I had saved the $172.50 that I won in the casino in Atlantic City in a special envelope. I was going to use it for gambling the next time that I entered a casino. I took my “big winnings” with me for my next round of European wanderings. In Venice, the idea of going to the casino came up again. I was staying with a male acquaintance of mine, a native of Venice. Tony was the friend of my close friend Marc S. in Bologna. He had a humid, steamy ground floor apartment in one of the Sestieri districts of the city where tourists do not venture. He and his longstanding girlfriend had separated a few months before, and now he had a new girlfriend. I developed a Platonic friendship with his old girlfriend Francesca. One evening the four of us were sitting around in the dampness. I told them the story of my winning trip to Atlantic City. I embellished the story by proclaiming that I had developed a system for winning at blackjack. I explained that most players concede a huge statistical advantage to the house by making haphazard decisions in their basic strategy of whether to “hit” or “stick” after they have received their first two cards and seen the dealer’s face card. By making the mathematically correct decision in every possible situation (including knowing when to double, split, take insurance, or surrender), one could reduce the house advantage to a statistically negligible minimum.
There was an elegant casino at the Venice Lido called the Casinò Municipale di Venezia. My friends knew about the casino but had not been inside. Tony was a former hippie and vagabond like me, but he had settled down and was running a moderately successful carpentry business. To my surprise, Tony expressed his belief that I was destined to win a lot of money at blackjack. He announced that he intended to “stake me” money to play. He would give me four hundred thousand lire (about $480) to start with and I would start playing the very next night. If I lost, it would be his loss to absorb. If I won, we would split the winnings fifty-fifty.
I immediately assented to Tony’s proposition. I thought he was perhaps ingenuous. He was mesmerized by what he perceived as my American ingenuity in coming up with an infallible blackjack system. For me, it was a no-lose scheme. If I lost, the losses would not be mine. It did not seem important to think about what losing might do to our friendship, nor how it might feel to win and then hand over half of my winnings to my “backer.”
I had never been inside a European casino. In America, you can enter a casino wearing unlaced sneakers, Bermuda shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and a beanie cap. I had left my beanie cap at home in Roslyn. In Europe, there are attire requirements – men must wear dark shoes and a dinner jacket and tie. I had no such accoutrements with me. Tony was happy to lend me a complete monkey suit. The shoes were several sizes too big, but otherwise the garbs fit me fine. I knotted my necktie. Tony’s erstwhile girlfriend and I got onto the vaporetto that would steam us to the Piazza San Marco. From there, we took the fancy Casino Express Boat to the Lido.
It was seven o’clock in the evening when we debarked at the landing dock of the genteel ludic setting. The other passengers were casino regulars who knew exactly where they were going. We followed closely behind. My palms were sweaty. My throat was dry. My heart was beating rapidly. My breathing was labored. The pit of my stomach was lumpy. My asshole felt on fire. There were marble statues and a crystal case filled with gilded jewelry in the lobby. The red embroidered carpeting slipped under our feet and guided us up a plush staircase. We waited in line to show our passports or identity cards to a tuxedo-clad clerk and purchase our admission cards. The casino official noticed that Francesca was a high school teacher, an impiegato dello stato, a state employee. She was, according to Italian law, prohibited from entering a casino.
Francesca was seriously disappointed to discover that she would not be allowed in. It was also a letdown for me – I had counted on having a woman at my side for luck. Luck be a lady tonight. New arrangements would have to be made. Francesca said that she had noticed an outdoor bar fifty meters to the left of the casino, facing from the dock, and that she would wait for me there. It was July. The weather was balmy. I thought that it would be boring for her to just “hang out” at the bar. I offered to gamble for only one hour and to meet her at an appointed time. She said that I should not concern myself with her or how she would pass the time. I should direct all my thoughts to the game. The only criterion for how long I play should be what is required to achieve my goal. L’importante è che vinci, what matters is that you win, she said. She kissed me on the cheek, squeezed my hand, and walked toward the elevator doors just as they were opening. “Good luck!” She mimed it with her lips, smiled, and disappeared. Now I was alone, a cultural exile in a foreign land, wearing my fine zoot suit and cloddish shoes, just me versus the tables. Nothing to lose, everything to gain. I handed my admission card to the next tuxedo man and walked with feigned assurance into the sumptuary interior.
The action was in full swing. The sights and sounds stirred my excitement further. I resolved to observe for a while before starting to play. The main salon of the establishment was taken up by a half-dozen roulette tables. There were other European games which I did not know, like chemin de fer and trente et quarante. In the backroom a couple of baccarat games were going on. There were two blackjack tables. I asked someone why there were only two blackjack tables. He explained that blackjack was an American game and that it had only been recently introduced at the Casinò di Venezia, sort of as an experiment.
I spent quite a while studying events at the roulette tables. I went to a cashier’s window and bought four hundred thousand lire worth of chips.
