Old Man Poker
Last week, one of my old poker buddies died.
For over twenty years, almost every month, we would convene on a week night for an evening of cards, din- ner and trading stories. I called it Old Man poker. Each one of us would host the event taking a different month. My culinary specialty was my world famous bratwursts sautéed in beer and onions, grilled to per- fection. If I was lazy, I would simply stop by the local grocery and get some of their delicious small town fried chicken. Each guy would bring his own drinks and when poker was out in the hinterlands of Neier, the boys would come in one big vehicle, so that everyone made it home OK. Some would just have soft drinks having figured out that their lives were way better without booze.
The games were diverse. We played five card draw, five card stud, seven card, seven card choosey and on and on. One game was called Khoury League Baseball. Two cards down, the next four up, last one down.
Threes and nines were wild. A four gave you an extra card. An “up” seven meant that you were out of the game completely. If the Queen of Spades came up, the game was declared a rainout and you would deal again. You only could get rained out three times. Sim- ple, huh? The game I loved to deal (mainly because everyone hated it) was Five Card Red Dog. You got five cards, you then bet against the pot, and if a card in your hand could beat the next card in the proper suit, you won. One of my friends always bet big be- cause he had a strong hand, only to lose against an Ace. It was hilarious. We played Omaha poker, Texas Hold Em and every possible combination of games.
Our favorite game was called “52.” You got five cards. A single card was drawn up, which was a community card. Based on those six cards you were either in or out. After you declared another community card was flipped and the highest hand won. Unless you were playing best low hand. Or both. As you might have guessed newcomers tended to lose. But that was OK, because the stakes were never very high. The most I lost in a single night was $60, I guess. I never checked my change bag.
If the games were diverse, so was the table talk. The discussions were generally politically incorrect, but lively as heck. And if the food was not all that healthy, the laughter was. Harlan, my friend who just passed, was, surprisingly, at the left edge of the political spectrum. Others shared a tad more conservative view. Myself, a staunch independent (my father’s son), enjoyed the fireworks from the middle. What was awesome about Old Man poker, was that we could share a diversity of views and STILL REMAIN FRIENDS. Sadly, that doesn’t happen a whole lot anymore.
Harlan was a Vietnam vet. He was drafted in the late 60’s and within two weeks of him being in country, his unit was almost completely wiped out. He was immediately promoted to sergeant, basically because he survived. It is not my place to psychoanalyze anyone, especially an old friend, but I believe that experience altered him and his outlook for the rest of his life. He never spoke much about his Vietnam experience, but he was always present and accounted for at Borgia’s annual Veterans’ Day assembly. Harlan was charitable and generous in a gruff, manly way and was always shocked and peeved when others failed to do likewise. His son explained to me that he was optimistically naïve about others. (I would rather be that than the opposite.) He was continually hawking raffle tickets and the like for various groups. I bought a lot of chances from Harlan, but never won. I always wondered if he ever turned my tickets in. (Relax, it’s a joke.) And somehow, that was OK. He had a brother who was a priest down in the missions of Brazil and so he always had a special place for those who were poor, needy and downtrodden.
Dealing with his loss over the past two weeks has been more difficult than I thought it should have been. He died suddenly, and part of me longs for another poker night with him. I can only guess how his family will miss him. Keep them in your prayers.
We human beings need spaces like Old Man Poker. Some people may think it is wrong, but it is good to be in a place where you can – within reason – just be yourself for a while. We need places where we don’t have to work at being liked and accepted, places where you can be a little obnoxious and laugh a little too loud. All of the guys I played with were good solid men, who loved and cared for their families, offered much to their church and community and would have given you the shirt off their backs if you needed anything. At times, their jokes were a bit inappropriate, but overall those nights I spent playing Old Man poker were life-giving and fun.
Rest in peace, Harlan. Someday we will deal the cards again.
Father Kevin