The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Tim Yanaetsko and Ontorio Dubose were hanging around Marietta Billiard Club, not drinking anything, not eating anything and not shooting pool.
They were waiting to play poker
Places like the pool hall have been around for a long time, of course, but as the job market unravels, more people reach for a “third place” — neither home nor work, but a substitute with some of the best attributes of each.
“One of the major reasons that people go is just to hang out with other people,” said Ray Oldenburg, best known for writing “The Great Good Place,” a look at such sanctuaries. “There are dozens of functions of third places, but what it comes down to is not being alone,” Oldenburg said.
Some “third places” are obvious: libraries, beer gardens, pubs and coffeehouses. Some are less so: post offices and barber shops, for example. These places can bring people together across class and race lines. They offer a kind of social democracy, albeit one that often has a hierarchy of regulars and outsiders. Most important, with minimal admission fees, they are communities.
During economic stress, the need for a haven is even more urgent, said Oldenburg, a professor at the University of West Florida in Pensacola. “I think it makes this more important. If you are down and out, to hang around with friends helps.”
This weekday afternoon, the smoke in the room is thick. Neon beer signs line the walls, and five flat-screen televisions play behind the bar.
Only nine pool tables — less than one-third — are taken. At some, only one person is shooting pool.
No one is drinking alcohol, which presents a problem for waitress Courtney Berry, who knows that drinks mean more spending and bigger tips, too. And these days, the regulars who come into the Marietta Billiard Club don’t tip as much, if at all.
They apologize and promise that when good times return, so will her tips. She understands.
“They do take care of us,” the 26-year-old waitress said. “They always say, as soon as they have money they will compensate us.”
For the customers who are struggling, the pool hall provides comfort, companionship and — for patrons — a kind of part-time employment: Cards.
Four nights a week, poker offers customers a chance to play for “bar cash,” chits that can be cashed in to buy food. You have to spend at least $5 on food to get into the game.
“A guy came in last night with $50 in bar cash,” Berry said. He bought chicken wings and took them home to his family.
Of course, if you lose at poker, you are out whatever you have spent getting into the game.
There are a lot of potential players these days: roughly 11.6 million Americans — about 400,000 in Georgia — are officially out of work. Yanaetsko was laid off nine months ago from his job making signs for a real estate business.
His car was repossessed, so his family depends on public transportation. They go to food banks. They also took in a boarder.
Dubose lost his $2,000-per-month job driving a truck three months ago.
He gets no unemployment benefits, picking up odd jobs to support himself and his four daughters while he chases leads for permanent work. “It’s rough out there. You can call the staffing services and they say they aren’t hiring.”
He pays rent “by the skin of my teeth.”
But the pool hall charges no rent. You can hang out for hours, chat or watch television or just sit and gaze into space until the poker starts up.
And if you pay for lunch, you can play pool for no charge until 3 in the afternoon.
One recent weekday was a day off for Mark Raniere, a 49-year-old mechanical engineer. He arrived at the pool hall by 11:30 a.m.
By 3:30 p.m., the play-for-free period had passed, and he stood, chain-smoking and watching others shoot.
He lives alone, a mile away. At the billiards club he feels at home, especially now that he knows he, too, could be jobless at some point.
Four hours after arriving, he still had his cup of water — and a full ashtray.
“Because I’ve come here every day for so long, it wouldn’t be a good idea to change my routine now,” Raniere said.
Recession has softened spending in the club, but it hasn’t completely blunted the desire to play pool with other people, said co-owner Kim Davenport.
“We have tournaments or leagues seven days a week,” he said. “Thursday night is our busiest night — every table is going.”
Sometimes, though, solace lies in the warm lights and a smaller crowd on a cold afternoon.
Harold Dorden comes to the pool hall three or four times a week, now that he’s closed his construction business. The recession forced him to shut down. He and his wife are living off the salary she earns at a collection agency.
The pool hall is “an outlet,” he said. “It relieves stress.”
He will sometimes contribute a little money for players who don’t have quite enough cash to get a table. And he’s seen the owners sometimes let someone play without paying.
What would he do without the pool hall?
“Oh, God — I’ve been doing this 10 years,” he said. “I’d be lost. … Not only are these people friends, they are family.”
