There's One Born Every Second

Ever hear of a little game consisting of three walnut shells and a pea? People are still trying to guess under which shell the pea is hidden. I see by the papers that a man pulled into a gas station in Blackwood, New Jersey, and made $40 teaching the service attendant the mysteries of the sport. Then there were the two grifters on the race train to Havre de Grace who made $1000 convincing the passengers that they couldn't find the little joker. Good thing, too, or the passengers might have lost the money foolishly at the race track. I've a notion my old friend Neversweat must still be around, although I haven't seen him for years.

The first time I saw Neversweat, I was working as a sword swallower in a little rag show of a carnival playing the grits-and-fat-back route in southern Virginia. I was heading for the cook tent after the "all out and over" when I saw Neversweat standing by the side wall of the side-show top behind a small collapsible table with a crowd around him. Instead of the walnut shells, he was using three bottle caps, but I recognized the game instantly. I couldn't believe anyone was still sucker enough to bet on this old grift.

Neversweat was a Mexican and it was obvious to the uninitiated that he didn't know too much about the game. He handled the bottle caps clumsily, grinding out a spiel in broken English: "Come close, for she don't cost you to look. Now I got the sheep turd here; now I got her there. You see it now, but then you see nothing. My hand is quick, your eye not so quick. If you pay money, you pick any one."

When he stopped, I could see that the pea was caught under the edge of a cap. A man beside me swore to himself and threw down a $20 bill. He turned the bottle cap and collected. Neversweat shuffled the caps again, but this time the pea was hidden. The man bet only five dollars and I could see he'd made a mistake and picked the wrong cap. He hadn't been watching closely enough. When the man turned the cap over and found no pea, he cursed and threw the cap on the ground.

Neversweat said, "So you win once and lose once. What you want to get sore about?"

"Don't you like it, greaser?" the man asked him. "Well, that's just too damn bad."

Neversweat bent over to pick up the cap. As he did so, the man lifted the two other caps, revealing the pea under one of them. Neversweat straightened up and asked, without touching the caps, "Anyone want to bet on these two?"

The man pulled out a roll of bills, but Neversweat told him, "You too lucky. I don't bet with you."

I said, "I'll bet ten dollars if you don't touch the caps," sure that he'd refuse.

Instead, he told me, "Go ahead." I knew the pea must still be under the cap I'd seen it under, for he hadn't gone near it; so I put down my ten dollars and turned it over. The pea was gone. Neversweat produced it from under the other cap and went on with the grind.

All I could think of was that it must be a trick table. Several men in the crowd began betting, some winning and some losing. The man beside me, who'd already won $15 from Neversweat, stood watching the game, never taking his eyes off the table. He said to me in a low voice, "He always does the same thing. I've got it figured now, if he doesn't slip the pea out." He suddenly reached out and put a finger on one of the caps so Neversweat couldn't move it. "It's here," he said and threw down a ten-dollar bill. At the same time, he flipped the cap over, showed the pea and collected.

I knew that the shell man is supposed to slip the pea out and hold it between two fingers, so that when it comes time for the sucker to bet, the pea isn't under any of the caps. But after shuffling the caps, Neversweat would raise his hands with his fingers spread and turn them back and forth, so it was impossible for him to be concealing the pea. It had to be under one of the caps; and following the game, I could always tell where the pea was, although some of the bettors weren't so smart and made mistakes. Even so, I wasn't going to bet again unless I could actually see the pea protruding from under one of the caps. After a while, Neversweat slipped up and didn't cover the pea completely. This was my chance.

I reached into my pocket for some money, but before 1 could get it out, the man beside me started lo bet. I tried to shove him aside and we bumped the table, so the cap slipped over the pea; but Neversweat was juggling the two other caps and paid no attention to it. I threw down a ten-spot and put a finger on the cap to hold it down.

Neversweat said, "I don't take no bet unless she's fifty dollars or bigger." I knew I had him now. He was afraid to let me bet.

The man beside me said, "Don't let him bluff you, kid. How much you got?" I had another ten and I fished that out, still holding down the cap. Neversweat started to protest, but my friend said, "OK, greaser. I'll make up the fifty," and put down 30 bucks of his own.

Neversweat shrugged and stood back. I turned over the cap. There was nothing under it.

Right away, my friend started explaining how I'd been fooled, and several young boys crowded around me with their explanations. None of them made much sense; meanwhile, Neversweat had folded the table and gone. I had a job getting rid of my sympathizers, but I finally managed to shake them and went back to the side-show top. I still couldn't figure what had happened.

