FRONT PAGE - Back to RETIRED PAGES INDEX

In his forty years as a freelance writer and newspaper reporter, Bill Kelly had interviewed and written about hundreds of names familiar to us: Mickey Rooney, Rory Calhoun, Sylvester Stallone, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Broderick Crawford, Henry Fonda, Victor Mature, Ginger Rogers, Ida Lupino, John Wayne, Aldo Ray, Joe Louis, Rocky Marciano, Sugar Ray Leonard, Muhammad Ali, and Henry Armstrong are among many.

Bill has authored an astounding 15,000 magazine articles -- a phenomenal feat for any writer. He had appeared in Poker Digest, Card Player, Real West, True West, Treasure Search, Treasure Cache, Lost Treasure, South Bay, Country Review, True Detective, Inside Detective, California Highway Patrolman, Oklahoma State Trooper, Texas Highway Patrol, Inland Empire, Reader’s Digest, Poker World, Ring Magazine, Boxing Illustrated, K.O., and Variety. His freelance work has appeared in too many California newspapers to list here, but they include, Herald Examiner, Orange County Register and Press-Enterprise.

His critically-acclaimed Collector’s Edition of Bill Kelly’s Encyclopedia of Gunmen is a reference book treasured by historians and Western buffs alike. Bill’s second book, Treasure Trails and Buried Bandit Booty, is a collection of true accounts of buried outlaw swag, and contains clues to reportedly hidden loot throughout the United States.

Bill recently appeared on the History channel as an old west historian in High Rollers: The History of Gambling.

His latest book is Gamblers of the Old West ($24.95). An autograph copy can be purchased by contacting Bill by e-mail: wildbill@cosmoaccess.net or by snail mail: 29759 Longhorn Dr. Canyon Lake, Ca. 92804.

Bill Was born in Tom’s River, New Jersey, on May 5, 1927. He now resides in Canyon Lake, California, where he spends most of his waking hours writing tons of articles to be enjoyed by thousands of readers.

His book, EMPTY SADDLES, is a nostalgic tribute to the sagebrush sagas of the 1940s and 50s, and contains Bill’s interviews with fifty Cowboy stars that made cinema history. No release date has been set for this book at this writing***

FANNY PORTER: CARD CHEATER'S LADY

In the Old West, cheating, villainy and rascality was as American as a barn dance. Every professional gambler knew how to cheat and when. Honest gamblers in Dodge City or Deadwood lasted about as long as the town bully against John Wayne. Cardsharps scurried from town to town cleaning up gullible minors. They knew more tricks than Trigger. They had to, in order to protect themselves against other professionals who ran all the big money games. Resident poker players seldom cheated one another. They usually played it on the square, depending on wisdom and ability. If a card player cheated he was certain to be found out sooner or later. It met banishment or death.

For that reason resident gamblers like Doc Holiday, Wild Bill Hickok, Poker Alice and a list of others, were held in high regard. The honest game of chance abounded in them. Traveling cardsharps were masters of chicanery and were far more dishonest than hometown professionals. Some traveled with a peach with the prettiest pair who stood behind his distracted opponent while singling out his hand of cards to her lover. A prime example was Linda Darnell's portrayal of a saloon hussy who stood behind Wyatt Earp, played by Henry Fonda, in the film "My Darling Clementine." Linda signaled Fonda's hand to his opponent. While Fonda took Darnell outside and dumped her in a water trough, real westerners weren't quite that tolerant. Darnell's persona might have been Fanny Porter the day Fanny strolled into the Alhambra Gambling Saloon in Tombstone, Arizona and asked Jake Hempel for a job. One look at the audacious red-head and he knew he had to place her somewhere. The Alhambra was an all-night casino that could offer early settlers everything from dice and cards to upstairs hanky panky. Unbeknown to Hempel, Fanny had seen more of life in the raw than a night watchman in a nudist camp.

Although Fanny had spent most of her young years piling a trade as old as Caesar's Rome, she was made a hostess because of her innocent, Sunday-school looks. She greeted the miners and trail dusters as they came in for a night's gambling, drinking or upstair pleasure. Fanny greeted them, steered them to the bar, and frequently stayed to drink with them. Her job required her to drink so much if a mosquito bit her it would die of alcohol- poisoning. Yet Fanny never got drunk. She always kept her wits about her. She considered carefully how getting soused would effect her hobby -- hoarding money. At the same time, Fanny was not without scruples. She would rather gargle with ground glass than lift a drunkard's money pouch. A drunk, she said, is like a child -- unable to take care of himself. All the big-time professional gamblers frequented the Alhambra. Flirtatious Fanny tried to collar "Terrible" Ben Thompson, but he was as hard to sack as a coop full of chickens. "I saw that fight in Dallas, Fanny, "Ben said, "but I'm not your man." Pointing to Dick Moray, Ben said, "He's a gambler. A damn good one. Good luck. You'll need it." "That fight in Dallas," Ben was referring to, happened on August 15, 1887, a few weeks before Fanny's arrival in Tombstone. It took place on a dusty Texas street. A crowd of rooting cowboys, miners and gamblers looked on with bone-jarring intensity waiting for the long-brewing showdown between Fanny and Thelma Knight. Thelma was undisputed queen of the red light district, below the line, where brothels were permitted to operate without interference from the law.

