Sean Murphy
10-30-2003, 12:13 PM
Pool room or pool bar?
First let me explain what in my humble opinion are the sometimes subtle sometimes blatant differences. In my Grandfathers day, what I consider to be the hay day of pool, guys got together at what my Grandpa affectionately called the “pool room” or sometimes “the league of nations“ because every nationality under the sun played there and always got along together. There they would gather to shoot a few games with buddies, socialize and maybe occasionally wager a buck or two on some strait pool, golf or 3 cushion billiards.
The pool room would typically be sort of dark with very little thought given to the ‘ambience” or the “décor”. It was functional, and that is what they counted on, nothing more. After all, you weren’t there to score a date you were there to score a billiard etc. There was no blaring music and no hotty bar maids in skin tight, black satin hip huggers in your line of sight as you were shooting on the 9. Not that I mind looking at those incredible hips and various other womanly anatomical features: hell I‘m a straight, red-blooded, American man in my 30s, I love that stuff. Nor do I mind listening to music: I’m a musician in a band for God’s sake, I love music. However, I want to know where I can go to just shoot pool like I did when it was just me a Grandpa.
The last 20 years has been hard on the ol’ pool room style billiards establishments. I remember quite fondly Saturday early afternoons at the pool room with my Grandpa. This was my reward for getting up at the crack of dawn and going downtown to shop for produce at Detroit’s famous Eastern Market. After divvying up and disbursing the 50 lbs of potatoes, 50 lbs of onions and various bushels of tomatoes, beans and other veggies amongst my Aunts, we’d ritualistically go for some pool.
When we’d walk in the sounds and the smells would hit me and I knew that I was in a special place. When my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could see a few older guys around a 12’ snooker table playing golf for $3.00 games with $.25 itches. The smoke of cigars, pipes and on even an occasional cigarette would hang right about at table lamp level. Oh, how beautiful it was but guess what?…it gets better…no jukebox, no beer, no new generation sue do punk band banging away while you shoot. It was mostly quite except for the sweet, sacred sound of billiard balls colliding and low hum of WWII veterans engaging in intermittent conversation and that ever so rare argument. This is the place I could spend hours sitting on the 100 year old solid oak church pews that perimetered the entire room.
I watched the old-timers and learned so much about not only the game but the way life was and still is to them. 85% of these guys fought fascism in WWII. Dave McNorgan was from the old neighborhood. His son and my Dad were close friends. Dave was a B-29 Pilot in the South Pacific. He was the only survivor of his crew when his plane was shot down in 1944. Mort Weiner was a cook in Europe. I learned a few Yiddish words from him. Jack Murphy, my Grandfather, was a Private 1st class in the Marine Corps in 1942 at Guadalcanal. He was decorated after his patrol was ambushed in 6 foot high elephant grass. When the dust settled there were only 2 persons alive, him and a buddy of his who was so badly injured he couldn’t walk. My Grandpa was injured as well but none the less was able to toss his crippled friend over his 6’4” 250 lb back and walk back to base through 10 miles of swamp, and jungle. He nearly lost both feet to elephantitis he suffered from the 2 day trek through the jungle mud. There are many of these stories of character from that old pool room. Many of them do not involve WWII or pool but none the less all are full of Americana and nostalgia and humanitarianism.
The old pool room was the sort of place that stays with you for a lifetime regardless of how it looks now. I took a drive out to see the old place the other day. Now days the pool room is nothing like it was. The tables haven’t been recovered in who knows how long. The miles of wonderful thick, solid oak bench seats have all been removed and sold to the highest bidder. There is only 1, 12“ snooker table where there once were 6. The warmth of the dark wood paneling that hid imperfections so well has all been gutted out down to the block walls and painted a sterile and yucky light mint greenish. In an attempt to create some sort of décor the new owners have had murals of scantily dressed women around pool tables painted on the walls in some areas. It’s all so tacky now.
What I miss the most are the guys who are no longer with us. It was nice to see Freddy Salem, Hollywood, Mort, Eliot and the others. I’m going to miss the ones who have passed. They were all a very important part of the way my young mind developed and so was that pool room.
You see, sometimes when my grandpa took me there, I was only along for the ride because I was too young to play with his group. He knew that I would have to watch. I think he also knew that observing the way people of his generation interacted with the game and each other was a priceless experience for me. He was right. I now search for a place like that. I place I can go to just shoot pool. A place where retirees gather between the hours of lunch and dinner time to socialize over this incredible, time honored game.
Listen, if you know a place like the one I describe, don’t take it for granted. Cherish it! Get to know it, but most off all support it with your patronage. The “pool bar” and the almighty dollar are driving the “pool room” to extinction. Soon there will be no trace of a pool room left except for in old, black and white nostalgia photos that ironically hang on the walls of pool bars.
