Same old news, over and over. Makes for boring blogs. So, it's back to stories.
I started working at a very young age. From about fourteen on, I worked summers and after school. Then, in my spare time, mostly weekends and holidays I got in sports and golf. Evenings were left for my other major pastimes, mostly poker and shooting pool, and if my golf game was hurting, the driving range.
So, by the time I got to college I worked out my schedule to attend early morning classes and leave as many free afternoons as I could. That enabled me to hold down an afternoon job and keep my evenings free as well. Now, poker and pool were important to me not so much because of my love of playing, but frankly, I needed the money.
True, I had friends that played for fun, but the only laughing I did was later when by myself at home, counting my winnings where nobody saw me. And, I really didn't do much laughing there either, because, although I'm not really superstitious, why take a chance on irritating the fates -there's absolutely no upside percentage in that.
My first time around at college I attended CCNY's Baruch School of Business on 23rd Street and Lex in Manhattan. And that's where I met Mike and Richie F., identical twins from the Bronx. Both were tall, rangy, quick, and smooth as silk on the basketball courts but their real forte was shooting pool. Any kind of money ball. Chicago, eight or nine ball and games like that.
If I played hooky from work, there was a pool table in the student lounge and the twins and I used it. And if it was taken by others we'd head over to Julien's a famous old-time billiard parlor on East 14th street.
Well, one afternoon the twins and I were in the lounge playing a game called Chicago where the 1, 5, 8, 10, 13 and 15 are money balls or "ways" and each worth a pre-set amount, say a dime, quarter, dollar or whatever is decided upon.
When you have three players, whoever sinks the one ball plays alone and the other two become partners, alternating their turns. At the end, each player or duo, aside from the worth of the money-balls they've sunk also adds up the total number of balls they've pocketed and gets another two ways for score. If any individual sinks all the money balls, that's a "personal" and the others each pay him double value of everything.
Sometime during that afternoon a student came into the lounge, saw our game and asked if he could join us. We replied. Sure. Why not? Now we had a four-man game which meant that whomever sank the one-ball was joined by whomever made the next money-ball, the five. If the same guy sank the one and the five, he'd partner with whomever sank the eight, and so-on.
The game went on for a while, and because there's a lot of luck involved in a game like Chicago, much more-so than in straight pool or nine-ball, the wins and losses tended to even out fairly often, so not a lot of cash permanently changed hands. Now, naturally, good shooters still have an advantage, sometimes huge, but since the balls have to be sunk in order, skill is frequently offset by fortune.
Somewhat later that afternoon, the twins told us they had to leave and headed off for home. That left me and the newcomer at the table. He asked if I wanted to hang around and play some more pool. I had no reason not to agree. We kept playing the same game, Chicago, and in time raised the stakes.
I really don't remember a lot about him as far as specific physical characteristics go, but I have a vague recollection that his hair was blond. What I do recall clearly though was his size. He was built like Lyle Alzedo, infamous defensive end for the Oakland Raiders of the NFL. Except, this guy was taller and also wider above the waist. So, with most of his 250 or 260 pounds or so in his chest, arms and shoulders he had long spindly legs which I assumed also meant he was fast.
Anyway, our game went on and this was one of those days where I witnessed either the longest run of good luck at Chicago I'd ever seen, or had been taken in spades by a consummate hustler who was deftly good at his trade. But, either way, I was bisected, dissected, cooked and worst of all -tapped out. And to top it off I was not only out of money, but for a few of the last games I'd played "light." In other words, I'd borrowed against expected winnings that never came and now was in his debt big-time.
Finally I told him that this just wasn't my day and I'd had enough so I was going home. But, I promised that I'd surely see him in school real soon and pay him what I owed. That's when he said we'd both been attending the same school for a year or so and never seen each other before, so he didn't want to take the chance of our not meeting again, even at a pre-arranged place. What if I didn't show up? I told him not to worry, I'd be there. I swore. "But, for now I don't have a cent so it doesn't matter, I can't pay you today in any case."
That's when he told me I had some hidden assets that were worth what I owed him, perhaps even a few dollars more. "Like what?" I asked him. He replied, "Your books." Then he marched me to Barnes & Noble on 23rd Street, negotiated the sale, and took off with his winnings, leaving me a couple of bucks over. That's what I used to get home.
The funny thing about it all looking back, is that although school and formal education became a problem for me that year, the hustler I ran into gave me a real life lesson I've never forgotten worth considerably more than whatever those books held. Because, if you're dumb enough to walk into situations that are that far over your head, there aren't enough books on the planet to teach you what the real world's all about.
That's it for today folks.
Adios
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