Big Denny Strikes Gold

Making my usual stop at the Barstow Card Casino, I was greeted by Big Denny with a question. “Hey Maxcy,” he asked, “ya ever hear of a guy named Yul Yowsa?”

“Who?”

“Ya know, da guy what travels around ta different places in California, talkin’ ta people an’ doin’ television shows about where he’s been.”

“Oh, you must mean Huell Howser. He does that road trip series for public television called “California’s Gold.” His shows are very interesting and informative. As a matter of fact, he did one on Barstow earlier this year. He visited the old railroad station, a Harvey House, the El Rancho Motel, built of railroad ties, where Marilyn Monroe once stayed, the original Del Taco…things like that.”

“Yeah, I heard about it, but da bum never even bothered ta stop by my joint. He’d of had lotsa t’ings ta talk about here.”

“Oh, sure, he could have talked about all his bedbug bites if he stayed at your hotel. Or the diarrhea he would have suffered if he ate at your Four Star Buffet. Or maybe the valet parking attendant stealing his car radio. Or Aunt Sophie spilling booze on him if he didn’t tip enough. Or being pick-pocketed by your security guard. Or the cow dung sprinkling on his head from your upstairs barn. Of course, if he was foolish enough to play in any of your crooked poker games, he would have had enough material for two more shows.”

Big Denny was not amused. “Don’t get smart, Maxey. We shoulda been part a’ da show only on account of da Barstow Card Casino is da main reason people comes ta Barstow.”
“I thought it was the main reason people left Barstow.”

The big guy was starting to lose it. “Ya better watch yer mouth around me, Maxey. Big Denny is a household name.”

“I know. So is Lorena Bobbitt.”

I probably went too far with that last cutting remark, so I quickly changed the subject. “Anyhow, I enjoyed the program and learned a lot. Especially when Howser went out into the desert and talked about all the people who looked for gold there and never found any.”

I was interrupted by a wheezy voice yelling, “It’s there my boy, it’s there!”
Looking up, I was startled to see Dirty Wally’s ancient grandfather, Filthy Willy, standing there with his equally ancient mule, Samson.

Big Denny was enraged to find an animal in his “spotless” casino. “Get dat t’ing outta here, he shouted, kicking the poor beast in the hindquarters until a security guard ran up and dragged the animal outside. After things quieted down, Big Denny got back to Filthy Willy. “What was ya sayin’?” he asked…“Dat dere’s gold out dere?”

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” I warned. “Willy’s been around these parts looking for gold for at least 80 years now and still hasn’t found a speck.”

“That’s what you think, young feller. I found some last week an’ I’ll be goin’ back soon lookin’ for more. Could use a little help with the diggin’, so if you boys wanna come with me, I’ll cut ya’all in.”

I didn’t believe any of it, but with the price of gold shooting to the moon, Denny was intrigued. He agreed to go with Willy out to the desert the next day, and I decided to come along to see if I could get a story out of all this stupidity. The next morning
we piled into Big Denny’s car, drove to the end of a desert road, then starting trekking on foot. After a while I began to get thirsty in the blazing sun and asked Denny if he had brought any extra water.

“Sure t’ing,” he said, reaching into his huge backpack and taking out a bottle of Big Denny’s Card Casino “purified” water. “Dat’ll be five bucks, Maxey.”

Too parched to argue, I handed over a fiver, took a hearty swig…and gagged. The water was rancid, obviously tap water from the corroded pipes in his place. “Purified?” I screamed. “What did you purify it with – disinfectant?”

We kept walking. Suddenly a rattlesnake – no, not Ralph the Rattler, a real snake – came out of nowhere, reared his head and hissed threateningly. Big Denny bared his teeth, uttered an ape-like howl, and the terrified creature slithered away at top speed. Maybe being with Big Denny isn’t always that bad, I thought to myself.

On we walked, following Willy, as the sweat started pouring off me. Climbing over a sand dune, we came upon what looked like a mirage, a little pool of gleaming water. “Who needs your stinking water now?” I laughed. I spilled the remaining fluid out of the bottle and prepared to refill it.

“Hold it, Maxey,” Big Denny commanded. So saying, he unzipped his fly and relieved himself in what probably had been the only drinkable water in the entire Mojave Desert. Steam rose up, the pool turned a noxious brown and a family of frogs hopped out in panic. I shrugged and handed Big Denny five dollars for another bottle.

On and on and on we walked, until we stumbled on a gruesome sight—the lifeless body of a man sprawled on the sand. As I stared in horror, a tarantula crawled onto his face and began eating his nose.

“Hey, we struck gold,” Big Denny laughed.

I took a closer look and recoiled in shock. “Gold!?” I screamed. “That’s Jamie Gold. What happened to him?”

“Aw, da guy stopped by my place, an’ when he began complainin’ about havin’ ta pay 50 cents ta use da restroom, I had some of my boys take him fer a little ride.”

I shuddered. “That’s a world poker champion there. Of course he had no right to complain, but couldn’t you at least have given the poor guy a decent burial?”

“Dere wasn’t time, Maxey. We had a tournament dat night, an’ my boys hadda come back as dealers.”

Dazed, I noticed something in the man’s hand. Reaching down, I retrieved a 50-cent Barstow Card Casino restroom token.

“Hey!” Filthy Willy shouted. “That’s the same kinda gold I found around here the other day!”

Big Denny stared at the daffy Confederate Army veteran for a long minute, then shook his head. “You was right, Maxey. I shoulda listened ta you instead of dis crazy ol’ coot. Let’s get back to da car. As fer you, Willy, you can walk home.”

“Walk?” Willy sobbed. “Where’s Samson?”

“He’s on da menu tonight,” Big Denny informed him. “Stop by da buffet an’ have a muleburger on da house.”

Do you see now, Huell? Look at all you missed by by-passing Big Denny’s Barstow Card Casino. ♠

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 more than 20 years ago. His early columns were collected in his book, Read ’em and Laugh.