I remember one girl who liked to drink Gibsons. She
danced at the Flamingo Hotel, and I got to know her rather Well. When I'd come into town,
I'd order a Gibson put at her table before she sat down, to announce my arrival.
One time I went over and sat next to her and she said, "I'm with a man tonight--a high -roller from Texas." (I had already heard about this guy.
Whenever he'd play at the craps table, everybody would gather around to see him gamble.) He came back to the table where we were sitting, and my
show girl friend introduced me to him.
The first thing he said to me was, "You know somethin'? I lost sixty thousand dollars here last night."
I knew what to do: I turned to him, completely unimpressed, and I said, "Is
that supposed to be smart, or stupid?"
We were eating breakfast in the dining room. He said, "Here, let me sign your check. They don't charge me for all these things because I gamble
so much here."
"I've got enough money that I don't need to worry about who pays for my breakfast, thank you." I kept putting him down each time he tried to
impress me.
He tried everything: how rich he was, how much oil he had in Texas, and nothing worked, because I knew the formula!
We ended up having quite a bit of fun together.
One time when we were sitting at the bar he said to me, "You see those girls at the table over there? They're whores from Los Angeles."
They looked very nice; they had a certain amount of class.
He said, "Tell you what I'll do: I'll introduce them to you, and then I'll pay for the one you want."
I didn't feel like meeting the girls, and I knew he
was saying that to impress me, so I began to tell him no. But then I thought, "This is something!
This guy is trying so hard to impress me, he's willing to
buy
this for me. If I'm ever going to tell the story . . . So I said to him, "Well, OK, introduce
me."
We went over to their table and he introduced me to the girls and then went off for a moment. A waitress came around and asked us what we
wanted to drink. I ordered some water, and the girl next to me said, "Is it all right if I have a champagne?"
"You can have whatever you want," I replied, coolly, 'cause
you're
payin' for it."
"What's the matter with you?" she said. "Cheapskate, or something?"
"That's right."
"You're certainly not a gentleman!" she said indignantly.
"You figured me out immediately!" I replied. I had learned in New
Mexico many years before
not
to be a gentleman.
Pretty soon they were offering to buy me drinks--the tables were turned completely! (By the way, the Texas oilman never came back.)
After a while, one of the girls said, "Let's go over to the El Rancho. Maybe things are livelier over there." We got in their car. It was a nice car,
and they were nice people. On the way, they asked me my name.
"Dick Feynman."
"Where are you from, Dick? What do you do?"
"I'm from Pasadena; I work at Caltech."
One of the girls said, "Oh, isn't that the place where that scientist Pauling comes from?"
I had been in Las Vegas many times, over and over, and there was
nobody
who ever knew anything about science. I had talked to businessmen of
all kinds, and to them, a scientist was a nobody. "Yeah!" I said, astonished.
"And there's
a fella named Gellan, or something like that--a physicist." I couldn't believe it. I was riding in a car full of prostitutes and they know
all this stuff!
"Yeah! His name is Gell-Mann! How did you happen to know that?"
"Your pictures were in
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