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Bookie so beloved, he got two wakes

If your bookie was suddenly unavailable for a few hours on a perfectly good Monday night, I know the reason: They were attending Charles Sonny “Doc” Grezo’s sendoff.

Roma Deli, the oasis of Italian food on Spring Mountain Road, was elbow to elbow with bookmakers, handicappers and players of every station, who turned out to share a meal and a story about their sports book pal. Charles P. Grezo died Nov. 8 at age 85. In keeping with his wishes, the family cut out the middle man and proceeded straight to the party.

From the sound of things, he left everyone laughing — some with tears in their eyes.

Grezo was comfortable in his own skin. Consider the memorial table his loving family set up at the restaurant so his friends could pay their respects to the sportsman from Syracuse. It featured vintage black-and-white photographs, some of his favorite one-liners, a laptop computer with a picture montage, what appeared to be a mug shot, and a copy of Grezo’s early arrest record from Auburn, New York.

He was a busy guy. It was small stuff, the kind of things fellows in his line of work experience from time to time.

What does not always accompany the life of the sports book outlaw is a wide circle of friends who think the world of a fellow who laughed often, was quick with a quip, and was not short-armed when reaching for a check.

One pal in attendance was Rocket Branca, who paused between bites of pasta and answering questions like, “Can you get me a halftime?” to celebrate his friend’s life. Rocket met Doc long ago at the Stardust Race & Sports Book, America’s bookmaking crossroads, where he noticed his affable associate never seemed to have a winning day. For some reason, in that era authorities thought Grezo was a layoff bookmaker associated with gamblers in the East.

“If you’re losing so much, how do you make it?” Rocket asked.

“Volume,” Grezo replied.

Bettors with phone accounts like to use first names, nicknames and simple code when placing wagers. Who knows, maybe it makes them feel like secret agents, or at least like they’re fooling someone who might be listening in on the line. Years ago, Grezo’s moniker for one account was “52.”

Was it the number of cards in a deck of Bicycles? No, it was his waist size.

And Doc could channel Yogi Berra with lines like, “You’ll never go broke showing a profit.”

Like all good sports gamblers, he also was a bargain shopper.

“I love anything on sale,” he would say. “I’ll buy it and throw it away, just to beat the price.”

How beloved was he?

It’s not often a guy receives two wakes. The family also held a sendoff for Grezo’s many friends in Auburn.

But then as Doc would say, “The family that bets together, stays together.”

Even when his health worsened, he kept his sense of humor. “I can do everything but breathe,” he would say.

After age and infirmity had caught him on life’s back stretch, Charlie shrugged and said, “Hell, I’m 80. I already beat the price.”

That he did.

Grezo’s life reminds me of a universal truth Damon Runyon once observed. He said, “Life is 6-to-5 against.” But come to think of it, the writer also said, “All horse players die broke,” which appears not to have been true in Charlie’s case.

The point is, we all go some day. Doc Grezo lived life on his own terms, paid his personal and societal debts, and made it to 85.

And even if a few of his close friends and associates bet the under and lost, they did so laughing, some with tears in their eyes.

John L. Smith’s column appears sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. Contact him at 702 383-0295, or jsmith@reviewjournal.com. On Twitter: @jlnevadasmith

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