Certain card games are legal to play for money in Cottonpaugh. The card houses are run by professional gamblers who are town folk well known to all. Some of the players are local legends who have been at the tables for years. Others like me have tried our luck at the table at times, only to be schooled on the high rigor of the skills needed. And there are some who set upon the goal of becoming local legends themselves. And this brings us to a player I know who I will call ‘Buck.’ Buck came by the shop the other day. More on that soon.

Buck has some shop skills and would work for us at times when we had a lot of orders and needed more help with drilling, burring, polishing and the like. He could have learned to do more but his heart was not in it. No, for him it was all the card games and the next Saturday night at the table. He would sit next to the legends. He would talk much of the legends, of which ones he planned his strategy after, tried to dress like, and be like. But with all this, I am sorry to tell you that Buck was not a very good card player.

Not that anyone is when they start. But not only was Buck unusually bad, it was that he did not get any better. Not at all. Never. He was even so bad that one of the professionals who ran the game went to see some of his relatives. He explained that Buck had no business sitting in any games. That he kept making the same mistakes over and over. And he would not listen to some of the kinder regulars who would try to give him advice. So Buck’s family and friends would plead, beg him to stop, but no. His life now was at the table.

It was not long after I heard that the professional had talked with his family that Buck came by the shop.

He walked in just ear to ear, very pleased with himself shifting from foot to foot, bursting to tell why. I greeted him something like ‘good to see you Buck. Slow here just now but expecting large orders in coming months.’ ‘Oh I’m not looking for work.’ He replied. ‘I played Saturday night.’ More smiles and ‘I really played well. Real well!’ And a period of silence, and then ‘really well, did good! Real good.’ By now several of the guys had gathered around listening. When Buck repeated “Really happy with how I played” Willson asked him how much he won. “Oh I didn’t. I lost. But I really played well this time.”

   Valley Red was especially popular with the card players who would come into Rusti’s earlier than they expected to from the Card House. Regulars who saw them come in would move to seats that did not block access to the bottles. Buck, who I told you about before, was the ‘Elder’ of this delegation. He would be leading the conversations of ‘what ifs’ and ‘I should haves’ and ‘If onlys.’ Most of the others in this group would change from night to night. But Buck? Buck was constant. When the conversation had deteriorated, and most others in the group had left, Buck would write comments on Valley Red in the notebook.