A Man Named Slim

He was that and more. Tall as a sapling with a Texas grin that stretched from Amarillo to Abilene and included all the prairie towns in between.

Thomas Austin (Amarillo Slim) Preston was born to be a gambler. Like all legends, he grew to become one without even knowing it was happening. Slim just lived life. The world made him into a poker legend.

He loved he news media and he was a fast-draw expert when it came to a quip. On one of his frequent trips to Phoenix -- he had stopped at the Phoenix Press Club to promote a poker tournament in Reno -- one of the wise-guy reporters said, 'Slim, what does it take to motivate you to play a game for big stakes?'

The big cowboy poker player reached into his pocket, pulled out the $10,000 bankroll he always carried, and said, 'When do you want to start?'

I was one off the reporters at the press conference. Unlike most of the other reporters, I was not new to poker. I had learned many variations of the game in Lake Elsinore and Gardena while reporting for the Los Angeles Herald-Examiner.

Vic Thornton, my City Editor at the Phoenix Gazette, wasn't a poker player, but he loved betting on the horses at Turf Paradise or Prescott Downs, Arizona's two popular race tracks. He also knew I was a poker player and that was why he assigned me to cover Amarillo Slim.

I took notes that day. Slim was freckled with big hands. It was obvious Thomas Preston had not done a lick of hard work in his life. He hadn't worked in the oil fields around Dallas or Odessa, and he surely had never punched cattle on a ranch in West Texas.

We were living in the 1980s. Poker players in those days received little respect from civilized society, or at least the folks who called themselves civil. The public thought of poker players as the worst kind of men (there were very few women poker players on the circuit). We weren't exactly serial killers -- more like somebody's drinking cussing uncle that you would not dare invite to a family reunion.

But there he was in the flesh, Amarillo Slim Preston, a leather boots-wearing wrangler in jeans. He spoke with a rich Texas drawl, never stopped talking and I liked him.

Slim gave me his card and promised to look for his story when the newspaper came out the following day.

'If you're ever in Las Vegas, give me a call,' he said, winking. 'Old Slim never forgets a friendly face.'

Preston was actually born in Johnson, AR. on Dec. 31, 1928. Soon after his birth, the family moved to a small ranching community before settling down in Amarillo.

He seemed to be drawn to action from an early age and learned to play pool. He became a shark at the game and was picking up extra money after school and on weekends at a local pool hall.

After a stint in the Navy, he returned to Texas and began betting big-time. His victories became nearly as legendary as he losses -- especialy after he took the wrong team for $30,000 in the 1946 World Series.

That game taught him a valuable lesson about edges, he said later. He promised himself he would never make another bet without having an edge.

A few weeks later I drove to Las Vegas and Slim kept his word. He treated me grandly, said he enjoyed the story and introduced me to some of his poker-playing cronies like Doyle Brunson and Puggy Pearson, who would become a life-long friend.

He claimed to have played poker with two U.S. Presidents, Richard Nixon and Lyndon Johnson. He also played pool against Minnesota Fats. But whatever game of chance Slim got involved in, there was sure to be color.

I think people liked reading about Slim Preston. Amarillo Slim gave the poker a different, more respectable look. People felt that if a guy like Slim played the game, maybe they had a chance.

Before receiving the Golden Handshake that awaits us all, he wrote a book called 'Amarillo Slim in a World of Fat People.' Friends who knew him claimed the book was 70 percent fact, 30 percent fiction.

All I know is that when I walk into a bar or poker room and see that classic Western painting of a cowboy asleep on a pink-tinged cloud -- Preston died of cancer in April 2012 at the age of 85 -- I think of a slim cowboy in high-heeled boots whipping out a bankroll and saying, 'When do you want to start playing?'

Author: Geno Lawrenzi Jr.

(Geno Lawrenzi Jr. is an international journalist, magazine author and ghostwriter. If you have a unique gambling story to share with him, you may qualify for a cash award. Send your story with all the details to glawrenzi@gmail.com ).