Chapter 6

July, 1949

Sunday afternoon, when we were alone, I asked Dad, "What do you plan to do about the bookie?"

"I've been thinking about it and I think we have to be a little devious. I'll call Joe Jones; you listen in."

Dad dialed and I listened. "Joe? This is Doug McLoud, next door. I have a little problem I hope you can help me with. I just got a hot tip and I'd like to put some money on it, but I don't know a bookie. Can you recommend one?"

"Sure, Doug. I usualy use Everett Johnson. If you want, I call him and vouch for you. That way you don't even have to go by until you are ready to collect."

"That would be great. I appreciate it. What number do I use to call him?"

"His number is 555-1212. I'll call him right now and call you back."

"Thanks. Goodbye."

A few minutes later, the phone rang and Dad answered, "Hello? Hi, Joe, thanks a lot. I'll call him right now."

Dad dialed and said, "Everett Johnson? This is Douglas McLoud. Joe Jones said that I could call you to put some money on the Red Sox-Yankees game on July 4th. What are the odds on the Red Sox winning? 10 to 1? Wow! I'd like to put $25 on the Red Sox. OK. Thanks. Goodbye."

"Well, son, we've started."

"Dad, to change the subject: do you think that I could get a motor scooter, now that we have some extra money?"

"I think that it's OK, but we'll have to convince your mother."

"Can we start tonight?"

He smiled and nodded, so I knew that it was just a matter of time.

Of course, she nixed the motor scooter. She insisted that we put any extra money aside for my college education.

I pointed out that tuition at Auburn was $45 per quarter and dormitory room and board was $132.50 per quarter. She countered with the observation that $177.50 three times a year was still a lot of money and I would need books and clothes and other things. Fortunately, I knew when to shut up!

I debated with myself whether or not to just give her a mental command to let me have the scooter, but I quickly squelched that thought. I was never going to resort to using that kind of coercion to win arguments with my parents.

On July 5th, Dad and I checked the newspaper for baseball scores. To our surprise, and most other people's, I'll bet, the Red Sox won! Dad called the bookie to ask how to collect his money. He was told to drop by a certain address any time on the 6th. The funny thing was, we had expected to lose. This was supposed to be one of our confidence builders for the bookie!

Dad noticed in the schedule for the upcoming games, that the Red Sox had a four-game series with Detroit over the weekend. He proposed to bet $25 on the Red Sox for each game. He was going to tell the bookie that he thought the Red Sox were on a roll. Surely, this would make the bookie happy! There's nothing like a hunch-better to enrich a bookie.

The following Monday, we checked the sports page. The Red Sox had won 3 out of 4 games. We were over $500 richer! We thought that we had better quit for a while, so Dad didn't bet again when he picked up the winnings. He told the bookie that he would be back when he had another hunch. Two weeks later, Dad placed four more bets on baseball games and managed to lose them all. We thought that was enough baseball until World Series time.

The first Monday in September, Dad went in to the bookie and bet $25 on Auburn to win every football game. We knew we would lose some, but we were setting up the bookie for the game with Alabama. We hoped that Auburn would lose most of their games in 1949 to set up big odds for the game with Alabama, the last game of the season. If things worked out right, Dad would bet up to $10,000 on Auburn to beat Alabama, which we knew they would.

While he was at the bookie's "business office," he bet $500 on the Yankees and the Dodgers to win their respective league titles and appear in the World Series. He planned to go back and bet on the Yankees to win the series, but the Dodgers to win game 2. We had done all we could to set things up, the rest was just waiting.

School was about to start for my senior year in middle school. I was looking forward to this year; one way or the other, I was going to get that motor scooter! I could ride a bicycle to middle school, but no way was I going to ride one to high school! I started putting a lot of pressure on Mother to give in on the motor scooter issue; I knew I would win—I just had to be persistent!

Since my birthday fell in December, I often had birthday and Christmas presents combined into one. I thought that I could try for the motor scooter for this one. I had been making all A grades already, so I couldn't use that as a carrot. I couldn't think of anything! I was really getting frustrated! I hoped something would come to me. I admitted to myself that I didn't really need the motor scooter-- I could teleport any place I wanted to go. What I really wanted was for my friends to see me riding my own motor scooter. Oh, well...

A lot of vandalism was showing up around town. I wondered if somebody was setting up another protection racket scam. I started haunting the business district looking for signs of gang activity. I also asked Dad to check with Det. Jones about what he knew.

I was walking down East Main Street one afternoon when I heard a mental "Help!" That had never happened before! Was there someone else who had ESP or was my mind reading ability picking up? In either case, I immediately turned into the store I was passing to investigate. I saw two rough looking men giving an elderly man a hard time. One of the goons had the victim's right arm twisted behind him and the other man was squeezing the victim's crotch.

I made the quick decision to intervene, but I was going to let the two crooks escape and follow them. I quickly found the burglar alarm and set it off. The two crooks heard the alarm and turned to rush out of the store. I ducked down where they couldn't see me and then followed them when they ran. Blast it! They ran into a beer joint where I couldn't follow. I rushed into a convenient alley and sent my POV after them. Once I found them, I listened in, mentally, as they talked to each other. The conversation was not very intellectual, but it was somewhat informative.

1st crook: "How the Hell did that old bastard set off the alarm?"

2nd crook: "I don't know, but the boss is going to be pissed off at us."

That was all I needed to hear. What I really needed was to extract the name of their boss from either one's mind. I hoped that I had practiced enough that I could do it. I thought that the second crook was a little more intelligent, so I might have better luck with the first crook. I began to dig into the first crook's mind and I found what I needed about the time they finished their beers. The boss was "Sammy the Shoe." Now, who in the world was "Sammy the Shoe?" I must ask Dad to ask Det. Jones.

Sammy the Shoe was a small time crook with delusions of grandeur. He had hopes of moving up in the gang hierarchy. He had gotten his name by kicking people who had been knocked down by someone else. Most of the gangland higherups viewed Sammy the Shoe with contempt and, sometimes, with humor. This rankled Sammy the Shoe to the point that he was ready to do almost anything to gain some respect. Pushing his own protection racket was to be the way.