Teach
03-01-2015, 07:43 PM
Bet. Wager. Parlay. Exacta. Trifecta… I use these and other pari-mutuel gambling terms almost on a daily basis, at least as far back as I can remember; probably my sophomore year in high school. Yet -- as an adult -- there was one place I'd never utter any of these words --- in school. Yes, I was a teacher, and as a teacher I was particularly careful. I mean so careful that never uttered a word that would give any clue or indication to my colleagues, or to my students, that I loved to gamble.
Yes, I lived two lives. Two distinct lives. So opposite from one another that their existence would be like “night and day”.
For example, I’ll never forget the Monday morning, years ago, that a colleague of mine, a woman who taught English in the room next door came in telling me that she and her husband had been down to the Claridge in Atlantic City and that she had nailed a jackpot playing one of the slots.
Well, I remember taking great pains to give this English teacher the impression that I knew nothing about casino gambling. And the moon is made of green cheese. Yes, I was two-faced. But it was a matter of survival. I didn’t want anyone connected with the school system to know I loved to gamble. That I frequently drove the one hundred and seventy miles round-trip to either Foxwoods or Mohegan Sun, or both. That as a teacher on Long Island I once visited Belmont Park, Freehold Raceway and Brandywine Raceway, all in the same day. That I’ve wagered on the speed and endurance of thoroughbred and standardbred horses all my life.
For well over thirty-five years I continued to maintain this dual existence. And, as the saying goes: “Never the twain shall meet.” And they didn’t, that is until one day, quite unexpectedly…
Oh, about fifteen years ago, I made one of my annual pilgrimages to the "Gambling Mecca of The Universe,” Las Vegas. I always looked forward to those trips. It was a chance to unwind. To get away from the classroom.
I recall that it was during the April school vacation that my buddy "Bucko" and I caught a flight out of Boston's Logan Airport for "Sin City." We were staying downtown at "The Fitz."
Well, we had a great three days. We drank. We gambled. We took in the "eye candy." We drank some more. We gambled some more...and we looked at more "eye candy".
Each day, we'd visit our favorite haunts: Binion's, Four Queens, The Fremont, Fitzgerald's, and The El Cortez. We would spend about an equal amount of time in each of those casinos; we would also make forays to places like The Golden Nugget, The California, Golden Gate and Vegas Club.
When all was said and done we had a great time. Yet, all good things must come to an end. It was back to reality that following Monday morning as I resumed my role as a mild-mannered history teacher at a suburban-Boston high school. Yes, it was tough getting back. No more Coronas with a lime. No more BJ, VP, craps, roulette, pai gow poker, "the ponies" and sports bets. It was now: lesson plans, progress reports, term papers and oral presentations.
Yet, that Monday morning I was in for the surprise of my life. No, I wasn't terminated, nor was I accused of moral turpitude. Yet, the incident that would take place that morning was, at least in my own mind, close to those disastrous circumstances.
That first morning back, a student named Steve came up to me and said, "I saw you over the vacation." At first I figured he might have seen me in one of the local malls with my wife before I left on my Vegas trip. Then, I thought maybe he saw my in the waiting room of The Logan Express (the bus into the airport), or possibly in the airport itself. No such luck.
Well, Steve comes right out with it. "Mr. L., I saw you in Vegas." My jaw must have dropped about five inches. Talk about letting all the air out of my balloon. "Damn it," I thought to myself, "I was spotted. My cover's blown." Steve went on to say that he had seen me in the El Cortez (Why couldn't he have spotted me at Bellagio's conservatory admiring the flowers).
At first, I thought of using the tack of saying that I was in Vegas, but hey, it's not illegal. I haven't committed a crime. But, I quickly thought the better of it. I said to myself, "Why now? I've spent all these years presenting myself as a squeaky-clean, upright, bookish high school history teacher.” This Vegas revelation is going to fly in the face of everything I've tried to portray myself as over these past thirty years.
So, I quickly changed gears. I said, "That wasn't me you saw in Vegas, Steve. That was my twin-brother, Bruce; he just loves to gamble." Well, that was a fib. I do have a brother (his name isn’t Bruce) who's nearly nine years younger than I am. Yes, we do resemble each other; yet, we would never -- in a million years -- be mistaken for identical twins.
