embarrassing to mention. I rolled an 11 and won it. I continued to roll winners for some time. I really do not remember how many. After I finally ended the hand, that was enough of that. We moved to Blackjack and played until they closed the table and sent us to breakfast. I have now retired from Craps. I can truly say my last game of Craps was a perfect game. Now I just need to come up with a title for my Craps book.

Incidentally, the previous time I played Craps was at least two years prior to this event. I was at the Bellagio and had a bad session at Blackjack. Nothing worked. I called it a night and headed out. On my way to the cashier’s cage, I passed a Craps table with no players. I tossed a green on the table a red on the line, said “box cars,” grabbed the dice and rolled a pair of sixes. That paid 30:1 or $750. Grabbed the loot and left.

OK, I lost it back. But it would have made a great ending if I had just left. It also would have been talked about by the dealers and made me look like a wild gambler.

When Handed Pink Lemons, Make Pink Lemonade.

This story begins in New York. I was living outside of Philadelphia at the time, but visiting Manhattan. The time was the early ’80s. I had a flight to Vegas the next morning, but it was from Philly. It takes awhile before we get to Vegas in this story, but bear with me and you will see the loose ends tied together.

I boarded an Amtrak express and searched out the snack car. The car was sparsely populated. One very cute, young girl sat in the back. I sat in the middle and pulled out a deck of cards. You cannot spend too much time practicing the count. An hour later, the train pulls into Philly. As the train slows, the girl pops over and says, “I’m getting a Coke, want to share?” Well, that was odd. I explained that I was getting off. She said she was going on to Washington. Then, as I gathered my things, she launched into her life story – how she had been living with some prince from Siam (Thailand), how he didn’t treat her well and was going home to her mother. The train stopped, I stood and said, “I have to get off here.” She said, “I’ll get off too.” That was odd.

As we watched the train pull away, she shouted, “I left my bag on the train!” Good grief. Well, I knew the station well and

 © 2009 Norman Wattenberger