2 hours ago · Life · hide · 0 comments

If you'd wandered onto the gaming floor of the Las Vegas Hilton at almost any hour during the early 1970s, there's a good chance you'd have spotted a six-foot, grossly overweight man parked at the roulette table. Elephant-head cane resting beside him, cigar clamped in his mouth, cheap baseball cap sitting awkwardly on a bald head, he'd be losing enormous sums of money with a kind of grim determination. He called the casino floor his “other office,” and he meant it, spending 12 to 14 hours a...

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