Chapter Four

 

Bataan Bingo

 

Casey Gilliam had been down and out before, but this time it was even harder. His wife had kicked him out of the house and he hated going to the shelter. He found it really humiliating, really worse than being thrown into the drunk tank. About the only work he could get was yard work and general labor, jobs he got by standing with the legal and illegal Hispanics by the 7-Eleven on Route 1. Fortunately, the regulars who waited for potential employers to come along in the mornings were accepting of strangers, so there was no discrimination against Casey.

Kenneth Clarence Gilliam was the first in his family to graduate college. He went through Notre Dame on a scholarship given by one of the major accounting firms then called the Seven Sisters, a group of “siblings” long reduced in number through mergers and major accounting scandals, including inflation of earnings. He managed to graduate with honors after hour upon hour of work on accounting problems, broken only by an endless game of cribbage with his roommate. Casey, after four years with the same roomy, was “owed” $640,539 in card “winnings.” He wrote off the whimsical debt as a graduation present to his roommate, but was left with an ingrained desire to win big by taking chances, and of course, gambling. He thought he could win for real.

Good grades and an excellent resume with fine recommendations from his professors landed Casey a wonderful job. He quickly moved from a satellite office in Indianapolis to a district office in Chicago and headquarters in New York. No too long after that move he was promoted to a place among several hundred partners. His salary was really good. The next step was managing director of the firm’s Washington office, which included overseeing lobbying activities.

Casey would bet on anything. He was able to find a bookie for major sporting events. There were trips to Atlantic City. Regular meetings at Pimlico saw him at the track. Before the advent of state-run gambling, he had used a numbers runner. Needless to say, like a pyramid scheme, the whole thing collapsed on him --- his debts became overwhelming, his job was gone, his wife was furious. Somehow, he had in periods of good luck paid for his family’s house and had put it in his wife’s name He had also set aside money for his children’s education. Now he wondered how he could have been so prudent in his depravity, and he pondered as how he might cash in on that.  

 

Casey was cleaning a yard in North Arlington one day when he found a hundred dollar bill under some leaves, just like it had blown out of someone’s hand, and ….well, he didn’t know how it got there, but he wasn’t about to ask anyone either, especially the lady of the house. He slipped the big bill into his pocket.

 

 

Bingo revenues at St. Matthias were down a bit. Beneficiaries of the game were the hundreds of poor along the Route 1 corridor who were received food, drugs and help with housing. Frank Malone, who headed the game, knew that one of the problems was that the inspector from the commonwealth’s gaming commission had ordered that government regulations required players to see numbers called during occasional quick-paced games to be displayed on TV monitors. Such a display was required even though the pace of call did not really permit players time to look up from their cards and confirm one number before the next was called. Fix it, or close the game; in essence, that was the choice.

The parish’s game, held Tuesday and Thursday nights, was in competition with several in the area, Bingo sponsored by the Elks, the local volunteer fire battalion and, of course, the Knights of Columbus Council. Fortunately for the unfortunate, enough potential players were available. An average of $150,000 a year in charitable contributions was distributed to various individuals and groups from the St. Matthias games. Bingo accounted for overhead and a small margin of funds to be given away. Most of the funds given away were derived from the sale of pull-tabs on game nights. Players would pay a dollar apiece, generally buying ten at a time, for the pasteboard tickets with tear-away tabs that would reveal possible winning numbers. After all the pull-tabs in one box were sold, an enclosed card containing the winning numbers and the amount of the prizes would be announced on the public address system by the Bingo caller. When a player returned from the cashier with a smile on his or her face, the others would know a pull-tab paid off. Prizes vary in number and amount for each box: perhaps a half dozen ranging from $25 to $100 and perhaps one as high as $250 or $500. That was a good payout when most Bingos paid $100 and one game a night was worth $1,000.

Casey heard about the St. Matthias game after asking someone about the sign advertising the KofC games outside the Knights’ local Council hall. He also learned about other Bingo in the area, but decided to go to the church basement because it was scheduled that evening. He hoped to multiply his century note and go on from there.

