It Was Never a Gamble

By C. W. "Jim" James

It Was Never A Gamble is the true-life story of an early 1900s gambler and hustler. It chronicles the life of Jimmy James. 

Born in 1900 and leaving the family farm at the age of 14, he made a living by taking advantage

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bois d'arc Publishing
• Release date: Aug 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781087900322

C. W. "Jim" James

C. W. "Jim" James, Jr. was born and raised in Omaha, Nebraska and now resides in rural western Iowa with his wife, Sally. He graduated from the University of Nebraska at Omaha. He spent 30 years as a criminal investigator in Omaha at the Douglas County Attorney's Office. He inherited his love of the outdoors from his father. He's a former World Champion Duck Caller and has written on the subject for various waterfowl magazines over the years. He has co-authored two additional books, The Joints of Jeffersonville and Wisdom and Wit From the Blind.

Book preview

The Early Years

ONE

The distinctive sound of the car’s blinker brought the old man back. For most of the last four hours he had been elsewhere. So long ago, so many places, so many people…

The blue Ford Torino made a right turn off the old highway on to a seldom-traveled, single lane road. Ahead, the road disappeared into the overgrown honeysuckle and sumac. The old man once again left the present for a time long ago. How many times had he traveled this sorry excuse of a road in a horse-drawn wagon? How many times had he walked down this same road? He could almost hear the drawn-out wail of his old coon dog, off to the left, down in the hollow. Old Jack had been a damn good dog.

Rounding a corner brought him back again, momentarily. The sight of the old, very old, two-story gray clapboard house on the right made him realize he was back home. How many years had it been? How many miles? How many people? How many places? It had been a lifetime. But what an exciting lifetime. The thought brought a slight smile to his tired face.

His only son slowed the car, knowing there was special meaning in that rundown, and now abandoned, old house. It had been a while since he had been here and they both knew it would probably be the old man’s last visit. Cancer has a way of putting one’s life in perspective.

Around the next corner, another quarter mile down the familiar road, lived his brother, Buster. They had been close to one another over the years. They had shared some great and exciting times in the past. The old man wanted to see him one more time. For the next couple days, they would tell stories, reminisce about times long ago. They would both go back. They would both relive the exciting times of the past. The son would listen quietly, not disturbing the memories he knew were special and dear to both.

Conrad William James was born in October of 1900 on a farm in the rolling hills of Union County in the area of Southern Illinois known as Little Egypt. He would not acquire the nickname Jimmy for another nineteen years. The father, William Lafayette James, better known as Billy or Pa James, did his best at trying to farm the poor ground that he called home, five miles north of the small and poverty-stricken town of Cobden. The region had become well known for growing fruits but on the James farm only vegetables would grow. Corn, strawberries, and squash were the main crops. The fruit trees that provided some of the local farmers a better way of life was mostly cultivated on the hills and ridges in the area. Additionally, it took capital to begin a fruit operation and Pa James had neither the ground nor the money necessary to forge a better way of life for his large family. There were four daughters and three sons that needed to be raised off the meager income of the farm. Like most of the poor families in the area some of the James children left home as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Whether they left to get married or for a job elsewhere they would do anything, go anywhere, to find a better life.

Times were tough at the turn of the century and though Pa James was a God-fearing man, his children looked for any way possible to get ahead. Conrad was the middle of three sons, and it didn’t take him long to realize there had to be a better way of life than he was experiencing as he grew up in the hills of Southern Illinois. Even though the James family was one of the original settling families in the area dating back to 1810, things never seemed to improve from one generation to the next. At the turn of the century things were hard in Southern Illinois and things were equally hard in the two-story clapboard sided frame farmhouse of the James’. Baths were taken in the farm pond or on the front porch in a tub with water heated on the wood burning stove. The kids would fight among themselves to go first because experience had taught them that as the baths continued the water continually got colder. The plumbing consisted of the typical outdoor privy with a frosted seat in the winter and an indoor pump that drew rainwater runoff from the tiled cistern. The cracks in the walls reached through to the outside and in the winter, snow would sometimes find its way inside. Towards morning when the wood burning stove had given up the last of its heat the children could be found huddled and cuddled under the frayed and worn quilts in the upstairs bedrooms.

At times food was as scarce as the dollar. There were the homegrown vegetables that were stretched at each meal and there were also the fruits of the land that could be hunted and trapped by the two oldest boys. George, the oldest, was pretty much helpless but did what he could to help. Most who knew him would say George earned his nickname of Brainless. Conrad ran a trap line everyday as he went to and from school and hunted whenever he could to bring some meat to the family’s table. An old cow provided fresh milk but at times she also would be stretched as she strained to provide for the large family.

Conrad was always getting his ears boxed by his mother, Sarah, for stealing fresh milk from the milk jar that was kept in the shade on the open porch of the farmhouse. Once the cream had risen to the top it became impossible to dip into the jar without disturbing the protective coating. When Sarah found the cream disturbed, she would go looking for Conrad for she knew he was probably the guilty one; regardless of whom may be the real culprit.

Conrad hit upon the perfect scheme to get at the milk without catching the wrath of his mother. Whether born out of genius or simply from fear of being beat, the means was going to justify the end. When nobody else was around and armed with a hollowed reed he had fetched from a distant creek, Conrad would sneak up on the porch. Making sure the cream had formed first, he’d slip the reed ever so carefully down the inside edge of the milk jar. He would then fill his empty stomach with fresh milk. When finished he would just as carefully remove the reed.

