Holding And Folding

Only recently have I been introduced to a well-established genre of music, and particularly of singing, called “Country.” It seems somehow to be peculiarly American, particularly “Southern,” and “Western,” and apparently derives from what used to be called a “Hillbilly” sound. I would say it’s the opposite of sophisticated, embodying the social outlook of people who in other countries and eras might have been called “commoners,” or “laborers.” 

Nevertheless at least some specimens of the genre obviously have a powerful emotional and intellectual impact on a wide range of people, including yours truly. One song in particular has apparently established itself virtually in a class of its own, especially as performed by a Country Music icon named Kenny Rogers. But the name of the song-writer, who of course deserves most of the credit, is Don Schlitz.

The song is called “The Gambler,” and I, for one, have found it hard to get out of my mind. It begins by setting a scene of two men alone in a train compartment late at night. Earlier, they have evidently been part of a poker game. One man, for whom the song is named, is the more experienced, both in poker and in life, which includes observing people – and he offers some advice to the other, presumably younger, man.

What he says can be taken on two levels – the Game, and Life in general – and it’s sung almost as the kind of chant you might hear in a Buddhist temple. Here is his message:

I have found that line about knowing “when to run” particularly disturbing. What kind of circumstances, in a card game or any other situation in ordinary life, would impel you to “walk away,” and, even more unsettling, “to run”?

I have never played poker, but it’s hardly necessary to understand the deeper meaning of “holding” and “folding.” We have all encountered situations in life when a decision must be made as to whether it’s better to stay as you are, or to take a chance by making a change.

The biggest such change in my own life had to do with changing countries. Although I was born in England, I had spent my entire childhood, from the age of five to 12, on this side of the Atlantic, because of World War II. This, of course, was not voluntary, nor was the next change, in which all my teenage years were spent back in England again – during which time I went all the way up through high school and college, and got a degree at the University of London. 

By that time, I was legally “of age,” and finally free to shape my own destiny. I could continue residing in England, where it should be easy to step into some kind of Academic career, based on my interests in History and Literature. But, despite all those years of becoming Anglicized, I still had a hankering to go back to America.

Not that it was an easy choice. To this day, I still think certain aspects of life in England were, and are, preferable. For one thing, the British political system has much to recommend it. Elections and campaigning for government positions usually last only a few weeks, whereas here they never seem to stop. 

Another way I like things British is in their sense of humor. It’s hard to describe what makes the difference, but I have always found English comedy, whether in movies on TV, or in print somehow funnier. (I still lament the passing of Punch magazine.) This seems to be borne out by the fact that, even over here, a show like Monty Python’s Flying Circus is more popular than any equivalent American comedy is in Britain.

But I did make the painful and momentous decision, as have many immigrants before me, to fold ‘em rather than hold ‘em – to leave my native land and try my luck in the New World. Did that gamble pay off? My big ambition had always been to make my living as a writer. Mine turned out to be a desiccated kind of writing called an epigram. What about money? As the song advises, there’ll be time enough for counting, when the dealing’s done.