In Vegas, I got into a long argument with the man at the roulette wheel over what I considered to be an odd number.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I'm probably one of the worst people with numbers you've ever met. My brothers always kid that they think I'm counting cards in Vegas, but I'm just trying to add things up.
I'm not a crazy Vegas guy. I'm not a gambler.
I hadn't been in Vegas 20 minutes when I got word that the bookmakers were offering three to one that Frank wouldn't show for my wedding.
Sometimes I think I need to get crazy. Go to Vegas.
If I gamble, I'll play roulette. My wife and I will play roulette, and that's about it. I'm not a heavy gambler.
Wall Street wants to keep its schemes too complicated to understand so that the roulette wheel can keep turning.
Ninety-seven is my lucky number.
My luck at the gambling table was varied; sometimes I was fifty to a hundred dollars ahead, and at other times I had to borrow money from my fellow workmen to settle my room rent and pay for my meals.
It's true that I have always been very comfortable with numbers.
My father was an insurance man and a small-time gambler. He was a good man, but he had an eye for the racehorses, and I saw how it used to bother my mother. I've never gambled a dime. Never, in all those years in Vegas.