DRIFTERS.....
Shreveport, Louisiana - Mike and I are rolling in around dusk on December 23rd. It's an obvious stopping point from Austin on the way to Birmingham where we have decided to head for Christmas. It's bitterly cold this night due to an unusual winter bomb creeping its way through the south. We roll down Crockett Avenue heading towards downtown and I can't help but feel ill-at-ease. The street is lined with boarded up buildings, abandoned warehouses, and ramshackle homes. This road and all its decay takes us all the way into town. We turn left onto the river front main street and pull into the valet parking area of Bally's Casino - our home for the night. There is, however, no valet parking available anymore (it was never reinstated after covid) and the place looks quiet save for the flashing casino lights and a lonely panhandler quickly approaching Mike's side of the car. I'm fumbling with my crutches while trying to decide what I think of our current decision. I look at Mike as if to say, "Is this really where we want to stay?" He suggests I go check-in while he stays with the car and if I feel that it's not the place for us, we'll bust ass straight to Birmingham. It's only another six hours away. I hobble my way into the lobby.
The place is well lit and actually has a low-level pleasant vibe. There are enough people to give it life and it's tastefully decorated with a certain festive spirit. I feel a little better, check-in and head back out to Mike.
"It will be fine," I say.
Off he goes to park and sort himself out. We will meet in the steakhouse lounge for some dinner.
I ask the host if she's busy tonight. "Mmmmm, not so much tonight, no," she says in that warm, slow, southern drawl I've become so familiar with the last 20 years.
As I settle into the comfy lounge chair I decide to research this town given my aforementioned feelings about the place. Mike arrives and settles in next to me. I hand him my phone open to my Shreveport research page and I watch him as he reads.
"Shreveport is the 6th most dangerous city in America. It has a high crime rate and high level of homicide....do not go out alone...... it is not a good place to be at night......."
He hands my phone back to me without finishing the rest and orders a gin and soda.
"Well?" I say staring at him wide-eyed expecting a slightly bigger reaction.To be clear, after four months on the road this is, without a doubt, the most sketch place we’ve overnighted outside of Chicago.
Mike looks at me blankly."Well, doesn't this give you pause?" I say, half laughing
"Yeah, it tells me we shouldn't go outside until the sun comes up tomorrow. Let's eat."
Classic Mike. We finish what turns out to be an excellent meal and we head into the the casino. I've been in a casino probably fewer than 20 times. I don't play cards and I hate losing money in the slot machines. But somehow I always love the atmosphere of a casino. It's about a quarter full and it is filled with the usual drifters, slot players, and small pockets of friends playing dice and roulette games. We get our chips and money and go our separate ways. Mike heads towards a blackjack table and I start my meanderings throughout the casino. It's a large casino. Two levels. It's neither depressing nor is it filled with life like a Vegas casino. But it's pleasant. Pleasant enough for a city that's the 6th most dangerous in America and it's two days before Christmas.
I go from machine to machine. Five bucks here, ten bucks there. It's not interesting and the machines don't have those long pull levers that make the whole experience far more fun. It's just a button. I head towards the craps table; that's always entertaining. I stop briefly though the sound of my crutches make it known I've arrived. They all stop and look at me. I feel weird. I get the feeling that me with my crutches makes them feel like bad luck has arrived. The dealer continues unfazed and calls in all the bets. Something I've picked up along the way is Craps players are highly superstitious gamblers. I move along. I hear the man throw the dice and everyone erupts with shrieks of joy. Sounds like a winner.
I figure my best bet is to hunker down at the bar next to the service area where all the girls are running drinks. Every seat has a slot machine flush to the bar top so you can play and chat with the bartender at the same time. I look at all the choices of poker to choose from - jacks, double jacks, wild cards, single poker, double poker - the list goes on. I pick a random one and begin pressing buttons. I don't know what I'm doing. I cash out and sit there for a minute listening to the girls having a laugh about their night. I look up at my bartender who earlier introduced himself as José and proudly say, "I'm up one dollar and fifty cents."
"Mejor que nada," he responds with a smile
I'm staring down at my slot machine when a hand with a half wool glove comes across my line of view and begins to put a twenty dollar bill into my machine. I put a hand on the bill and I look to my right.
