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Casino Book By Nicholas Pileggi


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Casino Book By Nicholas Pileggi

Casino von Pileggi, Nicholas und eine große Auswahl ähnlicher Bücher, Describes a book or dust jacket that has the complete text pages. Casino ist ein Kriminalfilm-Drama aus dem Jahr des Regisseurs Martin Scorsese, der das Drehbuch zusammen mit Nicholas Pileggi schrieb. im Black Book eingetragen und damit mit einem generellen Zutrittsverbot für alle Kasinos​. Verlag: POCKET BOOKS; Seitenzahl: ; Erscheinungstermin: Juni ; Englisch; Abmessung: mm x mm x 29mm; Gewicht: g; ISBN

Casino Book By Nicholas Pileggi Rezensionen und Bewertungen

Casino: Liebe und Ehre in Las Vegas ist ein Sachbuch des Kriminalreporters Nicholas Pileggi aus dem Jahr , das die Geschichte der Allianz der Mafia-Gangster Lefty Rosenthal und Tony Spilotro und ihrer Heldentaten in von der Mafia. Finally I could read the book which the famous movie is based on. I was not disappointed! I will look into the other books Nicholas Pileggi has written soon. Nicholas Pileggi, has written this book with obvious rsearch and passion, painting a tremendous mental picture of the Mafia and thier control over Las Vegas. Casino von Pileggi, Nicholas und eine große Auswahl ähnlicher Bücher, Describes a book or dust jacket that has the complete text pages. Bücher bei ohlininstitutet.nu: Jetzt Casino von Nicholas Pileggi versandkostenfrei online kaufen & per Rechnung bezahlen bei ohlininstitutet.nu, Ihrem. Buch bewerten. Auf der Suche nach deinem neuen Lieblingsbuch? Melde dich bei LovelyBooks an, entdecke neuen Lesestoff und aufregende Buchaktionen. Nicholas Pileggi. 3,3 Sterne bei 7 Bewertungen. Autor von Casino, Wiseguy und weiteren Büchern. Folgen. Gehe zu: Neue Bücher; Alle Bücher.

Casino Book By Nicholas Pileggi

Nicholas Pileggi. 3,3 Sterne bei 7 Bewertungen. Autor von Casino, Wiseguy und weiteren Büchern. Folgen. Gehe zu: Neue Bücher; Alle Bücher. Casino von Pileggi, Nicholas und eine große Auswahl ähnlicher Bücher, Describes a book or dust jacket that has the complete text pages. Bücher bei ohlininstitutet.nu: Jetzt Casino von Nicholas Pileggi versandkostenfrei online kaufen & per Rechnung bezahlen bei ohlininstitutet.nu, Ihrem.

Call the garage. I reached for the door handle. I almost torched my arm. There were flames shooting up between the seat and the door.

This time I used my right hand to grab the door handle, and I threw my shoulder against the door at the same time. It worked. There were flames all around me.

Some of my clothes were on fire. I was burning. I rolled around on the ground until the flames were out.

I kept saying that I was all right. They insisted I get down, and when I did, it was as though the atom bomb had gone off.

I saw my car jump about two feet into the air, and then flames shot up through the roof about two stories high. He was in charge of the largest casino operation in Nevada.

He was famous for being the man who had brought sports book-betting to Vegas—an achievement that made him a true visionary in the annals of local history.

But Frank Rosenthal had been dodging trouble most of his life. He started as a clerk and bookie for Chicago gamblers and mobsters before he was old enough to vote.

In fact, before going to work inside the casinos in , Lefty had held only one legitimate job—as a military policeman in Korea between and In , when he appeared at the age of thirty-one before a congressional committee in Washington investigating the influence of organized crime on gambling, he took the Fifth Amendment thirty-seven times.

A few years later he pleaded nolo contendere to bribing a college basketball player in North Carolina—though he never admitted his guilt. In Florida, he was banned from horse and dog tracks for allegedly bribing the Miami Beach police.

Mitchell had been out on a golf course the day the court orders were to have been signed and had instructed an aide to forge his name.

Frank Rosenthal came to Las Vegas in for the same reason so many other Americans have—to get away from his past. Las Vegas was a city with no memory.

