Inasmuch as the
World Series of Poker is set to begin, I thought I would try to recall a few of my more memorable moments of it from the early years. I first started coming out to the
World Series of Poker in the mid-'70s. I'm not sure which was my first year, but I would guess it was 1976 or 1977. I came for the poker side action and to play a little backgammon, and had no intention of playing in the tournaments, especially the "big one." Years after dropping out of Columbia, I was attempting to return to the straight life. I worked for Harper & Row Publishers and was going to NYU at night to get my B.S. and MBA. My gross salary was less than $30,000, so the trip plus the buy-in to the main event would have been approximately equal to my take-home pay for six months.
My poker experience consisted of years of dealer's choice against first my father, then my high-school friends, and lastly some Columbia College gamblers. In the '60s, I had followed Timothy Leary's advice and tuned in, turned on, and dropped out. Almost everyone at Columbia was politically radical and against the war in Vietnam. The students had seized and occupied some campus buildings at this time. I tried to enter the grounds to attend a regular poker game, but was stopped by some policemen. They thought that since I was no longer a student, I must be an outside agitator. I also started spending much of the year in Los Angeles. The weather was warm, the drugs were cheap, and there was legal poker. I alternated between trying to eke out a living playing high draw poker in Gardena games, ranging from $1-$2 up to $3-$6, and working a series of menial jobs. My best games were high draw and high-low seven-card stud with a declaration. So, in a way, I was a very experienced player. But, I had never played hold'em, and I had never played no-limit.
My First Hand at the WSOP
My first hand of poker during the
WSOP occurred in a small no-limit hold'em game. I think the blinds were $5-$5-$10. (In those days, there were often three blinds, with one of the small blinds being on the button.) I had come to Vegas with $5,000, and this tightly wrapped bundle was to be my bankroll for my entire week here. When my name was called from the list, I nervously approached the table, ready to take the big blind. I told the dealer to deal me in, and as I sat down, I placed my $5,000 on the table. The cards were flying around the table as I took off the rubber bands and said I was playing $300. I hadn't touched my cards yet. Someone on the other side of the table said, "You put that money on the table, it has to stay." I argued, but the dealer said I had to leave it up for at least this one hand, since the cards had already been dealt. I put in my $10 blind, and saw the pot raised by the player who had said my money had to stay on the table. I was prepared to forfeit my $10 blind and then reduce my stack, when I looked at my cards and saw two aces. After a little raising, I was all in. The flop, turn, and river produced a group of low cards that had no relation to my hand. I was first to show, and turned up my aces, hoping to see kings or queens, and not something that matched the board. My opponent glared at me and said, "You don't win." I could feel my whole trip going down the drain, when he slowly turned over the other two aces, for a split pot. I think I lost my $300 pretty quickly after that, and decided to come back the next day when I had recovered my equilibrium. I somehow ended up a small winner for that trip.
Over the next few years, several key books were published:
Sklansky's Hold'em and
The Theory of Poker, Doyle Brunson's
Super/System, and John Bradshaw's
Fast Company. Fast Company told stories of legendary gamblers, including Johnny Moss, Pug Pearson, and Titanic Thompson. They inhabited a world of glamour and excitement that I wanted to be a part of. By studying Sklansky and Brunson, my poker skills improved enormously. Hold'em came to New York, so I got some practice at the game.
During the late '70s and early '80s, the prize pool for the main event increased from less than $200,000 to more than $500,000. In the early years, the tournament needed only a few tables, and they were crammed into what is now the baccarat pit near the gift shop at Binion's. Soon, there were so many tables needed that the Horseshoe couldn't hold them all. The main event spilled over to the Golden Nugget, the Four Queens, and the Mint.
The Mint was a separate hotel then. It was later purchased by the Horseshoe and annexed to it. In those days, however, the Mint ran a huge road race through the desert, The Mint 400. It occurred during the
WSOP. (A description of the race and the assorted characters it drew can be found in Hunter Thompson's gonzo tale of drugs and debauchery,
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Don't judge the book by its movie. If you have only seen the movie, you must read the book. The diminutive Johnny Depp was totally miscast in the role of the gargantuan Hunter. What a wild week that was! Fremont Street filled up with rare cars and unbelievable characters. This was the real Fremont Street experience: no flashing lights or tinny music, just beer-drinking, tattooed maniacs commingling with poker players.)
Jack Binion ran the tournament, but Benny Binion held court for his friends and watched everything that went on. Some of his friends were old, drunk cowboys and Texas criminals. They all looked broke, but some of these guys had made fortunes in cattle or oil. If Benny saw a floorman mistreating one of them or doing something else he didn't like, he'd tell him not to come in the next day. There was no argument and no questions, just goodbye. As the tournament kept expanding, Jack Binion turned the tournament organization over to the urbane Eric Drache, who, ably assisted by Jimmy Knight, brought in players from all over the world and made it a big media event. Jack McClelland became the tournament director. Al Alvarez wrote a series in the New Yorker magazine, "The Biggest Game in Town." Those articles were soon compiled for a book with the same name.
They also had started running satellites, and a slick huckster, Sam G, was put in charge. "Satellite Sam" seemed to run them single-handedly around-the-clock. One of his favorite techniques was to start calling out that there was one seat left, even when he had only five of the necessary 10 players signed up. Once there were satellites, even the poor players like me had a reasonable chance to win a seat and play in the main event. It amazes me to go to a huge casino like Foxwoods and find that the day before its main event, satellites stop at midnight, even though there are lots of players eager to win a seat. When I hear the excuse that it is lack of staff, I always laugh, thinking of Sam gutting it out all night, every night, single-handedly.
In Part II, I'll discuss the rise of hold'em in New York, and some of the early successes of New Yorkers in
WSOP tournaments. I'll also recount a few of my more memorable hands and situations.
Steve "Zee" Zolotow, aka The Bald Eagle, is a successful games player. He currently devotes most of his time to poker. He can be found at many major tournaments and playing on Full Tilt, as one of its pros. When escaping from poker, he hangs out in his bar, Nice Guy Eddie's on Houston and Avenue A in New York City.
