Monday, 21 June, 2010 10:06
by Brandy Evans
Who is ShreveBo? My friend, I’ve been asked that question time and again and sometimes the question is more complex than the answer. But the story, and there’s one hell of a story, is always just a little different each time it’s told…
It all started one cold, rainy Shreveport-Bossier evening. My momma was a cocktail waitress with sunlit rings of hair like Sally Struthers on a hot day. As luck would have it – being this is a gambling town – momma just happened to be workin’ that stormy evening at the Horseshoe. She was tending to drinks around the craps table and all seemed just as it should for the evening, folks carrying-on and such. She was good at cocktail waitressin’, damn good. Not a gambler at her table was ever missing a drink. The liquor was free and the tips were good. Other than that nasty weather, it was a decent Saturday night.
The thunder boomed with looming vocals that night my friend. And just as that thunder clapped, the doors swung open and the lightening flashed behind a man whose silhouette was cut straight from solid rock. His name was Thurston Elmwood Cleveland Hall Smithfield Remington III. But everyone called him Billy. They say he was from Dallas and drove east to Shreveport-Bossier each time he had a hankering for fast money and good times. Momma said he took one step inside the Horseshoe and the slot machines stopped mid-spin. Card shuffling halted.
The ice among all the drinks on that casino floor clinked together as everyone lowered their glass to take a closer look. His presence was commanding, cool, and calming all at once – think mid-80s Kenny Rogers with half the mullet. Billy walked straight through, his steel blue eyes fixed ahead. Are you singing “Islands in the Stream”? Sorry about that. Let’s get back on track. He passed the nickel slots and rounded the Black-Jack tables. He knew exactly what he wanted. He had itchy palms and a pair of dice was like his Gold Bond medicated powder. As he walked up to the craps table the players parted like the Red Sea for Moses. He felt a tap on his shoulder and a woman named Clarice asked what he drank. “Seven and seven, ma’am.” His chiseled face told a story of loneliness and strength. Clarice was intrigued.
The dice were good to Billy that night and Clarice kept his glass filled. When the itching in his palms subsided, he asked Clarice if she’d like a steak dinner. No one ever turned Billy down…
Well, my friends, that’ll do for now. What do you think happens next? Click here for part 2 of the saga http://www.shrevebo.com/blog/bid/37979/So-Who-Is-ShreveBo-Pt-II.