‘I’ve had a few.’
‘So, whataya like in this race?’
Jerry told him.
‘That horse is ten-to-one,’ O’Brien said.
‘He’s due,’ Jerry said. ‘He’s droppin’ in class just enough to put him over.’
‘You got a tip?’
‘I don’t believe in tips, sir,’ Jerry said.
‘OK, son,’ the actor said. ‘Thanks.’ He started away, then stopped and turned back. ‘No reason Bing has to hear about this conversation, hey?’
‘You got it, Mr O’Brien,’ I said.
As he walked away I said to Jerry, ‘I hope that horse wins.’
‘He will,’ Jerry said, around a mouthful of macaroni salad.
And he did.
Bing Crosby looked around as the horses crossed the finish line, wondering why everybody was so happy. Then he got it, and took the news with good grace and humor.
‘You’re all a bunch of traitors,’ he said, laughing.
When he saw the look on Kathryn’s beautiful face he said, ‘You, too?’
She shrugged and he laughed again.
Jerry cooled off, though, missed two races in a row before the feature. I went to the paddock with him to look at Crazy Kid.
‘He looks good,’ Jerry said. ‘Should run in better than one-oh-nine.’
‘If you say so,’ I said.
‘Look at his legs.’
‘I’m better with showgirls’ legs.’
‘Well, this horse may not be able to kick like a showgirl, but he can run.’
‘Then we better go and bet.’
‘You think Mr Crosby will be mad when my horse wins and his doesn’t?’ he asked as we walked to a betting window.
‘No,’ I said, ‘I think he’ll congratulate you.’
‘Why won’t he play my horse?’
‘I guess some men just like to pick their own,’ I said. ‘After all, he founded this track, even owns some horses of his own. He probably considers himself an expert.’
‘Then he should be better at pickin’ winners,’ Jerry said.
‘Yeah, I suppose he should,’ I said, ‘but how about we don’t tell him that, hmmm?’
Jerry shrugged and said, ‘OK by me.’
We placed our bets and made our way to Bing’s box so we could watch the race with the others.
‘There you are, big fella,’ Bing said. ‘I thought you were gonna miss the race.’
‘No, sir,’ Jerry said. ‘Not a chance.’
Everyone had their tickets in their hands. All but Bing had bet on Crazy Kid, the horse Jerry had picked.
‘This horse’s first race was a twenty-seven hundred dollar claiming race,’ Bing reasoned. ‘There’s no way he’s come this far.’
But Jerry remained silent and stuck to his guns. So did the rest of us.
It was post time.
And they were off . . .
‘I can’t believe it!’ Bing Crosby said.
It was hours later. The spread in the clubhouse had been changed from cold cuts to hot food. Jerry had a plate stacked sky high and was looking very uncomfortable as he was also the center of attention. He had not only given out the winner of the Bing Crosby Handicap but the last race as well. The people surrounding him were now the Faithful. Dean was standing off to one side with an amused grin on his face.
‘A track record,’ Bing said to me. ‘One-oh-seven and three. I can’t believe it.’
‘Jerry told me in the paddock the horse looked like he’d run a sub one-oh-nine.’
‘Where did you find this guy?’ he asked.
I shrugged and said, ‘Brooklyn,’ and went to rescue Jerry.
THREE
Las Vegas, April 1963
Bob Hope teed off and we all applauded as the ball sailed straight and true down the fairway.
I was playing at the Desert Inn Golf Course as part of a foursome that included myself, Hope, Dean Martin and Bing Crosby. Dean had taken me out on the golf course several months before. I had played occasionally, but now I was hooked. I tried to get out two or three times a week, and I prided myself that my game was improving. Dean said I had a natural talent for it. Still, when he invited me to play with Benny and Bing I hesitated . . .
‘Come on, pally,’ he said. ‘It’s just a friendly game.’
‘Friendly?’ I asked. ‘I heard you guys play for high stakes.’
‘Well,’ Dino said, ‘that depends on what you consider high stakes. I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll cover you.’
