Mr. Steve
His real name was Steve Paternostro and he was one of the local characters that the infamous Sports Palace had spawned.
Mr. Steve would slip in quietly without much fan fare and you would hardly even know he was there, unless you saw him take a hit on one of his small respiratory inhalers that he always kept with him. He talked quietly almost timidly but he had the ability to talk without even uttering words, although when he spoke, you would always want to listen.
He always arrived at around Midnight or even later, never during the day. I don't know if it was to catch some of the younger guys off guard but I'm sure he didn't come in that late to catch someone drunk because I never saw him playing with anyone who was drunk.
Mr. Steve would mosey up to the table you were practicing on, giving small nods of approval as to what you were trying to accomplish never once admonishing you for your mistakes, only complimenting you for what you were able to excel at and never with a lot of words, mostly just nodding an all-knowing nod is as best as I can describe it.
If you looked up like you might be interested in playing him some one pocket, he would graciously agree to play some cheap, a couple of dollars a game or maybe for the time. Mr. Steve was always neatly dressed and had impeccable manners, never sharking and always a pleasure to play one pocket with, except that he NEVER lost. Well maybe he lost a game here and there but you could be assured that overall he was going to spank you, not hard, but just enough that it would teach you something.
The other thing was, he would never brag about beating anyone. In talking to him you would think he had never beaten anyone in the pool room. The truth was, he stayed away from the real killers in the pool room and plied his trade on the newbies like myself. Mr. Stever was one of those guys who could beat you out of a few games and excuse himself and you were wondering; what the hell, it was only for the time, why did he quit? If he won a few dollars from you the pain was soon forgotten because almost always he would leave you with a little pool tip that always seemed to make it worth your while.
I played Mr. Steve for about three years at the Sports Palace and I never beat him out of a dollar in all those years. We didn't play every week but he would show up like something in a dream that you never expected, usually dressed in black and white as I recall, often wearing a long London Fog type overcoat, sometimes carryin an umbrella if it was raining outside.
One night after the years of getting spanked, my knowledge of one pocket had increased and I had been waiting weeks for him to return. My game had improved enough that I was sure I could beat him. Finally that night came. He slipped in quietly as a mouse, moving quietly stopping by my table but not approaching me, just about ready to take a seat and I whipped around with that eager anticipation and excitedly told him, "Are you ready Mr. Steve?" He replied, "Oh no son, you've gotten too good for me. I can't beat you any more." My mouth fell open with disbelief as I cried, "Mr. Steve, you've beaten me for three years. You've beaten me out of $66 and God knows how much pool time. Are you serious?" (I had kept track even though it was small losses each time over those three years). He kindly responded with a respectful sincerity that only Mr. Steve could proffer, "Oh yes, you've become quite the player, Joey but that $66 is all locked up in the bank". :grin::grin: :grin:
RIP Mr. Steve and thank you. You taught me a lot about life and pool.
