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Sam Brown and the art of the 'middle'
April 24, 2001
By Jimmy Sirody
Don Best Sports senior gaming writer
Good Ol' Days archive
LAS VEGAS -- George Bernard Shaw once said, "I want to be thoroughly used up when I die. For the harder I work, the more I live."
If that is true, nobody is more used up than Sam Brown.
Brown has been fighting the good fight for more than a half-century. And the ravages of old age finally have slowed him down. In his prime, Brown was the king of Las Vegas middlers -- and without doubt, the hardest-working gambler ever to step up to a betting window.
For those not familiar with how one goes about "middling" a game, it works like this. If a bettor lays four points on a favorite, then takes back six points on the underdog and the game falls five, he would have -- as Herb "Speedy" Newman often says -- landed "Hey diddle, diddle, right in the middle."
The bettor would cash tickets on both sides of the game. His only risk would be losing the juice.
With sports in which a money line involved -- primarily baseball -- the process is called a scalp. An example of a scalp would be if you laid $1.25 on the favorite and took back $1.40 on the underdog. If the short end comes out on top, a bettor would show a $15 profit for every $100 wagered. If the favorite prevailed, the bettor would break even.
This is how Brown, nicknamed the "Spinner" for the way he made numbers spin, made a very successful living. But it is not as easy as it sounds. The chance to be successful at middling was much more prevalent in the pre-computer era when numbers would fluctuate greatly at different locations.
Another factor is the Don Best Sports screen, which allows players to look at lines from all over town (and the world) and use phone accounts to quickly grab numbers. Some smaller outfits in town also use DBS to their advantage. Managers of small venues now shift their numbers without a play simply by looking at what all the other books are using.
Brown, now in his late 80s and physically unable to get around, would still put up a winning battle despite the current conditions. Until five years ago, when the ravages of old age began to take their toll, "The Spinner" could still outwork, outthink and out-run pretenders one-third is age.
It was an inspiration to watch the old-timer in action. In his 70s, he would show up daily at the Stardust at 7:30 a.m., and even earlier on a football weekend. By 5:00 o'clock at night he still would be firing away.
That prompted many regulars to grouse, "What does he need to put in all that effort for. He couldn't spend his bankroll if he lived to be 150."
If Sam did not have the thrill of his daily battle against the bookmakers, he wouldn't have had any reason to get up in the morning.
Stardust headman Scotty Schettler and his staff treated Sam like visiting royalty and many bettors thought there was something fishy going on. Rumors were that Brown would take care of the staff in exchange for a shot at numbers to which the public never had access. Schettler personally denied those charges.
Brown never was a big fan of runners -- or of Don Best employees who used to call in line moves from the Stardust. He assumed they were conspiring to take money out of his pocket. But that did not stop him from using runners of his own. The first I can recall was Syl Valella, who started out as a board man in the race book at Jerry's Nugget. He put in plays for Sam in the afternoon.
Valella went on to be a shift boos at both the Stardust and Palace Station and belongs near the top of the list of Las Vegas nice guys. When it became increasingly difficult for Brown to get around, he used Al Hershey, who is a former proprietor of wise guy hangout The Burger Hut. Hershey drove Brown around town and pushed him in his wheelchair.
Everybody at the Stardust knew Sam -- from custodians to the executive offices, and everywhere in between. He would take care of anybody who stayed on his good side. But there was no path to redemption for those who crossed him. He was used to getting his way, and if he didn't, he was quick to let you know it.
Brown often offered those on his good side a small piece of a number he had reached earlier in the week. He had more outs than any living human, a huge advantage in the sports betting game. An out is any place where a bettor has access to a bettable line.
A lot of big offices would open up to Sam first, and it would not take long for the wily veteran to put them in line. This was an "I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine" situation. Bookmakers could open to the public knowing their line was solid as a rock. And "The Spinner " got bargains nobody else would ever see.
Sam and I used to do battle at the old Saratoga Club but it was hardly a fair fight. He knew more than I could ever hope to know and I was a rookie, working in my first Las Vegas job. But he treated me like I'd been around for years.
With age sometimes comes wisdom. I realized years later that he was schmoozing me. But it made me feel good at the time. One of his favorite sayings was, "You know you're No. 1," which he used frequently to get on the good side of sports book employees all over town.
Bob Black, one of the greatest handicappers of all-time, liked to remain low-key. When I ran into him, I would always call him "No. 2 because you know Sam Brown is No. 1." And if he were going bad he would tell me, "Two is blue."
Not that he needed any help, but it seemed the ball always bounced Sam's way. He often would walk up and lay 6½ and when the number moved to seven, he would grab that also. While I scratched my head wondering what kind of an edge he had with those two numbers, the game would fall seven.
A lot of people thought Brown had the first dollar he ever won. Although he did not skimp on the finer things, he would never be accused of being reckless with money. His favorite dining spot was the Villa D'Este, owned by Joe Pignatello, a former associate of mobster Johnny Roselli.
Joe "Pig" was a high-rolling baseball bettor and he took good care of "The Spinner". Sam would call the Castaways nightly for scores while munching on veal piccatta or fettucine alfredo. When Pignatello's establishment closed down, Brown moved to Piero's, owned by his friend Freddy Glusman.
Never one to flash his bankroll, Brown was well-known as a big gambler and was twice a robbery victim. But the thieves picked the wrong man when messing with Sam.
On one occasion, armed men approached him as he was about to enter his apartment. They brandished guns, demanding he get in their car. Knowing he probably would be dead if they got him in the vehicle, Brown fought them off long enough to get in the apartment and call 911.
Sam battled bookmakers seven days a week. The only time he took off was a couple of weeks between the end of baseball season and the beginning of football. That is when he would visit a nephew in his hometown, Utica, N.Y.
That apparently was his only living relative. He never had the time or inclination to get married. After all, he might have missed a number.
When Sam goes, so will go the fine art of the middle. When it came to that craft, he was Picasso.
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