Running My First 50- A Pool Players Story

mikemosconi

mikemosconi

AzB Silver Member
Silver Member
The recent thread concerning true confessions of individual's 14.1 high runs brought back memories of my first 50 ball run - the story goes something like this: it was 1969, I was seventeen and had been making day trips to the local poolroom since I was 15- the day desk man- Big Al- had let me in since my older brother was a regular there since the mid 60s. It was one of those poolrooms that sprung up in the mid 60s all over the U.S. due to the "Hustler Movie Craze" - and one of the many that were closed by 1971 due to so many of their customers going off to Vietnam and returning with concerns other than pool.
When I entered the room that afternoon, Big Al, up at the front desk, as usual, was studying the daily racing form for the trotters at Yonkers Raceway- making up his mind on his daily double gamble- wondering if the jockey Carmine Abitello could bring Bristol Hanover three wide on the far turn in the second race and edge out one of the Fillion brothers prize entries that night. Or maybe the local mob had this one fixed again tonight, whereas no amount of handicapping could predict that a 14-1 dog would go off at the last minute at 4-1 because the smart money laid low until post time.
I started the afternoon with my usual drills, and then racked them for the REAL practice session to begin. On this day, something was on right from my opening break- it was clean and the balls laid real nice- caught a gear and went into rack two just crusin along! I knew the day might be special when I was staring down the break shot for the third rack- and I swear that I can't remember the first ten balls in that rack- I was in dead Stroke! I didn't start to think again until I realized that I had the pattern right there and for the first time in my pool life - rack 4 break ball was MINE! I remember stopping, standing, sighting that break shot before I got down, remembering the older guys saying" just forget the rack is there" focus on the shot!
I recall seeing that break ball go into the corner and as I came up - seeing the cue ball free and several open shots remaining. At that moment, I just stopped and mustered all the composure my 17 year old mind could imagine - and YES- I went on to 54 for that run and when I missed I was ten feet in the air! I remember putting my cue on the table, walking up to the front desk, Hey Al! Hey Al! as he looked up from the racing form, " I just ran my first 50!" I was looking for that blessing from Big Al- that I was now a somebody in this little pool world of ours- As my eyes met his- Al gave me those unforgettable words- the same three words my DAD gave me when I told him at dinner years ago that I hit my first Little League home run- "Good Work Kid" - I knew then that I BELONGED! Thanks Big Al and thanks DAD! RIP.
 
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Nice Story!

That is a nice story. Funny that a pool story has been up ten hours with no comment when garbage runs a page an hour sometimes. We need more stories like this.

I don't remember my first big win, first tournament win, my first table ran at anything, most scores. All in an evening's work. I do remember the old shortstop running a pool hall. He wouldn't give lessons, felt like it was giving away his knowledge cheap at any price. However, once or twice a day he might come to my table and show me or the player I was playing something after he bought out my favorite pool hall when I was in my teens. After awhile it was obvious that he was showing the player opposing me things they couldn't begin to perform. Perhaps it was the hours I put in, perhaps something else he saw, but bit by bit Jessie gave me what he wouldn't sell. Later in the session or maybe the next day I would get a chance to use what he had shown on my table. Without fail, I would look over to the counter and catch a grin on Jessie's face.

I moved out of town and when I returned Jessie was gone. I still miss Jessie and the stories and wisdom he imparted when I sat at his counter for hours. He was the closest thing to a pool mentor I had, more importantly he was a friend. Best I remember, I never told him goodbye, just disappeared myself. Kinda regret that.

Hu
 
Good story.

BTW, Hu, one reason more people don't comment in these type threads is because some here haven't had that experience and really can't relate when telling the truth.

Then again, others have heard it so many times it's like watching a rerun that you have seen 1000 times.

Me? Well, since I can relate from experience, I say CONGRATULATIONS to the OP on an experience that the modern day rooms can't provide.

Sad but true, those type rooms are all but gone.

