Fort Stockton was like the rest of America in 1958, suffering through what the newspapers had labeled the “Eisenhower Recession”.
City leaders gathered to discuss what could be done to keep the town thriving. Rex Hall from the pharmacy, Rusty Hammer from the hardware store, Clarence who managed the Piggly Wiggly, and the men who owned the three car dealerships in town, along with a variety of other influential leaders, formed an ad hoc committee led by Mayor Goodman to address the situation.
They met on Wednesday nights in the backroom of the Lucky Lady to cuss and discuss the situation. Most were confident the economy would turn around, although they preferred sooner than later. By June it had become a bit of a tradition that some would stay behind after the mayor had gaveled the meeting’s end and play a few hands of Texas Hold ‘em.
It was one of those nights things got interesting. Clive Shamus, owner of High Mesa Chrysler – Dodge had a shot or two more than he needed. The dealership had been riding a gravy train with biscuit wheels the last several years and ol’ Clive was betting on hands like he was still in tall cotton. Rusty had gone through everything he had to lose on the last hand. Clive just laughed as he gathered his winnings from the center of the table.“You look like the cheese fell off your cracker, Boy!” Rusty just tipped his hat and dog-cussed Clive under his breath as he headed out the door. Before long it was just Clive and one other player, though a few stayed and watched.
The player across the table from Clive knew how to keep a poker face and had managed to stay even all night, maybe even a little ahead. Toots, owner of the Lucky Lady, said the next hand would be the last. The final two players looked at their stack of chips and sized each other up one last time. Clive dealt the cards, took two after the first round of betting and when he picked them up could barely contain his smile as he stared at a straight flush in his hand. What had been a damn good night was going to end being a perfect one.
He pushed all his winnings to the center of the table. Then, to the amazement of everyone left in the room, tossed in the keys to the demonstrator he’d driven to the meeting, a brand new Dodge Coronet sedan in a sultry charcoal and silver two toned combination that looked perfect in the light of the full moon just outside the window.
The player across the table threw a check book on top of the keys. “Call.”
Clive fanned out his cards and the room suddenly felt hotter than a jalapeño’s armpit.
While the Dodge was a Coronet and not a Royal, the flush that Sister Thelma fanned out across the table from Clive was, and she didn’t have enough pockets in her robe to hold all the winnings. “The Lord giveth,” she told Clive, “and the Lord taketh away,” and then grabbed the keys to the shiny new Dodge.
No one ever said Sister Thelma cheated. Some said that was just Clive’s way of making a donation to Our Lady of Immeasurable Concern in the most dramatic fashion possible. Sister Thelma only said she was committed to help Clive with his addiction. Nothing is ever black and white, except the interior of the Dodge and the habits of the owner who drove the hell out it for years thereafter.
5 responses to “LETTING THE CHIPS FALL”
Several years ago I read “True State Trooper Stories” which is a book by Sgt. Charles Black, a 35 year veteran of the Iowa State Highway Patrol. In it he shares some of his favorites, one of which was about an attractive but habitually speeding nun. She would be picked up by Black and many of his unit, but because she wore regular street clothes when driving once they recognized/remembered her, they wouldn’t complete subsequent stops. She always had a clean fresh habit w/cap in the back seat where it would be clearly visible as the officer approached her car. She would explain it was hot, would get wrinkled, or drew excess attention from other motorists plus the headpiece blocked her side vision. Also, that she was hurrying between the dioceses in Dubuque, Omaha, etc for the Bishop but she was stopped so frequently (and always let go) that eventually word spread through the squad to the point they followed up on her excuses. They discovered she was not a nun at all but some sort of regional sales rep; maybe Gideon’s?
Ft Stockton/Ft Worth/Ft Leavenworth/Ft Dodge sounds like a target-rich environment in the Bible Belt for an enterprising Lady of the Cloth. Has anybody checked Sister Thelma’s ID or her odometer lately?
The design of this car looks like it was five different ones put into a blender.
Brian Eno used to produce music following the “advice” given by cards in a deck of Oblique Strategies (actually pretty cool). This might have been a precurser.
Also…well, maybe not.
Had this been a similar Chrysler product we might have witnessed Clive’s Fury
Luckily Sister Thelma was able to Dodge the bullet.
A man came home from a poker game late one night and found his wife waiting for him with a rolling pin. “Where the hell have you been?” she asked.
“You’ll have to pack all your things, dear,” he said. “I’ve just lost you in a card game.” “How did you manage to do that?” “It wasn’t easy, honest. I had to fold with a royal flush.”