What was your first pool hall?
- Thread starter 9BallPaul
- Start date
Sure, I'll play.
My first pool room: Fort Bliss,Texas (Basic training-7th week end of 8 week basic training). Played my first pool game-a 9ball ring game(5 and 9)-lost $60.
Soon to follow in the next 3 years: US Army base day rooms-Huntsville Alabama, Albequerque New Mexico, Presidio-San Francisco, Fort Bliss, Texas(18 months this time).
In El Paso/Ft Bliss-we played bank 8ball. Bank everything-call rails, kisses, pockets. 8ball-shoot it 3 rails or more(bank or kick). We weren't paying table time/we were spending time.
Those were some good times.
Oh-I'm still trying to get that $60 back-maybe someday.
My first pool room: Fort Bliss,Texas (Basic training-7th week end of 8 week basic training). Played my first pool game-a 9ball ring game(5 and 9)-lost $60.
Soon to follow in the next 3 years: US Army base day rooms-Huntsville Alabama, Albequerque New Mexico, Presidio-San Francisco, Fort Bliss, Texas(18 months this time).
In El Paso/Ft Bliss-we played bank 8ball. Bank everything-call rails, kisses, pockets. 8ball-shoot it 3 rails or more(bank or kick). We weren't paying table time/we were spending time.
Those were some good times.
Oh-I'm still trying to get that $60 back-maybe someday.
9BallPaul
Banned
I can remember playing my drill sergeants in the day room of my basic training unit in Seattle. My day room activities got me out of KP more than once, thanks to the NCO's ineptitude.
Triangle Billiards in Endicott NY. No beer or bar.. one TV and a keno board. Not to mention a rail with chairs about 6 feet from the "A" Table. Sweating One-pocket and 9-Ball mathces. Place is in real bad decay and is super slow for action but the memories far surpasses the economic slow times..
We'll be there this weekend and cant wait to get my $20 back from Mouthy John!! Bastard got so lucky!! I was playing like garbage but ive jumped at least two balls since then so i got his number this time
We'll be there this weekend and cant wait to get my $20 back from Mouthy John!! Bastard got so lucky!! I was playing like garbage but ive jumped at least two balls since then so i got his number this time
"Croc"
The first place where I was a regular was called Crocodile Alley in Altoona, PA. I spent the better part of five years in there... Learned how to play 8 ball pretty well, and learned how to gamble playing one pocket. (Never did win very often, but I'm still playing 20 years later so the habit stuck.)
The first place where I was a regular was called Crocodile Alley in Altoona, PA. I spent the better part of five years in there... Learned how to play 8 ball pretty well, and learned how to gamble playing one pocket. (Never did win very often, but I'm still playing 20 years later so the habit stuck.)
First pool hall
In the late 60's, a gentleman named Fred Douglas moved in next door to us. He had a room in Okla. City and my dad and I would go there sometimes and play free pool. He was our neighbor and wouldn't take our money. He wanted an upscale poolroom in upscale Edmond, Ok. He built a very nice (recreation center) lol not a pool hall. His wife Hazel ran the desk and kept old Fred reined in. Old Fred new everything about pool and everyone learned real quick to never ask him anything, especially rules cause he would just go on forever. I went to work for Fred and Hazel cleaning tables and floors. Like I said, upscale room no smoking,cursing,spitting and certainly not much fun. I progressed or is it regressed to the two old poolhalls downtown. One was called Browns, can't remember the other one. Real pool halls with nothing but snooker tables and that all we ever played, snooker and golf. I believe anyone lucky enough to start on snooker tables is blessed indeed. They might have had one pool table in the back but nobody used it. Both rooms were long narrow buildings and had spitoons on each side of each table. Huge spitoons that would hold a gallon easily. Never saw anyone empty one. How would you like that job? Old guys with nicknames and wingtip shoes. One legged guy that played real well and of course a guy that shook like crazy but still played strong. We couldn't play with the old guys and did.t have the money anyway. The man that ran it was called Toots and wore overhauls. No ladies whatsoever. Those were the good old days and I was fortunate to have witnessed it all. Believe it or not, no one ever turned into a bank robber, we just robbed each other on the tables. Turned 21 and started going to bars and guess what? Meatheads wanted to play for money. 5 bucks was big money back then and we killed those folks. I could go on forever but don't know if anybody cares about these things. Mr. Wiggles signing off.
