As a child, he bet on anything he could - everything from marbles to "which horse would cross the field first."
"Everything - anything you could place a bet on, at that point in my life, I did," Thurman said.
As an adult, Thurman's game became poker. His Thursday and Friday nights were overtaken by the wins and losses - mostly losses - and he began a cycle of small lies that would overtake his life.
Thurman's wife, Lita, was lying too. Lita played the gambling machines, and soon, she had 17 credit cards, all maxed out and all a secret from her husband.
"Plus, I used his credit card," she said. "I used what he hadn't."
The couple, who lived in Elkins at the time, finally admitted their problem was out of hand when their landlord came through their door, demanding rent.
"At the end, I was gambling to lose," Thurman said. "I wanted to lose because I was punishing myself. Literally punishing myself. If I didn't have a dime, I couldn't bet."
Lita quickly agreed.
"Oh, so was I. I just sat at that machine, thinking 'when is this money going to be gone, so I can just get out of here?'"
As of this month, Thurman and Lita are debt-free, and they're eight years "clean" of their respective gambling addictions. The two were in Charleston recently for the twice-yearly Gambler's "Retreatment," a weekend event held at the St. John XXIII Pastoral Center and hosted by the state's 1-800-GAMBLER program, to support other recovering gamblers through workshops, therapy and even things like art therapy and yoga.
"I had a lady ask me before lunch 'how are you doing this together, if you gambled all those years?' Thurman said. "I told her we learned what real love is. Strong love.
"We learned that neither one of us could be trusted with money - the financial gain, for me, was the turn of a card or a roll of the dice, and for her it was the machine. It was that constant, constant, constant 'the next $20 is going to make me a million dollars.' It never happens. You never get where you need, because every dime you make, you turn around and give it back."
Arnie and Sheila Wexler are all too familiar with the self-defeating nature of problem gambling. The pair have spent decades helping others over come their own addictions, and have written a book, "All Bets Are Off," detailing their highs and lows through gambling addiction and recovery.
Like Thurman, Arnie's problem started early. By 17, he was stealing to support his gambling addiction. At 21, he met Sheila, and at 23, the two were married.
"The next seven years were a disaster," Arnie said.
He began stealing from the company he worked for, and Sheila became more isolated as her husband's problem worsened.
"I was withdrawn, I was isolating, I was often not leaving my home, I was afraid to answer the telephone," Sheila said. "I was in a state of depression - I didn't know what was going on with me, but I cried a lot. I hoped that something would happen to me. I never really had a suicide plan, but I was hoping that something terrible would happen to me so that it would be over."
It wasn't until one of Arnie's friends told him about a program that would "help him alleviate his gambling debts" that he ended up in 12-step recovery - by accident.
"I had no intention of stopping. I went there because I thought these people were going to bail me out," he said.
Arnie stuck with his recovery, however - his clean date is April 10, 1968. In the intervening 47 years, he and Sheila have made it their mission to support recovery; Arnie is the former director of the Council for Compulsive Gambling of New Jersey, and the couple now travels the country. The two have visited West Virginia for the last decade to support gamblers, a group who, according to Arnie, struggle with misunderstanding and a lack of ready help.
"We want to carry the message of help and hope and recovery to people who need it," Arnie said. "If you go to a mall anywhere and ask 100 people where to seek help for drugs and alcohol, 90 percent of them will be able to tell you. You ask people for gambling help, and nobody knows."
Gambling, like other addictions, is dangerous and deadly, Arnie said - at one point, he believed suicide was his only option, and he has known more than a dozen gamblers personally who have committed suicide. Thurman thought the same.
"That's what I learned in recovery. It's really nice to be at peace with yourself, to not hate yourself, to actually love yourself," Thurman said.
The next Retreatment is planned for early summer, according to Jennifer Davis-Walton, director of the West Virginia 1-800-GAMBLER program. To seek help or to learn more about recovery, call 1-800-GAMBLER.
Reach Lydia Nuzum at lydia.nuzum@wvgazettemail.com, 304-348-5189 or follow @lydianuzum on Twitter.