Jeff
 
Congrats you had those moments.
This is a great story and I'm happy to have the experience and know those feelings when you were in that state of mind being able to run something special just for you. I'm twice happy because I've been there as a player and as a coach when the young talents ran their best breaks and one of them actually outperformed my best. That is just great memories and moments:).
 
mikemosconi said:
The recent thread concerning true confessions of individual's 14.1 high runs brought back memories of my first 50 ball run - the story goes something like this: it was 1969, I was seventeen and had been making day trips to the local poolroom since I was 15- the day desk man- Big Al- had let me in since my older brother was a regular there since the mid 60s. It was one of those poolrooms that sprung up in the mid 60s all over the U.S. due to the "Hustler Movie Craze" - and one of the many that were closed by 1971 due to so many of their customers going off to Vietnam and returning with concerns other than pool.
When I entered the room that afternoon, Big Al, up at the front desk, as usual, was studying the daily racing form for the trotters at Yonkers Raceway- making up his mind on his daily double gamble- wondering if the jockey Carmine Abitello could bring Bristol Hanover three wide on the far turn in the second race and edge out one of the Fillion brothers prize entries that night. Or maybe the local mob had this one fixed again tonight, whereas no amount of handicapping could predict that a 14-1 dog would go off at the last minute at 4-1 because the smart money laid low until post time.
I started the afternoon with my usual drills, and then racked them for the REAL practice session to begin. On this day, something was on right from my opening break- it was clean and the balls laid real nice- caught a gear and went into rack two just crusin along! I knew the day might be special when I was staring down the break shot for the third rack- and I swear that I can't remember the first ten balls in that rack- I was in dead Stroke! I didn't start to think again until I realized that I had the pattern right there and for the first time in my pool life - rack 4 break ball was MINE! I remember stopping, standing, sighting that break shot before I got down, remembering the older guys saying" just forget the rack is there" focus on the shot!
I recall seeing that break ball go into the corner and as I came up - seeing the cue ball free and several open shots remaining. At that moment, I just stopped and mustered all the composure my 17 year old mind could imagine - and YES- I went on to 54 for that run and when I missed I was ten feet in the air! I remember putting my cue on the table, walking up to the front desk, Hey Al! Hey Al! as he looked up from the racing form, " I just ran my first 50!" I was looking for that blessing from Big Al- that I was now a somebody in this little pool world of ours- As my eyes met his- Al gave me those unforgettable words- the same three words my DAD gave me when I told him at dinner years ago that I hit my first Little League home run- "Good Work Kid" - I knew now that I BELONGED! Thanks Big Al and thanks DAD! RIP.
Click to expand...

Good story Mike. I enjoyed it, a lot more than some of the argumentative threads that seem to dominate on here (and which I also chime in on from time to time).

My only similar story is about my first "score." I had been playing pool night and day for a couple of years and at the age of 19 could finally run a rack of 9-Ball occasionally. I was still getting fleeced on a daily basis in the local poolrooms by all the regular hustlers, mostly playing $1 9-Ball or .50 cents on the five and a $1 on the nine. Frank Reeves, Bill Phelps and several others were more than glad to relieve me of my paltry bankroll. Deno Gournaris, a jeweler by trade, was the King of the Hill in Dayton back then. The best of the local hustler crowd. Of course even he wouldn't dare play George Rood, who was relegated to practicing for the most part, and waiting for an unsuspecting road man to come through town.

I was constantly seeking approval from this crowd of players and the other assorted gangsters, scufflers and outlaws who populated the scene. To them I was just this local kid from a well to do home who liked to hang around and play pool all day. In other words, I was pretty harmless. That all changed one night at Wink's Poolroom, the forerunner to Joe Burn's Forest Park Billiards where many big tournaments would take place in the 70's and 80's.

I was just hanging out there one evening banging the balls around when a stocky older man (maybe in his 40's) approached me and asked if I wanted to play some 9-Ball. Sure, why not. I was always ready to play someone new since I couldn't beat any of the guys I usually played with. I figured we might play for a couple of bucks a game but he insisted we play for $5. That was a big game for me at the time, but I had just gotten my paycheck from my day job at Mayor's Jewelers and had over $80 in my pocket. I was rich! I agreed to play him some $5 9-Ball, thinking in my mind I would quit if I lost $20.

It turned out that he was no better than me, a reasonably decent player but no world beater. After a few games I realized I actually had a chance here. Little by little I got further ahead. First $20, then 40, then 50. I was winning! I kept thinking this guy would quit soon but he kept reaching in his pocket and pulling out another twenty. Understand, this was no runaway win. I had to get down on my belly and grind it out. He was winning games too. It probably took me a few hours to get $50 ahead.

We ended up playing until the wee hours. He wouldn't quit and I just dug in my heels and kept playing. Finally about 2 or 3 AM he called it a night. He told me I played good and was pretty cool about his loss. I had won just over $100 (110 I think it was). Secretly I was elated. I had never won more than ten or fifteen dollars before. I walked on air out to my car and drove home in a giddy state of mind. All the hard work was finally paying off. I was a WINNER now! I laid in bed that night, just thinking about all the good shots I had made and the racks I had run.