In the late 60's, a gentleman named Fred Douglas moved in next door to us. He had a room in Okla. City and my dad and I would go there sometimes and play free pool. He was our neighbor and wouldn't take our money. He wanted an upscale poolroom in upscale Edmond, Ok. He built a very nice (recreation center) lol not a pool hall. His wife Hazel ran the desk and kept old Fred reined in. Old Fred new everything about pool and everyone learned real quick to never ask him anything, especially rules cause he would just go on forever. I went to work for Fred and Hazel cleaning tables and floors. Like I said, upscale room no smoking,cursing,spitting and certainly not much fun. I progressed or is it regressed to the two old poolhalls downtown. One was called Browns, can't remember the other one. Real pool halls with nothing but snooker tables and that all we ever played, snooker and golf. I believe anyone lucky enough to start on snooker tables is blessed indeed. They might have had one pool table in the back but nobody used it. Both rooms were long narrow buildings and had spitoons on each side of each table. Huge spitoons that would hold a gallon easily. Never saw anyone empty one. How would you like that job? Old guys with nicknames and wingtip shoes. One legged guy that played real well and of course a guy that shook like crazy but still played strong. We couldn't play with the old guys and did.t have the money anyway. The man that ran it was called Toots and wore overhauls. No ladies whatsoever. Those were the good old days and I was fortunate to have witnessed it all. Believe it or not, no one ever turned into a bank robber, we just robbed each other on the tables. Turned 21 and started going to bars and guess what? Meatheads wanted to play for money. 5 bucks was big money back then and we killed those folks. I could go on forever but don't know if anybody cares about these things. Mr. Wiggles signing off.
First Pool Halls
Back in the 60's in Greensboro N.C. you had Don's Billiards downtown. Don Wrenn had about anybody who was or thought they were come through that place. Always had the locals but they came from all around when they were passing through.
They also had the Co-ed cue club at Guilford College. Not much action but a fun place for a small game. Did have Luther Lassiter and Cesiro Murphy do a big match for two days once. Many good memories
Back in the 60's in Greensboro N.C. you had Don's Billiards downtown. Don Wrenn had about anybody who was or thought they were come through that place. Always had the locals but they came from all around when they were passing through.
They also had the Co-ed cue club at Guilford College. Not much action but a fun place for a small game. Did have Luther Lassiter and Cesiro Murphy do a big match for two days once. Many good memories
My first pool hall was Guy's Pool Hall in Marrero,La.I can remember standing in front of the glass door looking in an wishing I could play.They finally changed the laws and I was able to go in at 13.When I turned 18 I went to work there.The room had 18 Brunswick Monarcs and a ping pong table.The place is still open now but it's called Tim's and isn't the same anymore.Sure do miss the place.All of the tables were 8 footers and I didn't play on a 9 foot table until I went to Red's in Houston in 1985.Those were the good ole days.
Steve
Steve
My first pool hall was my grandpa's storefront room in the Los Angeles area. I never played there, just swept up, brushed the tables and watched the codgers play dominoes. I was 8 or 9 years old (maybe a hundred years ago). Gramps paid me in Mallow Bars.
pj
chgo
pj
chgo
My first Pool Hall was located on the lower level of Panarama Bowl in Belleville, Illinois.
It was "upscale", but reasonably priced, with a strict dress code. The owner (Gus Mueller) and his wife were always dressed like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Very classy folks, indeed. Gus was a retired "Pro" and was friends with all the great players of the day.
There were 15 or so 5x10 Brunswicks, a couple of Carom Tables, and 3 Snooker Tables. The equipment was impeccably maintained.
It was exactly the kind of Pool Hall I would own if I were a younger man with a lot more energy and drive than I can muster these days.
It was "upscale", but reasonably priced, with a strict dress code. The owner (Gus Mueller) and his wife were always dressed like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Very classy folks, indeed. Gus was a retired "Pro" and was friends with all the great players of the day.
There were 15 or so 5x10 Brunswicks, a couple of Carom Tables, and 3 Snooker Tables. The equipment was impeccably maintained.
It was exactly the kind of Pool Hall I would own if I were a younger man with a lot more energy and drive than I can muster these days.
9BallPaul
Banned
Exactly the way I feel. I live in a great town that has no pool halls, only bar tables. I'd love to open a small room with Diamond Tables, top-shelf suds, and a reliable clientele. Trouble is, I need backers.
