Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SATURDAY, May 21, 1994 TAG: 9405210051
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: B-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: RANDY KING STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
One by one, with cue sticks in tow, they filtered into the Williamson Road billiards parlor Friday.
Hustlers, most of them, on a shakedown cruise, on the prowl for action.
This week's stop and shot at a quick buck just happens to be Guys & Dolls Billiards, site of the inaugural Roanoke One-Pocket Tournament.
For a lifelong pool-hall junkie like Julian Robertson, there's no better fix than watching the likes of Buddy "The Rifleman" Hall, "Brooklyn Johnny" Ervolino and Grady "The Professor" Mathews case a joint in search of a game.
"While all these guys are here for the tournament and are serious about the tournament, the real action begins later on," said Robertson, Guys & Dolls' manager.
"After tournament play is over for the day, all of 'em start circling like sharks at feeding time. There will be this group here, another group there. Each group will start sending messengers back and forth, trying to get the bets right. It's like a meeting in an IBM board room. One guy shakes his head this way. The other guy nods that way.
"And just when you begin to think, `Shoot, nothing's going to happen, let's go home,' they reach a compromise and the game is on."
The game. The gamble. Action. It's the highly addictive fuel that keeps these happy-go-lucky, street-savvy nomads running from week to week, from city to city.
"Everybody is here for one reason: We're all here in hopes of filling our pockets," said Brooklyn Johnny, his eyes constantly darting, monitoring the competition.
"Playing pool is our job. It's a gambling game and I love to gamble.
"The most money I've ever played for is $14,000 against Teddy Ellias in Belleville, Ohio. I've won all kinds of money. I've lost all kinds of money. Easy come, easy go, you know."
Brooklyn Johnny has being doing the hustle for 50 of his 59 years. It has been one long roller-coaster ride.
"You're up, you're down," he said. "It's been a good life for me. I've raised two daughters from pool. Not many are good enough to do that. I quit for a while . . . moved the daughters to Las Vegas and was a card dealer at Caesars Palace.
"Now that the daughters are gone from the house, they don't need me anymore. So I'm back out on the road, shooting pool again."
Brooklyn Johnny estimated he averaged taking home $30,000 to $40,000 per year during his "serious grinding days" in the 1960s.
"At that time, that was a whole lot of money," he said. "Now, it's not so much. If you counted all the money that been through the pockets of the guys in this room you'd have another Fort Knox on your hands.
"And everything was first-class. Fly everywhere . . . stay in nice, big hotels . . . rubbing shoulders with movie stars.
"This game is the only reason I ever got to do things like that. I was just a kid out of Brooklyn. You know, if it wasn't for pool, I'd probably be in jail. So I have no complaints."
If Brooklyn Johnny knows anything, he knows he's a survivor in a world that's quickly changing.
"Most of the guys I beat are dead," he said. "Hey, I've still got a pulse.
"The guys coming out here now are different. Guys today don't gamble. All they want to do is steal. All of 'em are looking to win before they start playing. Hell, some of these kids would be in a stoned coma now if they'd tried to run with my bunch back in my era. They're not the characters we were. They don't even have a nickname, man."
Parked beside Brooklyn Johnny was the renowned Marshall "The Tuscaloosa Squirrel" Carpenter, a name known to any erstwhile billiards buff.
Tuscaloosa hasn't pushed his mean rod competitively since 1965, but the retired 66-year-old from Alabama has seen it all - and then some. He used to travel with Minnesota Fats.
"When I was out there, I was running around and just having fun," said Tuscaloosa, whose wagering is now confined to the golf course. "Every day was a party with no obligations involved.
"I did very well for myself. But I've seen others it didn't work out for. I saw a lot of guys get tapped out. Myself, I never had that problem."
Most have, though. The green of the felt can't come close to matching the green exchanged on the table. For every big winner there's a big loser. As the old saying goes: A gambler's money has no home.
"I've seen guys with $80,000 to $100,000 stacked in a suitcase one day," Robertson said, "and the next day they're calling to borrow money for breakfast.
"Money is not money to a real pool player. Like his cue, money is just part of the game. It's just a way of keeping score. They don't really care about the money . . . $5,000, $10,000 . . . that's nothing to them, win or lose. Most of these guys here are carrying a wad of C-notes [$100 bills] that a hippo couldn't sniff."
Robertson said the players can't make it off the paltry tournament purses alone.
"There's never been a lot of money to be made in tournaments, therefore, most have had to make their money gambling to cover themselves," Robertson said. "I do think that's beginning to change. I think you're going to see the game really take off and hit the next level very soon."
Even then, there always will be room for the hustler, Robertson said.
"Once a hustler, always a hustler, I guess," Robertson said. "These guys crave action. They can't live without it.
"I love watching 'em work. They'll do anything to get a game, whether it be shoot left-handed, one-handed, under their legs or whatever it takes to lure a bet. They get the bet, laugh and then proceed to wipe the guy out. Another sucker. History."
by CNB