Previously posted but...
Shortly into my high school years I procured a car, a well used ’65 forest green Mustang, and began to frequent “Town & Country Billiards” in Daly City, just south of SF proper.
It was an old bank building that sat on its own corner, sort of like a miniature Flatiron Building in New York -- it had that sort of triangular shape. Walking in, a black iron railing on your left curved around up to the front desk on the left. It was a pretty gaudy looking place, with red velvet wall paper, white-sided National Shuffle Board tables covered with beige cloth, and Tiffany-style lamps over each 4 ½ foot by 9 battlefield.
Arriving at the desk you’d usually be greeted by the owner, Stan Cleaner, a New York transplant who had seen it all and done it all. On one of the first evening forages I made into the room I was challenged by a young short-haired blonde guy, playing with a Gina. He wanted to play 9ball. I went up to Stan and asked, “Do I have a chance?” And Stan, who had somehow already divined my place in the substrata of pool players in his room said in a very non-committal but totally committal way that my challenger was, “the best in house.” That I had no chance was left unnecessarily unspoken. I passed on my opportunity to play Steve Votter, probably at the time one of the best players in California.
One day I was playing on a table near the center of the room and was surprised to see the legendary Tugboat Whaley walk into the room. Ancient, slightly bowed, but still rosy-cheeked, with pure white hair, suspenders in place as he confidently shuffled in, opened up a beat up old black cylindrical leather case, pulled out his brass jointed cue and start hitting balls with a soft easy grace. Shortly thereafter, I was again surprised when I saw Dorothy Wise, then several times Women's U.S 14.1 Open champ come in. Trim, grandmotherly, and coiffed, she put her own cue together and they began to spar, stopping occasionally for Tugboat to impart some bit of wisdom to Ms. Wise. I probably made two balls that afternoon, as I strained to listen in above the juke box and glean whatever crumbs of knowledge floated from their table. On other days a fellow named Dennis and Tugboat would play a refined game of 14.1 for hours on end. Watching these two elegantly manage and dismantle rack after rack was possibly the incipient start of my love affair with straight pool.
Lou Figueroa