The next day, old man Krinko, who ran our show, handed me my $30. "The grifter didn't know you're with it," he told me, meaning with the carny. "What are you, crazy to bet on a joint?" I didn't like to take the money, because I felt that anyone stupid enough to get hooked by the old shell game deserved to lose; but 30 bucks meant a lot to me in those days, so I accepted the money.

Later, I met Neversweat. He was a little, skinny guy who drank the way I breathed and claimed to be irresistible to women--especially North American women. He spoke good enough English when he wanted to and got a big kick putting on gringos who thought they were better than Mexicans. He especially hated and despised the police. He was always boasting how he'd swindled sheriffs and detectives with the game. Once he'd been fined by a "town clown" (sheriff) and then gone to a picnic where the sheriff was out of uniform. Neversweat claimed he'd gotten out the bottle caps and cleaned the man, even taking his watch and rings.

Neversweat usually operated with two other men, who worked together as a team. Neversweat was the operator who actually handled the bottle caps. Because walnut shells are so well known, they are seldom, if ever, used today. Instead, the operator uses bottle caps, small cups or hollow wooden cubes. All are known as blocks. The operator, however, does not and cannot work alone. There is a stick handler who picks up half a dozen young local boys to act as boosters, or sticks. Their job is to bet when he signals them, in order to encourage others. The stick handler promises the boys money, passes to the concessions or dates with the showgirls. Using local boys is important, for when the marks (suckers) see a kid they know bet and win, they're convinced the game is on the level.

The stick handler's job requires as much skill as, if not more than, the operator's. He spreads his sticks out in front of the tip (crowd) and instructs them when to bet, as directed by the operator. He hands them the money and immediately collects their winnings, so they can't run off with them.

There is also the outside man, who is supposedly a member of the tip. His job is to get a certain mark to bet. He does this by pointing out to the mark where the pea is, offering to lend him money or any other device. As the operator has to handle the blocks, he can't possibly do this hoisting himself.

The actual moves of the game are simple enough. As the block is pushed forward, the back is lifted slightly and the pea rolls out, so the operator can catch it between his first and second fingers. As his hand covers the rear of the block, the steal is undetectable. The operator instantly places the pea under another block, so he can show his hands empty. He can do this safely, because a mark never selects a block at random. He always picks a certain block because he's been given a peek (the block has been lifted by the outside man or left propped up on the pea) or because he has seen the pea put under the block and the operator has not moved it since then--or so the mark thinks.

I'd been caught by two standard moves. The first is called the countdown. The mark is positive he knows how the game works, because he's watched the sticks bet and, no matter whether they won or lost, he was always able to follow the pea. The outside man then lifts a block, giving him a peek; but as he does so, he steals the pea. Meanwhile, the operator has gotten another pea from his pocket; and after the mark turns the block and blows (loses), the operator lifts another block, revealing the duplicate pea.

The second routine is called "over the top." In placing the center block over the pea, the operator does it clumsily, so the block doesn't completely cover the pea. Then, by slightly jarring the table, the block is made to slip down. The operator shuffles the two other blocks; but as he does so, he strikes the center block on the side with one of the blocks in his hand. The jar causes the pea to fly out from under the center block and roll under the one he is holding. As he covers the motion with the block in his other hand, it is undetectable. All the mark sees is that the operator never touched the center block with his hand.

As the operator is manipulating the blocks, he keeps up a steady flow of conversation, known as the grind. The grind is a standard patter interspersed with instructions to the stick handler and occasionally to the outside man. As Neversweat affected a highly accented gibberish, it was impossible for the tip to make much sense out of what he was saying, unless Neversweat wanted to make his meaning clear. Without the dialect, his grind would go something like this:

"Step up, boys, and make some easy spending money. Yes, sir, Mr. Bates is here from Springfield." (Meaning. "Outside man, that mark is ready to spring a bet, so start working on him.") "It costs you nothing to watch, so Duke high-pockets a fin." ("Stick handler, give that tall stick a five-dollar bill.") "And remember that the hand is quicker than the eye. Cop it, boys, cop it." ("Stick handler, have the stick bet to win.") "Pay your money and take your choice. He wins! Once again. Now here, now there. Weed that stick." ("Stick handler, get the money he just won away from that stick, in case he tries to run off.") "For now you see it and now you don't. Let him go natural." ("Outside man, don't press him, for he's going to bet anyhow.") "Now, sir, you didn't keep your eye on the right cap, but leave your money there and I'll give you another chance. Double your bet and take either of the two other caps. Sir, I see you have a keen eye and it's shade the store."