Towards the hour of the evening meal Sarah would come out to the porch to get a pitcher of milk. She thought the level of the milk in the jar looked a little low. She wondered at first if the old cow was giving less milk. As this continued for quite some time, she began to get suspicious but couldn’t put her finger on it, as the protective coating of cream was always in place and appeared undisturbed. Determined to get to the bottom of the mystery she laid in wait and finally caught Conrad in the act. The usual beating took place and, as usual, Conrad would take off to live with an older sister until things simmered down at home.

It was during one of these times away from home that Conrad overheard his sister talking about wishing she could collect on an insurance policy she had on her farmhouse. Like many of the farmhouses in the area hers was rundown and in disrepair. She wanted better for her family but there was scant money in the area’s economy, and for someone to want to purchase the place outright was beyond the realm of realty. The problem now became of how to accomplish the deed without bringing suspicion to herself or her family. Conrad approached his sister one day, when she was outside and alone.

I’ll help you get that insurance money if you want, Conrad whispered to her. He had learned at the young age of 12 that secrets were sacred and best if kept between as few people as possible.

What! the sister yelped.

Quite! Conrad said. Again, whispering to re-enforce the importance of what he was about to say. I know how to help you out. . . do you want to listen?

Go ahead, the sister said, this time in a much lower voice and with head turning to scan the area for uninvited ears.

Come Sunday all you have to do is get to church on time and stay late. I’ll take care of the rest, Conrad said in a hushed voice. Make sure the whole family is there and whatever you do, don’t take anything out of the house. Leave everything. . . I mean everything. . . don’t take a thing.

The sister looked puzzled, but before she could ask for more details Conrad took charge and said, No questions. The less you know the better. It’ll work and nobody will know a thing. The only thing you need to do is make sure you and your whole family is at that church on time…and stay late.

The following Sunday as it got close to the time for the families of the area, all church going and bible toting Baptists, to head to the Limestone Baptist Church up on the dirt highway leading into Cobden, Conrad and his sister exchanged glances. No words were said. There was no need. Both knew what was about to happen. Conrad excused himself to the sister’s family saying he was heading back up the ridge to his house. He knew he’d better get home so he could get to church with his mom and dad. They expected it of him no matter where he was living. Enough time had passed from the last beating and like the many times before, all would be forgiven as they all filed into the church for an evening of singing and preaching.

Conrad disappeared into the underbrush but stopped way short of his stated goal. He paused, then doubled back. With him was his trusted dog, Jack. Crouched in the weeds behind his sister’s farmhouse he waited until they had all left for the evening services. He knew the timeline would be critical, but he also knew he could get the job done and to church on time. He slipped into the unlocked farmhouse and quickly looked around. It was clear nothing had been removed and everything looked just as it had a few minutes earlier.

Conrad had taken a candle and over the preceding week timed exactly how long it took for it to burn down to a certain spot. When he had found the exact length needed, he cut the candle to the wick and inserted a piece of paper. The paper was going to act as a fuse as it fed the candle’s flame up onto the curtain that covered the makeshift closet under the stairs that led to the second floor. In an instant the candle was in place, lit and burning.

Conrad was out the door running and didn’t stop until he had looped around and picked up the highway as it led to the church from his family’s farm. Jack trailed along behind, his long ears flapping. Halfway to the highway Jack hit the scent of a raccoon and it was all Conrad could do to get the dog back. Time was precious and he knew his family would be coming by soon in the horse drawn wagon. Barely in time, the two made it to the highway and together they jumped up on the wagon. Both were out of breath and panting.

Walking into the church, Conrad knew the fire and brimstone the preacher was going to be belching that evening was going to be nothing compared to what would be taking place in about an hour down in the hollow below the ridge.

Nothing was ever said about the horrible fire that completely destroyed the farmhouse. The insurance company paid off on the policy and never was anyone in the family suspected of any wrongdoing. How could they? The entire James family was at church praying and singing when the fire broke out. Nothing was ever said between Conrad and the sister. She knew, and he knew, and she would remember the favor he did for her.

TWO

By 1913 things hadn’t improved and the James family continued to struggle. Things had gotten worse because the mother, Sarah, finally had enough of the meager life Pa James was able to provide on the farm. She left her family and moved into Murphysboro to take a job of her own. She took most of the home’s meager and sparse furnishings with her and it was going to be a long time before Pa James could afford to replace it. Pa James continued the best he could to scrape out a life for the family from the farm. Conrad continued to hunt and trap as a way of helping. His younger brother, Rudolph, was now old enough to tag along when the trap lines were tended. Rudolph, who wasn’t named until he was four years old, was known to all as simply, Buster. Conrad and Buster got along well with. Much better than with the older brother, George. They were forging a relationship that would bring them together in the future many times.

Conrad had been getting better at reading sign and learning the habits of the furbearers he sought. As a result, he was able to take quite a few hides to the local blacksmith who purchased them for much needed cash. Beaver, muskrats, skunks, and raccoon made up a majority of the hides Conrad labored so hard to acquire. Many of the raccoons were taken at night with the help of what many considered the best coon dog in Union county. Old Jack was indeed an outstanding tracker and more than once the blacksmith had offered to buy the dog. Jack was getting along in years and like many older dogs began to lose his eyesight. Had it not been for his outstanding nose he’d been totally worthless as a tracking dog way before he actually went totally blind. Around the family farm old Jack could still get around as he was familiar with the immediate area but once he was taken away from the familiar surroundings he would hopelessly bump into things.