Well, Steve apparently bought the story. At least I never heard from him about being sighted in Vegas after that Monday morning. After that first week had passed, I let out a huge sigh of relief.
As I think back to that morning in late-April, my gambling cover was nearly blown; yet, somehow, I managed to pull an inside straight.
Yes, I lived two lives. Two distinct lives. So opposite from one another that their existence would be like “night and day”.
For example, I’ll never forget the Monday morning, years ago, that a colleague of mine, a woman who taught English in the room next door came in telling me that she and her husband had been down to the Claridge in Atlantic City and that she had nailed a jackpot playing one of the slots.
Well, I remember taking great pains to give this English teacher the impression that I knew nothing about casino gambling. And the moon is made of green cheese. Yes, I was two-faced. But it was a matter of survival. I didn’t want anyone connected with the school system to know I loved to gamble. That I frequently drove the one hundred and seventy miles round-trip to either Foxwoods or Mohegan Sun, or both. That as a teacher on Long Island I once visited Belmont Park, Freehold Raceway and Brandywine Raceway, all in the same day. That I’ve wagered on the speed and endurance of thoroughbred and standardbred horses all my life.
For well over thirty-five years I continued to maintain this dual existence. And, as the saying goes: “Never the twain shall meet.” And they didn’t, that is until one day, quite unexpectedly…
Oh, about fifteen years ago, I made one of my annual pilgrimages to the "Gambling Mecca of The Universe,” Las Vegas. I always looked forward to those trips. It was a chance to unwind. To get away from the classroom.
I recall that it was during the April school vacation that my buddy "Bucko" and I caught a flight out of Boston's Logan Airport for "Sin City." We were staying downtown at "The Fitz."
Well, we had a great three days. We drank. We gambled. We took in the "eye candy." We drank some more. We gambled some more...and we looked at more "eye candy".
Each day, we'd visit our favorite haunts: Binion's, Four Queens, The Fremont, Fitzgerald's, and The El Cortez. We would spend about an equal amount of time in each of those casinos; we would also make forays to places like The Golden Nugget, The California, Golden Gate and Vegas Club.
When all was said and done we had a great time. Yet, all good things must come to an end. It was back to reality that following Monday morning as I resumed my role as a mild-mannered history teacher at a suburban-Boston high school. Yes, it was tough getting back. No more Coronas with a lime. No more BJ, VP, craps, roulette, pai gow poker, "the ponies" and sports bets. It was now: lesson plans, progress reports, term papers and oral presentations.
Yet, that Monday morning I was in for the surprise of my life. No, I wasn't terminated, nor was I accused of moral turpitude. Yet, the incident that would take place that morning was, at least in my own mind, close to those disastrous circumstances.
That first morning back, a student named Steve came up to me and said, "I saw you over the vacation." At first I figured he might have seen me in one of the local malls with my wife before I left on my Vegas trip. Then, I thought maybe he saw my in the waiting room of The Logan Express (the bus into the airport), or possibly in the airport itself. No such luck.
Well, Steve comes right out with it. "Mr. L., I saw you in Vegas." My jaw must have dropped about five inches. Talk about letting all the air out of my balloon. "Damn it," I thought to myself, "I was spotted. My cover's blown." Steve went on to say that he had seen me in the El Cortez (Why couldn't he have spotted me at Bellagio's conservatory admiring the flowers).
At first, I thought of using the tack of saying that I was in Vegas, but hey, it's not illegal. I haven't committed a crime. But, I quickly thought the better of it. I said to myself, "Why now? I've spent all these years presenting myself as a squeaky-clean, upright, bookish high school history teacher.” This Vegas revelation is going to fly in the face of everything I've tried to portray myself as over these past thirty years.
So, I quickly changed gears. I said, "That wasn't me you saw in Vegas, Steve. That was my twin-brother, Bruce; he just loves to gamble." Well, that was a fib. I do have a brother (his name isn’t Bruce) who's nearly nine years younger than I am. Yes, we do resemble each other; yet, we would never -- in a million years -- be mistaken for identical twins.
Well, Steve apparently bought the story. At least I never heard from him about being sighted in Vegas after that Monday morning. After that first week had passed, I let out a huge sigh of relief.
As I think back to that morning in late-April, my gambling cover was nearly blown; yet, somehow, I managed to pull an inside straight.