I had never played roulette before. I placed a twenty thousand lire chip (the equivalent of about twenty dollars) on black. Black was my color. The silver ball landed on number 11. Black. I won. My first roulette win, ever. A sacred moment. One of the croupiers placed a chip on top of the chip I had wagered. “Let it ride, Alan,” I heard a voice from elsewhere say into my ears. The ball went around and around the wheel and landed on 35. I won again. I left the now eighty thousand lire in the rectangular space for black. The ball came to rest in the number 2. Where once were twenty thousand lire were now one hundred and sixty thousand lire. It was a handsome stack of chips. I scooped it up. I figured three wins in a row was lucky enough. I switched from betting on black to betting on “odd,” designated in European roulette with the French word “impair.” Odd was my friend in the arithmetic world of even and odd. I laid a twenty thousand chip down in that box. Number 11 came up again. Impair. Odd. I let the initial stake plus the winning chip ride. Number 21 was the winner. I doubled the previous bet. As the ball spun around frenziedly, I sang in a low melodious voice to myself: “Impair! Impair! Impair!” The ball flirted with the 8 and the 10, for a split-second I was sure I had lost, then it bounced back up and came to rest peacefully in the slot of 23. I had won six gambits in a row! I was ahead two hundred and eighty thousand lire! I discreetly removed my pile of chips, stuffed them into the right-side pocket of my sports jacket, and headed for the two blackjack tables in the back room.
There were seven seats for players at each table. Both tables were full. There were other casino visitors waiting for seats, standing behind the players in the game, sometimes placing chips on the “bet behind” option space. I was in an informal queue. Everyone was aware of who would get the next available free place. Finally, a seat to play blackjack opened for me. I sat down and started to play, wagering the table minimum of ten thousand lire (about ten dollars) per hand. I did well for a while. I was winning more rounds than I was losing. One key difference between blackjack in European versus in American casinos is the way that the player signals if he or she wants to hit or stick. In America, this is done (primarily) with hand gestures. You either wave your hand across (horizontally to the table) for “no” or tap the table with index finger or knuckles or fingertips for “yes.” In the Venice Lido casino, it was instead done with speech. You said “carte” if you wanted a card or “reste” if you wanted to stick. Then I observed something peculiar. I noticed that the European blackjack players were habitually and repeatedly making a fundamental wrong decision. They played way too conservative. Almost all of them, when they had a 12, 13, 14, 15, or, 16, would always stick, regardless of what card the dealer showed. They were terrified of “busting” or going over (instantly losing). This was incorrect play. According to the mathematical odds, one should hit despite having a poor initial hand where one risks going over, if the dealer has a card favorable to him like a 9 or 10.
I noticed that the dealer was proceeding very fast from left to right (from his vantage point) in noting, then acting upon, the decision made by each player to hit, stick, double, or split, then moving on to handle the decision of the next player. Since all the other players besides myself were never taking another card when they had a 12 through 16, he just assumed that each player with a hand in that count range was going to stick. The dealer moved on to the next player without waiting for the verbal utterance of “carte” or “reste” by the preceding player. This was, according to the rules, incorrect behavior on the part of the dealer. I instantly hatched a scheme in my mind to take advantage of this unorthodox circumstance. Since I was the equivalent of more than six hundred dollars ahead, I could afford to increase my bet. I started to play a hundred dollars per hand. I waited until I had a hand in the 12 to 16 range, the dealer had a high card, and the player after me had two cards of 11 or less, so he was going to hit for sure. The moment arrived. The dealer had a 10 showing. I had a 12. The player to my left had a low hand and was bound to hit. As expected, the dealer glossed over my right as a “free agent” to take a card and gave the next card from the multiple decks in the “shoe” device automatically to the next player. I saw that card was a 9. “Wait a minute!” I shouted in Italian. My knowledge of Italian was now going to be worth some money! “I wanted to take a card!” Io volevo una carta! The dealer apologized. He admitted his mistake. He took the 9 from the next player and placed it over my 12. I had 21! I won the hand easily.
I repeated the trick two more times. It was not the kind of thing one could do often. But it was worth three winning hands or three hundred thousand lire. I had so many chips stuffing my jacket and pants pockets that I lost count of how much I was ahead. Knowing that my luck could at any time turn south and I would start losing it all back, I got up from my chair. I went to the cashier window near the front entrance which I now glimpsed and thought of as my exit. I started emptying my pockets, plopping down my chips on the counter. The dignified and finely dressed male employee counted them and arranged them in neat little heaps. Lei è andato molto bene! he exclaimed. I will never forget those words. It went very well for you! He counted out a large collection of hundred thousand lire notes and placed them in front of me. I went to the open air of the splendid summer. I found Francesca at the outdoor bar where we had agreed to meet. With extravagant gestures, I showed her the money. She was elated but not surprised. We hugged and kissed and drank champagne. Two men with whom she had been chatting were flabbergasted by the bank notes and the story of my big win. We took the Casino Express boat back to Piazza San Marco. We went for a celebratory lobster dinner in a fancy restaurant.
I gave Tony half of the winnings, as we had agreed. For the next three afternoons in succession, I repeated the routine. In the late afternoon, I got dressed in my monkey suit. Francesca accompanied me. We hightailed it on the express boat to the Lido. Each day, I won about a thousand dollars, mixing it up between roulette and blackjack. The fifth day was the day of reckoning. I lost about a thousand and never set foot in that casino again.