It was around the time old Jack finally went blind that Conrad ran into the area fur buyer. The blacksmith was away one day when Conrad brought a load of pelts into town and when the fur buyer told Conrad what his furs were really worth, Conrad knew he would get even with the smithy for all the money he had been cheated out of over the years.

The next time Conrad brought some pelts into the blacksmith he struck up a conversation with him as if nothing were wrong. Eventually they got around to the subject of old Jack, just as Conrad knew they eventually would.

I swear Conerd (that’s how they pronounced Conrad’s name) that damn old Jack has been a hell of a dog for you, the smithy said as he counted through the pelts and did the math in his head.

Yes indeed, he’s done all right by me. I got no complaints. He’s got the best damn nose I’ve ever seen on a night dog. Ya know, he can tell the difference between a rabbit and coon just by scent and he’ll not bother running a rabbit at night, Conrad responded, almost in idle conversation.

Ya know Conerd, the offer’s still on the table. I’d like to buy old Jack, said the smithy, as he had so many times in the past.

Oh…now you know I’d never sell old Jack, responded Conrad. But unlike the other times there was a little hesitation and sadness in his voice that he knew the smithy would pick up on.

As the smithy counted out the money for the pelts, he told Conrad to keep the offer in mind. I’d treat old Jack like a member of the family, he said as Conrad walked away.

Conrad stopped, hesitated, turned slowly, and walked back to the blacksmith with his head down. Ya know, times have been really bad out at our place since ma left, he mumbled, head still down and his toe scratching in the dust. Some cash money would surely help out. How much you think the dog’s worth?

The Blacksmith wasn’t about to let this perceived moment of weakness slip by. Well, I’ll tell ya what Conerd. Seeing it’s you and you’ve been such a good customer over the years, I’ll go fifty for old Jack, he stated as if he were doing the kid a favor.

I don’t know, I’d probably regret getting rid of him. I just don’t know, Conrad responded, full of doubt and showing signs of weakness. I’ll tell what. . . you come out to the house tomorrow morning around ten, that’ll give me some time to talk it over with pa, Conrad told the smithy. He knew he had to get the blacksmith out to the house where old Jack wouldn’t be bumping into things. He also knew that tomorrow morning around 10:00 AM his pa would be off working in the fields and not around to interfere with the transaction. He also knew that if the smithy would go for fifty that he’d go for seventy-five. . . and seventy-five dollars for an old blind dog was damn good money. I’ll get even with him for all that money he’s cheated me out of, Conrad thought to himself as he walked out of town heading back home.

The next day at ten the blacksmith showed up ready to finally get the best coon dog in Union County. He figured with old Jack he’d be able to do some night tracking of his own and make even more on the pelts he sold to the area fur buyer. At fifty dollars the dog was going to be a bargain. As the blacksmith pull up on his horse drawn wagon Conrad came around from the backside of the house with Jack dutifully following behind.

Well Conerd, what did ya decide? I gotta get back to the shop so I don’t have a lot of time. The blacksmith had decided he would take an aggressive stance with the kid seeing how he had noticed the weakness in him the day before.

Well. . . I thought all night about it and talked it over with pa. I guess I’ll let old Jack go. . . but I got to get seventy-five for him, Conrad responded as he called the blind dog over to him and scratched him behind his ear.

Seventy-five dollars is a lot of money for a dog. I thought we agreed on fifty, the smithy shot back, not wanting to be bested by a kid.

Seventy-five. . . take it or leave it. You know what you’re getting in old Jack. Seventy-five’s a bargain at that, Conrad bantered back. Come on Jack, let’s go, he continued as he turned, and Jack followed him back towards the front porch of the house.

As Conrad and the dog were climbing the 3 wooden steps to the porch the blacksmith hollered back.

OK. . . OK. . . seventy-five it is. You’re a hell of a salesman, Conerd. Now bring my dog over here so I can get back to town, the smithy said as he dug deep into his pockets and came out with a roll of old wadded up bills.

After the money exchanged hands Conrad led the dog over to the wagon and ordered Jack up onto wagon’s bed. As the good dog he was, Jack obeyed and leapt up onto the wagon. As the blacksmith and Jack bounced down the single lane road that led back to the dirt highway Conrad was already thinking of how he was going to explain his way out of this one when the blacksmith found out the dog was blind. He wasn’t too worried. He figured at the worst he’d have to give the money back and maybe catch a beating from his pa, but the satisfaction he was getting from turning the tails and cheating the blacksmith was going to be well worth any punishment.

It didn’t take long before the blacksmith figured he’d been swindled. As soon as he got home and got old Jack down from the wagon, he knew something was wrong. The dog looked like a steel ball in a pinball machine as he bounced off everything in sight. Son of a bitch, thought the smithy. That god damn dog is as blind as a bat and worse yet, a God damned kid got me to pay seventy-five dollars for him.

Conrad heard the wagon coming down the lane, long before he saw it rounding the honeysuckle hedge. He knew it was the blacksmith coming to have a talk with him and his pa. He was ready.

God damn it, Billy. The boy sold me a blind dog. You ain’t gonna stand for that are you? shouted the blacksmith once he had the kid and his dad cornered in the front yard.

What do you have to say for yourself, Conerd? Billy asked the boy in a stern voice.

