Six Crises
As a naval officer, Richard Nixon was not involved in any combat operations during the Second World War but did serve in the South Pacific in the air transport command. Known as "Nick," he wore a trademark pith helmet and gained recognition as a resourceful scrounger who served scarce hamburgers and Australian beer at "Nick's Snack Shack" to exhausted flight crews. One of his proudest wartime achievements, however, occurred in a stud poker game when he drew a royal flush in diamonds with an ace in the hole. "The odds against this are about 650,000 to 1," he wrote in his memoirs RN , "and I was naturally excited."
Nixon played some poker aboard ship on his way to his first assignment in New Caledonia, but it was not until he was on the remote island that he began to play in earnest. Though "any kind of gambling had been anathema to me as a Quaker," he admitted, "the pressures of wartime, and the even more oppressive monotony, made it an irresistible diversion." Because he was a novice he was eager for advice on how to succeed at draw poker. One colleague cautioned him not to stay in a game unless he was certain he had the best hand. "Nick liked what I said," the officer recalled, and for about a week they played two-handed poker until Nixon became familiar with the demands and intricacies of the game. Soon he was as good as any player on the island, and the wartime diversion turned into a passion. He became so immersed in playing poker that when he was later posted to Green Island and invited to a small dinner in honor of the visiting Charles Lindbergh he declined because he had agreed to host a poker game that evening.
Nixon "played a quiet game," one player remembered, "but with a flair for knowing what to do." Shrewd and analytical, he approached poker in much the same way he had practiced law, thinking out every move before he made it. Usually, he only raised when he was confident he had a winning hand. "There are a hundred Navy officers," another player claimed, "who will tell you that Nick never lost a cent at poker." Because he was such a cautious and methodical player he seldom won large pots but he won consistently so that by the end of his tour of duty in the South Pacific he had earned a considerable sum of money, some of which he used to begin his political career in California. The estimates range from thirty-five hundred dollars to as much as ten thousand.
Poker was not only very profitable, Nixon conceded, but "instructive." In law school he received the nickname "iron butt" because of the long hours he spent at his desk going through casebooks. He spent many hours as well at poker tables in the South Pacific, grinding away night after night in small stakes games.
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But he was more than a technician, some drudge who regarded the game as strictly a business in which to earn some extra money. There was some imagination in his game, some sparkle and flair that brought him pleasure as well as profit. To be sure, "money is the language of poker, its means of keeping score," according to the gambler James McManus, but it is not the only reason why people play the game, maybe not even the main reason.
Nixon and the officers he played with did not gamble just to win money. On the desolate islands where they were stationed there was precious little they could purchase regardless of how much they had in their wallets. They played because they enjoyed one another's company, because it relieved some of the tedium of rear-echelon life, and perhaps most of all because of the sheer fun and excitement they derived from the competition.
Though cautious, Nixon was not a timid player. "He wasn't afraid of taking chances," one officer observed with admiration, and "of running a bluff." Indeed, one evening this officer watched him bluff a lieutenant commander out of a fifteen hundred dollar pot with only a pair of deuces. Most players with weak hands lay them down and wait for another game but not the bluffer who decides to stay in as though he has a strong hand. The card player then becomes a deceiver, a charlatan, telling a kind of lie with each bet he makes. In poker, such deceitfulness is a virtue, and if performed well enough is likely to earn a player a great deal of money. Nixon was very adroit at practicing such deception. Not only was he an accomplished actor, able to make others believe he had better cards then he did, but he was adept at assessing the vulnerabilities of his opponents. The truth for him, as for any successful bluffer, was something to be played with and manipulated like a poker chip. He had the nerve to make bets when he had a dismal hand and the patience to wait for others to succumb to his deception and lay down their cards. For him, poker was a game of skill, not luck, demanding tenacity and cunningness and discipline. A poker face was not a flash of emotion but a deliberate mask, presented at the opportune moment to mislead others.
The lessons he learned playing cards were not confined to the poker table. Many years later, after his close defeat in the 1960 presidential contest, he observed in Six Crises that "what counts is whether the individual used what chances he had. Did he risk all when the stakes were such that he might win or lose all?" If so, he believed, one was likely to experience "exquisite agony." Throughout his long political career he showed he was willing to take risks as he had as a poker player, even if a certain amount of deception was required to achieve his ambition.
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