Not sure what brought it to mind, one hot Summer day, I was working the day shift at the Primm in Reno. Cars could park right in font of the clubs on South Virginia Street then, if one could be found. It was a Sunday, a nice crowd in town for the weekend, the dining room was busy, as were the tables.
I think it was Hoot Havens, actually Jerry, a good friend, Jerry Christianson and I think Joe Francis was sitting box.
A man approached the table, a BIG man, looked like, and was, we found out, an Indian from Oklahoma. I think in talking to him he revealed that he was from the Osage Tribe. Outside, he a station wagon parked, loaded, I mean loaded with women and children. They all stayed in the car, he would go out and check on them once in a while.
"Can we get you a drink?"
"A double Vodka with a Tom Collins back."
"Oh."
He downed that in one or two gulps and started betting on the crap game, he jumped all around making different bets, and ..... kept winning. Nothing real big, winnings probably under a hundred dollars, but he kept winning. A crowd had gathered and they were making some big bets, following his lead, and they were winning big time. Kitty, our waitress, was keeping an eye on him and kept getting him drinks ... the doubles kept getting bigger and the Tom Collins, stronger and stronger.
The BIG Indian was downing them, did have some sweat beads popping out on his forehead, but his consumption was unbelievable, and he was showing no signs of it affecting him in any way, just the swear on his forehead.
I don't remember how long he played, or how many drinks he downed, or how many trips he made outside to check on his family, but I have never forgotten the Big Indian Guy. He was pleasant, had a great time shooting craps with us, unfortunately for us, he made a lot of money for others, and a little for himself. He shot some long, hot hands .... many rolls without a seven ... Joe kept "gypsying" in some new dice, some with rounded corners, but nothing worked, he was "hot."
I remember when he was ready to leave, one last parting drink, we offered him meal tickets to have a free dinner on the house, he declined. We saw him get in to his loaded station wagon and head out on South Virginia.
I can sill picture him downing those Tom Collins, strong drinks, preceded by that double shot ... a little bit of sweat on his forehead ..............................
