A little bit of a run down memory lane this last week and I felt the need to add more to the story line.  Somewhere in these pages is a description of the OX.  The high, grease and smoke stained ceilings, the unkempt overall appearance of shabby and cheap hung on it like one of the alcoholics that lined up every day to get the 10th ring on the old bar cash register because they got ‘a free one’ if they timed their order just right.

Although I was there to learn to deal and got bitten by both the poker and the Pan bug, the whole place revolved around the down-and-out, the derelicts of the city, transients coming through on a bus to somewhere else, the regulars that weren’t normally your local business people, and the people that worked there.

After I came back as the poker manager, we picked up a ‘restaurant manager’ who got the office down in the basement right next to the prep kitchen (which had the secret hide-out door that went to the room where the poker game ran back in the 40s and 50s and 60s). The manager’s name was Terry, a medium sized, dark-haired guy that I rarely had any contact with — he was there during the day, I worked at night.

I did venture into his office at one point to ask him something and he had a sign on his desk that I’ve chuckled over every time I thought about it.  “Profanity is the crutch of the inarticulate motherfucker!”

It still cracks me up.  Many days I find myself being quite inarticulate.

Terry stayed in my OX memory bank because he broke into some of the machines in the back area where dead-pecker-row sat previously.  I don’t even know what year keno machines and poker machines were legalized in Montana but when I first started working there, machines weren’t legal.  Live Keno was, poker was, Pan was, but no machines.

Side-stepping Terry for a moment, each establishment could only have x amount of machines (like 7 or 8) because the gambling commission didn’t want the mafia coming in and taking over the establishment’s gaming operation.  Yeah…right!  Bet that was one of their big dreams, the mafia that is.

Back to Terry.  I’m not sure if he broke into more than one machine but the machines only took change — quarters — no bills in those days. So he had to drag the bucket out the door with him and then he took a taxi home.  That’s a very smart management move.  That’s where the cops found him, at home, with a bunch of change.

Come back tomorrow for more…