My father's gambling career

I know, Father's Day was several days ago. But I miss my dad every day, not just on Father's Day. Besides, I had no working computer last weekend, so I'm writing this now.

Last week, Governor Kasich announced the details of the revenue sharing agreement (read: shakedown ) between the state and Dan Gilbert, et. al., so construction of Ohio's casinos can now go forward. That brought to mind one of my favorite Dad stories.

We Snows are not a gambling clan. No particular reason - it just doesn't seem to be something we do. One notable exception is the time my father, waiting for my mom and my younger brother to come out of a store somewhere in Nevada, dropped a nickel in a sidewalk slot machine. He pulled the lever and out poured $20 in nickels. Being Dad, he didn't play the machine again, and walked away $19.95 to the good.

I've known about this for years. The story is embedded in the family canon. But not until he was 85 years old did my dad reveal to me the full extent of his sordid past.

Once, while in college, Dad admitted to me, he went to the races.  My father, Charles D. Snow, went to the track!  It's hard to picture, but while there he bet $2 on a horse to show. (Someone told me that betting on a horse to show is the most conservative thing you can do, horse-betting-wise. That would be as characteristic of Dad as going to the track was not.)

"So," I asked, "did your horse win?"

"No," said Dad. "He didn't win." Of course there was more to the story and, of course, if I wanted to hear it, I had to ask.

"Well, what happened?"

"My horse died," he said. "Dropped dead in the back stretch. They tied some rope around him and pulled him away with a tractor."

"The horse died . . . "

"Yep," Dad answered. "My horse died."

I waited. Finally I said, "O.K., Dad. I give. What's the rest of it?"

He smiled his Dad smile, already amused by what he was about to tell me. "The horse's name, "he said, pausing for emphasis, "was Charlie's Choice."

I've yet to go to a racetrack, but I think I should sometime. When I do, I'll look for a horse with Charles, Charlie or Chuck in its name and bet the smallest permissible amount on that horse to show. Whether my horse wins or not, I'll think of my dad. And hope the poor horse doesn't have to be hauled off by a tractor.