The Biggest Bluff I've Ever Made

I've already told you the story about the big bluff I put on Jesse Alto at the World Series of Poker in '84. Now, I'm gonna tell you about the biggest bluff I ever pulled off - and a lot more was at stake than a poker game. In around 1976, I bought a real nice townhouse in Dallas with a 10-foot-high, wrought-iron picket fence around it, where I ran poker, blackjack, and dice games. My wife, Evelyn, and I put in a beautiful horseshoe bar backed by stained glass. Then, we had a blackjack table custom made to fit around the bar and placed an antique gasoline pump in a corner near our solid-oak poker table. T.J. Cloutier told me that it was the prettiest poker room he'd ever seen. Evelyn cooked for everybody and we served drinks. It was while we were living there and running the games that I pulled off a bluff that saved my hide.

I've been hijacked three or four times, but I've been in only one shootout. I had been playing poker at another joint in Dallas, and at about 3 a.m., I left for home. When I arrived at the townhouse, I parked my Cadillac in front of the iron fence about 40 feet from my front door. Under the seat in my car I had a .45 automatic that Curtis "Iron Man" Skinner had sold me out of his hockshop. I stuck it in the vest of my three-piece suit before I got out of the car, and had just started walking toward the house when two guys wearing ski masks jumped out at me. One of them put a pistol to my head, saying, "Get over there where your car is." So, I gave him my keys, got in the back seat, and lay down.

One guy was driving and the other one was leaning over the front seat with his pistol aimed at me. "Give me all your money and your jewelry," he demanded. So, I got out my money and took off my diamond rings, and handed them over. He halfway frisked me and asked, "Man, do you carry a gun?"

"Hey, I don't even carry a nail file," I answered. They already had my money, and I knew they were gonna kill me. "Man, it's a cool score," I said to try to persuade them to let me go. "You've got everything in my car; just kick me out somewhere and go on."

"Don't look up here or I'm gonna shoot your head off," he answered.

As we're driving, I'm trying to figure out how I can get ahold of my pistol and shoot him without getting shot first. He had the gun right on me; if we hit a bump, I was afraid the cocked hammer might go off accidentally. So, I figured I'd better wait till they got me out of the car to make my move. Sure enough, in about 30 minutes, they stopped out where a bunch of houses were being built. The gunman opened the door and said, "Pull off your boots." I was lying in the back seat of the Eldorado and the dome light came on, and I was afraid that if I raised up to take off my boots, they'd see the pistol in my vest.

"I hurt my back rodeoing," I moaned. "I can't hardly move."

"Stick your feet out here," he said. He pulled my boots off and threw them on the ground. Getting out of the car, I acted like I could just barely raise up. With him right behind me, I started walking down the road like my back was killing me. Suddenly, I kicked the safety on my .45, and whipped around and said, "Now, you sonnabitch, you're on the other end!" and shot at him right there in the dark. He fell backward and shot one back at me. Then, he ran over to my Eldorado and they took off in a hurry. I shot at the car three times, but I was shooting low, so the bullets just went through my golf bags and out the other side.

There I was with no shells, barefooted, and cold - and here they came driving back again! I didn't realize that it was a dead-end road and they'd have to turn around to get out of there, so I started running like hell through the construction area where the houses were being built, afraid I'd cut my foot off on something. But they didn't stop; I guess they didn't know I was out of shells.

I saw a light in a house way up on top of the hill. It was almost 4 a.m. and when the owner came to the door, I told him, "I don't want to alarm you, but I've been robbed and they stole my car. Would you mind calling my home and seeing if everybody's all right? And call the police. And turn off that porch light!"

That was one time I was real glad to see the police when they came to the door. Of course, there were other times when I wasn't quite as happy to see them, but I'll save those stories for another day.

Editor's note: Cowboy Wolford is the author of Cowboys, Gamblers & Hustlers, a vivid account of the way things were in poker during the era of the road gamblers. E-mail him at [email protected] with your questions or comments.