It was the place you went for a second chance. It was the American city where people went after the divorce, after the bankruptcy, even after a short stint in the county jail.

It was also the city where you could strike it rich—a kind of money-happy Lourdes where pilgrims got to hang up their psychic crutches and start life anew.

It was the end of the rainbow—American city as pot of gold—the only place in the country where the average guy had a shot at a miracle.

Long odds? Sure, but for many of those who went to live in Las Vegas and for many who went to visit, the longest odds in Las Vegas were better than the odds they had been dealt in their lives back home.

It was a magical place, the neon capital of the world. By the s, the stigma of its mobster history was on the wane, and there seemed almost no limit to its potential for growth.

Bugsy Siegel, after all, had died way back in He was shot dead in what is now the zip code—Beverly Hills. By the s, Las Vegas was poised for such unprecedented growth that the city was much too big to be dominated, or even influenced, by a bunch of men with funny accents and pinky rings.

From to , Las Vegas would double the number of its visitors, to 11,,, and the amount of cash left behind by those visitors would increase A casino is a mathematics palace set up to separate players from their money.

Every bet made in a casino has been calibrated within a fraction of its life to maximize profit while still giving players the illusion that they have a chance.

Casinos mean cash. The buildings are nothing but a cacophony of money. Normal business techniques of fiduciary responsibility and cash accountability crumble under the mountains of paper money and silver coins that pour into casinos every day.

There is probably no type of business in the world where as much paper money is handled on a daily basis by more people under more security than in a casino.

The small aprons they wear are to cover their pockets—and keep them from filling them. An experienced stickman at a craps table is trained never to take his eyes off the dice, especially when the noisy drunk at the end of the table spills his drink on the felt, drops his chips on the floor, and takes a swing at his wife.

It is at precisely these distracting Kodak moments when the shavers, or baloney dice, are slipped into the game. Trying to beat the casino—through a miraculous win or, alternatively, through the more reliable methods of being a crook—is what brings everyone to town.

In Las Vegas, beating the casino by hook or crook has been raised to an art form. I hung around the backstretch. I mucked out.

I'd get there at four thirty in the morning. I became a part of the barn. I started hanging out there when I was thirteen and fourteen, and I was an owner's son.

Everybody left me alone. My mother knew I was gambling and she didn't like it, but I was very strong headed. I wouldn't listen to anyone. I loved going over the charts, the past performances, jockeys, post positions.

I used to copy all that material onto my own eight-by-ten-inch file cards in my room late into the night. I went with two pals.

Smart guys. We stayed for eight races and I punched out seven winners. My pals thought I was the messiah. My dad turned away when he spotted me there.

He wouldn't talk to me. He was pissed that I had cut school. I didn't say anything to him when I got home. It wasn't discussed. I didn't say anything about winning, either.

The next day I cut school again and went back to the track and lost it all. There were about two hundred guys up there every game and they bet on everything.

Every pitch. Every swing. Everything had a price. There were guys shouting numbers at you. It was great. It was an open-air casino. Constant action. You've got money in your pocket and you feel like you can take on the world.

There was a guy named Stacy; he was in his fifties and he had a pocket full of cash. He'd fade anybody. Stacy always got you to make a price.

Or that they'd hit into a double play to end the inning. Or hit a home run to win the game. Or a double or a triple or a flyout.

Stacy would take the action and he'd lay the odds. He'd make a homer twenty-five to one. Just like that.

A fly ball was twenty to one. An 'out' was eight to five. If you wanted the action, you made the bet and he gave you his odds. A strikeout at the end of a game was, say — I don't remember the real odds now, but say it was a hundred and sixty-six to one, not thirty to one, which was what Stacy was laying.

And so forth. If you were betting Stacy, you had to know those odds, or you'd be picked clean. After a while, I started making proposition bets out there on my own.

Over the years, Stacy made a little fortune in the bleachers. He cleaned up. He was terrific at getting everybody all around him to start betting.

He was a great showman. If you were in the Midwest you couldn't easily find out what was happening to the East and West Coast teams behind the scenes.

You'd get the final score and that was about that. So I started reading everything. My father got me a shortwave radio, and I remember spending hours listening to the play-by-play of out-of-town teams I was thinking of betting.

