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| Derby City Classic 2008 playing Shane Van Boening |
Pocket Billiards or Pool as we call it.
The first time I ever saw a pool table, I was 16 years of age. In fact, I heard a pool table before I ever saw one. It was a summer weekend and living in New Orleans back in 1966, it wasn't uncommon for youths my age to walk from one neighborhood to the next, visiting pals from schools that didn't live close by.
My goal that day was to see what my peers were doing that day and I walked over to Palmyra Street near Carrolton Avenue where a few of my buddies lived. Back then I had exceptional hearing and heard the clicking of the pool balls and the plop as they made their way into the pockets. I had no idea what those sounds were at the time and stopped and turned my head in various directions to locate where the sounds were coming from. I would walk a few more feet, stop and listen, and sure enough, the sounds repeated themselves. As the unique sounds grew louder, I passed the next house only to see my first pool table. This was the beginning of a hobby that would last my entire life.
Around this table, I could see a couple of my buddies and some other boys that I didn't know. The table was a very small portable pool table and it was set up in a driveway outside of someone's house. The table was rectangular shaped, but it looked like it has been through rough times. In truth, looking back, it was just a very inexpensive table whose bed was not even made of slate. The bed in fact was made of some type of wood that had been warped with age, use and maybe even rain. The balls were various colors, some striped and some solid but all showing a weathered look.
As I got closer to the table, I saw each boy was taking turns to shoot. If one of them made a ball, they continued shooting. If they missed, they relinquished their turn at the table. They saw me immediately and grinned wildly at me and I got closer and saw that they were exchanging money between them when someone pocketed one of the balls but not always. I inquired what they were doing and they proudly exclaimed that they were playing pool, and I could join them. They said they were playing Kelly pool and I was quickly explained the rules and invited to join but told them I would like to watch because I had never seen pool before. Besides, my money didn't grow on trees, and I earned every nickel in my pocket. Kelly Pool is a gambling game and the discipline is 9 Ball, except there is what is called a Pill Bottle, which contains small plastic balls which are individually numbered 1 through 9. Any number of people up to 9 can play the game, but usually it is limited to a few people. At the beginning of the game, each player shakes the bottle and without looking inside of the red bottle with a slender neck, you would turn the bottle upside down and remove one pill from the container and that would by your pill and number. So each player would get a number or pill as they called it. The lowest numbered pill would have the opening break shot, and if he made a ball, he would continue shooting. But let's talk about the wagering aspects. The wager was decided before the game started. In this particular case, the wager was a nickel and a dime. If you made someone else's ball during your tenure at the table, you would receive a nickel from that player. If you made your own personal numbered pill ball, you would collect a dime from each player.
My funds were low as usual and barely had a dollar to my name. This was back in 1966 and if you didn't come from an affluent family the chances of you getting an allowance were slim and none. I learned early on to be careful with my money because mom and dad couldn't afford to give me and because they were struggling to feed, clothe, and support 6 children plus themselves. As I watched I noticed that these boys were not skilled at playing pool because they were very inconsistent in being able to make a ball. Often, they would even mishit the white ball which I was told was the cue ball and the object was to hit the cue ball with a long skinny wooden stick called a pool cue into an object ball and hopefully pocket the object ball which was either striped or solid. In 9 ball the only ball that is striped is the 9 ball. Balls 1 through 8 all had solid colors. What I quickly realized that if the object ball was contacted with a solid hit and with power it would move around the table and with the crooked and warped bed, would be more likely to find a way into a pocket. If the object ball was contacted by the cue ball with less force, the object ball rarely ever found it's way into a pocket. So, now I was ready to risk my money. I joined the next rack and was shown how to make a bridge although I had been watching the other boys for quite a while and saw they had different ways of making the pool cue slide through their fingers and hit the cue ball, so I mimicked the bridge of one of the players that seemed to hit the cue ball harder than the others.
It wasn't long before I was able to hit the cue ball into the lowest numbered ball on the table with such force that it would bang around into various obstacles and other rails and eventually find its way into one of those sunken paths that led the object ball to the pocket. While my fellow competitors had just a couple of hours of experience at playing pool, I learned quickly and became addicted to the game, winning a little more than a couple of dollars in a short period. Prior to this time, I delivered newspapers, worked in a sandwich shop, and even tried my hand at picking up golf balls at a driving range by hand for money. The latter was actually my first paid job but that is another story entirely by itself.
Years flew by and I loved the game of pool, not knowing the tenacious nature that the game was apt to attach itself to a few. I became consumed at playing pool and would travel from New Orleans on the back of a Honda 50 motorcycle to a pool room in River Ridge in Jefferson Parish because that was the only pool room that would allow under-age children to play. The tables in the pool room were so much nicer than that first dilapidated table that introduced me to pool that I would try to go there on the weekends as often as I could. When I turned 18, I started going to a pool room called, City Park Ping Pong and Billiard Lounge, owned by Al Morales. It was located across the street from Delgado Jr. College, near Orleans Avenue and City Park Avenue. One side was dedicated to couples coming to play pool and the other side was for single guys. Al's pool hall as we often called it, had it all, alcohol, gambling pinball machines, pool, and when the pool room closed down at midnight, Al would allow some of his trusted locals in the know to stay behind and play craps on the pool tables. He was the house, and we were the after-hours customers who would try and outrun his bankroll which we seldom did. Every now and then, one of us would get up on Al and have a lucky streak and win some money but Al was also a bookie, taking illegal bets on sports and always had a large bankroll. If he ran out of money where we were having a string of good luck, he would just go upstairs where he lived to his safe and bring back more money. The only way to beat him playing craps was to not be greedy and leave when you got ahead. If you didn't, he would always wind up busting you.
