Big Denny, Man of the Year

"Hey, Maxey, guess what?"

It was Big Denny, calling me on the phone. "I don't know, Denny," I replied. "Did the casino get shut down again?"

"Nah, ya dummy. Just listen ta dis. Da city of Barstow named me dere Man of da Year. Ain't dat somet'in?"

"Man of the Year? Who'd you pay off? Or threaten to kill?"

"Don't get funny, Maxey. Not dat ya could be funny, even if ya tried. Dis is legit. Dey decided ta honor me on account of all da publicity I been bringin' ta dis place. An', Maxey, we got a place fer ya in da ceremonies."

That was not something I wanted to hear. "Well, it's been nice talking to you, Denny. Gotta go now. I've got a column deadline, and … "

"Stay put, ya punk," Denny snarled into the phone. "Until ya started writin' about me, a lotta people didn't believe dere was a Barstow Card Casino. Hell, a lotta people didn't even believe dere was a Barstow. So you're kinda responsible, an' we wants ya ta be da master of ceremoniums. It's a week from Sataday, OK?"

"Can't make it, Denny. I've got a … a … bar mitzvah that night."

"Don't give me dat stuff, Maxey. Don't ya know dat turnin' down Big Denny might bring ya a little bad luck? Ya know, like yer car blown up?"

Denny sure could be persuasive. Oh, well, I thought, maybe I could at least get a column out of it. That would pay for half my gas driving up there.

"What kind of speech should I write?" I asked.

"Don't worry about nuttin', Maxey. We'll write one for ya."

Just what I wanted to hear. Fearing the worst, I drove up that Saturday and walked into the Barstow Card Casino. Big Denny greeted me at the door. "Dat'll be sixty bucks, Maxey."

"Sixty dollars?" I screamed. "You invited me. I'm the master of ceremonies. You expect me to pay to get in?"

"Hey, it cost a lotta dough to put on dis t'ing," Big Denny replied. "Da food alone is worth da price. An' everyone who buys a ticket gets into a drawin' fer a trip to Paris." He lowered his voice. "It's a fix, Maxey. Yer gonna win da trip."

For some strange reason, I didn't completely believe Denny. But it was either fork up the money or get my tires slashed. I paid, and took my seat on the podium. Looking around, I noticed there were more police in the back of the room than there were guests, and wondered why. Dinner was served. Pig's brains and okra, near as I could determine. I pushed the plate aside and nibbled on the dessert, stale Cracker Jacks, and nervously awaited the start of the award ceremony.

Finally, the dreaded hour arrived. I was introduced, and Big Denny thrust some papers into my hand. "OK, read dis, Maxey, an' ya better read it right."

I started reading: "Good evening, Mr. Mayor, members of the city council, honored guests, and distinguished ladies and gentlemen from the great city of Barstow. (Most of the "distinguished ladies and gentlemen," I noticed, were dressed in gingham and overalls.)

"We are here today to pay tribute to one of the most eminent and beloved personalities in the world of poker, Mr. Big Denny."

As Big Denny beamed at me, I pressed on, trying not to gag or, even more dangerous to my health, laugh. "His spotless reputation for honesty and integrity is reflected in the impeccably honest operation of the Barstow Card Casino, where the customer is king. The Barstow Card Casino has brought wealth and acclaim to this otherwise dumb town, and for that he has been unanimously voted the Barstow Man of the Year."

The first guest speaker to pay tribute to this "impeccably honest" citizen was his parole officer. "Big Denny's a good guy," the officer said. "In the two years he's been on probation, we haven't caught him in a single major violation. At least not yet. But we haven't given up."

The next distinguished speaker was Filthy Willy. He staggered up on stage, thoroughly confused and disoriented. He started speaking while facing the curtain and had to be turned around toward the audience.

"I wanna thank Mr. Denny for givin' me a job here," he began, "on account of I ain't had regular work since I was layin' track when they built the Union Pacific Railroad. Mr. Denny let me run things when he had that big hold-up tournament."

"Hold'em, you idiot!" Big Denny angrily corrected him.

"Oh, yeah, a hold-out tournament. Anyways, my job was ta help mark the cards they used, an' … "

"Thank ya, Willy, that was a very nice speech," Big Denny said, grabbing the hapless Willy by the throat and throwing him through the curtain. "Let's have a big hand now fer our next speaker, Mr. Oklahoma Johnny Hale."

OK Johnny stood up, resplendent in his tailored, Western-cut silk suit with his name tastefully emblazoned on the front and back.

"How y'all today, folks?" he drawled. "It's an honor for a little ol' humble country boy like me to be here. I know a bit about these things, because ah was once honored to have awarded mahself the title of 'Elder Statesman of Poker.'

"As y'all know, I am the founder of the Oklahoma Johnny Hale The Seniors tournaments. Y'all are invited to the next one, The Seniors World Championship of Coney Island. I'm also plannin' to have the The Seniors World Championship of Barstow here. The buy-in will be $500 and the guaranteed prize pool will be $1 million … based on 2,000 players," he added, lowering his voice.

"I know y'all would like a copy of mah book, Gentleman Gambler, so I have left copies on all the tables. Since they've all been personally autographed, of course you'll be expected to buy a copy. Now, if y'all will follow me to the back of the room, I have a selection of Seniors chips, caps, tee shirts, pennants, and other The Seniors merchandise for sale, which I will be happy to autograph and … "

"Thanks, Johnny," an out-of-patience Big Denny called out. "Now let's have a big round of applause for our next speaker, Dirty Wally."

Wally offered a perfunctory tribute to Big Denny, then launched into a long speech describing his skills and triumphs as a player and ended by asking who would like to stake him in the $20 buy-in tournament that followed the ceremonies.

The ceremonies, it turned out, were awkwardly short because the speakers couldn't find much of anything positive to say about Big Denny, and they didn't dare say anything negative, even in jest.

The mayor concluded the festivities by handing Denny his award, along with the gift of a two-month stay on the revocation of his license for running an illegal craps table in the back room.

Now it was time for the drawing and my fixed trip to Paris. Denny called on Fingers Finnegan, the most accomplished pickpocket in the Western Hemisphere, to pick out the winning ticket. Despite being blindfolded and spun around three times, Fingers dug into the bowl and unerringly picked out the ticket with my name on it.

To my dismay, I discovered that the trip wasn't to Paris, France, but to Paris, the Las Vegas casino. Denny handed me a bus ticket and a coupon with a 15 percent discount on rooms at Paris, good anytime from Dec. 27 to Dec. 30.

As I started to complain, I was drowned out by howls of protest from the Barstow rustics in the audience:

"It's fixed! How come the emcee won the blamed thing?"

"Yeah, and how come I never win playin' poker here?"

"That's right, and I think you're usin' loaded dice, too!"

"Yer danged food gave me diarrhea," another shouted.

Waving fists and pitchforks, the incensed guests began advancing on the podium. Suddenly a whistle was blown and the police moved in with pepper spray, clubs, and fire hoses. Well, that at least answered my question about why they were there.

As general bedlam spread, the Man of the Year walked up to the microphone and thanked everyone for coming to honor him on the happiest day of his life. "An' yer all invited ta stick around fer da tournament tonight," he added graciously.