All In by Jerry Yang Page B

“Let’s move on. We have a long way to go before the sun comes up.”
    We marched on through the night.
    From time to time, I grabbed a handful of leaves whenever we passed a plant I knew to be edible. The people in front and behind did the same.
    Up ahead, I heard a baby cry. And cry. And cry.
    â€œShut that kid up,” a woman said.
    The baby kept crying.
    â€œYou have to do something about that kid,” another woman chimed in. Then another. And another.
    The men didn’t say anything. In Hmong culture, when women argue with one another, the men stand back and let them go at it.
    â€œI’m trying to calm him,” the child’s mother said.
    I felt sorry for her. I knew how much my baby brother cried on a normal night, and this night was anything but normal. Other babies had cried throughout the night’s journey, but they’d all quieted quickly. Not this child.
    â€œStop trying and do something. You’re going to get us all killed,” a woman said so loudly that any Communist soldier within half a mile would’ve heard her.
    â€œGive it some opium. That’ll quiet it,” someone else said.
    â€œYeah, opium. That’s a great idea,” another said.
    The mother pled, “I can get him to settle down without opium. Just give me a minute.”
    â€œWe don’t have a minute. If you don’t shut that kid up, I will,” a woman said, and to me it sounded like a threat to do more than give the child opium.
    Finally, my father had had enough. “Cut it out. If you women don’t stop arguing, you and your families will have to go your own way. I will not hesitate to split us up just to get away from your constant bickering. You’re worse than any crying child.”
    â€œBut the baby won’t stop.”
    â€œGive the mother time. She’ll get it quiet. But I’ve had all of this arguing I can stand. It stops now.”
    The women fell silent for a time, but I feared the worst was yet to come.
    Even though my father didn’t approve, many of the parents used opium to keep their children quiet. Some of those children were never the same. Ever.
    Neither were many of the adults from my village. The argument over the crying child frightened me, not because the baby might give away our position but because of what I saw in the people. I was aware that the stakes were life and death. I understood how we could be caught at any moment. Even so, I never expected to see these women, people my parents had taught me to respect, behave with such venom. Here we were, risking our lives to escape soldiers who wouldn’t hesitate to kill us, and yet one crying child pushed some within our own group to the brink of committing murder.
    I now understood that simply surviving the jungle would not be enough. Not if it meant sacrificing what should never be sacrificed.

7
Two Tournaments, One Prize
    I had two options for getting into the World Series of Poker main event.
    The first was to build up my bankroll over time until I had the $10,000 to buy a seat. Whenever I finished in the money in any tournament or cash game, I always put half the money in our family’s savings account and the other half into my poker bankroll. My entry fee for my first few tournaments had come out of the 5 percent of my paycheck that I set aside each week. After about six months, I had enough in my bankroll for my poker hobby to support itself. My wife was very happy about that.
    As my bankroll grew, I played in bigger tournaments with larger buy-ins and payouts. By the start of 2007, I’d built up more than $5,000, which meant, theoretically, I was halfway to a seat in the main event.
    However, I would never in a million years spend $10,000 to enter a single tournament. I am a businessman, and froma business perspective, it makes no sense to risk $10,000 in a tournament with over 6,000 entrants from around the world. In a tournament where fewer than 10 percent