn good we all had the right to keep and bear arms. Otherwise, it's doubtful the Texas poker circuit would have survived for so long. One thing is certain: We shall never see the likes of the Texas underground again.

Nolan Dalla can be reached at: nolandalla@pokerpages.com