The Bookie

My father’s name on Sunday or any other betting day was “42”. In the days of wiretaps and FBI investigations one had to be careful not to use real names while betting over the phone on the Browns, Packers, or the Over/Under. My father once asked my older brother to call in his bet, upon the “who the hell is this” bookie’s inquiry, my brother calmly responded, “The son of 42”.