In the dingy light of the bar's Jägermeister lamp, he looks like a wizened Dave Chappelle. He has long arms, all the better for angling his $3,000 custom Cognoscenti cue with real ivory in the inlay and an epoxy joint that hits so, so sweet.
Mark "The Snake" Jones is a streetwise slickster with a country-boy soul. He's become adept at reinventing himself in this capricious city, in part because he's a lovable opportunist, but also because life has demanded it. At 64, he's fond of saying, "There's a whole lot more."
In December, he'll travel to South Africa to play in the WPA's 9-Ball Championship, the Super Bowl of pocket billiards for wheelchair players.
The son of a Baptist preacher, Jones was born the 10th of 13 children on a cotton and livestock farm in Monroe, a small town east of Atlanta. He grew up fighting bare-knuckle boxing matches with friends in the backyard, where he claims to have been undefeated. Bored with the prospects of farming, Jones left for Atlanta in 1968 and worked as a hospital orderly, bacon handler, car porter, and strip club bouncer. One night, he was forced to beat up an unruly strip club patron. The fight exhausted him, so he enrolled in Joe Corley's renowned karate school, earning a green belt — halfway to a black belt — in only a few months. He says karate, like boxing, came naturally.
One night in 1974, Jones was sleeping in the passenger seat of a Volkswagen Beetle his friend was driving to New Orleans. Jones was scheduled to fight in a Mardi Gras karate tournament, but they would never make it. A rear wheel flew off the Volkswagen, sending the car spinning off the highway.
The passenger door flung open, and Jones flew out. All he recalls is seeing a helicopter land, and then waking up in a hospital room, frustrated and confused. He'd broken his back and neck, rendering him paraplegic. The injury was what's commonly called a hangman's fracture — a clean break of the neck vertebrae — making Jones so brittle that the slightest jolt could have left him quadriplegic or killed him. He was 25 years old.
"One minute you're kicking people in the head, and the next you can't lift your foot," he says. "It was a tough pill to swallow."
"What [Jones] does a little better than all players, not just wheelchair players, his determination and focus is very, very good," says Archer, owner of Marietta Billiard Club. "He doesn't get flustered mentally. He doesn't break down."
Or, in the words of Annie Swanson, a Stooges bartender for three decades: "He whips your ass — he good." She would know. Jones had been running Monday night tournaments and sharking the poolroom at Stooges for seven years, before his recent move over to the Westside's Corner Tavern. He says he's not a hustler, that he doesn't actively seek out lesser players or use his wheelchair as bait. He says the suckers come to him. And then he analyzes — even savors — their expressions when the match is over.
"They look at me like I'm a human being," he says, "not just some little cripple."
"What [Jones] does a little better than all players, not just wheelchair players, his determination and focus is very, very good," says his mentor, Johnny Archer, owner of Marietta Billiard Club. "He doesn't get flustered mentally. He doesn't break down."
Read more about this amazing player: Mark "The Snake" Jones can';t walk, but he'll beat your ass in pool [Retrieved 17 November 2013]
Mark "The Snake" Jones is a streetwise slickster with a country-boy soul. He's become adept at reinventing himself in this capricious city, in part because he's a lovable opportunist, but also because life has demanded it. At 64, he's fond of saying, "There's a whole lot more."
In December, he'll travel to South Africa to play in the WPA's 9-Ball Championship, the Super Bowl of pocket billiards for wheelchair players.
The son of a Baptist preacher, Jones was born the 10th of 13 children on a cotton and livestock farm in Monroe, a small town east of Atlanta. He grew up fighting bare-knuckle boxing matches with friends in the backyard, where he claims to have been undefeated. Bored with the prospects of farming, Jones left for Atlanta in 1968 and worked as a hospital orderly, bacon handler, car porter, and strip club bouncer. One night, he was forced to beat up an unruly strip club patron. The fight exhausted him, so he enrolled in Joe Corley's renowned karate school, earning a green belt — halfway to a black belt — in only a few months. He says karate, like boxing, came naturally.
One night in 1974, Jones was sleeping in the passenger seat of a Volkswagen Beetle his friend was driving to New Orleans. Jones was scheduled to fight in a Mardi Gras karate tournament, but they would never make it. A rear wheel flew off the Volkswagen, sending the car spinning off the highway.
The passenger door flung open, and Jones flew out. All he recalls is seeing a helicopter land, and then waking up in a hospital room, frustrated and confused. He'd broken his back and neck, rendering him paraplegic. The injury was what's commonly called a hangman's fracture — a clean break of the neck vertebrae — making Jones so brittle that the slightest jolt could have left him quadriplegic or killed him. He was 25 years old.
"One minute you're kicking people in the head, and the next you can't lift your foot," he says. "It was a tough pill to swallow."
"What [Jones] does a little better than all players, not just wheelchair players, his determination and focus is very, very good," says Archer, owner of Marietta Billiard Club. "He doesn't get flustered mentally. He doesn't break down."
Or, in the words of Annie Swanson, a Stooges bartender for three decades: "He whips your ass — he good." She would know. Jones had been running Monday night tournaments and sharking the poolroom at Stooges for seven years, before his recent move over to the Westside's Corner Tavern. He says he's not a hustler, that he doesn't actively seek out lesser players or use his wheelchair as bait. He says the suckers come to him. And then he analyzes — even savors — their expressions when the match is over.
"They look at me like I'm a human being," he says, "not just some little cripple."
"What [Jones] does a little better than all players, not just wheelchair players, his determination and focus is very, very good," says his mentor, Johnny Archer, owner of Marietta Billiard Club. "He doesn't get flustered mentally. He doesn't break down."
Read more about this amazing player: Mark "The Snake" Jones can';t walk, but he'll beat your ass in pool [Retrieved 17 November 2013]
J/K
