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Ruby: A Lesson in Kindness

In a strange way, I learned a lot from Ruby. And I am not unhappy for having had the experience.
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July 26, 2021
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“Who Is Wise? He who learns from every person.”—Simeon ben Zoma, Pirkei Avot

“If your morals make your life dreary, depend upon it: they are wrong.”—Robert Louis Stevenson

Like most kids, I had a secret life that my parents knew nothing about. I was about 15 years old when I met Ruby. I think he was about 50. Ruby was Jewish, round and bald. He always wore an old, out-of-style sport coat.  He was a divorced gambler.  Not an uncommon combination.

When we first met, he described himself as a loser with hope. At 15, I also felt like a loser, but with no hope. Ruby was a petty crook. He always had a few stolen credit cards in his wallet. He would buy them from pickpockets and muggers. He hated using his gambling money to pay his bills. But then again, all money was gambling money to him.

I met him at The House of Lords, a poolroom on Queens Boulevard in Forest Hills. I was 14 years old when I started hanging out at Lords and shooting pool for money—money I often stole from my parents’ wallets. Money that they never mentioned was missing, which was strange considering my mother only took down about a C-Note a week. Me grabbing a double sawbuck from her purse was considerable. I guess you could also call me a thief.

By law, you had to be 16 to get into a poolroom without a guardian. I had phony proof that said I was 18 even though I looked a young 12. Rocky, the owner of Lords, was a short, dumpy, foul-mouthed bookie. Everyone to Rocky was a MF.

Whenever Ruby popped in, he was looking for action. Gamblers never stop in anywhere just to say hello and see how your mother is doing. Ruby did not shoot pool himself. He just bet the game.

Like me, Ruby was a lonesome soul. Lonely people recognize each other. But he had a kindness to him, and I needed that. He had an eloquent tone to his voice and even though he was a street guy, he sounded intelligent. When we talked, he was always soft-spoken and gentle. Even when he lost all his money, which was often, he never got angry at me.

Lonely people recognize each other. But he had a kindness to him, and I needed that.

I met him at a time when I was heading in the wrong direction. Kindness is something I always craved but, at the time, getting kindness at home or from my friends was at an all-time low. I have a soul that seems to cry out for it. If this was a movie pitch, it would be “Ruby was a crook with a big heart.”

Ruby was exciting to hang with. Two days a week, I would cut school and meet Ruby at his apartment around 10 a.m. Before heading out to the track to play the horses, he would always take me to breakfast on one of the hot credit cards. He would say, “Get anything you want, kid.”  I always loved the track. In some ways, the track was a big part of my schooling. It was at the track that I really learned how to add, subtract, divide, multiply and figure out fractions all in my head and all within seconds. Not bad for a 15-year-old track bum.

Ruby and I would ride out to the track in his 1964 Bengal Ivory AMC Rambler. One time on the way, he stopped at a tire shop and put four new ones on. He gave them the hot card. When it was declined and he saw them calling it in, he said, “Hey kid.  Get in fast.” We jumped back in the car and with the new tires, he tore out as fast as a 66 Rambler could tear out.

During our rides Ruby would share stories about how hard life was for him, how sad he was and how his wife screwed him over and took “the kid.” He always called him “the kid.”  I never learned his son’s real name. Just “the kid.”  Out of nowhere he might blurt out, “I haven’t seen the kid in years.” “I wonder how the kid is doing.” There was a real honesty and pain when he would say those things. Before Ruby, I never heard anyone talk like him. I never heard anyone tell me how hurt they were except my mother and that was usually followed by something about how it was because of me.

Ruby never asked me about my home life. And you know what? I was fine with that.

He was an open wound, an unhealed hurt child. And he was never shy to admit it. He never drank or used drugs. He just lived in his personal hell on the natch.

On our rides back from the track, I could always tell if he lost or won. If he won, he would be so excited about how his luck was finally about to turn. He might say, “No more BlackRock for me.” If he lost, he was as quiet as a stone. When we got back to town, we would stop for dinner at some fancy restaurant he had never been to. He would run up a big bill and pay with a bad card. We never went anywhere twice.

The Mishnah says you can learn from everybody. In a strange way, I learned a lot from Ruby. And I am not unhappy for having had the experience. I learned that I did not want to be a gambler or a thief. I learned that stealing never felt good to me, that I felt ashamed to be part of such a thing. I learned that it scared me. I learned losing money by gambling made me sick to my stomach—that it made me angry and caused me to feel stupid, that losing made me mean. I learned I never wanted to get divorced and have a child that I only called “the kid.” And that if I lived a life like Ruby, that the closest I might ever get to my son or daughter might be a dusty four-by-six framed photo.

But I also learned kindness. Ruby had a big heart. He had the soul of a poet. The man could not have been more accepting of me if he tried. More than a few times, he said that I should finish school and that I should make something of myself. Otherwise, I might end up like him. And at that time of my life, I did not feel accepted anywhere or by anybody. Ruby was a friend.

I wish I could say I learned these lessons and straightened up right away. I did not. I also had to go through my own personal little trip through hell. One morning, I cut school and went to call on Ruby. When I got there, I found his apartment door unlocked. I cracked the door, peeked in, and then went inside. There was nothing left, and it was swept army barracks clean.

I went up to Lords and asked Rocky if he had seen Ruby. “Ain’t seen the MF in a week.”  Nobody I asked knew anything. They were as quiet as a graveyard at midnight. I kept going back to the poolroom hoping to one day see Ruby again. That day never came. Maybe he went back to see “the kid.” Maybe he was in jail. Maybe someone dumped him. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

In hindsight, I consider him disappearing from my life an act of kindness. I cannot see how it would have ended well. Years later, after getting my first credit card, one day I realized I had lost it. When I got my statement, I saw someone had charged three expensive dinners. Nah … couldn’t be.


Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer.

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