INTERMISSION:
A MOUNT AIRY STORY
With
two days off between shows, I spent the time with my wife, Marcia, and a female
guest, at my weekend house in the Poconos, writing, going to the movies (20
STEPS FROM STARDOM and LEE DANIELS’ THE BUTLER), and eating out. We also spent Monday
evening at the Mount Airy Casino and Resort for some low-level gambling. I’m
not especially crazy about blowing my dough at the casino, but Marcia and our
guest like to play Spanish 21, so while Marcia spent an hour and a half winning
$10, and our guest lost $70, I occupied myself at the mindless Wheel of Fortune, losing
$60. After hitting my limit while the women were still playing, I sat at an
empty stool to watch their game.
A nice-looking young gaming table supervisor with a
name tag saying “Robert” (I’ve changed his name), wearing a suit and tie, and sporting
a Buffalo Bill goatee and mustache, saw
the pendant I wear around my neck and asked me what it was. I explained that it
was an 1878 silver dollar; noting his facial hair, I added that it was much
like what Buffalo Bill would have handled back in the day. He thought the
reference amusing and asked, “Are you a coin collector?” “No,” I said, “but I
used to wear an 18th or 19th-century gold Japanese coin
that I lost in Italy a couple of years ago and I wanted something to replace it
so my wife, who had one of these stashed away, gave it to me.” He was curious
about the Japanese coin, and asked what it looked like. I made an oblong shape
with my fingers, to which he responded, “A koban?” Now, this is something only
someone fairly knowledgeable about coins or Japanese culture would know, so I
asked how he came by this information. He said his wife was Japanese, and
pointed her out. I gazed down a row of
empty tables—it was Monday night and business was slow—and could just barely
see two Asian women standing at gaming tables. Robert's wife, the second one, was running
a blackjack game; she was a croupier. I was pretty amazed because, while you
see many Chinese and Korean folks in the Poconos and, especially, at the
casino, finding a Japanese up here is as likely as hitting a jackpot. Just as
everywhere else on the East Coast, even the Japanese restaurants don’t have Japanese
workers. So, as someone with a special interest in Japan, I was intrigued not
merely to run into someone Japanese but to find her working the tables at Mt.
Airy. In Japan, land of group conformity, they say the nail that stands up must
be struck down. No hammer seemed about to hit this nail.
Robert said he’d met her at Mohawk Valley Community
College in upstate New York, that her name was Miyako (name changed), and that
he’d lived with her in Japan for a time. I told him I was a specialist in
Japanese theatre and, seemingly taken aback, he said, “Kabuki?” Bingo. Again,
this is not something the average table supervisor (or whatever they’re called)
would have known. He hadn’t actually been to a live performance in Japan, but
had seen kabuki on TV and was very interested in it. I told him I’d written
many books on it, which also seemed a big surprise. I asked if he knew any
Japanese and he proudly used the basic words you say when you meet someone. I answered
back to show (off) my credentials, and then gave him my card, which is
decorated with a Japanese woodblock print showing a kabuki actor’s face. I
explained the makeup to him, and he noted that he had a kabuki mask with makeup
like this. (Kabuki itself rarely uses masks, but you can buy souvenir masks
that have kabuki makeup painted on them.)
Marcia had finished her game and was getting up to
cash in her chips. I told Robert I would offer my greetings to Miyako, and
walked to her table, waiting until she’d finished raking in the cards from the
hand she’d just dealt. Speaking Japanese, I shouted out, to the dismay,
annoyance, or shock of the assembled gamblers, “Miyako-san. My name is Leiter. I’m
Robert’s very good friend. His really good friend. Please accept my best
wishes.” She looked momentarily stunned and smiled, and then I rejoined Marcia,
who had cashed in her windfall of a sawbuck.
But she wasn’t quite ready to leave, since she was up
for the night and I’d lost only $60, leaving us a mere $50 in the hole. Now it
was time to blow another $20 or $40 on the slots, so we marched around until
she found a friendly-looking two cent machine. “Come on,” I said sourly, “you’re
only going to waste more money. Let’s leave while we’re ahead. These machines
barely pay anything.” “I’m not going to spend much, but I can’t leave without
trying,” she answered. So, while her friend went to the ladies’ room, Marcia
began to play. About one minute in, the machine lit up brightly with three
columns of two corns each, and the numbers declaring her winnings started to
mount, looking like they’d never stop. We couldn’t figure out what the three
rows of double corns meant on the face of the machine, so we had to wait until
the rapidly changing electronic numbers ceased rising and the bells and
whistles stopped belling and whistling. When they did, they came to a grand
total of $91 and change. Woo hoo! We’re perpetual losers, so this humongous
total seemed like manna from heaven. When Marcia’s friend returned I gave her
40 lashes for not being there when we broke the bank. We left the joint having
covered my losses and with a few greenbacks to spare. We had put a dent (actually,
a scratch) on our overall wagering losses, and felt like we’d won a million.
Later that night, back at the house, I got a Facebook
friend request. When I checked, I realized it was Robert from the casino, but
with a different name. There, indeed, on his profile picture, was the mask he’d
mentioned. I confirmed his request and sent him a message telling him to read
my blogs. Now I have a FB friend who’s a table supervisor at a major casino,
not someone I’m likely to have met in the ordinary course of events (what is the
ordinary course of events?) I’m sure I’ll never recoup the money I’ve lost at
Mt. Airy, but yesterday, Mt. Airy paid off, and not just in cash.