At this last mysterious injunction, the stick handler moves his sticks forward to surround the mark and hide him from the tip. If the mark chills (hesitates), the outside man bets on one of the two remaining blocks and wins. The mark is infuriated that someone else should have grabbed his chance and he decides to work faster next time. The operator covers the pea with the center block and instantly shows his hands empty, which he can do, for the pea is really under the (continued on page 216)There's One Born Every Second(continued from page 106) block. As he starts to move the two other blocks, the outside man says, "Can I hold any cap I want before I bet?" The operator tells him to go ahead. The outside man puts his finger on the center block, turns it and wins.

He then whispers to the mark, "As long as you hold the cap, he can't slide the pea out." The operator again covers the pea, shows his hands empty and starts moving the two other blocks. The mark decides to bet. As he gets out his money, the outside man says, "You dropped a bill," and leans over to pick it up. The mark is already reaching out to hold the cap, but he looks down for an instant and, as he does so, the operator casually shoves the cap covering the pea forward, to make it easier for him to reach it. As the mark is looking away and the gesture is so natural, the mark never notices. The operator continues moving the two other caps, while the mark holds down the now-empty cap.

If he doesn't bet the full extent of his roll, the outside man also throws down a bet and the operator says, "You'll have to match this gentleman's bet." As the mark has seen the pea put under the cap and he's holding it down, he'll blow his wad.

Instantly, the outside man, helped by the stick, distracts the mark's attention, while the operator sloughs the joint (folds up his table and disappears). The outside man has to hold the mark and persuade him not to go to the fuzz. He usually does this by offering to pay for his loss, claiming to be at fault, while reminding him that, since gambling is a criminal offense, they're both as guilty as the grifter. He has to hold the mark long enough for the grifter to make a complete getaway; otherwise, he's only a "20-minute man" and, no matter how shrewd he is at getting Mr. Bates to bet his okus (whole roll), he's not much good to the gang.

• • •

The shell game is the bastard child of the cups and balls, the oldest magic trick known. There's an Egyptian wall painting in the tomb of Baqt, done about 2000 B.C., showing the game. Three cups are used and the magician makes a number of small balls appear and disappear from under them. The trick was so well known to the Greeks and Romans that the Latin word for a magician is acetabularius, meaning a cup-and-ball man.

The gypsies probably deserve the credit for transforming this ancient trick into a gambling game. John Mulholland, the famous American magician, witnessed some Romanian gypsies giving a command performance of the trick--the command being given by the chief of police. The gypsies used three thimbles and a pealike object made of cigarette paper, slightly dampened so it would stick to the tip of the operator's finger and he could slip it out while shuffling the thimbles around. Nongypsies learned the technique, improving it by making the pea of wax, so it could be harpooned on the little fingernail. As "thimble rigging," the game became common at race tracks and country fairs.

The game is said to have been introduced into the United States by "Dr." Bennett, who worked the Mississippi river steamboats in the early part of the last century. Dr. Bennett was still showing the marks how to find the little joker when he died in 1845. He had to wear glasses by then, but he still was considered king of the thimble riggers.

Shortly after Dr. Bennett went to his reward, the important scientific discovery was made that the game worked far better if three walnut shells and a small rubber pea were used. Because of the shape of the shells, the simple act of pushing one forward causes the pea to pop out into the operator's hand. Drawing a shell backward causes the pea to slide under it. Soon, thimble rigging became a thing of the past; everyone was using the three walnut shells.

The great genius of the shell game was Soapy Smith. Soapy was Jefferson Randolph Smith, born in Georgia in 1860. At an early age, he ran away from home and went to Texas, where he became a cowboy. One afternoon, he went to a traveling circus, where he saw a grifter named Clubfoot Hall operating the shells. Soapy was fascinated and the fascination cost him all his wages. But he was too big a man to hold a grudge. He figured that shuffling three shells around was a much easier way of making a living than punching cattle, so he attached himself to Clubfoot. From then on, his rise was rapid.

Soapy first achieved national recognition when he moved into the silver town of Creede, Colorado. Within a few weeks, he had cleaned out the miners and was the best-known gambler in town. His only rival was Robert Ford (the man who shot Jesse James), but Soapy had him murdered and took over Creede. When the town ran out of silver. Soapy went to the Klondike for the gold rush. He set up his three shells at Skag-way and was soon running that town as he'd run Creede. He was shot in 1898 by Captain Reid, an engineer, but Soapy killed Reid before he died.

Throughout the early days of this century, the shell game was the standard grift at small circuses and carnivals. Often eight out of ten dollars the show grossed came from the shells. Some shows were owned and operated by the shell-game men to collect a crowd--draw a tip--so they could spread the store (set up a table and start working). A typical take was $400 to $500 a clay. Colonel Weaver, a famous operator, once turned over $4000 in one day to the Hagenback Circus as its share of his takings, and Kid Monahan handed, in $3000 on another occasion.