Conrad thought he’d may as well take the high road. He knew he wasn’t going to win in the end, but he might as well string it out as far as he could and get in as many licks as possible.

Well pa. . . I don’t know what he did to old Jack after he left here with him. . . but he was just fine when he came for him the other day, Conrad responded in his surest voice, looking his pa straight in the eyes.

Conerd. . . give the man his money back. You know better than that, Billy told the boy in a tone of voice the boy had heard many times before.

Conrad figured he could launch one more salvo before he’d have to give the money back.

It ain’t right pa. . . he’s been cheating me for years on those pelts I’ve been selling him. Now he gets twisted around on the sale of a dog and he’s hollering, ‘cheat’. I’ll give him his money back, but he knows he had it coming, Conrad blurted out. He would make sure everyone in the county knew what the blacksmith had been doing to him. And he’d make sure everyone knew what he had done to the blacksmith. In that he felt some satisfaction.

THREE

As 1914 rolled around so did the eighth grade, and as hard a time as Conrad had just getting to the eighth grade, he knew he would not be going any further. Besides, for anyone to go on to high school from the James family was unheard of at the time. Conrad knew it was time to follow his sisters and leave the farm. There was a whole new world out there and he could see no future as a dry-land farmer trying to scratch a living out of ground not really meant to grow much more than rocks and weeds. So, at 14 Conrad set out for the little town of Tamms, Illinois.

Tamms, in Alexander County, was a railroad town further south near the very southernmost tip of Illinois. Conrad’s sister Nora lived there with her husband and growing family, and when he showed up on her doorstep, she couldn’t very well turn him away. She remembered a favor he had done for her a few years back. Conrad found his first job at the railroad shop where he began as an apprentice machinist making $2.25 a day. He never imagined there was that much money in the world. At the railroad’s shop he saw his first flush toilet and running hot water showers. He wasn’t going to miss those cold baths back on the farm. He could get his laundry done for sixty cents a week, including the greasy work overalls. In later years he would recall it was like going from a Hanoi prison to the Hilton Hotel!

Conrad had always loved to play pool and naturally gravitated to the local poolroom where he soon became a regular. In the back of the poolroom was another room where some of the locals would gather to gamble. Mostly the men would play cards but there was also a roulette wheel and Chuck-A-Luck game that would get some occasional play. As time passed the owner of the poolroom, Steve Brady, took a liking to Conrad and before long had him sweeping out the place. That eventually led to Conrad running the poolroom for Brady who also had other interests in the small town. This, and by hustling some of the local kids on the pool tables allowed him an additional $3 to $4 a day. With that kind of money Conrad soon moved out of his sister’s house and took a room at a downtown hotel for $2.50 a week. At the poolroom he cleaned up an old oil burning cook stove that had been abandoned and began cooking his own meals. An old railroader gave him an electric hot plate that he kept in his room at the hotel. He could buy pork chops for seven cents a pound and a whole roast, big enough to feed four, for forty cents. He got a hold of an old Dutch oven and over time became a fairly good cook. At times he’d cook up pork chops at the poolroom and sell some to the local players for a quarter each. Sometimes, if the player was winning, he’d get a half-buck. He was truly on his own and enjoying every day to its fullest. He started work at 7:00 A.M. and worked till 3:00 P.M. and as soon as the whistle blew, he would get over to the poolroom.

There was little entertainment in the small town of Tamms for anyone, let alone teenage boys. There was the occasional dance held up over the local theater on weekends where more often than not the local boys would end up in fights with the boys who’d ferry the Mississippi River from Cape Girardeau. Like most teenage boys they’d end up fighting over who should be with which girl.

Most of Conrad’s money went for his room rent and groceries and what he did have left seemed to get gobbled up at the poolroom. He could hold his own against most of the other boys but some of the older men would get the best of him and part him from his money. When Brady didn’t have a big game going in the backroom, or someone playing the wheel, he’d let some of the locals back there to play cards among themselves. Conrad would try his luck at card games like pitch and seven-up and would occasionally play a hand of poker or gin rummy. He played pool better than he played cards and what money he didn’t lose to the locals he would eventually lose to Brady. Lose as he did, Conrad really didn’t care. He was out on his own, living in a clean room, eating well, working, and getting paid, and hanging around the poolroom every night.

This was Conrad’s way of life for a couple of years. Then one day he resumed his education and got his first lesson in the fine art of hustling.

One night, Brady shut the door to the rear gambling room and told Conrad to make sure nobody bothered him.

Fish, I’ll be in the backroom with McCarthy most of the night. Make sure nobody disturbs us, Brady hollered to Conrad. Brady had pinned the nickname Fish on Conrad one day after watching him play the card game Go Fish" with one of the other local boys. Laughing loudly, he said he’d never before seen the kid-game played for money.

Brady had a big game planned that night with one of the McCarthy twins. The McCarthy twins hit town every now and then and when they did, they always looked up Brady and got a game going. Tom McCarthy was a conductor for the railroad, but his brother Dennis was a gambler by trade.

That night Brady and Dennis McCarthy were joined by a couple of the local men who fancied themselves as rather good card players. It didn’t take long before the two locals were out of the game and Brady and McCarthy were playing single-handed draw poker. As the game wore on into the night and the poolroom emptied, Conrad went over to a peephole he had bored between the two rooms. This was the only way he could see what was going on in the backroom when Brady was holed up in there gambling. This night McCarthy had backed himself right up to the wall in front of the peephole, which gave Conrad a perfect view of the game.