First let me explain what in my humble opinion are the sometimes subtle sometimes blatant differences. In my Grandfathers day, what I consider to be the hay day of pool, guys got together at what my Grandpa affectionately called the “pool room” or sometimes “the league of nations“ because every nationality under the sun played there and always got along together. There they would gather to shoot a few games with buddies, socialize and maybe occasionally wager a buck or two on some strait pool, golf or 3 cushion billiards.
The pool room would typically be sort of dark with very little thought given to the ‘ambience” or the “décor”. It was functional, and that is what they counted on, nothing more. After all, you weren’t there to score a date you were there to score a billiard etc. There was no blaring music and no hotty bar maids in skin tight, black satin hip huggers in your line of sight as you were shooting on the 9. Not that I mind looking at those incredible hips and various other womanly anatomical features: hell I‘m a straight, red-blooded, American man in my 30s, I love that stuff. Nor do I mind listening to music: I’m a musician in a band for God’s sake, I love music. However, I want to know where I can go to just shoot pool like I did when it was just me a Grandpa.
The last 20 years has been hard on the ol’ pool room style billiards establishments. I remember quite fondly Saturday early afternoons at the pool room with my Grandpa. This was my reward for getting up at the crack of dawn and going downtown to shop for produce at Detroit’s famous Eastern Market. After divvying up and disbursing the 50 lbs of potatoes, 50 lbs of onions and various bushels of tomatoes, beans and other veggies amongst my Aunts, we’d ritualistically go for some pool.
When we’d walk in the sounds and the smells would hit me and I knew that I was in a special place. When my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could see a few older guys around a 12’ snooker table playing golf for $3.00 games with $.25 itches. The smoke of cigars, pipes and on even an occasional cigarette would hang right about at table lamp level. Oh, how beautiful it was but guess what?…it gets better…no jukebox, no beer, no new generation sue do punk band banging away while you shoot. It was mostly quite except for the sweet, sacred sound of billiard balls colliding and low hum of WWII veterans engaging in intermittent conversation and that ever so rare argument. This is the place I could spend hours sitting on the 100 year old solid oak church pews that perimetered the entire room.
I watched the old-timers and learned so much about not only the game but the way life was and still is to them. 85% of these guys fought fascism in WWII. Dave McNorgan was from the old neighborhood. His son and my Dad were close friends. Dave was a B-29 Pilot in the South Pacific. He was the only survivor of his crew when his plane was shot down in 1944. Mort Weiner was a cook in Europe. I learned a few Yiddish words from him. Jack Murphy, my Grandfather, was a Private 1st class in the Marine Corps in 1942 at Guadalcanal. He was decorated after his patrol was ambushed in 6 foot high elephant grass. When the dust settled there were only 2 persons alive, him and a buddy of his who was so badly injured he couldn’t walk. My Grandpa was injured as well but none the less was able to toss his crippled friend over his 6’4” 250 lb back and walk back to base through 10 miles of swamp, and jungle. He nearly lost both feet to elephantitis he suffered from the 2 day trek through the jungle mud. There are many of these stories of character from that old pool room. Many of them do not involve WWII or pool but none the less all are full of Americana and nostalgia and humanitarianism.
The old pool room was the sort of place that stays with you for a lifetime regardless of how it looks now. I took a drive out to see the old place the other day. Now days the pool room is nothing like it was. The tables haven’t been recovered in who knows how long. The miles of wonderful thick, solid oak bench seats have all been removed and sold to the highest bidder. There is only 1, 12“ snooker table where there once were 6. The warmth of the dark wood paneling that hid imperfections so well has all been gutted out down to the block walls and painted a sterile and yucky light mint greenish. In an attempt to create some sort of décor the new owners have had murals of scantily dressed women around pool tables painted on the walls in some areas. It’s all so tacky now.
What I miss the most are the guys who are no longer with us. It was nice to see Freddy Salem, Hollywood, Mort, Eliot and the others. I’m going to miss the ones who have passed. They were all a very important part of the way my young mind developed and so was that pool room.
You see, sometimes when my grandpa took me there, I was only along for the ride because I was too young to play with his group. He knew that I would have to watch. I think he also knew that observing the way people of his generation interacted with the game and each other was a priceless experience for me. He was right. I now search for a place like that. I place I can go to just shoot pool. A place where retirees gather between the hours of lunch and dinner time to socialize over this incredible, time honored game.
Listen, if you know a place like the one I describe, don’t take it for granted. Cherish it! Get to know it, but most off all support it with your patronage. The “pool bar” and the almighty dollar are driving the “pool room” to extinction. Soon there will be no trace of a pool room left except for in old, black and white nostalgia photos that ironically hang on the walls of pool bars.