MR. Steve

This must have been around 1980, when I first moved back from Jackson, MS to New Orleans.  The infamous Sport Palace was my new stomping ground.  Once I set foot in this pool room, I virtually gave up the bar room pool action for good.

With all of the characters and action at the Sport Palace, one need not go anywhere else to be "edumacated".  I was a novice at best at this time in my life and was eager to learn as much as I could with my free time.  Hustlers, gamblers, scam artists, professional pool players, card sharks and the like were all so eager to help me with my learning.

In those days and even before that, you had to learn by "paying your dues".  That meant that you had to gamble with the better players and you would have to learn by having them beat you senseless or if you were a bit savvy in matching up with the players, you could delay or at least lessen the blows to your wallet while "paying your dues."

I took great care in learning all I could from one and all.   My teachers were many, of them New York Blackie, Al Werlein, Louie Knott, Earl Heisler, Fu Man Chu, Red Charlie, Jim the Lawyer, Mike the Lawyer, Tenneco, Chicken Joe, Big Willie, BJ, Knubby, Kenny the Cop, Rusty, Dave Tobin, Lance, Railroad Willie, Larry the golfer, Hotel Al (who gave me the nickname "Joey with a Tie") as well as many others whose names I have since forgotten and I can't forget all of the traveling pool players who regularly visited the Sport Palace those many years ago.  Each had a story.

This one is about a gentleman named Steve Paternastro (sp?).  Yes, we had gentlemen as well as con men and doctors who frequented the Devil's Den as some would be prone to call the Sport Palace.  MR. Steve was a distinguished man, known for his style of dress and his knowledge of pool, especially one pocket.  So it was no surprise to see me looking for him each time the door opened.  I came to learn that MR. Steve had emphysema and had trouble sleeping (well it seemed so).   MR. Steve almost always wore a stylish black hat and an overcoat and seemed to always arrive at midnight or just a bit after midnight.

If I had been working all day and playing into the night MR. Steve would seek me out, moving quietly and saying very little, but always made himself appear near wherever I was.  And as always, I made the first move, asking MR. Steve to play some one pocket.  At this time, he was a far more knowledgeable player than me but the fact that he would play for "cheap" made him the perfect teacher.  We would often play for $1 to $5 a game but never more than $5.  I never saw MR. Steve play anyone for more than $5 and he dressed well, so I just supposed that he didn't have the need to gamble for more than chuckles.  We probably played twenty to 30 times over a two year period and sometimes I would get lucky and we would break even but that wasn't a regular occurrence.  At that time, I kept track of my losses quite accurately and while I tried to balance my wins and losses, MR. Steve always got my cash or I broke even with him.  Who knows, he might have let me get even a few times to just keep me coming back for more.

Over a two year period, MR. Steve managed to win a total of $63 dollars from me.   It wasn't a King's Ransom but it was a lot of whippings because of the small dollars that we played for.   I didn't see him on a regular basis but I could always count on him teaching me a shot or two during our match and the bet was always cheap enough and it covered his pool time and I figured I would eventually learn and become a better player.  Over that two year period, I did become a better player with the "help" of MR. Steve and all of the others who shared my passion for the game of pool.  It seemed as I got better and better MR. Steve visited less often.  I didn't know if his lung condition had worsened or if he just didn't like to play pool as often but I did notice that he "appeared" less often as I improved my level of play at one pocket.  Finally, I had not seen MR. Steve for almost two months and one night just after midnight he appeared like a ghost in the night, slipping in quietly as he always did, wearing his trademarked black over-coat, black hat black trousers, black shoes and white shirt.  I immediately went into my pool sales spiel about having missed his lessons and so forth, eager to play him once again.  During those couple of months, I had worked hard on my game and had jumped up a ball or two and knew that MR. Steve was in for a thumping from Joey with a Tie.  Mr. Steve smiled and listened as I excitedly told him how I was looking forward to his match and then he lowered the boom on me and said, "Son, you are too good for me.  I can't beat you."  Well, I wasn't ready for that type of candor and sure didn't want to hear any of this.  After all, MR. Steve had beaten me mercilessly for over two years, never giving me a spot that I had a chance at winning with, reducing the spot (handicap) as the months and years went by to finally me getting no spot at all but only able to hold my own.  Now I was ready to get some of that money back that I had lost to him and while the money never was my motivation for playing pool and still isn't to this day as most will tell you, I was counting on beating on MR. Steve, at least hoping to regain some of my dignity in green backs no matter how small the count.  I looked at MR. Steve earnestly and pleaded my case, lamenting about all of the whippings I had taken from him, with him, all the time, listening and nodding his head in agreement and an occasional smile.  I wailed feverishly, "MR. Steve, I have never beaten you out of a dollar in these past two years.  The best that I have done is break even with you.  I have lost 63 dollars to you over these past two years.  YOU HAVE TO LET ME HAVE A CHANCE TO WIN SOME OF IT BACK!"  Now during those two years I had played individual matches for a couple of hundred dollars and even played for $300 for one game on one pocket, so it wasn't about the money.  In fact, I had won many thousands of dollars over those two years, "earning while I was learning" but MR. Steve just shook his head and finally said, "Son, that $63 is locked up in the vault."  I had never heard such a statement before and all I could respond with was a smiling grunt of appreciation as I learned yet another lesson from one of my teachers.  Expect no quarter and give no quarter.  What don't kill you will only make you stronger.  When you get ahead, stay ahead.  So there you have it.  MR. Steve, thank you for those solid lessons in one pocket as well as those lessons of survival and the humor in which you taught me well.

Dennis Troxclair, I hope you enjoyed my story of MR. Steve.  He was one of my favorite guys that crossed my path.