Lucky 7/11

Laoag in the Philippines’ Ilocandia holds its town fiesta like it lives the meaning of its name, “light,” and being in February, it adds the intensity of passion of “heart day.” This spirited style extends to the tables of the games of chance. Influenced by the Puritan virtues of New England, my family did not care much for gambling. But the clink of the die against china in the roll of the dice of my youth was enough to goad our emerging curiosity of things verboten.

I remember 2 pesos as worth $1 (now 42-to-1) when I felt rich one town fiesta night with 20 sentimos in my pocket, so I took it to one of the tables. I watched how the game was played, drew one of my nickels (yup, we called the sinco sentimo a “nickel” then) and started betting 7/11 against the house. Beginner’s luck was on my side and before I knew it, I was holding a handful that easily amounted to dos pesos.

As a common experience among gamblers who feel the luck of the Shamrock, I started doubling my bet, and when my greed moved faster than my good fortune, got desperate and quadrupled the bet. Swiftly, I lost my hoard.

Dejected, I walked out of the hassag-lit (Coleman lamp) tent and table but I had not gotten far when I felt a tug on my collar. It was the guy who rolled the dice in the bowl and saucer. He proffered bente sentimos and said, “Here’s your money back. I do not want to ever see you again in my tables, you understand?” It turned out he was the head honcho, a distant relative, and he threatened to tell Mama of my gambling if he ever saw me in the vicinity of the games ever again, even if I was not playing.

I kept my word. But as a college freshman in Manila, my childhood friend at the law school came by my dorm to take me to the jai alai fronton (think Cuba, Mexico and Spain, if unfamiliar with the scoop ball on a wall game). His Dad received U.S. vet pension so he had the means. I bought a 2-pesos ticket to be “one of the boys,” which was a considerable expenditure since my monthly allowance then was only 25 pesos. My beginner’s luck held out; the ticket earned me a hundred. I did not go for seconds. My winnings paid for the food and beverages later since my buddy lost his fortune, and still had leftover for another month!

It is the gambling character of the stock exchange that kept me from ever taking the institution seriously, not to mention the fact that I have yet to have any disposable income to invest on a sophisticated bet. I had the chance in various U.S. locations to buy stocks: mid-’60s in California on a new company called Apple, an outfit in Dallas called Texas Instruments, an IT in Vienna, VA called AOL while I was Mr. Mom and part-timed at Micro Center, and the basement-priced San Miguel Corp. just before the yellow shirts sent McCoy and Imelda packing for Hawaii.

I am like the proverbial faithful who goes to heaven and asks the power in charge why “I never won the lottery though I certainly deserved it,” and the response was: “Well, it would have helped if you bought a ticket.”

That seems to guide the insistent effort of some of our legislators who think having a casino not only will get us out of our economic doldrums but also be the basis of our island economy. There is too much Ponzi touch associated with casino operations to take the effort seriously, and anyone who had looked closer beyond the cooked books will discover the disastrous effects on the social environment, e.g, native Americans et al. But it seems like in spite of the experience on poker machines, some vested interest folks think that to allow investors to build casinos in the CNMI is like buying the proverbial ticket. Perchance, hit the lotto!

The calendar 7/11 is also the feast day of Mary Magdalene, the lady who wiped the chafed feet of the carpenter from Nazareth with her hair on the poured perfumed-oil that spawned a lifestyle of freedom and iconoclastic stance toward status and tradition. Maria de Magdala might have something worth remembering. For the opposite of amassing wealth, the ethos of our age and practice of wizards blessed with financial genius or pathological greed, is the giving away of one’s being, of one’s means, in the manner of the carpenter, and the Magdalene. Life as expenditure. All of it.

Today is also Mongolia’s national day, the land of the Yuans against whom the Great Wall of China was built, the land of Genghis and Kublai Khan, the Huns who intruded on the Hans, and almost crossed the Rhine. The train ride from Beijing to Ulan Bator is on my to-do list, and having had a couple of their cousins from Nei Monggu attend my Oral English class gives us incentive to look closer at the hypnotic and tantalizing slit-eyes of the people of the steppes.

Which is just as good a time to remember admonitions in my youth, that authentic living consists of total expenditure on behalf of all in one’s particular situation, spirituality is simply effective sustenance in this journey, that we manifest this authenticity in a primal community, and human authenticity is the birthright of every person in the world. The authority of authenticity trumps lucky 7/11 any day!

Did I say I also preach? Have a fruitful and authentic 7/11 day.