The best part though was the reception I got at the poolroom the next day. EVERYBODY seemed to know that I had beaten Dan Bell, the proprietor of his own poolroom in Fairborn, Ohio. I only knew his name was Dan when we were playing. That was about all the pleasantries we had exchanged during the course of the game, our names.

This was something new to me, being recognized for my accomplishments by my poolroom peers. I was no longer just a kid banging balls. I was somebody! I had arrived! :D
 
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Great story, and very well written!

Took me back a few years to when my dad would take me to the local tavern. I was no older than 9 or 10, and I'd sit on a barstool and eat red-dyed pistachios and drink coca cola out of one of those little bottles, all the while watching my dad fill out several parlay cards for the day's college football games. Arby McCoy (the owner of the place) would yell, "Get em in! Let's go! Big Al ain't gonna wait all damn day!" And dozens of men would scramble to the bar with wads of cash and parlay cards in hand, my dad included, a Camel cigarette at the corner of his mouth and a can Miller beer in his left hand. Then he and a few others would play pool and keep up with the scores of games on tge small black and white tv mounted at the end of the bar, hoping Big Al would pay off this week.

Big Al was the man who ran "Big Al's Saloon" just on the other side of Montgomery, about 4 miles up the road. Why is it that gambling and mofia related places always always have a guy called "Big Al" handling affairs?

Anyway, running 54 balls at 17 probably felt pretty damn good! And getting a "Good work kid" was a great bonus. Thanks for sharing the story.
 
jay helfert said:
Good story Mike. I enjoyed it, a lot more than some of the argumentative threads that seem to dominate on here (and which I also chime in on from time to time).

My only similar story is about my first "score." I had been playing pool night and day for a couple of years and at the age of 19 could finally run a rack of 9-Ball occasionally. I was still getting fleeced on a daily basis in the local poolrooms by all the regular hustlers, mostly playing $1 9-Ball or .50 cents on the five and a $1 on the nine. Frank Reeves, Bill Phelps and several others were more than glad to relieve me of my paltry bankroll. Deno Gournaris, a jeweler by trade, was the King of the Hill in Dayton back then. The best of the local hustler crowd. Of course even he wouldn't dare play George Rood, who was relegated to practicing for the most part, and waiting for an unsuspecting road man to come through town.

I was constantly seeking approval from this crowd of players and the other assorted gangsters, scufflers and outlaws who populated the scene. To them I was just this local kid from a well to do home who liked to hang around and play pool all day. In other words, I was pretty harmless. That all changed one night at Wink's Poolroom, the forerunner to Joe Burn's Forest Park Billiards where many big tournaments would take place in the 70's and 80's.

I was just hanging out there one evening banging the balls around when a stocky older man (maybe in his 40's) approached me and asked if I wanted to play some 9-Ball. Sure, why not. I was always ready to play someone new since I couldn't beat any of the guys I usually played with. I figured we might play for a couple of bucks a game but he insisted we play for $5. That was a big game for me at the time, but I had just gotten my paycheck from my day job at Mayor's Jewelers and had over $80 in my pocket. I was rich! I agreed to play him some $5 9-Ball, thinking in my mind I would quit if I lost $20.

It turned out that he was no better than me, a reasonably decent player but no world beater. After a few games I realized I actually had a chance here. Little by little I got further ahead. First $20, then 40, then 50. I was winning! I kept thinking this guy would quit soon but he kept reaching in his pocket and pulling out another twenty. Understand, this was no runaway win. I had to get down on my belly and grind it out. He was winning games too. It probably took me a few hours to get $50 ahead.

We ended up playing until the wee hours. He wouldn't quit and I just dug in my heels and kept playing. Finally about 2 or 3 AM he called it a night. He told me I played good and was pretty cool about his loss. I had won just over $100 (110 I think it was). Secretly I was elated. I had never won more than ten or fifteen dollars before. I walked on air out to my car and drove home in a giddy state of mind. All the hard work was finally paying off. I was a WINNER now! I laid in bed that night, just thinking about all the good shots I had made and the racks I had run.

The best part though was the reception I got at the poolroom the next day. EVERYBODY seemed to know that I had beaten Dan Bell, the proprietor of his own poolroom in Fairborn, Ohio. I only knew his name was Dan when we were playing. That was about all the pleasantries we had exchanged during the course of the game, our names.

This was something new to me, being recognized for my accomplishments by my poolroom peers. I was no longer just a kid banging balls. I was somebody! I had arrived! :D
Click to expand...

Awesome! Love the "first score" stories!
 
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