Every time McCarthy got the deal Conrad would watch him shuffle and deal the cards with such finesse. McCarthy handled those cards with such grace; it was like he was caressing the cards every time he handled them. Conrad watched closely for he hoped that someday he could do the same. Then he saw it. . . a flash of light.

What the hell..., thought Conrad as he pulled back from the peephole. He could only squint through the hole for so long before his eye tired. Was he seeing things? He re-adjusted and changed eyes. There it was again. . . and again. . . and again. He was now starring at McCarthy’s left hand, the one holding the deck. He was dealing with his right hand and every time McCarthy slid a card from the deck, he’d see the flash. He noted that McCarthy would slide the cards off the top of the deck, not straightforward as he and so many others did, but off to the side, from left to right. Flash! Flash! Flash! Every time a card came off the deck.

I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch, Conrad muttered to himself. He starred through the hole until his eye would tire. Then he’d switch eyes and stare some more. He couldn’t believe his eyes but after a while he realized what he was seeing. McCarthy had a small mirror stuck to the inside of his middle finger on his left hand. It was no wonder McCarthy was getting the best of old Brady that night for he knew every card that was being dealt. He began to think about how he could change his luck around the poolroom if he could learn that trick.

Conrad went through every looking glass he could lay his hands on trying to break off a piece small enough to fit on his finger. He even tried an old trick he saw his pa do once. He tried cutting the mirrors under ice cold water with shears. He’d watched his pa cut window glass this way, thinking he did it to keep glass from flying into his eyes. He was surprised that it allowed him to cut the mirrors into small pieces with some regularity. He eventually got himself a few small pieces and after experimenting with various types of glue, found one that would stick the glass to his finger. With this new-found weapon he was able to refine his card playing and eventually began beating some of the older players around the poolroom.

It was at the usual Saturday night dance that all hell broke loose. The older boys from The Cape showed up intent to steal the local boys’ girls. Everyone there knew what was going to happen. It would take a while before the actual fighting started. There needed to be the usual strutting and posturing that went with the young men’s mating ritual, but like always the older boys would win out and take off with the girls.

Figuring he’d get in the first lick, Conrad sneaked down the long flight of wooden steps that led to the front door and street. Once outside he looked around to make sure nobody was looking. He then took out his knife and cut the tugs on all the teams belonging to the boys from The Cape. They’d be surprised when they jumped on their wagons and tried to whip the horses for a fast get-a-way. The thought brought a smile to Conrad’s face.

Like clockwork the outsiders moved in on the local girls and also like clockwork someone threw the first punch. Like most fights, this one didn’t last long. Conrad got in a few good licks before one of the older boys caught him square on the jaw and he went head over heels down the steps, through the door and out onto the street. Dazed after the trip down the stairs, he laid in the street trying to gather himself. His mouth was bleeding profusely, and he felt a tooth floating around in his mouth. Either the punch or the tumble down the stairwell had broken off one of his molars, right at the gum line. As he dragged himself up and headed down the street the pain began to increase. The pain didn’t let up all night and the next morning he hitched a ride on the train to Cairo where they had a dentist.

Conrad settled into the chair and the dentist approached him with the usual small dental mirrored tool. It took a couple of seconds but all of a sudden Conrad jumped. Startled, the dentist pulled the tool from Conrad’s mouth and asked if he’d hurt him.

No. . . no. . . I just thought of something. By the way. . . where did you get that little mirror, Doc? Conrad asked the dentist. He couldn’t believe it. There was the perfect sized mirror right there in the dentist’s hand. If he could get a hold of some of those, he’d have his light. It was small, round and it would save him from having to mess around breaking up looking glasses.

The dentist told Conrad there was a dental supply house just down the street and as soon as the dentist had finished, Conrad paid them a visit and bought a half dozen of the mirrored tools.

Back in Tamms, Conrad wasted no time. He boiled some water on a hot-plate and melted the glue holding the mirrors to the handles. When he was finished, he had his lights and the rest of the day he practiced dealing cards. He couldn’t wait until the next time he got into a card game over at Brady’s.

Conrad continued to work at the roundhouse and play pool and cards through the night. He was getting much better at both and began to actually make money at his second job. One afternoon he was all alone, and sweeping out the poolroom, when in walked a couple of stately looking gentlemen. They were dressed in expensive hunting clothes. One was carrying a briefcase, and Conrad recognized them from the night before. They had been in the back room playing the wheel and had talked about hunting ducks and geese out on the flats near Horseshoe Lake.

Say son. . . do you have a key to that back room, one of them asked Conrad.

Yes sir, Conrad answered with some hesitation.

I’ll tell ya what. . . we were here last night playing on that wheel back there and we’re not sure we were getting a fair break. Here’s five bucks. . . would you let us in there for a few minutes just so we can check out that wheel? the one with the briefcase asked as he pushed a fin into Conrad’s hand.

Conrad figured this was an easy five bucks, so he got out his key and unlocked the back room. Once inside the men closed the door and Conrad ran to his peephole. The men walked over to the roulette wheel and one of them opened the briefcase. Conrad watched intently. He saw the man pull out what looked like a woman’s hatpin, a small spring, some tape and a small hand drill. There was a flurry of activity around the wheel and inside of ten minutes they were headed for the door.

Thanks, son. I guess we were wrong. . . everything looks good. We’ll probably be in later tonight. . . see ya, the one with the briefcase said as both walked towards the front door.