When the patch (advance man for the circus, whose job was to bribe the local authorities so the shell men could operate) passed the word to rip and tear, it meant that anything went. But if he reported, "I mitted the shamus, but he said no," it meant that the local sheriff had refused the bribe. Then the shell men had to be careful. In case of a raid, there was no time to slough the joint. A genius named Jim Miner overcame this difficulty by "doing the shells" on an open umbrella. The umbrella could be closed in seconds and could not be introduced in court as incriminating evidence, as could the table. Jim always introduced his game with the following poem:

A little fun, just now and then,

Is relished by the best of men.

If you have nerve, you may win plenty.

Five draws you ten, and ten draws twenty.

Attention give, I'll show to you

How shells hide the peekaboo.

Select your shell, the one you choose,

If right, you win; if wrong, you lose.

The game itself is lots of fun,

Jim's chances, though, are two to one.

And I'll tell you, your chance is slim

To win a prize from Umbrella Jim.

Although Neversweat regarded himself as a great manipulator, his handling of the blocks was as raw as a beefsteak. He had trouble with the muscles of his right hand. On one occasion, a mark had pulled out a knife and pinned Neversweat's hand to the table while he was shuffling the blocks. Then the mark turned over the bottle caps, thinking Neversweat had the pea palmed. When he found the pea, he pulled the knife out and apologized; but after that, Neversweat was forced to hold his right hand in a cramped position.

As a professional magician, I soon learned 10 handle the caps much better than Neversweat; but it took me a long time to realize that his crude manipulation was actually a good thing, since it convinced the marks that he was incapable of trickery. Also, the sleight of hand is unimportant; everything depends on building up the mark for the blow. When I handled the caps, I tried to give an exhibition of magic, which is the last thing a real grifter would do. Neversweat finally told me, "You have such an innocent, dumb face, I figured you'd make a grifter; but the trouble is, you're just as dumb as you look."

Although drinking never affected Neversweat's handling of the caps, it did cause him to take crazy chances. He'd gotten his nickname from always being calm in emergencies, but this was mainly because he was too drunk to know better. Once we went to a bar and Neversweat started downing rye with beer chasers, as though he were trying to fill a well. I confined myself to one beer, which caused Neversweat to say contemptuously. "You ain't an old man, kid, but you're so damn moral you might as well be. Now, me, I'll drink anything I can't chew."

I noticed Neversweat throw occasional glances toward a thickset man at the other end of the bar. Suddenly he left me, went up to the stranger, borrowed a match and returned. Alter another drink, he told me. "You can always spot the fuzz. When I asked him for a match, he give me this suspicious look before pulling out the box. That clown was pounding a beat until they took the harness off him and made him a detective. He's no more fit to be a detective than the Devil is to be foreman in a powder factory. Oh, well, life would be dull if you didn't step on those flat feet once in a while."

He had another drink and then said, "Come on, kid, let's work outlaw."

He meant start a game off the lot, without the gang. This was a fool thing to do anyhow; but with a detective in the bar, it was insanity. Neversweat had barely enough money to pay for his drinks and I was relieved, as this meant he had no roll to flash and couldn't pay a winner. It didn't bother Neversweat. He went over to a table, laid down his wrist watch as bait and got out the bottle caps. I saw the fuzz watching us and began to sweat.

I went over to the table and Neversweat offered me a free game--if I won, I got the watch. He juggled the caps, but when he pulled his hands away, it was obvious that he had palmed the pea. This was my signal. I leaned forward and put my hands down on the two end caps. "It's under the middle one," I said.

Neversweat was caught. He couldn't get at either of the end caps to slip the pea under. It would have made a corpse smile to see the agony on his face. Finally, he lifted the center cap and produced the pea. I left with the watch. Everyone was laughing, especially the fuzz.

Neversweat got back to the lot late that night. He'd left the bar shortly after] had, gotten some money and returned. He'd tried showing the game to a new bunch of suckers, but the fuzz was still there and tried my trick of putting his hands on the end caps. Only this time it hadn't worked. The fuzz was pretty sore and wanted to run him in, but Neversweat reminded him that it wouldn't look good in the papers how a newly made detective had lost his roll on the old shell game.

Neversweat thought he'd pulled a great stunt; but after that, the atmosphere around the lot was pretty hot. The fuzz had told his pals on the force what had happened and every prowl car and every plainclothesman on the force moved in. The flat joints (gambling booths) were closed and strippers had to wear bras. This was especially tough on the carnival's proprietor. When I'd joined the outfit a few weeks before, the ability of a performer depended on how good he could swing a sledge, and the tops leaked so badly we'd taken to paraffining ourselves. But we'd hit a few red ones (good towns) and the owner had invested in neon lights for the flash and new G strings for the girls. Now the whole carny was taking the rap for Neversweat's outlaw. But even when the owner ordered all grifters off the lot, Neversweat refused to worry.

