Old Marty (omaha fats) spent his last years in Denver...
First ran into Marty in 1966 at the old Celebrity Lanes in Glendale. In those days, Denver had a law that closed pool rooms at midnight. That left Celebrity and the Family Fun Center (in Wheat Ridge) for post-midnight action.
By the time I met him, Marty was far past his prime -- assuming he'd had one. Of course he maintained he did. By this point he was mostly a showman who considered $2 nine-ball above his limit. He could still run a rack of 9-ball, but he wasn't capable of matching up with the town's top players. I watched him play 9-ball -- serious 9-ball -- with kids for quarters. Sometimes I was one of those kids (18 at the time). He did his one-handed schtick, but a local guy named Joe Finesilver could take him in jack pool.
If his skills were declining on the green, his mouth was sublime. To hear Marty tell it, he was the real Fats. The guy known as Minnesota had been ducking him for years -- and riding on
his
, that is Marty's -- reputation! For you fans of irony, the idea of one charlatan accusing a seconod charlatan of stealing his reputation is priceless. (Not that Minnesota couldn't actually play in his prime.)
Fat Marty (as we called Omaha) would swoop into the Celebrity Lanes parking lot in his old black Cadillac convertible, with his sidekick, Okie, at the wheel. Okie was an old-timer who lived in a Downtown hotel, sometimes with Marty. Okie could still play a little golf (on a snooker table) and he also ran with another old-timer named Floyd, always ready with a deck of cards or pair of dice. Both always wore ties and jackets. Marty, as has been described, favored old gray trousers, a dirty white t-shirt, and an ugly green cardigan. And comfortable shoes.
Anyway, Marty was a loudmouth who didn't exactly endear himself to Denver's underground pool world. He was a sideshow. Marty became my great friend after I bought him breakfast -- steak and eggs for 99 cents at the old White Spot on Colfax and Gaylord. He'd asked me if I could drive him Downtown after we ate, and I said sure. Never forget the look on Marty's face when he saw my wheels -- a 1954 Volkswagen bug. Good sport that he was -- and with few options at 3 in the morning -- he piled into the Bug and I drove him to his fleabag hotel somewhere on 18th Street. He moaned the whole way. After that, he was always my great pal whenever our paths crossed.
My pool wanderings took me around the country, and most places I went, I couldn't find players who knew about Marty, so I'd concluded he was mostly a Denver figure. That's why it's been so gratifying to read these posts. As has been said, he was one of the great characters, if not players. Thanks to all for your posts.
Anyway, last time I saw Marty was at the old Family Fun Center, maybe in the early to mid '80s. He recognized me, but said immediately, "I've changed. I can't play. I've had a stroke." I tried to make conversation but found it difficult. I offered to buy him steak and eggs, but he just shookd his head. I'm guessing he died shortly thereafter, though I never heard anything definite. RIP, old pal.