Wait a minute, Conrad blurted out to stop them. He didn’t know what they had done to that wheel, but he figured whatever they had done wasn’t right. This might be a chance to make some serious money. I don’t think I have enough money, he said as he pulled the fin out of his pocket.

What? questioned the one with the briefcase.

I need more money, Conrad shot back, standing firm.

Give the kid a sawbuck, the briefcase-toting hunter said to his partner.

No. . . you don’t understand. I want some of the money, Conrad said emphasizing the word money.

What are you talking about, kid? the same hunter asked. This time with some anger and frustration in his voice.

I want part of the money. . . or do you want me to go in there and take that stuff off that wheel? Conrad said.

The two hunters looked at one another briefly, moved off and talked quietly between themselves. When finished they closed in around Conrad. As usual the one with the briefcase took the lead.

Here’s the deal, kid. If everything goes okay tonight. . . if nobody messes with that wheel. . . and if we come away with some money. . . we’ll give you twenty-five percent, the hunter said. We’re staying out on the flats in a big white tent. You get out there around noon and we’ll split the money then, he concluded.

Don’t worry. . . nobody will mess with that wheel. . . and I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, Conrad replied feeling like he’d just aged ten years. Here he was cutting a deal with a couple of hustlers. He might be getting some real money out of this deal, he thought as the two hustlers left and climbed into their new Moon automobile that was parked out front.

Someday I’ll have me a car like that, Conrad said out loud as he re-locked the back room and resumed sweeping out the poolroom.

That night the two hunters arrived at the poolroom and Brady immediately invited them into the back room. Conrad had to keep busy with the poolroom but when things would die down, he’d get to his peephole to check on the game going on in the back room. He couldn’t tell if they were winning or losing but one of them did have quite a few chips piled in front of him. The action continued for a couple of hours then the door to the back room opened and the two hunters walked out, through the poolroom and out the front door without stopping or acknowledging Conrad’s presence. The only clue Conrad had to what had happened was Brady’s comment as they walked out the door.

Whew. . . that one guy got as hot as a firecracker on the wheel tonight. The son-of-a-bitch won over a hundred dollars, Brady said as he turned to go back into the gambling room to check on the other games that were going on.

Conrad did some quick math in his head and figured he had over twenty-five dollars coming to him. He’d hustle out to the flats as soon as he got off work tomorrow and collect his share of the winnings.

As soon as the whistle blew at 3:00 P.M. Conrad jumped into the heap of an automobile he and another machinist had assembled out of a bunch of spare parts. The car was basically a chassis with a couple moth eaten and rotting seats bolted to it. They had picked up the chassis for next to nothing after the car had caught fire and totally destroyed the body. They had re-built the motor over a year’s time, scrounging parts from wherever they could find them.

Conrad drove straight to the area describe the previous afternoon but there were no tents to be found. He drove around a few of the backroads hoping he would find the hustlers and get what was rightfully his, but as each minute went by his hopes sunk deeper. After about an hour of searching he knew he had been hustled just as they had hustled Brady. Dejected but with a little more education under his belt he headed back to Tamms and the poolroom.

During the day, and between the usual naps he’d take in the firebox, Conrad and his co-workers would occasionally get involved in a crap game, card game or some other game of chance. There was a boomer machinist that would come through town every now and then and every time he’d get the best of them rolling dice. One day, after the usual whipping by the boomer, Conrad found him asleep in a boxcar. For some reason he felt a need to look at the dice the boomer had used to take his money. He slipped up into the boxcar and tiptoed over to the boomer. Ever so quietly and deftly Conrad eased his hand into the pocket of the boomer’s overcoat. He felt two pair of dice and when he pulled them out of the pocket with them came a small paperback book. With dice and book in hand Conrad retraced his steps. Jumping down and hitting the ground, he took off running. Conrad holed up in a secluded spot of the roundhouse and looked at the book. It was a catalog from Hutton’s of Chicago. It was full of gaffed gambling devices. It had loaded dice, matching square dice and marked cards. In addition, the book detailed how to find loaded dice and marked cards. It showed how to locate weight in dice by dropping them in a glass of water. What they are loaded for will always come up as the weight pulls the bottom of the dice down first.

In April of 1918 Conrad was seventeen years old and he had been working at the rail yard for three years. In those three years he’d somewhat refined his card playing skills and was getting fairly good at playing the light. With the discovery of the Hutton catalog, and armed with the dice and cards he had ordered, Conrad was thinking of heading out on the road to do a little hustling of his own. He knew he could make enough money playing cards and rolling dice to survive, and besides, he was enjoying playing the games more than working for a living. His decision was made easier when, because of the Great War, the railroad began laying people off. In addition, there were nationwide strikes occurring in railroad shops and a call went out for strike breakers. Conrad willingly gave up his job in Tamms and took to the road.

As a strike breaker his job was simple; go where he was told and once inside the shop, play cards and shoot dice all day. For six months Conrad traveled around the country taking advantage of the other strike breakers at the games of chance they played. On top of the pay he was receiving for putting in his time, it amounted to a fairly good living for an eighteen-year-old kid out on his own in the early part of the twentieth century.

When the railroads began to settle the strikes, Conrad knew it was time to head to Louisville, Kentucky where he looked forward to maybe finding another job. More importantly, he was looking forward to refining his hustling skills in the big city atmosphere of Louisville. In 1920 he took off to start a new chapter in his life.

