Great Chitter Chatter - Stories from Loud Voices

The first time I shot a eight ball was in 1955. I was five years old and it was in a bar in west side of Dayton that was owned by Sonny and Dick. They were war buddies of my father and the establishment they owned was the Hudson Supper Club. Yes, I shot pool in a bar when I was five, and that sort of sent me down a path for the rest of my life.

My memory of my pool game is a little fuzzy for the next four or fiveyears or so as I was really intenton my education. First grade was a breeze, but second and third grades really demanded all of my attention - outside of playing tag and kickball out in the alley. So I laid the cue stick down figurtively speaking, (since the closest thing to a cue stick I had was my nickel pea shooter), and hit the books because my mother admonished me that if I weren’t careful, I’d grow up to be nothing but a pool playing gangster. At this point I have to wonder how could she have known this about me.

OK then, flash forward 5 years - it’s the summer of 1960 and I was cruising into fifth grade that fall - I was on top of my game! I had managed to keep my pooljonesunder control - that is until my older brother waved a bag of hand talc under my nose and it was the Hudson Supper Club all over again- I was back in 1955 and I was looking for some chalk. He took me to East Third Street Billards, a local pool hall. Well, the cat was out of the bag, now.

Hello Dr. Cue, gimme a dime bag of nine-ball. My mother’s words were coming true - my name is Joe, and I will mow lawns for pool. It was all over ‘cept the hollerin’ - as we used to say in east Dayton.

Aftergoing with me a few times, my brother knew I was hooked - and he was therefore off the hook to take me to my pool fix. He introduced me to the owner, Valley Street Red - I was Red’s problem now. To a ten year-old, Red was a mountain of a man with a shock of red hair that would stick out in all directions (and this was long before hair gel started being used…get the picture? Also and I’m trying not to exaggerate, he wore the same pants for the next 11 years.

Anyway,back then no one under the age of 18 was allowed in a pool hall. So, cute as I was, I was a problem for Red - since he was my new mentor and babysitter. Not wanting to lose the revenue I represented - he was getting a penny a minute from me - Red let me play on the last table, at the back of the hall. One of the nicer things about the back of the pool hall was the fact there was a huge wooden grate in the floor that hot air just poured out of on the coldest days. It was warmer than my my own house.

Before I go any further, I have to tell you two things: One: Viking pool cues play a part in this rambling, but not as much as the title suggests, and Two: everything I have and will say in this brief brain dump is somewhat close to the truth of what really happened. I’m sure there’s a book here, but it would likely only be interesting to three or four people - if you count me.

Anyway… Red taught me all I needed to know about pool for that point in my life wisdom]]. The most important was: if the wall phone rings and he yells at me to “get out NOW,” I had to be out the back door before I took my next breath and not come back until the next day. And secondly, although the pool shooter is the most important part of the game, the pool cue is a close second.

For casual play, Red would just take a pool cue off the wall rack, but when the money-games beganhe would breakout the his custom-made 2-piece stick. When he got that cue stickout, I would always grab one of the old, red, fold-down seats that ran along the wall by the best table up front - ’cause there was going to be a shootin’ match goin’ on.

I loved that feeling back then of a pool match getting ready to start. And, I still recall it sometimes it when I open my case now and take my Viking pool stick out. I have several Viking cues, but the one that I play the most is my Viking G81 Rosewood. It certainly isn’t a flashy cue with all the inlays and dice and poker cards, just understated elegance and performance - a cue Old Red would have used - if it was a money game…

Anyway, I am running out of your patience, so I better end this now since I need another beer. So maybe, if there is any interest, I’ll pick this story up about the goings on for the next 11 years at Valley Street Red’s East Third Street Billards.  Keep your tip chalked…