I got an urgent phone call from my sweetie Barbara Enright the other day. "Max, Max," she cried out. "I've just been inducted into the Poker Hall of Fame! I'm going to be rich and famous. Pack your bags!"
"Oh, boy, where are we going?"
"You're not going anywhere. You're moving out."
She was kidding, of course; at least I think she was. But I couldn't blame her if she was serious. Being the first woman to make the Poker Hall of Fame - or even the third or fourth - isn't something that happens every day, you understand. I guess now she'll be swamped with all kinds of sponsorship and endorsement offers, requests for talk-show appearances, movie roles, marriage proposals, and pleas to be staked by every railbird in the Western Hemisphere.
Remember, this is the greatest achievement for the feminist movement since women, for some reason or other, were granted the right to vote. I understand that Hillary Clinton has ordered a batch of tee shirts reading, "If Barbara can be the first woman, why can't I?" And they're trying to figure out which presidential face to remove from Mount Rushmore to be replaced by Barbara's.
I once wrote a column in which I referred to her as a "Poker Queen"; better change that to "Poker Goddess." The next day I discovered how much more disparity was now in our relationship when she handed me a new clothing outfit: a butler's uniform.
I tried to figure out a way to regain a measure of parity. I don't see much hope of also being inducted into the Poker Hall of Fame, of course - or even the Omaha Eight-or-Better Hall of Fame. It's not that I don't deserve to be inducted. The problem is that too many people are jealous of my poker skills.
But how about the Poker Humor Hall of Fame? As a matter of fact, I just decided to make me a charter member. Congratulations, Max. And no, it isn't as absurd as it sounds. After all, if Oklahoma Johnny Hale can induct himself into the Seniors Hall of Fame, why can't I do the same? What are my credentials? Well, I validated my claim to being America's foremost poker humorist when I told Doomsday Don a joke once and he smiled. Of course I had to tickle his feet and spray him with laughing gas to get any reaction, but it worked. I'll hold my induction ceremony at whichever casino makes the highest bid. Admission will be free to anyone buying my celebrated book,
Read 'em and Laugh.
Anyway,
Card Player asked me to do a column about the Poker Hall of Fame. Please don't expect an authoritative opus. I'm not exactly Jim McManus doing "The History of Poker," but I'll do my best.
Since its inception in 1979, the Poker Hall of Fame has bestowed this ultimate honor on some 35 gamblers. This year, as you know, Phil Hellmuth was inducted along with Barbara. His acceptance speech was gracious. "What took so long?" he demanded to know.
All but two Poker Hall of Famers were acclaimed 20th-century card players. The exceptions are Edmund Hoyle and James Butler "Wild Bill" Hickok, both of whom were enshrined as charter members. After extensive research, I have learned that Hoyle's contribution to poker was writing a book on whist. Whist, as everyone knows, is a classic game that was played in the 18th and 19th centuries, and was derived from the older game "Ruff and Honours." They still play whist in Britain, but don't look for it on
ESPN anytime soon.
Seriously, though, while poker may not have been around in Hoyle's day, he's the one who first standardized card-game rules in general. Hence the expression, "According to Hoyle." Were it not for him, fights would break out every few hands at poker tables. Come to think of it, they still do anyway.
Hickok, the famed lawman and gambler, is the Hall of Famer most familiar to the outside public. He became an instant poker legend when his aces and eights were outdrawn by three bullets. That was the origin of the term "drawing dead."
Most of the names in the Poker Hall of Fame, such as "Nick the Greek" Dandalos, Doyle Brunson, Stu Ungar, and so on, are familiar to all poker players and need no elaboration. Others, such as Julius Oral "Little Man" Popwell, who was inducted in 1996, are less well-known, to say the least. Popwell, you see, was called "Little Man" because he was only 5 feet 6 inches tall but weighed more than 300 pounds. OK, he really got the nickname because as a teenager he regularly beat men twice his age in billiards. First whist, now billiards? No, Popwell's legit, too. He actually was a gambler of near-mythical stature who played in the '40s and '50s. His preferred game was five-card stud, although that game is played even less than whist nowadays.
Interestingly, two Hall of Fame members died in battle, so to speak. Tom Abdo, inducted in 1982, suffered a heart attack at the poker table. He asked another player to count down his chips and save his seat, because he intended to return, but he expired that night. The legendary Jack "Treetop" Straus died in 1988, the same year he was inducted, after suffering a heart attack while playing in a high-stakes side game at the Bicycle Casino. They were poker players to the very end.
And Fred "Sarge" Ferris once had the Internal Revenue Service seize $46,000 of his chips during a high-stakes game at the Horseshoe. If having chips seized by the government was a consideration, Robert "Buddha" Gomez would have his induction locked up. A few years ago the Feds grabbed
$800,000 of his chips when they arrested him at the Hustler Casino for his part in the "Miracle Cars" scam. He's locked up, all right, but in a different way.
Well, that's a short and rather selective recounting of some Poker Hall of Fame highlights. In past columns, I've often poked fun at this year's two inductees, but I can't think of any two players more deserving of the honor. Congratulations, Barbara and Phil.
Max Shapiro, a lifelong poker player and former newspaper reporter with several writing awards to his credit, has been writing a humor column for Card Player ever since it was launched 20 years ago. His early columns were collected in his book, Read 'em and Laugh.
