Wednesday
BennyProfane
Senior Member
Years ago, I was a BJ dealer at Jon Ascuaga's Nugget in Sparks. The other dealers on Swing were an eclectic bunch, and we did our best to help each other cope with the various psychological problems we had. One guy stood out in particular. His name was Bill; he was a pudgy 60 something year old who looked kinda like Zero Mostel. At various times, he told me two of the funniest stories I'd ever heard.
Summer of '68, he was in the Army, and he was the platoon sergeant of a company of grunts that was always in a forward area. Morale couldn't have been worse. It was a 110 degrees everyday, guys were getting killed daily, they were always getting assigned all the worst details. One day, they get a new lieutenant, and it's a 22 year old kid fresh out of West Point. Everyone who's ever been in the military knows that a butterbar might be the platoon leader, but the platoon sergeant should have the authority to run everything. They make their introductions, and Bill stares at a man that he immediately hates. The lieutenant decides to give his first order, and they have the following conversation:
"Sergeant, why don't you send 5-6 of the men over that ridge and have them poke around and see if there are any Cong over there?"
"What are you, fucking retarded, if I do that, those six guys aren't coming back. We already know they're over there."
"Well, I'm not asking. I'm ordering. And please remember to address me as sir."
"Look, sonny, you've been here for five minutes. Keep your fucking mouth shut and don't tell me what to do, and we'll get along just fine."
A few minutes later, they were yelling at each other as loud as they possibly could. A group of 20 soldiers were standing in a circle around them watching the fight and wondering who would swing first. Bill was trying to think of the best way to win the fight, and the following idea occurred to him.
"I know what to do! I'll draw my 9 millimeter and shoot the ground next to his foot. He'll fall over, crap his pants, and he'll never mess with me again."
So he does. The lieutenant falls to the ground grabs his foot and starts screaming in pain at the top of his lungs. He had "missed" and the bullet had gone straight through the kid's foot.
So the case goes to a Court Marshal. During the trial, every single person who witnessed what happened said that the gun accidentally went off. He was found not guilty, got a discharge and was sent home. He moved to Vegas and became a runner for Lefty Rosenthal. He told me this story, and I laughed so hard, I practically had an aneurysm.
"Christ kid, it's a funny story, but it's not that funny."
"You're right, but somewhere in the world, there's a guy who walks with a limp. And whenever anyone asks him what happened to him while he was in Vietnam, he has to tell them that he was only there for a few hours because one of his own men shot him and got away with it. Maybe I have Asperger's, but that really is one of the funniest things I've heard in years."
Bill steered clear of me for a while after that.
Sometime in 1983, he was in south Chicago at an Italian American club. There was a roomful of men playing hearts, and Bill was in line to get an empty seat. His turn came up, and the brush led him to a table of made guys. One of them was Tony Spilotro. Bill pulled the brush to the side.
"Uh....can I play at a different table?"
"Why, what's wrong with that one?"
"Well, is that who I think it is?"
"Yes."
"I'm too scared to play against him. Should I let him win?"
"You don't have anything to worry about. Just play normally."
Bill looked at the Ant's chair. He was actually sitting on a phone book because he was so short, he couldn't reach the middle of the table without it.
He looked at me with a look of death, "I've never been more scared in my life than I was at that moment. I kept expecting him to stick my head in a vice."
I'm actually at the Atlantis right now, and I ran into Bill as we were both walking into the same men's room at the same time. I recognized him immediately even though I haven't seen him in almost ten years.
"Hey, how you been, Bill?"
"Who the Hell are you?"
"Benny, we met at the Nugget years ago."
"I don't remember that at all."
I tried to jog his memory, but nothing I said could make him remember anything about knowing me.
No one in my family understands why I love Reno so much, but this is a huge part of the reason why. You just don't get to meet people like this anywhere else.
Summer of '68, he was in the Army, and he was the platoon sergeant of a company of grunts that was always in a forward area. Morale couldn't have been worse. It was a 110 degrees everyday, guys were getting killed daily, they were always getting assigned all the worst details. One day, they get a new lieutenant, and it's a 22 year old kid fresh out of West Point. Everyone who's ever been in the military knows that a butterbar might be the platoon leader, but the platoon sergeant should have the authority to run everything. They make their introductions, and Bill stares at a man that he immediately hates. The lieutenant decides to give his first order, and they have the following conversation:
"Sergeant, why don't you send 5-6 of the men over that ridge and have them poke around and see if there are any Cong over there?"
"What are you, fucking retarded, if I do that, those six guys aren't coming back. We already know they're over there."
"Well, I'm not asking. I'm ordering. And please remember to address me as sir."
"Look, sonny, you've been here for five minutes. Keep your fucking mouth shut and don't tell me what to do, and we'll get along just fine."
A few minutes later, they were yelling at each other as loud as they possibly could. A group of 20 soldiers were standing in a circle around them watching the fight and wondering who would swing first. Bill was trying to think of the best way to win the fight, and the following idea occurred to him.
"I know what to do! I'll draw my 9 millimeter and shoot the ground next to his foot. He'll fall over, crap his pants, and he'll never mess with me again."
So he does. The lieutenant falls to the ground grabs his foot and starts screaming in pain at the top of his lungs. He had "missed" and the bullet had gone straight through the kid's foot.
So the case goes to a Court Marshal. During the trial, every single person who witnessed what happened said that the gun accidentally went off. He was found not guilty, got a discharge and was sent home. He moved to Vegas and became a runner for Lefty Rosenthal. He told me this story, and I laughed so hard, I practically had an aneurysm.
"Christ kid, it's a funny story, but it's not that funny."
"You're right, but somewhere in the world, there's a guy who walks with a limp. And whenever anyone asks him what happened to him while he was in Vietnam, he has to tell them that he was only there for a few hours because one of his own men shot him and got away with it. Maybe I have Asperger's, but that really is one of the funniest things I've heard in years."
Bill steered clear of me for a while after that.
Sometime in 1983, he was in south Chicago at an Italian American club. There was a roomful of men playing hearts, and Bill was in line to get an empty seat. His turn came up, and the brush led him to a table of made guys. One of them was Tony Spilotro. Bill pulled the brush to the side.
"Uh....can I play at a different table?"
"Why, what's wrong with that one?"
"Well, is that who I think it is?"
"Yes."
"I'm too scared to play against him. Should I let him win?"
"You don't have anything to worry about. Just play normally."
Bill looked at the Ant's chair. He was actually sitting on a phone book because he was so short, he couldn't reach the middle of the table without it.
He looked at me with a look of death, "I've never been more scared in my life than I was at that moment. I kept expecting him to stick my head in a vice."
I'm actually at the Atlantis right now, and I ran into Bill as we were both walking into the same men's room at the same time. I recognized him immediately even though I haven't seen him in almost ten years.
"Hey, how you been, Bill?"
"Who the Hell are you?"
"Benny, we met at the Nugget years ago."
"I don't remember that at all."
I tried to jog his memory, but nothing I said could make him remember anything about knowing me.
No one in my family understands why I love Reno so much, but this is a huge part of the reason why. You just don't get to meet people like this anywhere else.
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