Hey There (You with the Gun in Your Hand)

Three

Harrah’s was first opened in South Lake Tahoe in Stateline, Nevada, by William F. Harrah in 1955. In ’59 it moved across the street and became Harrah’s Stateline Club.

The South Shore Room, where Sammy was playing, opened in ’59. The 750 seat room cost $3.5 million dollars. The opening act was Red Skelton.

Since Sammy was expecting me, and Frank had given me his room number, I walked through the lobby, went right upstairs and knocked on his door. Harrah’s could not have been called an integrated property by any means at that time, but this was Sammy’s first appearance in Harrah’s Shore Room. They obviously wanted to keep him happy, so they gave him a room in the hotel rather than making him stay off premises.

Like Frank, Sammy opened the door to his own room. Unlike Frank, Sammy was wearing a pair of six-guns in twin holsters.

“Eddie G,” he said. “Come on in, man.”

He backed away into the room, leaving the door open. I entered, expecting to find others in the room, but we were alone. I knew that Sammy usually traveled with his friend Arthur Silber, Jr., who had met Sammy when he was fifteen, just a little younger than Sammy himself. Back then Silber-as Sammy called him-was the son of the man who managed the Will Maston Trio, Arthur Silber. Arthur Jr. was on salary, but in reality he and Sammy were best friends.

“Whataya think of this?” Sammy asked, as I closed the door. The room was a suite, but a much smaller suite than we had at the Sands in Vegas.

Sammy drew one of the guns left-handed, twirled it a few times, then returned it to the holster a bit awkwardly.

“I’m tryin’ to get as good with my left hand as I am with my right.”

He drew the right one, executed the same maneuvers and then returned it to the holster flawlessly.

“You should be makin’ westerns, Sam,” I said.

“We’re gonna start shootin’ one in a few months,” he told me. “Me, Frank, Dean, Peter and Joey. It’s called Sergeants 3. It’s a western based on Rudyard Kipling’s ‘Gunga Din.’ Frank’s producing, from a W. R. Burnett script. I hope that will lead to some more westerns.”

“Good luck.”

He smiled at me.

“But there’s not much call for a one-eyed black Jew in westerns these days,” he admitted.

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Hey, where are my manners?” he asked. “Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

“Bourbon would be good.”

“Comin’ up. Rocks?”

“Is there any other way?”

He laughed, went to the bar and made us both drinks. I wasn’t sure what he was having, but it was roughly the same color as mine.

“How’s May?” I asked.

“Good,” he said. “She stayed home this time. Her mom’s there.”

“And Silber?”

“Had some business in L.A.; I’m on my own.”

“You seem to be keeping yourself occupied.”

“These?” he asked, looking down at his holsters. “You’d think guns would get me into more trouble, wouldn’t you? Actually, I do get out, but I’m watching my p’s and q’s while I’m here without May and Silber. Of course, I don’t have the guys to get me into trouble.”

“Frank is here.”

“He’s keepin’ to himself,” Sammy said. “Dean’s at the Sands, isn’t he?”

“End of the week.”

“Maybe I’ll come down and catch that.”

“Joey’s there,” I said. “He’s staying to see Dean.”

“I’ll have to talk to Frank. Maybe he’ll want to go, too.”

“Sammy,” I said, “Frank thinks I might be of help to you.”

Sammy put his drink down, then drew both guns and tried twirling them together. He almost dropped the left one, then holstered both.

“Eddie, I know what you did for Frank and Dean last year,” he said. “I also know none of that got out to the press.”

“I don’t talk to the press, Sammy,” I said. “That’s not part of my job.”

“Neither is helping any of us when we get into trouble.”

I snorted and said, “Tell that to Jack Entratter.”

“We both know Jack wouldn’t have fired you if you’d refused to help Frank and Dean.”

I almost snorted again, but stopped myself.

He took a moment to unbuckle the gun belt and set it aside on a chair, then picked up his drink and sat in another chair.

“Sam, are you asking me if I’ll be discreet?”

“No, Eddie,” Sammy said, “I’m asking if you’ll keep your damned mouth shut.”