Masters Club
Mine was the Masters Club when I was 16. It had over 45 tables(3 levels); 12 were Snooker 6x12 in West Edmonton Mall, Edmonton, Alberta CAN. After hanging out there since it opened, I ended working there till it closed as a front counter person. It closed after a year and a half and re-opened 6months later as Lucky 11. Great times.
Mark
Mine was the Masters Club when I was 16. It had over 45 tables(3 levels); 12 were Snooker 6x12 in West Edmonton Mall, Edmonton, Alberta CAN. After hanging out there since it opened, I ended working there till it closed as a front counter person. It closed after a year and a half and re-opened 6months later as Lucky 11. Great times.
Mark
i was raised in a very small town in mississippi. our pool hall, which nobody ever called anything but 'the pool hall', had vaulted ceilings and was enormous. it had about 12 tables and 2 snooker tables that my friend's dad's would play on as we marveled at their ability. in the mid eighties, when i was a young teenager, 8 ball was 35 cents and 9 ball was 25 cents. this rocker guy that worked there would rack every game and you'd toss him your money. this being the south the only places young kids could go was to church, with their parent's blessings, and the pool hall, without it. it was frequented by 'ancient' 25 yr. old pot heads and 'burnouts'. i was either there or my church, almost everyday after school. i moved away from the south for 13 yrs. and went in there when i got back into pool. it's all young kids now, and i'm the old burnout. but i make a point to speak to all of them and show them a few things and make them feel good about playing. i don't know about where you are from, but down here pool is dead as Elvis (RIP). I try to encourage them so maybe they'll stick with it show some kid how to keep their heads down and follow through one day, too.
I got hooked in the student union at UCONN Avery point, eventually moving to American Billiards in Groton, CT. Shot there for about a year, then moved across the river to New London, CT where I started shooting at the Gold Crown Billiards. There were a couple of strong players in there, (Bobby Hunt, Greg Hoagland, Terry Keith, etc) and my education in the game skyrocketed.
Had the chance to play all over the country, but still miss those days at American and the Gold Crown.
Had the chance to play all over the country, but still miss those days at American and the Gold Crown.
Yep, that's the place. And I don't ever remember it being closed no matter what hour we went past it. I've heard that an awful lot of money changed hands in there over the years. I was never privy to it, unfortunately, as I was too young. There were some guys that played in there every day, daytime players, that could just kill me.
Brian in VA
9BallPaul
Banned
Just found this piece by George Fels and felt I had to cut and paste in this thread. What a treat:
The P.H.
(from May 1982)
YOU'D THINK I'D be over it by now. The place where I learned to play pool shuttered half my life ago, but I still see it almost daily, sometimes at night. How many other players have a dream about their first room, I wonder? In mine, the place has re-opened to a vastly younger crowd, ready to adore anybody who can run balls in double digits, but I manage to see that somehow it's not the same and I leave; I never stay. As for my waking life, there is a part of me that I left back there, and you can just empty out betting I'm not the only one. The player who doesn't think fondly of his first poolroom is a misanthropic meld of Norman Bates. Darth Vader, and the Alien, and is to be shunned at all costs.
The room's formal, Yellow Pages name was the Morse Avenue Recreation Center, but it was just "the p.h" to anybody who went there. Not only was the expression a chance for you to demonstrate how hip you were (even if we said "hep" back then), but it served as a cunning disguise in front of middle-class parents who were still of the Music Man mentality and who might have fibrillated if they heard "pool hall" from their own son's cherubic lips.
I was probably hooked on the place, and the games to be found therein, after my first half-hour, maybe less. You had to negotiate a flight of stairs, for one thing, and there's something about pool that feels terribly right being combined with stairs, up or down. At the top, there were eight manually-set bowling lanes (fewer if the resident pinsetters weren't sober) to the right; on the left, behind a pair of honest-to-God swinging doors, 10 tables (6 pool, 3 billiards, and the chameleon-like Table 10, which was billiards, 5' x 10' snooker, or 5' x 10' pool, whichever seemed to be in demand. Table 5 was for real sports, boasting new cloth, a $1 minimum instead of $l an hour, and a then-unheard of set of plastic balls. Except for its archaic butterlips pockets, Table 5 truly represented life in the fast lane.
