I received an email the other day in regards to a post I had done on a forum site some time ago. I had used the term "crossroaders" and the email inquired as to what I was referring to with that term. It is an old "Nevada" term referring to a type of thief, one who learned a move of some kind on a game or table in a casino, and as a result of his or their "hit" on a club, could win money, not necessarily legally.
Then, after the "hit" they would meet outside of town, at the "crossroads," thus the term "crossroader."
Working in the casinos I knew some, and they were a unique breed. They practiced their "move" hours a day, and in many cases, they were the only one who knew that particular "move." They were all extremely intelligent, had razor sharp minds, and as we said, "had more guts than a slaughterhouse."
I liked every corssroader I met. They were a unique breed, never wanted to be too loud or pretentious, just did their "move," smiled and left the table.They all loved to get away with things, anything they could. They practiced their art, whether in a casino or in a carry out or a clothing store.
On one occasion, I was sitting box on a crap table at the Primm. I had just come back from a break, and was talking with the two dealers on the table and mentioned that I had just been to a men's clothing store, saw a suite I liked, described it briefly and that was it.
When I went on my next break, a man i recognized beckoned me outside to his car, and there was the suit, and in my size, half price. Crosssroaders were good.
Buster Smoot, Wesley West, Blondy Johnson, were a few I knew or came into contact with.
My introduction to "them" was at the Nevada Club, I was training to be a dealer. Early one morning I was on a table my myself with a shill. A "hick" came up to the table, bib overalls, plaid shirt, a real hayseed. He made a few stupid bets, threw the dice, and won. Made a few more stupid bets and won. Made a few BIG bets and was getting ready to throw the dice when I heart Fitz let out a yell. The "hick" picked up his money and headed for the door.
It was Blondy Johnson, he saw a new dealer, at first, Fitz was not in his "cashiers cage" so Blondy took a shot. Made a few bucks so he was happy. They showed me what he did, so I learned a good lesson, so that was the end of it.
Not to long ago I heard from a Granddaughter, I think she was, of Buster Smoot. She had never met him, and wanted some information. He apparently had been shot and killed in Las Vegas. I told her what I knew.
Buster was a real Nevada character.