GRIFTERS...
"Lady Luck is on my side tooo-NIGHT!" declares the man with the hand. I turn and look who has sidled up to me. He's a stocky man around late sixties with a salt and pepper beard wearing a large winter overcoat and a disheveled knitted winter cap. I stop the bill from going into the slot.
"Now why would you want to put money in my machine?" I say looking at him sideways with a friendly smirk.
He's the kind of man who wears both a twinkle and a sad story in his eyes. It's unclear if he's just a drifter or also a grifter. Clearly he must be the latter. No one puts money into someone's slot machine without setting up a small confidence game.
"Because you're good luck and you can't be worse than me at this shit," he says with a delightful laugh.
"I really couldn't take responsibility for your money," I say softly while still covering the money slot.
"Oh, come now.... give an old guy some fun. It's christmas."
He convinces me to take the money which I've agreed to as long as we make the decisions together. So together we make choices on what to bet and what cards to keep. My choices are poor and twenty bucks quickly turns into zero.
"I'm so sorry I lost all your money," I look at him feeling really terrible. "Though I did tell you I suck at poker."
"We had fun didn't we?" he says with huge smile. "Let's go again!"
I accept with the caveat that he put the money in his machine and we'll play together. He's quite good and doubles his money. We're having a ton of fun and plenty of laughs while swapping wisecracks and bits and pieces of life stories. He says he's 62 (though I reckon he's much older), his name is Joshua, his wife died six years ago, he's a war vet, he's from a few towns over, he has 26 grand-babies, and he hasn't been out since his wife died. I have no idea if any of it is true or not. It doesn't matter.
Up and down and around the money goes. We laugh, we high five, we swap more wisecracks. Lights flash, machines ding and clang. We joke with the bartender and the servers. We're all having a great time.
A man slides in on the other side of me barely touching but still touching my lower back and says loudly, "How's my wife doin?"
Now, I know without even looking at this man, that it isn't Mike - though my new found friend Joshua doesn't know this
"Excuse me?" I turn to look at this giant man next to me;"You doing ok?" he says quietly so close to my ear I can feel his breath. Ew.
I dismiss him abruptly and turn to Joshua who is mumbling something about my husband. I slowly turn my head from Joshua, sweeping my glance across the bar to José, and over to this stranger and say loudly, "I have never seen this man in my life."
The giant breathy man quickly throws his hands up and backs away
"You say so," he quips.
"Well that was weird," I say to Joshua.
"Was it?" he says.
"Well, I thought so." He keeps choosing cards and looks at me sideways while still managing to look me straight in the eyes.
"Ain't unusual in these parts for a white man to not like it when a white woman talks to a black man. He just just bein' who he is."
Joshua and I hang out for the better part of a couple of hours until I motion that his buddy is looking for him. "That's no buddy. That's my brother."
Then he explains to me the difference between buddy and brother in his world. I tell him that buddy can be a term of endearment where I'm from and he teaches me that in his world that's not a particularly choice word for someone you like and certainly not for someone you love deep in your soul.
"That man there..." he points at his friend who is quietly swaying back and forth on his own to the music. "That man there is my BROTHER! He ain't never leaving my side." I look at his brother who continues to be in his own world. Joshua looks back at his brother and decides it's time to pack it in.
He stands up and turns directly to me and says, "My mother always said a parachute only works if it's open. Keep staying open. You were my angel tonight." He gives me a warm hug, thanks me for a time, and wishes me well.
With that, he puts his arm around his swaying brother and leads him out.
"You take care of yourself now," I say.
He gives me a backhanded wave and says, "I always do."
And with that they cross the casino and walk out into the bitter cold.
Was he just a drifter? Was he a grifter that chose otherwise that night? Maybe neither. I will never know. Nor will I ever see Joshua again. But it will be a long time before I forget him.
I swivel my stool back to facing the bar and José is smiling ear to ear as he witnesses our good-byes.
"Well that was fun," I say.
José grins and continues to polish glasses.
With that, I sit quietly content on my own two nights before Christmas in the 6th most dangerous city in America.