‘Dean—’
‘We’ll play teams,’ he said. ‘You and me against Bob and Bing. Whataya say?’
I said yes, of course . . . but I told him we might be on the Road to Losing. Which I thought was a pretty good joke.
‘Don’t quit your day job, Eddie,’ he said.
When it was my turn to tee off I held my breath, let it out slow, did what Dean had taught me to do, and shanked it.
‘He’s got the shanks,’ Bob Hope punned in that deadpan way he had.
A ‘shank’ is the worse shot in golf. You hit the ball with the heel of the club rather than the face, and it goes off to the right.
‘The kid’s just nervous,’ Bing said.
‘Golf is a hard game to figure,’ Hope said. ‘One day you will go out and slice it and shank it, hit into all the traps and miss every green. The next day you go out and, for no reason at all, you really stink.’
As we got into our golf cart Dino put his arm around me and said, ‘Don’t worry about it, kid. We got ’em right where we want ’em.’
I did better the rest of the way. At least, I never shanked another one. I hit a couple of sand traps, but so did the others. It goes without saying there was a lot of joking and laughter, and even some advice, good and bad.
By the time we got to the eighteenth hole we were only two shots back.
‘We can do this, Eddie,’ Dean said to me, as we got out of our cart. ‘You’re putting OK, but you’ve got to concentrate on your tee shot and your drives.’
‘OK,’ I said . . .
I think one of the problems was I was meeting Bob Hope for the first time. I’d known Dean for a few years by then, and had spent a whole day with Bing the year before at Del Mar. When I got to the golf course Bing greeted me like an old friend, and then introduced me to Hope.
Hope had played Vegas, and had even attended some of the shows the guys performed at the Sands, but somehow I had missed meeting him.
On this day I was not only meeting him, but on the golf course, where he might have spent even more time than he did on stage.
When we shook hands he said, ‘You didn’t bring any ringers with you, did you, kid?’
I figured he was referring to me bringing Jerry to Del Mar the year before, where he had showed Bing up by picking a lot of winners.
‘No ringer, Mr Hope,’ I said. ‘Just me, and I only started playing golf a few months ago.’
‘Is he puttin’ me on?’ Hope asked Dean, still shaking my hand.
‘No, he’s a beginner, but a talented one,’ Dean testified.
‘Well,’ Hope said, releasing my hand, ‘maybe we should discuss increasing the stakes.’
‘Let’s talk about that, Bob,’ Dean said, putting his arm around Hope’s shoulders and walking away with him.
‘Higher stakes?’ I said to Bing.
‘Don’t worry, Eddie. Dino won’t hold it against you if you cost him a bundle.’
I wondered if Bing Crosby had somehow orchestrated this little match to get back at me for bringing Jerry to Del Mar?
He smiled at me, though, in that Father O’Malley way he had, like in The Bells of Saint Mary.
By the time we got to the eighteenth hole, Hope had me calling him Bob, but he was also keeping up a running string of one-liners that had to do with my skill as a golfer.
‘He’s just tryin’ to get under your skin,’ Dean told me, at one point.
‘He’s succeeding,’ I said.
&n
bsp; So at eighteen I was nervous. The hole was a par five. Dean said, ‘If you can do it in four, I might be able to get there in three. We could force a one hole sudden death play-off.’
‘Really?’ I asked. ‘It wouldn‘t just end in a tie?’
‘No,’ Dean said, ‘somebody’s got to win, Eddie.’
‘I thought this was for fun, and some small stakes.’
‘Well,’ he said, squirming, ‘the stakes have gotten a little bigger.’
They had been making some side bets along the way, which I hadn’t taken part in because I was so new at golf. But my score probably would have the biggest impact on the final score.
‘No pressure, Eddie,’ he said, ‘but I really would like to beat these two.’
I looked over at Hope and Crosby, who were laughing, totally relaxed.
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘yeah, so would I.’
‘Let’s do it, then.’
FOUR
Hope and Crosby continued their jibes as I approached the tee, but, to give them credit, they kept quiet each time I addressed the ball, and the final hole was no different.
