So, Then Charlie Sat Down ...

Note: This is a tale of a poker player undaunted by a series of very bad beats. My friend and occasional co-author Arthur Reber sent it to me, and I thought I'd share it.

Dear Lou:

Let me tell you about a remarkable couple of hours I spent with a guy named Charlie. The floorman who brought him over to our $15-$30 hold'em table spoke to him loudly, and with exaggerated hand gestures. "Hmm," I thought, "looks like we've got a deaf player. This is different."

After a few seconds I realized he wasn't deaf. He could hear fine. But Charlie, who appeared to be in his early 40s, couldn't speak, and he carried a small vibraphone used by people who have had their larynx removed – almost always because of cancer. "Damn," I thought. "Awful young for something like that."

The gizmo he carried amplified the vibrations in his throat. By holding it against his neck and mouthing words while exhaling, he could speak, after a fashion. But Charlie's vibraphone didn't work all that well, and it was tough making out what he said. He knew this, but as I was soon to discover, it didn't stop him from being a fascinating guy to have a "conversation" with.

Charlie also sported another natty giveaway to his condition. It was a kind of bib designed to cover the ravages of throat surgery. And to make matters worse, as he sat down on my right I realized he was stiff and could hardly turn his head. He also had had several additional surgical procedures, and two other spots on his neck were covered, as well. "This," I thought, "is a guy who has gone through hell."

He pulled a large sheaf of notepaper out of a pocket, along with a couple of pens, and wrote me a quick note.

"I've been watching poker on TV," he wrote. "I want to make the final table."

"Me too," I replied. "Stay right here with me, and let's see if we can work this out together."

He laughed. It was a distinctly odd sound that sounded like the wind blowing through trees, but his eyes shone.

It didn't take long for me, as well as the assembled vultures at the table, to realize that our friend had never played poker before – certainly not in an organized cardroom and certainly not for these stakes. I explained the nuances of posting the two blinds, and with all the patience I could muster, tried to let him know that he didn't have to put up $15 every time the dealer said, "Fifteen, to you sir."

Well, as luck would have it, he won a couple of hands early on, and after a half-hour or so was up a couple of bucks. And, as luck would have it, he began slipping me notes. Slowly, I began to realize that someone very unusual was sitting next to me, someone who would have a deep emotional impact on the four of us at our end of the table.

"You're doing OK so far, Charlie," I said, breaking every serious poker player's vow never to tell a fish how to play the game. "But you really don't want to call a raise, let alone a single bet, with 5-2 offsuit."

"I can see that," he scrawled on a sheet of notepaper, "but I really want to see those three cards. I could flop a 5 and a deuce and then I'd have two pair." (Quick learner; he was talking the talk already, or at least writing the talk.)

"Yeah, true enough," I whispered to him, "but you're not likely to, and it'll start getting real expensive."

"It's only money," he wrote, and laughed that hissing laugh again. "I'm here to have fun. I want to see those three cards."

"Fine," I replied sotto voce, "but don't let these guys know that," as I scanned the table for his benefit. He laughed some more. Then, he used the vibraphone and began explaining to me that he was in Atlantic City for a couple of days because he really needed to get away from it all.

By now I felt like we had become friends. He was starting to listen to my advice, and had at least dropped a hint about his condition.

"So," I asked, gesturing toward his neck while we waited for the house to go through the ritual of bringing in a new setup, "what happened?" I wasn't really sure I expected an answer. Half of me felt like I was invading his privacy; the other half was pretty sure this guy wanted to talk, at least a little.

Out came the notepad while they dealt the new cards. "Three operations in the past four years," he wrote, and cold-called two bets with what turned out to be J-4.

"Laryngectomy?" I asked.

"Yup. That was the first. Then 'it' spread, and they had to go back two more times – two bouts of chemo and one of radiation. There isn't much left around here," he scribbled, pointing to his neck and betting out when the board came down J-10-4 rainbow!

"Charlie," I asked, "would you like to join me for dinner later? I've got enough comps for both of us."

"Might be fun, but I can't eat. No real food for three years. Dying for a greasy cheeseburger. Only juices and chalky chocolate liquids," he wrote, and bet out again when a 9 came on the turn.

"Boring stuff," he scribbled hastily, and bet out again (don't do it, Charlie!) when a king hit on the river. "God, for a visit to McDonald's!"

Bang, the guy in the cutoff raised and, sigh, Charlie called. He saw my dirty look and pulled out the notepad. "I wanted to see if he really had the straight," he penned in the now familiar blue ink.

"Why'd you bet?" I asked.

"Don't know. Wasn't thinking," came back the note.

"Hmm," I thought, "the guy is learning." And I could feel the heat coming my way from the guys at the far end of the table who didn't really understand who had graced our table.

"Why poker?" I asked. "Why now?"

"Why not?" he scrawled hastily. "They found another tumor yesterday."

We played another hand and Charlie actually discovered that he could push his cards toward the dealer rather than call.

"You know," out came the pen again, "I died last year in the operating room. They revived me. That was good, don't you think? Maybe I've got enough time to learn this game. Yes?"

Before I could answer, he grabbed my wrist and pulled out another broad-tipped felt pen. "HEY!" he wrote in block letters. "I'M NOT TALKING TOO MUCH, AM I?"

"No, Charlie," I said, "not at all."

"When my wife wants me to shut up, she steals my pens," he wrote. This time his hissing laughter was part of a chorus from all four of us at our end of the table who were now reading Charlie's notes and basking in his presence.

"See the Caribbean stud jackpot?" he scrawled.

"Yeah," the guy to my left said. "I heard it's up to a quarter of a million."

"Higher," came the blue-inked response. "It's over $400,000! I don't think I've got the time to learn this game. Going to go hit it. Got to leave something for my family."

With this, he got up and shook all our hands. The smile never left his face. He didn't have much of his original stake left, but off he went to invest it on a jackpot. My buddy Anthony watched Charlie's back as he left, and looked over at me with moisture in his eyes. "I think my priorities just shifted a bit," he said as a warm smile spread across his face.

I picked up the last piece of notepaper Charlie left behind and wrote on it. "Yeah, I think they did for a lot of us."

Arthur

Raise your game with Lou Krieger, author of Poker for Dummies, at http://www.royalvegaspoker.com, where he is a host. His newest book, Internet Poker: How to Play and Beat Online Poker Games, is available through Card Player and at www.ConJelCo.com, and all of his books can be found at major bookstores and online at www.Amazon.com.