Coach Auriella would have a Football Association Fundraiser at The Hacienda. The money was a big part of his success in those days, he didn't get guys like the Smiths to choose him over McKay with the new planetarium at West. And he didn’t want to wake up one Sunday after a loss with a For Sale sign in his yard. Anyway, you’d be eating dinner and everything in the one banquet hall and drink quite a bit. They’d even have stuff like escargot on little plates with holes in em and you’d scoop em out like mussels from a shell and then sip off the juice with a crust of bread. But after dinner there’d be some door prizes and then Carmen Russo would open up the divider to the other half of the banquet hall where his brother Lou tended bar and it’d be like a miniature Las Vegas in there. Craps games, poker, blackjack, roulette, and barbut. In the center of it all would be Joe D sitting on a table with a stack of bills in one hand keeping an eye on things and shaking or distributing with the other. Joe D could be blotto and still run a room full of games, never miss a hand or a tick. Auriella would be walking around shmoozing money, hoping everybody lost at the tables so that at the end of the night he’d walk away with a few thousand for the football association and a few thousand for himself. Joe D always walked away with a little extra for himself but that’s how it was.
Other times you’d drive down to Campbell and you’d go up a little rickety stair outside a brick building to the second floor where you’d knock. Someone would open the peephole, see who you were, let you in. In there it’d be just like Vegas: a table of sandwiches here, games there, a band or jukebox somewhere, maybe even some girls. You always ate good those places.
Sometimes you’d call in your bets direct to Joe D. “Hey JD this is JC, I like the buckeyes over Michigan with the 6 + 1/2 spread.” “Alright JC you’re down at 1/3.” Other times you’d go see Squints in Tremont and you’d walk in, tell him what games you wanted and he’d ask you to get up off a couch cushion, he’d lift it up and there’d be all the betting slips for the Big Ten or the AFC or whoever you were betting and he’d put you down and take your bets. Then he’d put the cushion back down and you’d be on your way.
Joe D would take your calls from the apartment above Crino’s barbershop and after awhile the FBI got wise to it, so they started tapping all the phone lines in the place. Chuck would tell you that you always knew they were still there cause as soon as you picked up the phone and they heard it wasn’t Joe you’d hear a ‘click’. Sometimes he’d joke about asking them “if anybody needs a haircut, I’ve got a few appointments opened up?” When the day finally came and the FBI knocked in the door it was simple, “Joe D? Yeah he’s a nice guy, never any trouble.” ... “What’s he do?” “Well he pays every month and it’s never short or late so that’s what he does as far as I care. That a problem?”
On Saturday mornings during football season everybody would get together at the drugstore in the morning to talk about their bets. Carl Mitchum would ask if anybody had the Badgers and everybody’d yell “badger my ass!” Same guy who said Dad was so horny he’d fuck a snake if you’d hold it still for him. Granted, Dad put all girls into one of two categories until he met Mom (probably did it after too): first or last name girls.
If it was a good week, Joe D would stop in Wednesday morning to pass out winnings. If it was a bad week you had an extra stop after work before home and your wallet was light until Friday.
Joe D once tried to get me to sell him some Lexapro on the side for cash. Was tempted to give him a bottle of 500 when I heard my end but didn’t want to get into those guys for anything like that, so I said I couldn’t do it and they didn’t push.
Last Christmas I got a card from Stella, said their mom had passed, but they were in good spirits and she was living with her brother since her house burned down. Funny thing is they found 700k in cash in the charred walls of that house after the fire. Apparently it had been in the walls so long it had gotten moldy and the fire wasn’t hot enough to burn through it with all the moisture and the aluminum foil wrapped around it. Joe was the only left who knew it was there, or so he’d have you believe, but he didn’t miss it until after he finished his sentence. Now he runs that cheap golf course and Stella keeps his house. Auriella’s moved into the college game, Carl’s dead but Dad can’t remember him anyway (50 years of drinks and cards together and he can’t remember him, hell of a disease), Squints disappeared in ’95, and I retired not long ago. My kid dates Natalie now, Joe’s granddaughter. What a time.
Other times you’d drive down to Campbell and you’d go up a little rickety stair outside a brick building to the second floor where you’d knock. Someone would open the peephole, see who you were, let you in. In there it’d be just like Vegas: a table of sandwiches here, games there, a band or jukebox somewhere, maybe even some girls. You always ate good those places.
Sometimes you’d call in your bets direct to Joe D. “Hey JD this is JC, I like the buckeyes over Michigan with the 6 + 1/2 spread.” “Alright JC you’re down at 1/3.” Other times you’d go see Squints in Tremont and you’d walk in, tell him what games you wanted and he’d ask you to get up off a couch cushion, he’d lift it up and there’d be all the betting slips for the Big Ten or the AFC or whoever you were betting and he’d put you down and take your bets. Then he’d put the cushion back down and you’d be on your way.
Joe D would take your calls from the apartment above Crino’s barbershop and after awhile the FBI got wise to it, so they started tapping all the phone lines in the place. Chuck would tell you that you always knew they were still there cause as soon as you picked up the phone and they heard it wasn’t Joe you’d hear a ‘click’. Sometimes he’d joke about asking them “if anybody needs a haircut, I’ve got a few appointments opened up?” When the day finally came and the FBI knocked in the door it was simple, “Joe D? Yeah he’s a nice guy, never any trouble.” ... “What’s he do?” “Well he pays every month and it’s never short or late so that’s what he does as far as I care. That a problem?”
On Saturday mornings during football season everybody would get together at the drugstore in the morning to talk about their bets. Carl Mitchum would ask if anybody had the Badgers and everybody’d yell “badger my ass!” Same guy who said Dad was so horny he’d fuck a snake if you’d hold it still for him. Granted, Dad put all girls into one of two categories until he met Mom (probably did it after too): first or last name girls.
If it was a good week, Joe D would stop in Wednesday morning to pass out winnings. If it was a bad week you had an extra stop after work before home and your wallet was light until Friday.
Joe D once tried to get me to sell him some Lexapro on the side for cash. Was tempted to give him a bottle of 500 when I heard my end but didn’t want to get into those guys for anything like that, so I said I couldn’t do it and they didn’t push.
Last Christmas I got a card from Stella, said their mom had passed, but they were in good spirits and she was living with her brother since her house burned down. Funny thing is they found 700k in cash in the charred walls of that house after the fire. Apparently it had been in the walls so long it had gotten moldy and the fire wasn’t hot enough to burn through it with all the moisture and the aluminum foil wrapped around it. Joe was the only left who knew it was there, or so he’d have you believe, but he didn’t miss it until after he finished his sentence. Now he runs that cheap golf course and Stella keeps his house. Auriella’s moved into the college game, Carl’s dead but Dad can’t remember him anyway (50 years of drinks and cards together and he can’t remember him, hell of a disease), Squints disappeared in ’95, and I retired not long ago. My kid dates Natalie now, Joe’s granddaughter. What a time.