As he walked in, he was struck by the people there. They didn’t seem to match the automobiles parked outside. Few running wrecks were in the parking lot; most were no more than three years old and most were in the SUV category. Many players were fat and, for the most part, more than skinny. Their clothing ranged from slacks, jeans and tee shirts emblazoned with sports references and Bingo “blackout” legends. To those who were in the hall week to week, notice could be taken of the woman who always wore the same tee shirt that featured “Dale Jr. 88” – either an obvious NASCAR fan or one who considered the shirt lucky – and another woman of questionable wealth that made numerous trips to the restroom who always wore the same pink, patterned dress, sometimes with a sweater (the same gray sweater) draped over her shoulders. Those same observers would note the player population changed but little from game night to game night, some showing up twice a week. A few new faces could be seen each night; a few would not appear, only to show up in subsequent weeks. Nearly half the players seemed to be acquainted, exchanging friendly jabs, bits of news or gossip, complaints or joyful reports of winnings at the church or elsewhere. Bingo had its aficionados, and they seemed to enjoy each other’s company.

Meanwhile there was lovable disdain for the volunteers that ran the games. Particularly targeted were the callers as they enunciated … B10, O71, N43….

“No Ns!” shouted a player here and there, soon joined by others adding far from sotto voce that the caller ought to be replaced with a competent one. In a few games, such as when the winner had to have a large letter X on his or her card, there are no Ns. “Wild card!” is shouted when a numbered ball pops up before the TV camera. The caller is supposed to silently remove such balls because their numbers have already been illuminated on the display boards hanging on the walls. Such jeering, seemingly serious, actually appeared to be part of the camaraderie of the regulars.

Casey had put on his best tee shirt and his cleanest jeans. He had long adjusted to the company he had to keep. Any snobbery he might have sheltered in the past was gone by now. Besides, there were players there – although that was difficult to know – who really were middle class. One woman worked for a “beltway bandit” and another owned a filling station. Casey went to the counter where the Bingo cards were sold. Well, they were not individual cards on heavy cardboard covered with kernels of corn, as was done in church basements when he was a kid; now they were sheets of printed games, several to a sheet, each “card” having a serial number that was inputted into the computer. When someone, or several players,called “Bingo,” a volunteer floor worker would call out the serial number and the computer would check whether it was a winner, and display the winning pattern on the monitors. Casey plunked down the minimum $65 to cover 30 of the 45 games to be played that evening. The other 15 – 10 games before the regularsession, and five afterward – were sold separately. One could spend nearly $100 if extra games and special drawings based on called Bingo numbers were bought.

He sat at a long table with about 20 chairs altogether on both sides. Only about five seats were taken. Casey sat a few places away from George Custer, a veteran of the Bataan Death March who had but one arm and used a cane, a delightful man with a sense of humor. Casey learned about Custer later, eager to ask if his name had any connection to the general at the Battle of the Little Big Horn (which it did not).

Casey watched as the early games came to a close. He had to buy an ink dauber, the only way to mark that a number had been called. He watched as other players laid out their sheets of cards and ran their eyes up and down the rows looking for matching numbers. He had never played Bingo before in Atlantic City or anywhere else. But he knew he had the drill down, nevertheless. This was easy compared to analyzing a spreadsheet. The first regular game got underway, and as with beginner’s luck, Casey split the $100 three ways --- he won $33, as did the other two winners; the house kept the extra dollar. He was glad he decided to gamble again.

 

Casey went back to the shelter with $85. He got back his $65 and $25 more; he spent $5 for a hamburger and soft drink at the food counter in the church basement. Back in the shelter he said nothing of his luck – or skill, as a gambler would think of it – and carefully tucked the stash into his underwear. He went back for the next Bingo night.

 

George Custer beckoned to Casey as he arrived. “How many cards did ya get tonight?”

Casey said he would be staying for all thegames. He had panhandled enough money to buy 45 games. As the night wore on, Casey became quite frustrated. George counseled that winning came in streaks for most folks. Casey allowed as how he knew that. At least there was some skill involved in card games, particularly poker. The regular games ended so there but five games left. One by one they went, quickly because there were no multiple winners. The last game arrived. George, always cheerful despite of, or maybe because of the horror he had experienced in the early days of World War II, suggested to Casey that he might as well hand over his remaining blank Bingo forms to him. Casey saw no joke there.

As he trudged back to the shelter, nearly penniless, Casey realized that he had to change his life. He had no idea of how to start. His outlook was dreary. However, somehow his attitude was not. He was broke. His situation had not changed, yet something was different. George didn’t talk about his ordeals as a Japanese prisoner, not of his release or of his ensuring years. Still, he in some way inspired Casey.

Casey as he walked began assessing his weaknesses, and his strengths. His step was slightly livelier as he approached his bunk.