The fact is, the only people I know who were completely able to resist the lure of the p.h. were the people who never went to begin with. This was a room void in hustlers, tush hogs, drifters or dopers; the basic gambling forum was "time and a buck", which we kids chanted merrily to the tune of The William Tell Overture. A $2 or $3 game was heavy action. I started out playing for quarters, back when I still thought you should move as many balls as possible on each shot to keep from looking bad if you miss. But I could run eight or nine in a few weeks, and that in itself was practically enough to make me king of the hill.
And beyond the games themselves, the p.h. had the magic of kinship. You needed neither equipment nor buddies to go to the p.h. It was loaded from October to June with the crack of the balls and the smartass talk a gawky teen-ager loves to hear, guys forming poker games, guys before or after their dates, comparing notes on who got what. The '50s were not all that sexually enlightened; any guy who could legitimately claim to have copped a feel was a conversation piece for weeks (and the girl for months). Off in the corner, a little AM radio warbled syrupy ballads by the Crew Cuts and the Four Lads that filled you with a sweet melancholy just this side of horniness.
Perhaps best of all, it was A Place To Go Alone. The phrase deserves upper-case letters, at least in my heart, because the mysteries and agonies of the war called adolescence frequently left you feeling alone even when you weren't. The p.h. was a soothing, cool, dark green balm for all that, crowded or empty. There was always - always - the game, in which to lose yourself for a few minutes or a few hours, whatever it took. If you catch the game at a time when your sap is rising, all her subtleties and symbols whisper wordless juicy thoughts, about sticks and balls and holes and triangles, that you might not be able to articulate for years, if then. And you take on a mistress who will ultimately tempt you away from classes, sergeants, bosses, wives, who will faithfully return whatever love you can bring each time you bring it, and who will stay with you for forty or fifty years and might even improve with age. Any woman about whom the same can be said should be treated as far more than a casual date.
I had just been cut out from the school basketball team, for being too small and shooting too much, when I discovered the p.h. And I think the first symbology that must have appealed to me about pool came from buckets; here was another way of maneuvering yourself into position for an open shot at a hole. But any size could play, and as long as the shots went in, you didn't have to depend on the kindness of strangers under the backboard to give you another shot. You got one automatically. And another one, and then as many as you could make. How much sweeter can life get when you're too young for romance, college or Army, but too old for Howdy Doody? The p.h. was more than a meeting place, more than an arena for competition. It was a connection with life. I don't know of anybody who ever broke that connection without replacing it with something of value.
There was no better time to be in the p.h. than early on Friday nights. Friday dinners were generally a two-to-three minute exercise with me; there was Someplace To Go. My feet hit that flight of 15 stairs maybe three times on the way up. A week of school was behind; pool and poker and the weekend were ahead, and the teenage blues were a lot farther away than just those stairs. No wonder there were no dopers. With highs like that around, who needed drugs? Even today, with all the songs and movies singing the joy of Saturday Night, you can give me Fridays from 5 to 7 P.M. as the niftiest time on the earth. The place closed five and a half years after my first appearance, and since I was away at school for four of those years, my total hours logged there are puny compared to the attendance of some. But if I was in town, I was in touch. The lithography firm that bought out the p.h. is still in business there, and I doubt they'd mind if I climbed those stairs one more time just to stand there, mumble an apology, and leave. They needn't know how much I used to want to score some plastique and blow them clear to oblivion. But that was when I was a kid, and as Robert Louis Stevenson said, "Each of us has thoughts that would shame hell."
And there's always that dream, to remind me that that was another day, that there are no tickets back. I don't know whether to be grateful for the dream or not. I suppose I should, but I don't know. I sure loved that place.
The P.H.
(from May 1982)
YOU'D THINK I'D be over it by now. The place where I learned to play pool shuttered half my life ago, but I still see it almost daily, sometimes at night. How many other players have a dream about their first room, I wonder? In mine, the place has re-opened to a vastly younger crowd, ready to adore anybody who can run balls in double digits, but I manage to see that somehow it's not the same and I leave; I never stay. As for my waking life, there is a part of me that I left back there, and you can just empty out betting I'm not the only one. The player who doesn't think fondly of his first poolroom is a misanthropic meld of Norman Bates. Darth Vader, and the Alien, and is to be shunned at all costs.
The room's formal, Yellow Pages name was the Morse Avenue Recreation Center, but it was just "the p.h" to anybody who went there. Not only was the expression a chance for you to demonstrate how hip you were (even if we said "hep" back then), but it served as a cunning disguise in front of middle-class parents who were still of the Music Man mentality and who might have fibrillated if they heard "pool hall" from their own son's cherubic lips.
