If you were a pool player in NYC, before the Color of Money, then you must know of Julians, formerly of 14th St. For those who missed this experience, Julians was a classic old style, seedy pool room, complete with daily attendance by a bunch of guys smoking cigars, faces pressed to racing sheets, all on the lookout for some easy way to make a buck. If there was any music, it came softly from the guy with the transistor stuck to his ear, during commercial breaks from whatever ball game he was listening to. To enter Julians, you had to make way through the junkies to climb the piss encrusted steps.
The tables were ancient Brunswick Gold Crowns that were only recovered when the bed color turned from green to gray, as the frail worn threads finally gave way to slate. The rubber rails had the responsiveness of masonry and few had intact covering after decades of cigarette burn torture.
Yet Julians did have a kind of perverse charm. And the resident house pro, George Makula, was one of the most talented all around players I've ever seen. Now and then, one of the top pros would come around. I recall Danny Diliberto playing one pocket with George in an all day match that ended dead even.
It's a wonder Peter Falk ever became Columbo, because he was so addicted to pool--and maybe the unique atmosphere of Julians--he frequently skipped auditions to continue playing, or maybe because he just couldn't bring himself to leave the place.
Despite its shortcomings, Julians was a fun place to play pool or just breeze the local pool gossip and road rumors. And for many years, it was the only pool room in Manhattan. Period!
One day a guy came in and said he was doing research for a new movie. He was writing the screenplay and wanted to talk to some of us to get an idea of how things worked in a pool room. He spent two days hanging around, asking questions, mostly talking to George, and the buzz around the room thereafter was this new Hustler movie. "Louie-the-mooch", the guy with the transistor radio, was particularly energized--a very rare spectacle for Louie--because he remembered the windfall days following The Hustler. After a few days, though, things settled down and talk returned to horses and baseball.
The Color of Money, came and went. "Wasn't that the movie George talked to that guy about?" Louie asked Spanish Mike.
Spanish Mike grudgingly replied, "Ummm." He didn't give a shit about movies. His attention was riveted on his pick in the third at Belmont. I doubt any of the regulars saw the movie. "Pay eight bucks to see a ****ing movie. Are you kidding me?"
Apparently, lots of other people did see the movie. Soon there was a buzz: a big new poolroom opened over on 21st Street. Really...? Fifty brand new Gold Crowns, carpeted floors, plants!, 12' snooker tables--it was magnificent. "Yeah, shit," said Louie, "I hear they're charging six bucks an hour for one player. Ten bucks at night Who's going to pay that kind of money to play pool?" Indeed, Louie had a point. Julians was $2 an hour. "Are you shittin' me--ten bucks an hour to play pool? No one's gonna play there."
Six months later, Chelea Billiards had to raise their rates. The crowds waiting for a table swarmed the front desk, such that, if you had a table by the desk, you didn't have room to shoot. By 8pm every evening you figured on 1-2 hours wait for a table. The price had gone up to $12/hour, and $2/hour for each additional player. Music blared at night as if it were a festival. Many nights, at 1am in the morning, you still had to wait for a table.
The owner, Gene, encouraged gamblers and pros to come to Chelsea. Special tight pocket tables were set up in the corners and downstairs. He figured the crowds wanted to see real hustlers. I guess Gene knew the underside of peoples' souls, given that he was a former minister.
Soon top pros like Grady Mathews and Mike Sigel started showing up and some seriously talented unnamed road players. Ginky, Tony Robles, Frankie Hernandez, Neptune Joe and Johnny Ervolino were regulars.
Anyway, Gene made a bundle from Chelsea Billiards, but not from Spanish Mike and Louie-the-mooch.
The tables were ancient Brunswick Gold Crowns that were only recovered when the bed color turned from green to gray, as the frail worn threads finally gave way to slate. The rubber rails had the responsiveness of masonry and few had intact covering after decades of cigarette burn torture.
Yet Julians did have a kind of perverse charm. And the resident house pro, George Makula, was one of the most talented all around players I've ever seen. Now and then, one of the top pros would come around. I recall Danny Diliberto playing one pocket with George in an all day match that ended dead even.
It's a wonder Peter Falk ever became Columbo, because he was so addicted to pool--and maybe the unique atmosphere of Julians--he frequently skipped auditions to continue playing, or maybe because he just couldn't bring himself to leave the place.
Despite its shortcomings, Julians was a fun place to play pool or just breeze the local pool gossip and road rumors. And for many years, it was the only pool room in Manhattan. Period!
One day a guy came in and said he was doing research for a new movie. He was writing the screenplay and wanted to talk to some of us to get an idea of how things worked in a pool room. He spent two days hanging around, asking questions, mostly talking to George, and the buzz around the room thereafter was this new Hustler movie. "Louie-the-mooch", the guy with the transistor radio, was particularly energized--a very rare spectacle for Louie--because he remembered the windfall days following The Hustler. After a few days, though, things settled down and talk returned to horses and baseball.
The Color of Money, came and went. "Wasn't that the movie George talked to that guy about?" Louie asked Spanish Mike.
Spanish Mike grudgingly replied, "Ummm." He didn't give a shit about movies. His attention was riveted on his pick in the third at Belmont. I doubt any of the regulars saw the movie. "Pay eight bucks to see a ****ing movie. Are you kidding me?"
Apparently, lots of other people did see the movie. Soon there was a buzz: a big new poolroom opened over on 21st Street. Really...? Fifty brand new Gold Crowns, carpeted floors, plants!, 12' snooker tables--it was magnificent. "Yeah, shit," said Louie, "I hear they're charging six bucks an hour for one player. Ten bucks at night Who's going to pay that kind of money to play pool?" Indeed, Louie had a point. Julians was $2 an hour. "Are you shittin' me--ten bucks an hour to play pool? No one's gonna play there."
Six months later, Chelea Billiards had to raise their rates. The crowds waiting for a table swarmed the front desk, such that, if you had a table by the desk, you didn't have room to shoot. By 8pm every evening you figured on 1-2 hours wait for a table. The price had gone up to $12/hour, and $2/hour for each additional player. Music blared at night as if it were a festival. Many nights, at 1am in the morning, you still had to wait for a table.
The owner, Gene, encouraged gamblers and pros to come to Chelsea. Special tight pocket tables were set up in the corners and downstairs. He figured the crowds wanted to see real hustlers. I guess Gene knew the underside of peoples' souls, given that he was a former minister.
Soon top pros like Grady Mathews and Mike Sigel started showing up and some seriously talented unnamed road players. Ginky, Tony Robles, Frankie Hernandez, Neptune Joe and Johnny Ervolino were regulars.
Anyway, Gene made a bundle from Chelsea Billiards, but not from Spanish Mike and Louie-the-mooch.
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I certainly do agree about the music though.
