I'm fascinated by road stories and stories of how other players got their start. How about sharing yours!
I've been playing pool for 33 years, not straight of course. I mean, I sleep and eat, and I have a "real" job, as my mom used to say when I was 17. After pulling an all-nighter and getting 45min of cheap sleep before having to go to school, she'd wake me with something like, "I don't think you can play pool for a living....people don't do that. You'll need a real job." What she didn't understand was this: I was hooked. And like a good drug, I just couldn't get enough of it.
When I was 15 I'd go to this basement poolhall called Eddie's Place in Montgomery WV. My dad would take me, and I'd watch guys shoot pool, drink beer, and place bets on football games. Dad wasn't a pool player, but he was a skillful drinker and had a knack for gambling. One of dad's friends was a skinny black man named Tommy Newkirk. The first time I saw him he was playing crazy eight (Kelly pool) with 4 other players. They each had their own cue, but Newkirk was playing with an old broom, the frayed straw-end just inches from his grip hand, the fat and rounded wooden end of the handle pointing toward the cue ball. He shot 4 or 5 balls into the pockets and the other guys each paid out some cash, then they argued a bit and Tommy came over and took a seat at the bar next to me and dad.
"They won't play anymore." He said. Then he handed my dad a small roll of bills. I said, "They're still play'n," and I pointed toward the pool tables. Newkirk smiled and said, "Not with me, kid....not with me."
Dad introduced us, and I immediately asked why he was playing with a broom instead of a cue. His smile dropped, and he said it's because those a-holes were trying to rob him. And the only way they'd let him play is if he used the broom, and no chalk. But it still wasn't enough because they didn't rob him. He had won about $200 before they decided to kick him out of the game.
A few days later dad brought home a dirty set of pool balls in a black leather satchel. He said it was a gift from Tommy Newkirk. We didn't even own a pool table. By the time I had turned 17 I was sneaking into the recreational hall at WV Tech afterhours. I'd pry the sliding window up, toss my leather bag of balls through, then climb on in. There was one pool table in there, an 8-ft Brunswick Goldcrown, and I'd play from midnight until God knows when, then come back the next day and do it again. A few years later I'd be attending that college and would no longer have to sneak in through the window.
That's my start. I owe it all - the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the damned - to Tommy Newkirk. He inspired my passion for this game. He truly loved it. And though he is no longer with us, I can still picture his great big smile every time I approach a pool table.
I've been playing pool for 33 years, not straight of course. I mean, I sleep and eat, and I have a "real" job, as my mom used to say when I was 17. After pulling an all-nighter and getting 45min of cheap sleep before having to go to school, she'd wake me with something like, "I don't think you can play pool for a living....people don't do that. You'll need a real job." What she didn't understand was this: I was hooked. And like a good drug, I just couldn't get enough of it.
When I was 15 I'd go to this basement poolhall called Eddie's Place in Montgomery WV. My dad would take me, and I'd watch guys shoot pool, drink beer, and place bets on football games. Dad wasn't a pool player, but he was a skillful drinker and had a knack for gambling. One of dad's friends was a skinny black man named Tommy Newkirk. The first time I saw him he was playing crazy eight (Kelly pool) with 4 other players. They each had their own cue, but Newkirk was playing with an old broom, the frayed straw-end just inches from his grip hand, the fat and rounded wooden end of the handle pointing toward the cue ball. He shot 4 or 5 balls into the pockets and the other guys each paid out some cash, then they argued a bit and Tommy came over and took a seat at the bar next to me and dad.
"They won't play anymore." He said. Then he handed my dad a small roll of bills. I said, "They're still play'n," and I pointed toward the pool tables. Newkirk smiled and said, "Not with me, kid....not with me."
Dad introduced us, and I immediately asked why he was playing with a broom instead of a cue. His smile dropped, and he said it's because those a-holes were trying to rob him. And the only way they'd let him play is if he used the broom, and no chalk. But it still wasn't enough because they didn't rob him. He had won about $200 before they decided to kick him out of the game.
A few days later dad brought home a dirty set of pool balls in a black leather satchel. He said it was a gift from Tommy Newkirk. We didn't even own a pool table. By the time I had turned 17 I was sneaking into the recreational hall at WV Tech afterhours. I'd pry the sliding window up, toss my leather bag of balls through, then climb on in. There was one pool table in there, an 8-ft Brunswick Goldcrown, and I'd play from midnight until God knows when, then come back the next day and do it again. A few years later I'd be attending that college and would no longer have to sneak in through the window.
That's my start. I owe it all - the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the damned - to Tommy Newkirk. He inspired my passion for this game. He truly loved it. And though he is no longer with us, I can still picture his great big smile every time I approach a pool table.
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