I was probably hooked on the place, and the games to be found therein, after my first half-hour, maybe less. You had to negotiate a flight of stairs, for one thing, and there's something about pool that feels terribly right being combined with stairs, up or down. At the top, there were eight manually-set bowling lanes (fewer if the resident pinsetters weren't sober) to the right; on the left, behind a pair of honest-to-God swinging doors, 10 tables (6 pool, 3 billiards, and the chameleon-like Table 10, which was billiards, 5' x 10' snooker, or 5' x 10' pool, whichever seemed to be in demand. Table 5 was for real sports, boasting new cloth, a $1 minimum instead of $l an hour, and a then-unheard of set of plastic balls. Except for its archaic butterlips pockets, Table 5 truly represented life in the fast lane.
The fact is, the only people I know who were completely able to resist the lure of the p.h. were the people who never went to begin with. This was a room void in hustlers, tush hogs, drifters or dopers; the basic gambling forum was "time and a buck", which we kids chanted merrily to the tune of The William Tell Overture. A $2 or $3 game was heavy action. I started out playing for quarters, back when I still thought you should move as many balls as possible on each shot to keep from looking bad if you miss. But I could run eight or nine in a few weeks, and that in itself was practically enough to make me king of the hill.
And beyond the games themselves, the p.h. had the magic of kinship. You needed neither equipment nor buddies to go to the p.h. It was loaded from October to June with the crack of the balls and the smartass talk a gawky teen-ager loves to hear, guys forming poker games, guys before or after their dates, comparing notes on who got what. The '50s were not all that sexually enlightened; any guy who could legitimately claim to have copped a feel was a conversation piece for weeks (and the girl for months). Off in the corner, a little AM radio warbled syrupy ballads by the Crew Cuts and the Four Lads that filled you with a sweet melancholy just this side of horniness.
Perhaps best of all, it was A Place To Go Alone. The phrase deserves upper-case letters, at least in my heart, because the mysteries and agonies of the war called adolescence frequently left you feeling alone even when you weren't. The p.h. was a soothing, cool, dark green balm for all that, crowded or empty. There was always - always - the game, in which to lose yourself for a few minutes or a few hours, whatever it took. If you catch the game at a time when your sap is rising, all her subtleties and symbols whisper wordless juicy thoughts, about sticks and balls and holes and triangles, that you might not be able to articulate for years, if then. And you take on a mistress who will ultimately tempt you away from classes, sergeants, bosses, wives, who will faithfully return whatever love you can bring each time you bring it, and who will stay with you for forty or fifty years and might even improve with age. Any woman about whom the same can be said should be treated as far more than a casual date.
I had just been cut out from the school basketball team, for being too small and shooting too much, when I discovered the p.h. And I think the first symbology that must have appealed to me about pool came from buckets; here was another way of maneuvering yourself into position for an open shot at a hole. But any size could play, and as long as the shots went in, you didn't have to depend on the kindness of strangers under the backboard to give you another shot. You got one automatically. And another one, and then as many as you could make. How much sweeter can life get when you're too young for romance, college or Army, but too old for Howdy Doody? The p.h. was more than a meeting place, more than an arena for competition. It was a connection with life. I don't know of anybody who ever broke that connection without replacing it with something of value.
There was no better time to be in the p.h. than early on Friday nights. Friday dinners were generally a two-to-three minute exercise with me; there was Someplace To Go. My feet hit that flight of 15 stairs maybe three times on the way up. A week of school was behind; pool and poker and the weekend were ahead, and the teenage blues were a lot farther away than just those stairs. No wonder there were no dopers. With highs like that around, who needed drugs? Even today, with all the songs and movies singing the joy of Saturday Night, you can give me Fridays from 5 to 7 P.M. as the niftiest time on the earth. The place closed five and a half years after my first appearance, and since I was away at school for four of those years, my total hours logged there are puny compared to the attendance of some. But if I was in town, I was in touch. The lithography firm that bought out the p.h. is still in business there, and I doubt they'd mind if I climbed those stairs one more time just to stand there, mumble an apology, and leave. They needn't know how much I used to want to score some plastique and blow them clear to oblivion. But that was when I was a kid, and as Robert Louis Stevenson said, "Each of us has thoughts that would shame hell."