I began subscribing to different papers from all around the country. I'd go to this newsstand where they had all the out-of-town papers.

That's where I met Hymie the Ace. He was a legendary professional. I don't call people legends unless they are.

Hymie the Ace was a legend. He would be there at the same newsstand buying dozens of papers, just like me. He'd get into his car and start reading. I'd be there, too, except I didn't have a car.

I had a bike. After a while we got to know each other. He knew what I was doing. I made it a habit to always say hello to him and to the other pros, and I was lucky that they'd all talk to me.

I was still a kid, but they saw that I was serious and I had an aptitude, and they were willing to help me. They were very kind. They allowed me into their circle.

I felt great. I'm doing pretty well. I'm feeling good. There was a Northwestern-Michigan basketball game that was coming up.

I had people at both schools feeding me information and I felt really strong. I liked Northwestern. That I was a fan.

That I had their pennant in my room. I mean I liked them as a bet. That's all teams were to me. I'd been waiting for this game. I'd been watching it.

So I bet Northwestern to beat Michigan State. It was a sellout crowd. I walked in and I saw Hymie the Ace. Hymie knows more about basketball than any man alive.

We say hello. It's ten minutes to tip-off. I was so certain about my information that I had made what I used to call a triple play — I'd bet two thousand dollars.

It was as far as I could go with my bankroll. A single play for me at the time was like two hundred, a double play was five hundred, and a triple was two thousand.

I'm just a kid. It's my limit. We're talking about a time when my whole bankroll was eight thousand. Don't you know about Johnny Green? It turned out he had suddenly become eligible a couple of days before the game.

I'd missed it. I'm looking to lay off some of my bets. Get rid of them. Balance some of the action. I'm still standing in line waiting for the phone when I hear the announcer and I know I'm dead.

I can't get off. I watch Green. Just like Ace said, he controlled both backboards. At halftime I had seen enough. Michigan annihilated Northwestern.

Ace had done his homework and I hadn't. Green went on to be an All-American and top pro player. I found out I wasn't as smart as I thought I was.

I had depended upon people for too much. I had given them the power to make up my mind for me. I realized that if I wanted to spend my life gambling, pitting myself against the best bookmakers, there was no such thing as listening to people.

If I was going to make a living doing this, I was going to have to figure it out for myself and do it all myself. In college games I subscribed to all the school newspapers and went through the sports pages every day.

I'd call the reporters at the different schools and make up all kinds of stories to find out extra bits of information that didn't get into the papers.

Casino Book By Nicholas Pileggi Schreiben Sie den ersten Kommentar zu "Casino". Martin Scorsese. Tee Adventskalender Originalartikel ansehen. Belletristik-Taschenbücher Nicholas Sparks auf Deutsch. Octavo, original half cloth. Weitere Informationen zu diesem Sizzling Hott 2 Septari Verkäufer kontaktieren 2. It should have lasted forever but Lefty's obsessions with running the town - and Tony's obsession with Lefty's beautiful showgirl wife, Geri - eventually led to betrayals and investigations that exploded into one of the greatest scandals in mob history.

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Casino (Audiobook) by Nicholas Pileggi Casino Book By Nicholas Pileggi You've got Real Life Online Game Free in your pocket and you feel like you can take on the world. Enlarge cover. Casino, page 1. It was where every bookmaking office in the country called to lay off bets if the action on one side was Golden 7 too heavy. Nicholas Pileggi. Michelle rated it really liked it Feb Schalke 04 Gegen Werder Bremen, Other author's books: Wiseguy: The 25th Anniversary Edition. Or that they'd hit into a double play to end the inning.

Mitchell had been out on a golf course the day the court orders were to have been signed and had instructed an aide to forge his name.

Frank Rosenthal came to Las Vegas in for the same reason so many other Americans have—to get away from his past. Las Vegas was a city with no memory.

It was the place you went for a second chance. It was the American city where people went after the divorce, after the bankruptcy, even after a short stint in the county jail.

It was also the city where you could strike it rich—a kind of money-happy Lourdes where pilgrims got to hang up their psychic crutches and start life anew.

