I truly enjoyed my time, and the many unique experiences, at the Showboat in Atlantic City, back in the early 90s, when I just about lived there (or it felt like it). And if it weren't so long ago, before the age of phone cameras and social media, there would be many fun pictures and wacky hijinks (and other stories) to share. Hopefully, as I go through old boxes and photo albums, I'll find things and post them, here and on Facebook. My initiation to the alternate universe of the Showboat (and other Atlantic Casinos) was as one of the 3 full time pianists who played daily shifts in the hotel lobby. Other than the restaurants and showrooms, this was one of the areas where you were a bit more removed from the huge casino floor, or at least not right on top of it, depending on where you were positioned. And I was far enough away from the casino entrance as to be a place to hang, away from all the gambling hubbub. Or at least the gambling (I was positioned in between the hotel reservation desk and the escalator up to the bowling alley - another alternative universe within the universe). It would have been a nice place to listen to music, watch the crowds go by, etc, had there been any seating, which of course there wasn't. But that didn't stop folks from congregating around for awhile (some with portable folding chairs) to listen, sing along, or hold conversation (with me). There was one gentleman I would see from time to time, spending long periods standing by the piano listening, sometimes conversing to help pass the time while his wife was gambling inside the casino. It eventually dawned on me that, with this gentleman, I was serving a similar function as a park bench in a shopping mall; as a place for displaced men to hang out while their wives or girlfriends were in the stores (spending, or losing money, in any case). But this guy was clever about it. He managed the money (and to some extent, his time) by giving his wife a $20 bill and waiting for her outside the casino. She wan't limited to $20, but she would have to come up (or out) for air for another round. So while he and I talked, one of his eyes (and one of mine, too, since this was often the subject of conversation) would be focused on the casino entrance at the other end of the lobby, waiting for his wife to emerge. And once there was a sighting, the conversation immediately turn to speculation with each of us trying to interpret the symbols: What was her facial expression? Was we carrying her coat or was she wearing it? Was she going to stick her hand out? And that was the big one, as he and I would watch her hand while talking like two play by play announcers. Keep your eye on the ... "Here comes the hand, better get out your wallet. Maybe next time". One thing I've always been conscious of throughout my time in the music business is knowing what my role is, on any given gig.