I’d had a couple of decent drives, mostly mediocre, but I hadn’t shanked a ball since the first hole. Now I took my turn, stared down at the ball, concentrated, and swung.
I had heard golfer before talk about ‘kissing’ a ball. Hitting it so well that it felt like a kiss. I’d never known what they were talking about until that moment.
I kissed it.
I heard Dean let out a breath. I looked over at Hope and Crosby and they were just staring, watching the ball soar, arc, and land.
Bing looked at me and said, ‘Nice drive, kid.’
Hope just shook his head.
We walked back to the golf cart with Dean’s arm across my shoulder.
‘That drive should knock one stroke off,’ he said. ‘You can get it on the green now, and then it’s just a good putt. We have a shot at this, pally.’
As we got in the cart I felt bad. What if I disappointed Dino?
I made it to the green in two. Best hole of the day for me already.
Dino made it in two, also.
So did Bing.
Hope shanked it.
But with Hope, everything was an excuse for a good joke.
‘I get upset over a bad shot just like anyone else,’ he said. ‘But it’s silly to let the game get to you. When I miss a shot I just think what a beautiful day it is. And what pure fresh air I’m breathing. Then I take a deep breath. I have to do that. That’s what gives me the strength to break the club.’
We all laughed, but I knew he was seething inside.
Once on the green I putted last. Bing missed a ten footer by inches, then bumped it in. Dino sank one from about fifteen. Hope got himself on the green and left an eight footer.
We had made up one stroke with Bing’s missed putt, and another because it took Hope four to make the green. We were tied.
I had to sink an eighteen footer for a birdie. Hope had to sink his for par, and a tie, forcing a play-off.
‘Go ahead,’ Hope said to me. ‘Shoot it.’
‘Age before beauty,’ I said.
He had to smile at that.
‘You fit right in, don’t you?’
He lined up his putt, stood over the ball. I saw him bite his lip just before he swung. The ball went straight and true, right for the cup . . . and stopped just on the lip.
He walked up to it and dropped it in. No joke. Then he walked away. A golfer would rather miss by a mile than have the ball hang.
If I made my putt, Dean and I would win. If I missed, we’d have a play-off, which I didn’t want. I wanted to end it now. I was afraid I’d choke in a play-off.
The three of them stood off to the side, watching. I looked over at them. Three showbiz legends. Suddenly, I felt that if I missed I’d be disappointing all of them.
I lined up the putt, addressed the ball, held my breath . . . and swung.
I had watched Dean’s fifteen footer. It had curved slightly, and I adjusted for that.
The ball went right into the cup.
Dean and Bing came over and slapped me on the back, congratulating me. Bob Hope walked over and shook my hand.
‘Clubhouse,’ Dean said. ‘Drinks, on Hope and Crosby.’
‘Were those the stakes?’ I asked.
Dean patted my cheek and said, ‘You kill me, kid.’
Back at the clubhouse we lined up at the bar for drinks. Mack Grey was there, too. Dean’s majordomo had been waiting there for his master, his friend.
‘You should’ve seen it, Mack,’ Dean said. ‘What a shot on the eighteenth. The kid’s a natural.’
Mack looked at me and said, ‘Golf bores me.’
‘Me, too . . . or, at least, it used to.’
Hope and Crosby had to leave and Dean walked them to the exit. They both came over, shook hands with me and Bing said, ‘Great seein’ you again, Eddie.’
‘You, too, Bing.’
‘I’ll get you next time, kid,’ Hope said with that crooked grin of his.
They left and I looked at Mack.
‘I won,’ I said, proudly.
He slapped me on the back hard enough to dislodge some fillings and said, ‘Don’t get overconfident, Eddie. They made you a thirty handicap.’
‘Thirty?’
Mack grinned.
‘They gave you a thirty shot head start, and you won by a single stroke.’