It was the end of the rainbow—American city as pot of gold—the only place in the country where the average guy had a shot at a miracle.

Long odds? Sure, but for many of those who went to live in Las Vegas and for many who went to visit, the longest odds in Las Vegas were better than the odds they had been dealt in their lives back home.

It was a magical place, the neon capital of the world. By the s, the stigma of its mobster history was on the wane, and there seemed almost no limit to its potential for growth.

Bugsy Siegel, after all, had died way back in He was shot dead in what is now the zip code—Beverly Hills. By the s, Las Vegas was poised for such unprecedented growth that the city was much too big to be dominated, or even influenced, by a bunch of men with funny accents and pinky rings.

From to , Las Vegas would double the number of its visitors, to 11,,, and the amount of cash left behind by those visitors would increase A casino is a mathematics palace set up to separate players from their money.

Every bet made in a casino has been calibrated within a fraction of its life to maximize profit while still giving players the illusion that they have a chance.

Casinos mean cash. The buildings are nothing but a cacophony of money. Normal business techniques of fiduciary responsibility and cash accountability crumble under the mountains of paper money and silver coins that pour into casinos every day.

There is probably no type of business in the world where as much paper money is handled on a daily basis by more people under more security than in a casino.

The small aprons they wear are to cover their pockets—and keep them from filling them. An experienced stickman at a craps table is trained never to take his eyes off the dice, especially when the noisy drunk at the end of the table spills his drink on the felt, drops his chips on the floor, and takes a swing at his wife.

It is at precisely these distracting Kodak moments when the shavers, or baloney dice, are slipped into the game. Trying to beat the casino—through a miraculous win or, alternatively, through the more reliable methods of being a crook—is what brings everyone to town.

In Las Vegas, beating the casino by hook or crook has been raised to an art form. But, of course, the greatest amount of casino theft has nothing to do with cheating players or crooked dealers.

There are no strangers stealing this money in the count room. This money is taken in spite of the fact that cameras are often in use, that guards check everyone walking in and out, that only a very limited number of people can even enter state law bars even casino owners , and that every dollar counted out of every single drop box on every shift must be signed and initialed by at least two or three independent clerks and supervisors.

Count room workers go about their tasks with the deadened glaze of people who must steel themselves against the dazzling daily experience of being immersed in the sight, smell, and touch of money.

Tons of it. Stacks of it. Bundles of cash and boxes of coins so heavy that hydraulic lifts must be used to move the tonnage of loot around in the count room.

There is such a daily fortune of stacked paper bills pouring into the count room that rather than being counted, the cash is assembled into various denominations and weighed.

The coins are poured into specially made Toledo electronic coin-weighing scales manufactured by the Reliance Electric Company—model being the scale of preference when Lefty ran the Stardust—that sort and count the coins.

A million dollars in quarter slot mach ine winnings weighs twenty-one tons. The dream for many of those who find themselves owning casinos, or even working in them, is to figure out exactly how to separate the count room from its loot.

Over the years, the methods employed have run from owners getting their hands on drop box keys to employees grabbing fists full of cash before the boxes are even counted.

There are complicated methods of misdirected fill slips and maladjusted scales that weigh only one-third of the loot coming through the count room doors.

The systems for skimming casinos are as varied as the genius of the men doing the skimming. He was running four Las Vegas casinos. He had a swimming pool and a housekeeper.

His bedroom closet had over two hundred pairs of custom-made silk, cotton, and linen slacks—most of them in pastel shades—which he had specially fitted by tailors flown in from Beverly Hills and Chicago.

He was the man to see at the Stardust, and his reputation as an innovative and successful casino manager was soon to be recognized throughout Nevada.

It should have been perfect. He had been denied a gambling license and was hosting an inadvertently hilarious ninety-minute talk show—which he had modestly named The Frank Rosenthal Show.

Well, maybe not a love affair—very little that happened in Las Vegas had to do with love—but an affair nonetheless, one that had been documented by the FBI agents who were assigned to follow Spilotro and that had eventually become public knowledge.

I was sort of a loner, and horse racing was my challenge. I lived at the track. I was a groom. A hot walker. I hung around the backstretch.

I mucked out. I'd get there at four thirty in the morning. I became a part of the barn. I started hanging out there when I was thirteen and fourteen, and I was an owner's son.

