Poker with The Ambassador and The Room Service Waiter

I met Mrs. S. at an organization. She is old enough to be my mom.  We sat together and became friends.  We both left the organization, but would sometimes, say annually, meet for lunch.  Then I was invited to her home, where I met Mr. S.  He was on his way out the door to the casino.  That’s where he likes to spend his days, playing poker.

Years later I was at their home when I asked Mrs. S. if her husband still played poker.  He did.  He was at the casino as we spoke.  I asked if I could go with him sometime.  I had been playing online.  I wanted to go to a casino, but I didn’t want to go by myself.  It struck me as scary.  Mr. and Mrs. S. both had home health aides.  Mr. S.’s home health aide took him to the casino.  Mrs. S. said certainly I could take Mr. S. to the casino, on the weekend, when I wasn’t working. 

Mr. S. is sharp as a tack.  He has a great sense of humor.  He is very intelligent, charming, polite and so witty  He was approaching 90 and had difficulty with his arms and legs, which prevented him from driving, other than that, he was fine.  We went to the casino, which turned out not to be scary. 

At 10:30 AM the casino is a playground for retirees.  The same people go daily.  They form friendships.  Sometimes they eat dinner together and go on cruises.  They are in the casino for social time.  They enjoy talking to each other and cards.  The endless combinations of cards are enthralling. 

You might think they spend a lot of money at the casino, not so much when you are playing for $1. The money migrates around the table.  The house gets $1 a hand.  There is no bluffing in $1 poker, no one cares if they lose a hand. 

I tired of playing $1 poker long before I stopped playing with Mr. S.  I got to hear his fascinating stories.  It turned out Mr. S. was a US Ambassador to two different countries. 

Once, on the way to the casino, during a lull in conversation, I asked if he drove a car when he was Ambassador.  He did not.  He had a driver and a car that traveled in front of him and another behind him.  We were on 95 heading to the casino.  I thought of him sitting in a snazzy, pristine, immaculate car, all Ambassador-like, with a driver and a car ahead of him and another behind him, all for him, and now here he was, with me, in my jalopy, what a contrast.

He told me there were only ever three important things in his life: family, church and the United States of America.  His parents were immigrants.  He grew up in a tiny apartment in New York City. He and his brother shared a tiny bedroom.  He graduated from City College.  It was free for New York City residents.  He met his business partners in college.  He prospered. 

His mother died.  His father’s health quickly deteriorated, and he ended up in the hospital.  Mr. S. went to the hospital at lunch time.  The doctors told him that his father lost the will to live and if he didn’t get it back he would die.  Mr. S. told his father that he would not continue coming to the hospital to watch him die.  Mr. S. offered to move his father into his home.  Papa S. accepted.  Mr. S. took him on a week-long cruise.  He watched his father improve so much when the ship docked at New York Harbor he re-booked.  They repeated the trip and vacationed another week.

When Mr. S. married he told Mrs. S. there were two rules:  his father was part of the package and he gets to smoke in the house.  She consented.  They were blessed with children and they prospered.

The children became adults.  Mr. S. was very active in the Republican Party and got an ambassadorship.  When he got the ambassadorship he owned a large house on Fifth Avenue, which they sold, because it was too much to maintain with their new life.  Mr. S. also had to divest himself of his business interests.

Mr. S.’s second ambassadorship was to the country from which his parents immigrated.  I asked if his father was still alive when he got that position.  He was not.  His parents would have been so proud.  I said I was sure his parents knew and he nodded.  Going from that tiny apartment to U.S. Ambassador of the country from which his parents immigrated was one of the greatest days of his life. 

I asked if he was sorry when it ended.  He was not.  By then he had been an Ambassador for a long time.  There are always threats to the lives of U.S. Ambassadors.  As wonderful as it was when it started, it was a relief when it ended. 

He commented what a great country this is where the son of a poor immigrant who never spoke a word of English could become a United States Ambassador.  “Your father never spoke English?”  I asked.  “No, he was a room service waiter.  He was given trays with room numbers.  He delivered them.”

It has been several years since Mr. S. and I played poker together.  He attended college for free.  He divested himself of his business interests so he could serve his country.  He had an immigrant father who never spoke English.  How times have changed.