While Fanny was young and alluring, with an hour-glass figure and flaming red hair, Thelma was grizzled and hard-bitten. She was as strong as a Patton Tank. While street fighting was uncharted territory for Fanny, Thelma had more street fights than Mike Tyson. No bawdyhouse maiden ever applied her profession without giving Thelma a portion of the spoils. Fanny refused to knuckle under to extortion. Thelma, feeling that Fanny needed to be taught a lesson, called Fanny out into the street, and a hundred casino loungers followed. A hefty wind stirred up tumbleweed and dust as the two women fought and fit, bit and gouged. Fanny, younger, but frailer than her ox-like adversary, fought like a wildcat, but holding off Thelma was like trying to hold off a stampede of cattle in a lightening storm. The fight was as one sided as the Alamo. Much to the delight of the onlookers, the affray ended with Fanny retreating nude (after Thelma stripped her naked) to her room. The boys loved it. Drinks were on the house, with Thelma picking up the tab. With a face that looked like Firpo after Dempesy, she left Dallas for Tombstone on the morning stage. In Tombstone, she fit in with the hundreds of runaway girls who gravitated towards the population centers where losers were hoping the next card they turned over would be an ace.

Fanny's meeting with Dick Moray was a pizza with everything. He immediately fell for the pretty girl with the flaming red hair. And Fanny let him know he was her man. During pillow talk one night, she suggested he could win more often at poker if they teamed up. She was right. Two heads are better than one even if one is a cabbage head. "They consider me part of the surroundings at the Alhambra," she said. "serve them drinks while they're playing poker and no one bothers to hide his hand." Moray was a professional and one of the best poker players in Arizona at the time. He was doing all right for himself and didn't need to connive. Besides, with guys like Doc Holiday, Ben Thompson, and the much feared Harry Tracy in town, if he got caught it was curtains. Faithful Fanny convinced him that people who wait for all the conditions to be perfect, never act. So they worked out a complex strategy, depending on how she set the drinks down and other particularities. The motions, the signals, were so ordinary that not even a genius poker player would be any the wiser. Moray's poker hands strengthened. Money poured in like grain out of a chute. Things looked even better when Johnny "Long John" Andrews, a filthy-rich cattleman pulled up a chair at Moray's table. Money didn't much matter to Long John, he was richer than Oregon soil. He also had a reputation of being a poor loser. What followed was pure theater. Long John wanted a new deck. He wanted whiskey. He wanted Fanny. He wanted Fanny more than whiskey or a new deck. He drank enough liquor to float the Titanic. As Fanny served the drinks he began feeling fanny. She was too busy peering into his hands, tipping Moray off, to notice. Long John picked up aces and kings just as Fanny delivered him drinks. Moray signaled he was holding three one-eyed jacks. Fanny touched Long John on the top of his head, a clue that he had less than three of a kind. Without letting his face betray him, Moray raised Long John's $200 bet. Long John called the raise, then threw in another $1,000. As the pot esculated all the players but Moray and Long John dropped out. Everybody was wearing guns, either hidden or displayed openly. Very few gamblers at the Alhambra went without knifes. Not a hospitable environment for chance-taking. Professional gamblers like Long John lasted a long time for the same reason that diamond cutters do. It's a skilled profession. You can't make too many mistakes. Experience is critical. Long John threw in another $2,000 and Moray called. Moray reached for the pot. "I don't like the way that hand was bet, considering you and this trollop watching my hand are so thick," Long John announced laconically. "I think I'll just take this pot!" Moray's jaw was square, lips a tight line. Eyes deep-set beneath shaggy eyebrows. A gunbelt spanned his middle. "You will, if dead men can reach," said Moray. His threat reverberated through the casino, stopping everyone in their tracks. Ears perked. Heads turned. Long John was no gunfighter. He couldn't hit a bear in the ass with a scatter gun. He backed down. As Moray left the casino with the loot, people wondered whether he had been "lucky" all along, or was he in cahoots with Fanny? Cheats, like a deer in your headlights, never last long.

Back in their room, Fanny and Moray split the $10,000 pot. Fanny knew the game was up. Moray was no use to her anymore. She gave him the kiss-off and he left town broken hearted. He traveled to Fort Worth where he got into another fuss over a poker hand. This time his opponent didn't back down. They planted poor Moray with his toes up to the daisies. Fanny lived a long life and many men had the pleasure of Fanny's pleasures. She had over a million dollars when she retired in New Orleans, where she died in luxury on October 11, 1912. If they ever build a wing on the Hall of Fame for card cheater's ladies, Fanny Porter would be the first to go.