FOUR

The road to Louisville (pronounced by the locals as Louaville) began with a trip back to the home place near Cobden. Conrad wanted to see his pa and brother Buster before he headed east. His older brother George had just returned from the Great War in Europe and he wanted to see him also.

Conrad had not planned to stay but a day or two, but George told him about the road crews that were working on Highway 51 running south out of Carbondale. It was being paved with concrete and there was work to be had on the grading crews if one was of the mind and body for that kind of manual labor. The work was indeed hard. Most of the grading was being done with mules and hand driven scrapers. Picks, shovels, and strong backs made up the rest of the labor force. Conrad wasn’t really looking for that kind of backbreaking work, but he was interested in maybe trying some of his newly acquired and polished gambling skills. He knew that come the end of a long day those men were going to want to kick back and have some fun and gamble among themselves.

Conrad went down to the crew chief and was hired on as a laborer. He knew immediately he wasn’t going to be there long, but he was eager to test his skills. That first night he got into a poker game with some of the other workers and was amazed at how easy and natural he was able to hustle the men. He didn’t win a lot of money, but he was making a few dollars and more importantly to him, he was seeing his skills work on someone other than the ignorant locals at Brady’s poolroom or the other knot-headed strike breakers. He played cards and shot dice for a month with increasing success before he decided it was time to head to Louisville.

Conrad’s sister, Kate, had married Captain Kimmel. Upon arriving in Louisville, and needing a place to stay, Conrad looked them up. Captain Kimmel wasn’t really a Captain of anything. . . it was just a nickname that he’d picked up somewhere. He was well known and respected in the area and suggested that Conrad go see the Fire Chief about maybe getting on with the Fire Department. Louisville was no different than most cities of the time. Politics and political connections controlled many of the jobs within the city and county. Captain Kimmel and his wife were active in the Republican Party and at the current time the Republicans controlled City Hall. Captain Kimmel made a phone call and by the time Conrad got to the station the way had been paved for him to be hired.

Conrad didn’t know a thing about fighting fires, but he figured he’d learn as time passed. What he found out was that the men at the fire station spent a lot of time sitting around doing nothing. He also learned one of their favorite pastimes was gambling. They played cards, shot dice, rolled for high dice, cut cards and even pitched quarters. If they couldn’t think of a game to play, they’d make one up. Conrad knew right away that he was going to enjoy this job.

The captain at the station took a liking to Conrad and showed him some of the tricks to fighting fires without getting hurt, or worse, killed.

Ya gotta remember kid, dead heroes end up buried heroes and buried heroes don’t get paid on Fridays, the captain told Conrad one day as they were going to a house fire near downtown Louisville.

Upon their arrival the house was smoking badly but there weren’t any visible flames. It was the typical wooden framed and sided house of the times. Somewhat older and in some disrepair. The sight of the smoldering house brought to Conrad’s mind his sister’s house back in the hills of Southern Illinois and he wondered if they should just let it burn. There was a good chance someone was in need of money and might benefit and be better off if it burnt to the ground.

James! Get in there and see where the smoke’s coming from, the captain hollered. He was taking charge of the situation. He had on his captain’s face and was playing the game for the benefit of the small crowd that had gathered to watch the excitement.

Conrad looked around, hesitated for a minute then hustled up the steps of the porch and into the house. The smoke wasn’t all that bad and as he stood looking around the interior of the house the other more experienced firefighters rushed past him and started for the kitchen where the smoke was the thickest.

Some dumb son-of-bitch probably went off to work and left something on the stove, Conrad thought. Figuring the other firefighters had everything under control he started looking around the house. He went down the cellar steps and groped for the light cord. He found it on about the third try and when the single bulb came to life, he saw something that immediately got his attention. Over in one corner, neatly stacked were two cases of quart bottles of whiskey. The Eighteenth Amendment had passed in 1919 and the citizenry had until January 1920 to supposedly dispose of any liquor in their possession. It appeared the owner of this house was stocking up for the future. Conrad wasted no time inspecting the contents of the cases. He quickly figured he couldn’t very well just walk out the front door, in plain sight of all, carrying a case of illegal whiskey. Settling on a plan he snatched four of the quart bottles and put them under his firemen’s coat, pinning them against his side with his left arm. Up the steps he went and out the front door. He hadn’t gotten halfway down the front walk when the captain hollered at him.

God damn it James. . . I told you to get in there. Where the hell do you think you’re going? the captain barked as he came over to meet Conrad on the walkway leading to the street.

Conrad figured he might as well fess up, so he opened the left side of his coat, just far enough for the captain to see the contraband load he was carrying.

Good job, James. . . carry on! was all the captain said as he motioned for Conrad to head for the truck.

Conrad made three trips to the cellar before the fire was out and the crew was reassembling the equipment for the return trip to the station house. Once back at the fire station the captain confiscated six of the quart bottles for himself and the rest became the property of the station. Conrad was the toast of the firehouse. That night, as the men were sampling the fruits of his efforts, he separated a few of the men from some of their money. Again, Conrad was finding it an easy task. He never lost sight of the need to be careful and not be detected. All the while, he was trying to learn new ways to hustle and separate people from their money.

