A Texas Gambler Plays His Last Hand
Joe Kagle

Return to Writings

Sam Norris is a Texas gambler. He is the father of my son-in-law and shares the duties of grandfather with me. Mostly, he is a special human being who is a dying breed in America: the fiercely independent, competitive-to-a-fault, story-telling, self-made and sustaining entrepreneur and marvelous hustler. I have come to know him as a man’s man (although he is loved by women also). He was born in Mexia, Texas in 1919, left his home, walked across a field to the train tracks with thirty-five cents in his pocket, hopped into an open freight car, headed West and never looked back. He is a proud man who has made and lost millions, selling rural land to city dwellers and playing poker all over the country (including Waco). His doctor told him the other day that he is filled with cancer that is spreading. In truth, he is playing his last hand.

He came to Waco over 60 years ago, to buy 300 to 400 acre plots, selling them in 5 to 10 acres sites to city people who wanted the quiet, rural life (at least on weekends), and to open a bar called the Playboy Lounge, frequently by lawyers, doctors, Baylor students and faculty, business leaders and ordinary citizens looking for a “good time”. It was there that he met his future wife Jewel. During the day Sam would play poker and dominoes in the Businessmen’s Club at 5th and Austin Avenue (when he was not going out to find new land to sell) and ran the bar at night. In those days, there were three pool/dominoe halls in downtown Waco: one in the alley between 4th and 5th Streets (behind the old R.C. Dennis Building which was destroyed in the famous tornado), another in the basement at Sixth and Austin, and of course the Businessmen’s Club on the second floor. A gambler could made a living traveling those three spots (as long as he had an outside source of “sure funds” to play with). Sam had many outside sources. He had learned his craft with the best in Texas.

I once asked him, “Sam. Who were some of the guys that you played with?”

He told me: “The list is too long and time is too short but here are the major ones: Amarillo Slim, Johnny Moss, Blondie Forbes, Jack Strauss, Sailor (whose real name was Brian Roberts), Tom Moore, Slim Lambert and Doyle Bronson. Doyle was the best at no limited poker and Sailor was the best at limited, that is, right behind me, of course. We played all over Texas, like at Redmond’s in Houston. They had the biggest games. You had to be good just to sit in. We played only two games: Texas Hold-‘Em (two cards down and five up) and Omaha (which is high-low, three cards down and six up). I was best at Texas hold-‘em back then; but now, at the poker table in Waco, I like Omaha. It gives me more flexibility.”

Sam then went on to tell me about the best hustler of all the ones that he had met in his travels. Titanic Thompson was his name. He would bet you on anything. One time he bet a crowd of people that they could not throw a walnut over the courthouse. The wind was blowing against them. They all failed. Titanic would go double or nothing if he could not throw one over the courthouse. He reached into the bag and grabbed a walnut filled with lead and tossed it over. He was famous for moving road signs and then betting people that he knew that “it would take us more miles to get to Cisco (or whatever town Titanic approached) than what the highway department marked on that sign”. He won all the time. You would call him “a con artist” today. Well, he was that and a “hustler”. I guess that I was a little of both in my time too but I was always honest; in card games, when I bought and sold land, selling insurance and bootlegging in the 30’s.”

And what kind of poker player was Sam? In his own words: “I played my cards “close to the vest”. If I did not have the cards, normally I did not play the hand. Of course, with that kind of reputation, you needed to break the pattern and buy a hand. You know, he holds a high pair but I raised him $200 (back when $200 was a huge bet) and took the pot (when he threw in his cards, knowing that if I bet that much I had him beat). I was a four-P player: patience, position, percentage and people. You never play cards in poker. If you’re good, you know and play people. And I was good!”

The other day when I left him in the hospital, I thought to myself: “Sam, this may be your last hand. You have people who care and love you so that is in your favor, your patience is legendary but time in this final hand is running out, your position at the table is not good (and you cannot fold) and the percentages are all against you.” Then I had to laugh as I remembered Sam’s last words to me, “I just finished reading an article about Martha Stewart who is working on a new cure for cancer. When she gets out of prison, she will find that cure. I will be able to put this cancer in remission and live to see my grandchildren graduate from high school. You can never tell until the last card is played.” No, Sam, I would not bet against you…and I never thought of Martha Stewart as “lady luck” but, if anyone can find the winning card with Martha dealing, you might make me a believer.

Return to Writings