Mine might have been a Rich too.
(insert flashback music)
My first cue was a carefully considered investment I made one day after another of my runs through the sporting goods department of The Emporium, a glorious downtown department store on Market Street, right across from the cable car turn platform. The store was a throwback to San Francisco’s post earthquake glory days, with its huge glass dome, and was the place my family purchased a good many of our necessities over the years.
I saw The Cue that became the object of my lust displayed in a glass case there. The first time I saw it I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. And, with every passing visit, my desire grew and grew until it could not be denied. Somehow I scrimped and saved the $29.00 ransom the store wanted for the cue -- with its own faux leather luggage-style case, with red flocked interior, which I personally felt showed the cue to its best advantage -- and sealed the deal one memorable weekend.
The Cue was a transcendent thing of beauty: polished brass joint; rich polyurethaned walnut forearm; red and black specked nylon wrap (genuine); and a butt plate of iridescent multicolored rings. I thought my Mom and Dad were going to kill me when they found out I had squandered most of my meager funds on “a pool cue?!” and I suffered some withering words, offered in fatherly counsel, about “wasting” my money. But I did not care. It was worth it all.
I remember frequently locking myself in my room and lovingly wiping down the forearm of The Cue, using several paper towels and much of my Mom’s can of Pledge. To this day, like catching the wafting scent of a perfume favored by an old flame, a whiff of lemon-scented Pledge still reminds me of that cue and our first summer together. After a few months I came to realize that the black luggage-style case (with red flocked interior) made my look of aspiring hustler somewhat less than credible and I switched over to a soft plain black zippered case.
Man, I loved that cue.
Lou Figueroa