FIVE

His days off, Conrad spent prowling the streets of Louisville looking and learning where all the poolrooms were located. He’d spend time in every one he found. He’d play pool for loose change and, more importantly, listening to the banter of the locals learning where a guy might find a card or dice game. Sometimes he didn’t have to look far as many of the poolrooms would have a gambling room in the rear. Other times he’d hear of a place or two and remember them for future scouting trips. This was how Conrad spent his first few months in Louisville and he knew things would only get better as he became more familiar with the town and met new friends that shared the same common interests.

One afternoon Conrad was walking by the captain’s office when the captain hollered at him to enter.

James! Come on in here will ya? the captain barked.

It was a hot and steamy evening. One of many that would fill the summer months in Louisville. As Conrad walked into the office, he noticed the captain had a deck of cards in his hands, idly shuffling them by pulling the deck apart and then throwing the two halves back together in his left hand.

What do ya want, Cap? Conrad responded, eyeing the deck of cards, and in particular, noticing how the captain handled the cards. He’d seen this kind of practiced shuffle before.

Pull up a chair, James, and let’s cut cards for a quarter, the captain said. I’ve seen you playing cards with the men and I can tell you like a good game of chance every now and again.

Sure Cap…but cutting’ cards for a quarter ain’t much of a game or even a gamble, Conrad responded as he pulled up an old chair that had seen its better days.

Well, son. . . I’ll tell ya what then. How ‘bout I bet you a quarter I can cut an Ace, Duce or Jack in three cuts, the captain said with the smile of a carnival huckster spreading across his face.

Conrad hadn’t heard of this bet before but at first, thought it sounded like an even bet at worst. He had never excelled in math back in the one room schoolhouse near Cobden but twelve cards out of the fifty-two in a deck didn’t sound all that bad for an even bet.

Hell Cap…let’s make it a half buck, Conrad said as he was trying to figure out if he was really getting the best of the old fireman.

As the game wore on into the evening Conrad found himself losing a whole lot more than he was winning. Eventually Conrad had lost all of the eight dollars he had on him and called it quits.

Ya got the best of me tonight, Cap. Ya tapped me out. Wait till payday, though, and I’ll give ya another try, Conrad said as he pushed the chair back and headed for the door of the captain’s office. I gotta figure those cards will go my way eventually.

After Conrad had left the office the old captain chuckled softly to himself. The kid was just as stupid as all the others. He had yet to have someone figure out the correct odds of the game. At least not while they were playing, and if they did, he’d just not see them again. He’d wait until payday then more than likely he’d be seeing James again. He figured he get two or three more good whacks at him before he’d wise up to what was happening.

Conrad had been spending his time outside the fire station learning more about gambling and meeting people who could tell him things he’d not yet learned. One of those was Elmer McIntire. Elmer was a gambler he ran into at one of the numerous haunts that he found making his rounds of the Louisville poolhalls. Elmer was quite a bit older than Conrad but took a liking to him and spent many hours playing cards with him. Conrad would ask him questions about different card games and how to determine odds and bet various combinations and hands. Elmer explained the finer points of craps to Conrad and explained the various odds of making certain points. Conrad would often sit and watch Elmer play in some of the bigger card games that, at times, would spring up. he’d spend hours sitting, watching and learning. He couldn’t get enough of it.

At times Elmer would ask Conrad to run out and grab him a bite to eat or maybe run an errand while playing in the games. As the friendship between the two grew Elmer began calling Conrad by the nickname, Jamesey. Soon that became Jimbo and eventually it evolved into Jimmy. After that, Conrad would only hear his real name spoken by those who had known him before those times. He became known as Jimmy James and would be called that, and known by the name, for the rest of his life.

Another gambler he got to know was Bob Acie. Like Elmer McIntire, Acie was a damn good card player and Jimmy learned a lot from him. Both Acie and McIntire were square players and relied on their card playing skills to win on a regular basis. Jimmy avoided trying to cheat anytime McIntire or Acie got near any game in which he was playing. They both were big-time players that played in big-time games and Jimmy was far from that level; both in ability and monetarily. For the time being Jimmy concentrated on the smaller games with smaller players. He’d use his light and catalog purchased marked cards if he could. More important than winning was the experience he was gaining in dealing with people and learning how they reacted and responded to the various situations.

One day Jimmy asked Bob Acie about the card cutting game that the fire captain had steered him into with such success. Jimmy had been wondering about the game for quite some time and had been beaten all three times he had sat down with the captain to cut the cards for those Aces, Duces and Jacks.

Hell, Jimmy. . . that son-of-bitch has been getting the best of you with that game. You don’t stand a chance betting against those odds, Acie stated.

That bad. . . huh? Jimmy responded. Knowing now that the hustling old fire captain had gotten the best of him.

It only sounds like twelve cards out of fifty-two…which ain’t that bad. . . but he’s getting three cuts out of a full deck to find only one of those twelve cards, Acie explained to Jimmy. Acie then went on to say, Call the bastard on it next time. See if he’ll let you do the cutting. You can bet your sweet ass he’ll buck right up and say, ‘hell no’. You’d better stay away from that game if you want to keep your city paycheck.

Jimmy spent some time thinking about the fire captain and how the old guy had bested him cutting cards. He really didn’t want to call him on the odds that the game presented. Rather, he wanted to find a way to get even with him. Better yet, he wanted to beat the old bastard at his own game.

In addition to McIntire and Acie, Jimmy met other gamblers on the streets of Louisville. Some of these gamblers were hustlers. Guys trying to con others out of their money. He’d sit in on conversations and learned about some of the many ways a guy could gain someone’s confidence and then use that confidence to separate them from