Everybody left me alone. My mother knew I was gambling and she didn't like it, but I was very strong headed.

I wouldn't listen to anyone. I loved going over the charts, the past performances, jockeys, post positions.

I used to copy all that material onto my own eight-by-ten-inch file cards in my room late into the night. I went with two pals. Smart guys. We stayed for eight races and I punched out seven winners.

My pals thought I was the messiah. My dad turned away when he spotted me there. He wouldn't talk to me. He was pissed that I had cut school.

I didn't say anything to him when I got home. It wasn't discussed. I didn't say anything about winning, either. The next day I cut school again and went back to the track and lost it all.

There were about two hundred guys up there every game and they bet on everything. Every pitch. Every swing. Everything had a price. There were guys shouting numbers at you.

It was great. It was an open-air casino. Constant action. You've got money in your pocket and you feel like you can take on the world.

There was a guy named Stacy; he was in his fifties and he had a pocket full of cash. He'd fade anybody. Stacy always got you to make a price.

Or that they'd hit into a double play to end the inning. Or hit a home run to win the game. Or a double or a triple or a flyout.

Stacy would take the action and he'd lay the odds. He'd make a homer twenty-five to one. Just like that.

A fly ball was twenty to one. An 'out' was eight to five. If you wanted the action, you made the bet and he gave you his odds.

A strikeout at the end of a game was, say — I don't remember the real odds now, but say it was a hundred and sixty-six to one, not thirty to one, which was what Stacy was laying.

And so forth. If you were betting Stacy, you had to know those odds, or you'd be picked clean. After a while, I started making proposition bets out there on my own.

Over the years, Stacy made a little fortune in the bleachers. He cleaned up. He was terrific at getting everybody all around him to start betting.

He was a great showman. If you were in the Midwest you couldn't easily find out what was happening to the East and West Coast teams behind the scenes.

You'd get the final score and that was about that. So I started reading everything. My father got me a shortwave radio, and I remember spending hours listening to the play-by-play of out-of-town teams I was thinking of betting.

I began subscribing to different papers from all around the country. I'd go to this newsstand where they had all the out-of-town papers.

That's where I met Hymie the Ace. He was a legendary professional. I don't call people legends unless they are.

Hymie the Ace was a legend. He would be there at the same newsstand buying dozens of papers, just like me. He'd get into his car and start reading.

I'd be there, too, except I didn't have a car. I had a bike. After a while we got to know each other. He knew what I was doing. I made it a habit to always say hello to him and to the other pros, and I was lucky that they'd all talk to me.

I was still a kid, but they saw that I was serious and I had an aptitude, and they were willing to help me. They were very kind. They allowed me into their circle.

I felt great. I'm doing pretty well. I'm feeling good. There was a Northwestern-Michigan basketball game that was coming up.

I had people at both schools feeding me information and I felt really strong. I liked Northwestern. That I was a fan.

That I had their pennant in my room. I mean I liked them as a bet. That's all teams were to me. I'd been waiting for this game. I'd been watching it.

So I bet Northwestern to beat Michigan State. It was a sellout crowd. I walked in and I saw Hymie the Ace. Hymie knows more about basketball than any man alive.

We say hello. It's ten minutes to tip-off. I was so certain about my information that I had made what I used to call a triple play — I'd bet two thousand dollars.

It was as far as I could go with my bankroll. A single play for me at the time was like two hundred, a double play was five hundred, and a triple was two thousand.

I'm just a kid. It's my limit. We're talking about a time when my whole bankroll was eight thousand. Don't you know about Johnny Green? It turned out he had suddenly become eligible a couple of days before the game.

I'd missed it. I'm looking to lay off some of my bets. Get rid of them. Balance some of the action. I'm still standing in line waiting for the phone when I hear the announcer and I know I'm dead.

I can't get off. I watch Green. Just like Ace said, he controlled both backboards. At halftime I had seen enough. Michigan annihilated Northwestern.

Ace had done his homework and I hadn't. Green went on to be an All-American and top pro player. I found out I wasn't as smart as I thought I was.

I had depended upon people for too much. I had given them the power to make up my mind for me.

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