And there's always that dream, to remind me that that was another day, that there are no tickets back. I don't know whether to be grateful for the dream or not. I suppose I should, but I don't know. I sure loved that place.
That George Fels is quite the wordsmith. I always enjoy reading his stuff.
My first room was Ball and Cue in San Clemente, CA. It was a complete dive of a place. The only reason to go there was if you were a Marine from nearby Camp Pendleton and had absolutely nothing to do, or if you were a local die-hard pool player who didn't want to travel out of town to play. Being a town made up of Marines, surfers and retired folks, we didn't see too many skilled pool shooters.
The big guns in town were Wayne Fisher, Ron Ballard, "Cocaine" Mike and a couple of others. They would rank as average players in any "serious" pool room but I enjoyed watching these guys battle it out. The only sharpshooter that showed up there with any regularity was "Little" Bill. I became something of a fixture there for a few years, learning the game and studying human psychology.
Whereas most players look back at their first pool room with fondness, I cringe a bit thinking of the old Ball and Cue. The place had poorly maintained tables, it attracted a lot of drunks, the music would get turned up really loud and the owner was a little rough around the edges. But, I learned a lot in that place. So I guess that counts for something.
My first room was Ball and Cue in San Clemente, CA. It was a complete dive of a place. The only reason to go there was if you were a Marine from nearby Camp Pendleton and had absolutely nothing to do, or if you were a local die-hard pool player who didn't want to travel out of town to play. Being a town made up of Marines, surfers and retired folks, we didn't see too many skilled pool shooters.
The big guns in town were Wayne Fisher, Ron Ballard, "Cocaine" Mike and a couple of others. They would rank as average players in any "serious" pool room but I enjoyed watching these guys battle it out. The only sharpshooter that showed up there with any regularity was "Little" Bill. I became something of a fixture there for a few years, learning the game and studying human psychology.
Whereas most players look back at their first pool room with fondness, I cringe a bit thinking of the old Ball and Cue. The place had poorly maintained tables, it attracted a lot of drunks, the music would get turned up really loud and the owner was a little rough around the edges. But, I learned a lot in that place. So I guess that counts for something.
holy crap, you actually know where villa park is LOL we just had our annual chili cookoff and food drive in villa park.
then you probably also know where stardust bowl is too ...and palace billiards
I started playing pool at the age of 6 when my folks bought a Fisher 8 ft for our basement in the suburbs of Detroit. At the age of 13 my folks retired and moved to Tucson Arizona.
The first pool hall I played in was Troys Billiards located on Speedway Blvd. The tables were not in the best of shape but there was always somebody willing to play for a few bucks. In the mid 90's, Troys moved over to Wilmot Rd. and after a few years sold his place and it's now called Pockets.
Some people may not know, Ol' Man Troy was actually more known as a Grand Master Chess player. He wrote at least one book about the game of chess. Next door to his pool room on Speedway was his lil' chess shop. He sold game pieces, books and even chess boards there.
One thing I remember about Troys Billiards was the long wooden counter next to the bar. It had about 6 chess/checker boards inlaid and you would always see a couple guys playing during the day. This counter was relocated to the new location at Wilmot and is still being used today in what is now called Pockets Billiards Cafe. It's a nice bit of history being preserved.:smile:
The first pool hall I played in was Troys Billiards located on Speedway Blvd. The tables were not in the best of shape but there was always somebody willing to play for a few bucks. In the mid 90's, Troys moved over to Wilmot Rd. and after a few years sold his place and it's now called Pockets.
Some people may not know, Ol' Man Troy was actually more known as a Grand Master Chess player. He wrote at least one book about the game of chess. Next door to his pool room on Speedway was his lil' chess shop. He sold game pieces, books and even chess boards there.
One thing I remember about Troys Billiards was the long wooden counter next to the bar. It had about 6 chess/checker boards inlaid and you would always see a couple guys playing during the day. This counter was relocated to the new location at Wilmot and is still being used today in what is now called Pockets Billiards Cafe. It's a nice bit of history being preserved.:smile:
I used to go into the U of A student union to play, back in about 1987 thru 1990. There was a couple guys in there who would give me a good game. I don't know their last names but first names were Andy and Amjad (sp.). I think Andy joined the armed forces and Amjad went to California someplace. Once they were gone, I stopped going, nobody else was a very good shot.
What year were you playing in there?