FIVE
I had become the ‘go to guy’ for Frank, Dean and Sammy when they had a problem they needed handled discreetly. It was my own fault, really. Jack Entratter, my boss, had put me in that position a couple of times and I had come through. At the same time I liked to think I had formed a friendship with those guys, specifically Dino and Frank. Of course, I was never friends with each of them the way they were friends with each other, but when they were in town – together or separately – they usually invited me to dinner.
This time, however, Dean calling and inviting me to play golf was a surprise. More of a surprise to find that the invitation included Bob Hope and Bing Crosby.
Something was up.
When I got word in the afternoon that Entratter wanted to see me in his office I figured this was it.
‘Go right in,’ his girl said to me as I entered. For some reason I didn’t rate the usual look of disdain I got from her.
‘Jack,’ I said, as I entered.
Jack and I had always had a cordial boss/employee relationship, during which I had never referred to him as anything but ‘Mr Entratter.’ But ever since I had become ‘that guy’ for him – the one who kept his ‘friends’ safe – I had become much more comfortable calling him ‘Jack’. Sometimes.
‘Siddown, Eddie,’ he said. ‘I heard you played golf with Dino, Bob Hope and Bing Crosby.’
‘That’s right,’ I said, taking a seat. ‘Dean invited me.’
‘You didn’t beat them too bad, did you?’
‘One stroke.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I heard they gave you a thirty handicap and you beat ’em by one.’ He shook his head. ‘You almost blew a thirty shot head start?’
‘Hey,’ I said, ‘I just started playin’ a few months ago. I think I did pretty good.’
He started laughing.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I can just see you struttin’ around the course like you accomplished somethin’.’
‘Did you bring me up here just to laugh at me?’
‘Pretty much. Want a drink?’
‘I’ve got to get back to my pit—’
‘Bourbon?’ he asked, getting up.
‘Sure.’
He poured two bourbons, added ice and handed me one.
‘Dean’s in town and he’s not playin’ anywhere,’ I said. ‘What’s that about?’
‘Frank Junior,’ he said, sitting back down.
‘What?’
‘Frank Junior is opening next door,’
Entratter said, ‘at the Flamingo.’
‘Why is he opening there and not here?’ I asked.
‘Frank didn’t want any favors for the kid,’ he said. ‘He made Frankie get his own deal.’
‘And he got it next door? Kid’s got balls. Is that why Hope and Crosby are in town?’
‘That’s about the only thing that would bring Crosby here,’ Entratter said. ‘He doesn’t play Vegas. Doesn’t want to play gaming establishments. But he’s stayin’ with us. So is Hope.’
‘So if Dean, Bing and Hope are here for the kid’s opening,’ I said. ‘Where’s Frank?’
‘Frank’s playin’ a gig in Atlantic City for Skinny D’Amato. He’s comin’ to Vegas in a few days to play two nights here, and see the kid’s last performance.’
‘I didn’t know he was comin’ here.’
‘It wasn’t planned,’ Entratter said. ‘We’re movin’ Vic Damone back two nights to make it work.’
‘Vic doesn’t mind?’
‘Not when I told him it was Frank.’
I sipped my drink. So I was wrong about something being up. Dean wasn’t here to ask for my help. He was just here to support Frankie.
‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘How old is the kid?’
‘Nineteen.’
‘Isn’t he a little young?’
‘Wayne Newton was younger when he started,’ Jack said. ‘And the first time Frank Junior came here he was ten. He grew up in this business.’
‘You goin’?’
‘Openin’ night,’ he said.
‘When is that?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Maybe I’ll go.’
‘If I’m not mistaken,’ he said, ‘you’re workin’.’
I stared at him.
‘Nah, I’m kiddin’,’ he said. ‘You can go. Now get back to work.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘right.’
I left the office, wondering why I was so uncomfortable with the fact that Jack Entratter had suddenly developed a sense of humor.
SIX
Dean was in Vegas without his wife, Jeannie, but both Hope and Crosby had brought their wives along. The four of them went out to dinner together, leaving Dean alone so he came down to the casino floor to find me.
‘Wanna get somethin’ to eat?’ he asked.
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