For those of you who didn't know Sam Angel, you definitely missed out on an experience. Those of us who did will miss the good times, laughs, and even the aggravation. Most of all, the poker world has lost one of its all-time great characters.
Sam passed away in March. I'm not sure what Sam actually died of, but the better question is, how did he live so long? In this day and age of exercise and nutrition, Sam ate as badly as you could ever imagine - mostly hot dogs. He drank every day, both liquor (V.O.) and beer (Heineken). He also spent the majority of his life inside smoke-filled casinos.
Sam lived to the ripe old age of 86. That's highly ironic, as he was 86ed from many casinos in Vegas. Sam was a little on the loud side, and let's say, slightly outspoken. Don Imus could have given him lessons on how to be more politically correct. And this was all before Sam's first drink of the day, which was usually right after lunch.
While it's true that Sam could wear on anyone's nerves, he also could bring a smile to anyone's face who crossed his path. Once, after being knocked out of the main event of the
World Series of Poker, I was storming out and passed Sam's table, where he had set up shop selling his trademark jewelry.
"Hey, big boy! Why don't you come buy something nice for your little lady!"
When I ignored him, he raised his voice a few levels (as if I couldn't hear him to begin with): "Hey, Brunson, don't be a cheapskate! Come buy this
beau-ti-ful ring I just got!" (I think he got it out of a box of Cracker Jacks.)
I continued to ignore him, so he turned the volume all the way up: "You f-----g c---sucker! You're cheaper than your old man!"
I was already at about a 9.5 on the rage scale, and this made me hit 10! If he were 50 years younger, I would have physically attacked him, but inasmuch as he was a dinosaur and I was in my late 20s, a verbal assault had to do.
"Sam, why don't you suck my d---, you miserable old f---!" I was as mad as I could be, and if you'd told me someone could make me laugh at this point, I'd have laid 100-to-1 against it. Not only would Sam have taken that bet, he'd have won it.
Not missing a beat, he yelled, "OK, come over here."
As he was yelling, he pulled out a handkerchief and placed it over his shirt and tucked it into his neck collar, as if he was about to eat a meal. He turned his chair around and started licking his lips. This sight not only melted my anger (as well as turned my stomach), but made me break out in hysterical laughter.
Almost every time I go into Bellagio, I trade "Sam Sightings" with my friends, floorperson Carmine Bates (whose claim to fame is that she shared Sam's birthday of Nov. 30) and Shift Supervisor Pete Popovich. One of Pete's favorite stories, as well as mine, happened about seven or eight years ago.
I was playing in the top section (pre-Bobby's Room days) when I heard a loud crash. It sounded like someone had held up 10 racks of chips over his head and then dropped them. While I was still trying to determine what could have caused such a loud noise, it came again:
Crash!
I quickly got up and ran to see a fight breaking out that had caused racks and racks of chips to be knocked off an $80-$160 table onto the floor. My buddy Pete, being the great supervisor that he is, was there in less than 10 seconds and quickly broke up the fight. Pete said, "After I had the guys separated, someone was pawing wildly at my foot. I was afraid I was stepping on some person, but when I looked down, there was 80-year-old Sam crawling on the floor. He was frantically picking up all the chips that he could that had been knocked off the table, and was sticking them in his pocket. I was standing on a few, and he was like a mother bear trying to get to her cubs." Sam had scooped up hundreds of stray chips, but unfortunately got barred for his chip-pillage foray.
Another of my favorite stories involved David Grey. David was walking through the Golden Nugget in around 1986, on his way to play poker. He runs into Sam, who says, "There's gonna be a great $50-$100 game later; I'll stake you in it after we eat at the steakhouse. Come on, I got a comp."
David didn't really need to be staked, but thought, what the heck, and joined Sam. After the spirit-filled dinner, they're walking to the poker room, when Sam declares, "Why should I stake you when Steve Wynn will?"
With that, he puts down $2,000 on the craps table and loses it. He doubles it, and loses that, too - then again and again. Finally, David says, "Don't worry about it, Sam," and pats him on the shoulder to try to cheer him up.
"You think I'm worried about you, you stupid c---sucker?" Sam half screeched, half spit at a startled David. "I'm losing over $200,000 to these cheatin' sons of b------."
Another time, I walked into the Mirage and saw Sam. "How you doin', Sam?" I rhetorically asked. Wrong question. He went into a tirade about how he was being evicted from his condo in the Regency Towers.
When I inquired why, he said, "That f-----g c---sucker! I paid rent for seven years straight. Then when I missed two, he goes crazy and wants to throw me out on the streets after what a good tenant I been!"
"He's throwing you out after you missed two months?" I asked.
"No, two years," replied Sam, as if his landlord was totally out of line.
Sam was a stone-cold hustler to the end. The last time I saw him, I was on my way to the Mosley-Vargas fight at Mandalay Bay. My friends wanted to check out the line, so we stopped off at the sportsbook. There was Sam, who quickly jumped up to try to sell me something. After explaining to him that I was with my male friends and didn't want to buy any of his "fine jewelry," and after making a few bets (I bet on Vargas), we were off to the fight.
After the fight, we went back to the sportsbook. Although we all had lost our main bet, we had won all of our prop bets and were cashing the tickets and having a few drinks while the thousands of fight fans left the casino. Once again, Sam sees me and rushes over. "Can I get my hundred now?" Sam asks me.
"What are you talking about, Sam?" I ask, confused.
"When you told me you were betting on Vargas, I asked you for a hundred dollars of your action, and you said yes."
"No I didn't."
"Yes you did! I swear to God that's what happened! I wouldn't lie to you, Todd!"
I quietly chuckled to myself, knowing where this was going. "OK, Sam. If you're positive I said that, you can have the hundred dollars of action on Vargas if you want it."
"Yes, yes I do!" exclaims Sam.
"OK, then. Give me a hundred dollars. Vargas lost." I take him to the window and they confirm this to Sam, who was certain that Vargas had won.
"Oh, I was just kidding, Todd," Sam tells me as he walks off.
I could tell these stories all day long, and I could make this a two-part column, but with the World Series of Poker coming up, I have to move on. I would like to close this column with a few of Sam's famous one-liners.
After a heated argument with floorperson Suzy Weiss, Sam decided that he wanted to make nice. "You know, you've always been my favorite c---sucker."
My dad ran into Sam at the funeral of Sarge Ferris, and asked, "Sam, why are you here? Everyone knows that you and Sarge hated each other."
"Ya, I hated him, all right. I just want to make sure that c---sucker is dead."
And here's one last one: "Todd, my doctor told me I can't drink any more."
"So, you're not going to be drinking any more, Sam?"
"Nope, and I'm not going to be drinking any less, either."
Wherever you are, Sam, drink one for me. You'll always be my favorite c---sucker.
