Rosco had his own office in the poolroom. It was a small alcove not far from the bar. Rosco deserved his own office because Rosco was a money maker. Rosco took in almost $4000 a week, and he only paid out $2500 or less. Rosco was an electronic draw poker machine. He didn't knock down. He didn't call at the last minute and claim sickness, either his or his wife's. He didn't get drunk, or loud, or make passes at someone else's wife. He was the perfect moneymaking employee. Best of all he didn't expect a pay check or a Christmas bonus.

Kelly geys credit for giving the machine the name Rosco shortly after the machine came to work. No one including Kelly knew exactly why he choose that name, but it stuck from the beginning.

Rosco worked like this: you put in a quarter and you get five cards revealed on a screen. Rosco pays points based on the hand you hold. Any one pair of jacks or better pays back your quarter. Two pair of any kind pays double, three of a kind pays triple, straight pays six times, flush pays eight, full house pays ten times, four of a kind is worth twenty, straight flush pays fifty times and the royal flush pays two hundred and fifty times . Kelly named the royal flush "the dooey". After Rosco deals the initial five cards the player has the option of discarding any or all the cards and drawing new ones. If you have a winner, you push the take button and Rosco registers the proper number. There is a button you can push to go double or nothing by betting on whether or not the next card will be higher that 8, or lower than 8. Naturally in either case if an 8 comes up you lose. The fascinating thing about Rosco is you can bet more than a quarter at a time on each hand. You may bet up to twenty quarters, or five dollars each hand. At this rate Rosco can eat a hundred dollars, as Kelly says, "before a cat can lick his ass".

Isn't this illegal one might ask? It would be if the law caught one, one would say. Fact is generally speaking, as long as there were no complaints, like maybe a wife calling the sheriff because the old man lost his entire pay check fighting Rosco, and as long as the state and county amusement license remains current, no one much cares. But Rosco can become addictive. There were a couple of guys on the graveyard shift who would leave several hundred dollars a week with Rosco. They’d win now and then, but not often. And when they did win, nobody cared because we knew they would be back.

Rosco cleared about $1500 per week. How much of that did Uncle Sugar get? None! That's right, none! There is no federal gaming license for Rosco, so Uncle Sugar's boys don't know about him. Cheatham hoped they’d never find out.

Occasionally it was necessary to move Rosco to another place. Generally during the convening of the grand jury twice a year, and any time the contact in the sheriff's department called. Sometimes the call was to say there's been a complaint and the deputy is on his way over, and sometimes it was to say the state guys are in town.

It wasn’t so much that we have pull as it is, there are several private fraternal lodges, veteran organizations, and country clubs in the area that also have their own version of Rosco. If they heard about a raid and we didn't, we would turn in their asses. They would do the same for us, and the sheriff would neither get reelected, nor be able to live as high as he does. Anyway you don't have to be a financial genius to figure $1500 clear-ass, tax-free dollars a week makes somebody a well off sumbitch before long. In the words of Leonard, "only in America!" Rosco is the MVP in this business. That's why he's got his own office.

Sad to say Roscoe lost his office today. He actually left the premises several weeks ago and we hoped he would be able to return, but it looks like the law means it this time.

They raided every place in town that had the machines. Even though there was a flurry of phone calls between the places the owners were not able to save a single one. Someone turned them into the state alcohol and beverage folks, so when they got involved the local guys couldn’t do anything except go along. The locals didn’t even have enough time to warn the ones who had been paying off!

It was interesting how it took place at the poolroom.

Since it was about 10:00 in the morning, there was hardly anyone in the place and no one was playing Roscoe at the time. Raymond had downed a few to take the edge off, and Grocer Smith was there because it was his day off, and Tom was filling in as bartender. Four guys were playing dominoes. Tom had just gone to the back to take a leak and pick up a case of beer when the law walked in the front door.

"Who’s running this place?" asked one of the bigger ones. He was in the uniform of the city police.

"I think it’s on auto-pilot right now." Said Raymond.

"I wouldn’t be running my smart mouth, if I was you," said the cop.

"I guess you hadn’t noticed that you ain’t me."

"Don’t give me a hard time," said the cop. "I’m not in a good mood today."

"If you don’t like your job, you ought to get one you do like," said Raymond.

Turning to Grocer Smith and the guys playing dominoes, one of the other cops said, "you boys can clear out of here if you want to." Naturally they all wanted to. At least three of the four domino players had an unregistered firearm in their pocket, not counting the illegal gambling they were doing. They hit the door quick, leaving only Raymond and Tom, who was now meandering up from the restrooms.

Another burst or two from Raymond had the big cop bracing him against the bar and cuffing his hands behind his back. Tom politely asked, "alright if I leave?"

With hardly a look the big cop said it was OK.

Tom strolled out the door and to his car.

Raymond wanted to know what he done wrong. "Public drunkenness!" was the quick reply.

"I think ya’ll just picking on me cause you’re in a bad mood. These cuffs are hurting my hands. This seems like police brutality to me."

The smaller of the two cops took Raymond outside. By the police car he put the key in the cuffs and opened them. Raymond breathed easier. Then the small cop took his cuffs and put them on the free wrist and coupled the two sets of cuffs together. "That ought to be more comfortable," he said as he put Raymond in the backseat.

They proceeded to pull Roscoe out of his office and load the machine in the back of a pickup truck, locked the door, and hauled away Raymond and Roscoe.

As soon as Tom contacted the owner, he headed for the police station with Lawyer Smith. Since no one was playing Roscoe at the time, no money was found in the machine, and there was no proof of payouts, the charge was possession of a gambling device. Roscoe was confiscated and supposedly destroyed. The poolroom was reopened by noon. Raymond was released after 7 hours of giving the jailers a hard time, and eventually paid a $50 fine for PI. It wasn’t the first time for any of these events. We kept thinking there would be another Roscoe in place, but the word was "no more".

So today Roscoe’s office was torn out and another table was put in for dominoes, or gin, or recently tonk. Some of us are hoping Roscoe never comes back. We don’t know how to spend the extra money that we have.