Sunday, July 24, 2005
Card Sharks and Trash Talk
The Deal on the Past and Present Downtown Poker Circuit
By Kristin Friedrich
What's a little sanctioned lying and manipulation among friends? As residents continue their steady stream into Downtown Los Angeles, and cliques shuffle and reshuffle as fast as a deck of cards, poker games are sprouting up. Alcohol and cigarettes are consumed; trash talk and bluffs are dispensed; and yes, sunglasses are donned - often in broad daylight - so players don't reveal their "tells."
By the end of the evening, pots at the Brewery game can hit $150. Photo by Gary Leonard.
The Downtown poker game is not a new tradition, however. We talked to host emeritus Jim Fittipaldi, who reflected on his Arts District game that ran from 1993 to 1998. Though he no longer hosts games (he's a gallerist now, a whole other kind of gamble), his poker nights still shine brightly in Downtown card players' memories.
These days there are countless games hitting local green felt. We looked at three in different parts of Downtown: a hip little house in Chavez Ravine, a rotating circuit of lofts in a Spring Street residential building; and the Brewery artist colony.
No Jeans Allowed
The Player: Jim Fittipaldi, gallerist
Ante Up: "I used to hang out in front of Joel's [of Bloom's General Store], open up a bottle of cognac and smoke cigars. It was the old boys - me, Joel, Bob Zoell, Mat Gleason. We started talking about how we wished we could play somewhere. I had a table, so that was it."
Game Time: For the first couple years, the game at Fittipaldi's Molino Street loft was held every Wednesday. The kick-off was midnight. "That guaranteed you real players," he says.
There was pool, pinball, a penny ante table for beginners, blackjack, and of course, a game for the real players. When more than 100 people started showing up for each event, Fittipaldi began hiring a bartender, waitress and doorman. "It became a fulltime racketeering venture," he laughs.
Which is actually an off-table bluff. Fittipaldi didn't charge for entrance, and didn't take a cut of winnings.
At the Table: Back when Downtown residents consisted mostly of artists, Fittipaldi knew them all. In addition, there were punks, writers, dancers, jazz musician Mickey Champion, Deacon Jones (the sax player, not the footballer), actors and mysteriously, "Germans."
"Everybody was at the top of their game but nobody did the same thing, so the schmoozing was great."
Card Sharks: A fairer gender and formidable age never equated to sucker. "Mickey Champion used to kick butt," Fittipaldi says of the 80-something singer who now croons at Little Pedro's. "She'd come down here and take everyone's money."
House Rules: Attendants had to dress up. "If you showed up in jeans, you didn't think hard enough. I'd give them $10 and tell them to get down to Aardvarks and get themselves something. Eventually, people tried to outdo each other."
Tricks of the Trade: Out in the real world, some of Fittipaldi's guests were no strangers to unruliness. But on poker nights, their behavior was pristine. "Dress people up in their best clothes, give them some top shelf booze served in the proper glass, and pretty soon they're drinking with their pinkies out."
Post-Game Wrap Up: "They were some of the best years around this neighborhood. It was like Deadwood down here back then, the wild, wild west. But there was still a lot of camaraderie."
Showers and Shtick
The Player: Celia, one-named Downtown blogger
Gambling Hall: Celia attends a game in Chavez Ravine. "The host's smallish house has limited parking and you have to climb stairs as steep as the great pyramid of Cholula. But he's the guy who knows all these amazing people from wildly different backgrounds and professions, who live in different parts of the city. He also has a great backyard patio to drink and play cards in."
There is talk, however, of moving the game to Celia's Historic Core penthouse.
Game Time: The third Sunday of the month. Usually. "We didn't play this month because we were all recovering from a party at the penthouse the night before. We decided to go out for Korean barbecue and soju instead."
At the Table: There are 11 players total, but usually five or six show up, ranging in age from 24 to 50-something. "We have one Westsider, two Hollywood, one South Central and one Burbank," says Celia. "The rest of us live Downtown. There's a television producer, a photographer, two actors, two painters, three writers, one dot-commer and someone who won't reveal what he does. We suspect he's an attorney or works for the IRS."
Game of Choice: "Texas Hold'Em. Yeah, I know it's a cliche. Thanks Bravo."
House Rules: "Everyone must bathe to participate and it's an unwritten rule that you must be entertaining as well. Basically a shower and good shtick are the requirements."
Bluffing Drunks
The Player: Josh Gray-Emmer
Game Time: There's a regular Wednesday game at Spring Tower, kicking off at about 9 p.m. Gray-Emmer is one of six hosts, and the only player who demands a non-smoking game.
At the Table: The hosts are all residents. They include a law student, a movie and commercial art director, a choreographer, a dancer and the owner of two cafes.
Game of Choice: Texas Hold'Em, which the Spring Streeters play tournament style. The bets are no-limit, and the game is played until all the chips are gone except for those of the winner, who walks away with everything. "If it gets to be five in the morning and there's two players still standing, they'll sometimes agree to split the pot," Gray-Emmer said.
Trash Talk: "A lot of it, and a lot of bluffing, especially the drunker everyone gets. We all know each other. There are couples, and some of the residents here even went to high school together. Everything's fair in love and poker."
The Players: James Andrew, a DJ, and Mat Gleason, editor of Coagula art journal
Game Time: Andrew and Gleason, both residents of the Brewery artist colony, have switched off hosting duties for more than a year. The poker unfolds on Sunday afternoons and can last late into the night. They generally end when players run out of money or girlfriends start calling cell phones.
Gleason, who used to play in Fittipaldi's game, says his Brewery tablemates mean business. "I think it was five card stud at Fittipaldi's," he said. "Everybody looked really good, but they were terrible players."
At the Table: Brewery residents, artists, and an out of work actor who prefers to be known as "Kuder," his Internet poker handle.
Numbers Game: The first bettor in this traditional Texas Hold'Em game throws down a "small blind" of $.50. The second bettor's "big blind" is $1. After two hours, the boys raise the blinds to $1 and $2; after four hours, it's $2 and $4. The biggest pots are around $150.
Card Sharks: At last Sunday's game, artist Michael Salerno left the table with $430, and Kuder walked with $200.
Trash Talk: "James counts chips slower than my grandma, and she's dead."
"You lit a cigarette right before you had to deal? What is wrong with you?"
"I went to pains to buy a new hat for this game. You like it? It was a dollar."
"Any game where Kuder has bathed within a day, that's a good game."
"We play Hold'Em because not everyone knows the other games. Nobody's here to take lessons. We're here to take money."