"The boss has chased the grift, but we'll be back the first day the rides don't hit," he assured me. "Anyhow, I've been with this rag too long. The privilege was getting too high" (the kickback to the carnival management). "I'll jump from show to show for a while and stay with one outfit only as long as the privilege can be stalled."

Neversweat had trouble finding another carny that would take him. He had a reputation as a rip-and-tear operator. Finally, he and the outside man decided to work outlaw. As they needed a car and I had one, they asked me to help out. I did--but only once.

We drove into a town and I dropped Neversweat and the outside man at a bank. I parked the car and went back, waiting for my cue. Neversweat strolled around until he saw a likely-looking mark come out of the bank, then went up to the man and started talking to him. I found out later that Neversweat explained that he was a Puerto Rican who wanted to find out how to bank money. The mark was trying to give him the brush-off until Neversweat produced a roll of bills that made the mark look wild. Neversweat claimed he'd give a big commission to anyone who'd help him, because he was afraid to go into a bank alone. All the time he was giving the grind, he was waving that roll of cabbage around so it was really a pity for someone not to relieve him of it.

Then the outside man went up and offered to help him. Neversweat signaled me, so I went up and asked what the trouble was. The mark began to get very upset, because he could see this poor Puerto Rican was up against a couple of city slickers; and if anyone was going to relieve him of that okus, it might as well be the mark, who could give it a good home. Neversweat offered to buy everyone lunch while we explained banking practices to him. We agreed and went to my car. The three men got in the back, while I drove around looking for a good restaurant.

Restaurants were scarce in that part of town, and while I was looking, the outside man found some bottles of beer under the seat. The beer went right to Neversweat's head. He put a newspaper across his knees and started showing them a game he'd learned in Puerto Rico with three of the beer-bottle caps and a spitball. It was pitiful to take money from a drunk Puerto Rican, but the mark decided to do it. He lost $100, although he couldn't understand how.

Then the outside man bet and won. The mark saw now where he'd made his mistake, so we drove back to the bank and he drew out $3000. We started driving around again, while Neversweat framed the gaff. When they'd cleaned him, I said they'd taken so long with their game that I had to get back to my job and didn't have time to go to the restaurant. So I stopped the car and the mark got out.

Just then, a prowl car went by and the mark started yelling. I lost my head, went into reverse, backed up and hit another car. Then I stalled. I decided that from then on, it was their funeral and I didn't want to interfere with the corpse, so I jumped out and ran. The car was an old jalopy, not worth more than $30, anyhow.

It was many years later that I saw Neversweat again, on the old Philly main stem at Race and Vine. He didn't look so good and I offered him a drink. After pouring some rye down his throat, he told me that after the fuzz got them, he and the outside man swore they'd never seen each other before; but down at the station house, the police turned up an old photograph of him and the outside man together, taken in Connecticut. There wasn't much they could say after that, but they got off with a fine.

"How are the blocks holding up these days?" I asked.

"Well, we ran into a little trouble in Harlem last week. There was a big tip--too big, 'cause most of them were women. Women aren't no good. When a man loses, he's sort of speechless, but women start to holler. I was betting with this big cat and cleaned him. He didn't say anything, just walked away, but I knew he meant trouble."

"Then why didn't you return his money?"

"I'll see a mark in hell as far as a pigeon can fly in a million years before I'd do that. The sweetest music in the world is the squealing of a mark. I'd rather take money from a mark than find it in the street--the owner might claim it. I should have sloughed the joint, but the outside had a couple more marks lined up, so I kept grinding. Then this mark came back and started shooting. He missed me but hit one of the women. I'd have stopped to see how she was, but I can't stand the sight of blood--especially mine--so I left. Besides, that mark was shouting things discouraging to a man whose living depends on the confidence the public has in him."

"Sounds as though things were getting tough," I told him. "Ever think of going legitimate?"

"I'm morally opposed to doing anything legitimate if I can avoid it--and I usually can avoid it. When I was a kid, I said I'd play the game higher than a cat's back and make it rain money. No one's ever called me a liar. No, I'll keep on crossroading until they plant me. Yet, it's funny. How many of us old-time grifters have a dollar to show the many times we've taken the marks?"

I looked at Neversweat's hands. He'd arranged the three empty liquor glasses on the table and was automatically making the block passes with them.