I first came to Vegas way back in 1958. After volunteering for the draft, I was killing time with my buddy on a road trip to Alaska and eventually wound up – where else – in Sin City (but that’s another story). I was an 18-year old kid, who had already volunteered for the draft. I played in my first tournament in 1983 at the old Landmark casino. Actually, it was a dice tournament and I wound up in 4^th place. I entered my first blackjack tournament in 1989 at the Four Queens and won a whopping fifty grand! The in 2004 I lost a million bucks in a blackjack tournament. I was leading after 25 hands but then my luck soured and bye-bye went the million. Unfortunately for me, they put that tournament on TV, showing the agony of my defeat. But don’t feel sorry for me. I came back in a big way and won – are you ready for this – a million bucks in 2005 in the Las Vegas Hilton Million Dollar Blackjack Tournament. And unlike my earlier agonizing defeat that was shown on TV, my million dollar win didn’t make the big tube … in fact all I got was a lousy Polaroid photo.

As long a Henry Tamburin allows, I will write some stories in the BJI about icons from the early days of blackjack tournaments. Funny stories (maybe), embarrassing stories (possibly), informative tales (always), and hopefully entertaining insights, conceptions, misconceptions, and personal stories about interesting characters in the blackjack fraternity. In fact if you’ve been around for more than a week (ha, ha), and don’t want to see your name used in public, you better let me know quick because otherwise, you are fair game for one of my tales.

Now, would you like to know about the World War II pilot who …

Sam Vaughn

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I’ll tell this story in the form of a challenge to all you wise guys, math teachers, prognosticators, computer nerds, and others of your ilk.

What are the odds that:

He was born around 1920 and survived the great depression. OK, many folks did that but when he became a teenager, he realized that a world war is looming on the horizon, so he joins the military because he wanted to fly those modern airplanes. Surprisingly, he makes it into the air corps and survives flight school to become a pilot. (More odds?)

Now comes the hard-to-believe part of this tale. I learned, as the result of many years of conversations with, in my eyes, this giant of a man, all kinds of tidbits, which I’m about to tell you about this extraordinary tournament player.

In 1944 he was shot down in Europe by the bad guys and was a prisoner-of-war and unbelievably he escapes! (Odds?) He survives and flies in the Korean War and comes home safe again. (Odds?) He then does more duty in Vietnam and once again manages to come back safe. (Odds?) Now comes the exciting time of his life – he starts playing in blackjack tournaments.

In 1994 he is still driving non-stop after 50 years from his cattle empire in Texas to Sin City. Now you smart wise guys start think on this … in 2004 this dapper young Texan ventures away from his ranch and challenges the blackjack world in a Hilton Million Qualifier and wins, would you believe, first place. (Odds, come on, give me the odds?)

I know there is more to this story; so be like me and when you see that Texan in a cowboy hat (what are the odds of a cowboy hat looking very classy), stop him and say, "I’m please to meet you Mr. O. V. Roski."

(Does being a cattle baron with polish roots change the odds?)

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Since I mentioned Poland in the above story, here is another "polish" tale. I heard this impressive saga over a leisurely dinner in Jean, NV with four friends of mine. I asked my polish cousin Yarrick, a premier blackjack tournament genius, about his life back in the old country. I discovered that he was a champ as a young man in Poland on their Polish National Contract Bridge Team. The experience and advantage of qualifying for the team was Yarrick’s opportunity to accept challenges to play for money with the wealthy crowds. But I found out from him, that there was a downside to his gambling and making money in Poland.

For example, getting home in the morning early without a car was dangerous. "Was it because of gangs or robbers", I asked? He didn’t say much. I prodded more. "Then what was it?" Yarrick finally said that if a policeman saw him and he couldn’t get away quickly, he was in deep trouble. So what was the issue with the cop? Was gambling illegal? No curfew? What the hell was the problem with the cop? After Yarrick chewed another bite of his steak he stared down at his plate and said very softly, "I’d have to kill him." After a long silence I asked, "Why?" He said, "because the cop would steal your winnings." Again, a prolonged silence. He still didn’t look up but quietly said, "Not just the money disappears." None of us asked the next question and never will.

So I guess the moral of these two stories is if you find yourself playing against a Pollack, challenge him ‘cause they seem to rattle easily.

Till Next Time,

Sam Vaughn