In 1968 I graduated from East Jefferson High School, and I only managed to skip school one day and you can guess what I did on that day. My first job out of high school was working for my older brother James Todd who was a carpet mechanic. He laid carpet in apartment complexes around the city and was in business for himself. That first summer he paid me as a helper. My job was to help with cutting and laying out the padding that goes under the carpet and hauling in the large rolls of carpet, sometimes up the stairs of empty apartment complexes. At that time, I weighed about 140 pounds soaking wet and had not developed a lot of muscle strength lifting a pool cue. After less than a month of this laborious work for what I remember was close to minimum wage with promises of increased pay as I learned the trade, I decided that this was not the career for me and started looking for another job and wound up at Auto-lec Warehouse. Back then there were Auto-lec stores around Louisiana that sold a myriad of different products and found a job there working as a warehouseman. Primarily, I used a forklift to unload box cars of bicycles and many other items which Auto-lec sold to their chain stores. They sold watches, shotguns, pellet guns, and hundreds of other items. I had good eye-hand coordination and could safely fly on that forklift and Mr. Hollingsworth appreciated my skills. After a few months of working there, I noticed that they would hire Man Power temporary workers to help out when lots of shipments came in on the railroad cars. What I also noticed is that the temporary workers were not in good physical condition and were very slow. I was required to work alongside of them and keep an eye on them. It wasn't long before my eye saw that I could outwork two or three of these guys and was doing so. Auto-lec was paying EACH ManPower 3 times what I was earning, and that just didn't add up for me. So, after about 3 months I went to Mr. Hollingsworth and pleaded my case for a raise. I told him how I outworked and outperformed two or three temporary workers and asked for a $.25 raise. At the time I was probably making $1.25 per hour and Mr. Hollingsworth rather sadly said he could not give me a raise. I was almost without words and didn't understand why he would refuse such a small raise. I told him right then, that it wasn't fair to me and that I was giving him my two-week notice. He nodded, and said he understood and appreciated me staying on another 2 weeks. I did as I had bargained and stayed there for another 2 weeks, all the while searching for a new job.
My sister Gloria's husband had a brother who was working for Lewis Business Forms at the time, printing computer cards in the plant for better pay so I applied there and with a reference they hired me. Computer cards were known as IBM cards, Hollerith cards or punch cards if you decide to look that up and were used to program computers. I worked there for almost a year and was waiting for my brother Barry to return from the Marine Corps where he was serving overseas in Vietnam. My mom didn't want to have to worry about two of her sons being in Vietnam at the same time, so I waited. Just as my brother was getting out of the Corps, I decided to join the Navy because I thought I would get a chance to see some of the world and joined on the 120 day delay program. I knew that since I couldn't afford to go to college, if I joined the service after my time was served, I could go to college on the GI Bill as it was called. Barry called me one day to come up to Camp Lejeune, NC to help he and his wife drive back their furniture-loaded rental truck to New Orleans, so I hopped on a Greyhound bus, and off I went. On the way back we caught up on family news and I told him about joining the Navy and he asked me why I had chosen the Navy and told him it was to see the world since were so poor and would not likely see it if I didn't join. He knew that I had joined for 4 years which was the minimum time for joining the Navy and told me that if I had joined the Marines I could have joined for 2 years and then if I decided to stay in the service, they would pay me some handsome "re-up" money to stay in and possibly a promotion. That re-up money caught my attention and I lamented that I had already joined the Navy. He explained that there was a way to get out of my Navy commitment since I was on the 120-day delay program and had not yet taken the oath. He also explained that if I joined the Marine Corps, I was likely going to go to Vietnam. My brother was stronger looking than I had remembered him and had survived 3 tours in Vietnam so I figured I could at least handle one tour in Nam. At that time, he never told me much about Vietnam and I knew better than to ask too many questions. He did tell me that boot camp in the Marines would be the hardest thing I have ever done and that not everyone could make it as a Marine. I always looked up to Barry as I was growing up because he tolerated his little brother quite well and now here, he was a United States Marine telling me that not everyone could become a Marine. That was a challenge which I could not refuse, and he told me the game plan that day.
Upon returning to New Orleans over the weekend I made plans to go to the U.S. Customs office where the recruiters had their main offices and attempt to get out of my contract with the Navy and join the Marines. Just as Barry had told me, I walked in early to the Navy recruiter's office who happened to be a Chief Petty Officer and said, "Chief, I have had a change of heart, I want to be in a man's outfit!" The recruiter stood up from his desk, his face turned red, then almost purple and the veins popped out on his neck and he exploded on me, "Well, if you don't want us, we sure in the hell don't want you. You find another branch that will take your ass and I will be happy to sign it." I had already been to the Marine recruiter's office, and we agreed to a two-year contract with me going to San Diego, CA for boot camp because I wanted to see the West Coast and those California Girls that the Beach Boys were singing about. I got the inter-branch transfer and joined the Marines where I learned about Honor, Courage, and Commitment which are the three main values of the Corps, and promised I would never gamble at pool while I was in the Marines. I kept that promise because of what I was taught in boot camp and that Marines depend upon each other to watch their backs and to take advantage of them playing pool just wasn't something I could live with. Even when I went to Okinawa where they had pool tables, I wouldn't play pool because I knew that urge to gamble and win would come back quickly and felt it wasn't the honorable thing to do to my brothers.
The citizens of America didn't think very highly of us coming back from Nam and it was all over the news that many people in America didn't appreciate our sacrifices and took out their frustrations of the war on the servicemen returning home. We were even warned not to wear our uniforms in public because protestors were targeting us. That pretty much did it for me and I decided to not re-up and returned to civilian life and a lifetime of playing pool.
JoeyA 01/06/2021
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