| pooltournament at the elks club |
Speaking to a friend and he says—whatever happened to that pool story? I said: Its around somewhere. He says: you should post it on the website. So I thought about it and poked around in the files and there it was, 35 years later, on the yellow typing paper I favored at the time, banged out on my trusty royal portable machine. The piece was never published. In an earlier carnation the Sunday Times magazine was called West magazine and it was to West I submitted the story. I had no contacts at the mag and as we all know it is more the contacts of the writer and not so much the talent that generally prevails. But from time to time the reverse occurs. So I mail off the piece and a few days later get a letter from the mag, from the top guy, the editor in chief, whose name I no longer recall—maybe Paul. But a nice letter—meaning they like the story and want to publish. So a contract was issued and along with it a $500 check. Writers write to publish and if for their labors a decent check is included--so much the better. But its publication of the work—recognition— that we crave. So now I await publication, in the Sunday Times—circulation 12 million, very nice. But publication never occurred. Every Sunday I bought the paper and to dig out the magazine for my story and the story wasnt there. In this way a month passed and I called Paul at the magazine. He says: we have a problem. The magazine is folding. He explained why, the usual, reader apathy, and said: Im trying to get the story in— maybe next week. But next week never came. There were 2 more issues, my story was nowhere to be found-—and the magazine dropped dead. Too bad. I still had my check but as I say—its the recognition. So now its 35 years later and I have retrieved— or re-interred--the story from the files and to give a re-read and yes, my friend was right: its a cool story. I note a few stylistic mishaps here and there but I have decided to let stand as is. Style reflects the person and this is the person I was at that time. |
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| pool tournament at the Elks club |
danny
the deacon
machine gun lou
I read a story in the Times—a pool story. A tournament was occurring at the Elks club in Hollywood. The players mentioned included Danny Deliberto—from Buffalo. I knew Danny. 20 years before we played ball together at a place called the Butler Mitchell Boys Club. Later I would run into him from time to time at this or that pool hall. He had become a pool player and one year beat out a guy named Joe Moran for the city championship. Then he left Buffalo and went to Miami to become a fighter. Fighting was his love. After that I lost track. I went to a match. The tournament was half over. A guy named Joe Balsis was leading at 10-0. In second place was Irving Crane—the "Deacon"—and one of the few players with a recognizable name outside the sport. Crane was 9-1 tied, with Lou Butera. Danny was 8-1. tickets were $3/$4/$5. I entered the room—the size of a small auditorium. There were 50 -75 people scattered about in seats. At one end was a stage with 20 chairs—the $5 seats. These seats were empty, there were no officials in sight and I climbed to the stage and took a seat I had a terrific view of the play 10 feet from the table looking directly down upon it. The room was dark except for three florescent light units suspended over the tables that flooded the play area. Beneath this light the felt cloth of the tables was a bright flaming green. The players wore black tuxedos. Danny was playing—a guy named Jimmy Gartner. Gartner was ahead 22-7. Danny was shooting on a run of 9. There were 7 or 8 balls on the table. He finished off the rack but left himself a tough break shot--a straight shot on the six ball into the corner pocket. The problem is: there is no way to deflect the cube ball off the six and into the rail and off the rail to break up the rack and keep the run going There is no way but he finds a way. He drills the shot--cutting the six ball on the right with strong left hand English applied to the cue ball. The six spins back, over to the right into the pocket, the cue ball freezes than then flies into the side rail, deflect to the end rail and off the end rail into the belly of the rack and knocks a few balls loose. This is the shot: A terrific shot—even for a pro. There is some scattered applause. He looks the table over—not much. He has one shot--the 13 into the corner pocket It’s a break shot but a weak break shot. He takes the shot, that he makes and for the cue ball to deflect off the side rail and into the rack but there is no scatter. He must play safe. But now, studying the rack, he sees a shot--the 10 ball dead into the right corner pocket—a 3 ball combination—the explosion shot. The problem with these shots is they dont always work. Anything can happen and when it does youve busted up the rack and its easy pickings for your opponent. But he takes the shot—to drive the stick into the rack and the balls fly over the table. The 10 shoots into the corner pocket and two other balls drop as well—the 9 into the side and the 15 into the corner pocket at the far end of the table. Now he has an open table and he runs the rack, leaves a perfect break shot that he drills, to bust open the rack and the run continues. He runs 42 balls and misses—a difficult combination shot. Gartner rises from his table to study the table. He was an older guy—mid-fifties He runs the rack. Leaves a good break shot, makes that, runs 7 balls and misses. Back to Danny. He runs 4 balls and misses an easy shot along the rail that traps itself between the jaws of the pocket and fails to drop. Garner runs 50 balls, leaving himself a weak break shot on the 4th rack and he runs out of shots and plays safe—a perfect safe running the cue ball down to the far end of the table to within a centimeter of the rail. Danny studies the rack. He has nothing. He plays a deliberate scratch stroking the cue ball on a soft bank off the side rail into the end rail and off the end rail into the belly of the rack. Gartner has nothing and plays safe. They exchange a few safes. Back and forth they go exchanging safes and now Gartner has a shot-- the 6 ball into the side pocket. He makes the shot and runs the table. He runs 32 balls and misses an easy shot, the score is 109-69. Danny runs 61 balls. Now he misses a tough shot.. There are 5 balls on the table. He has one shot--the 12 ball in the corner pocket. Its a tough shot because the 4 ball is frozen too the elbow of the pocket partially blocking the shot. He has room to squeeze the 12 ball by the four ball--a fraction of a centimenter. Thats one problem. Also the 12 ball is a rail shot--that must be perfectly struck or it will drift off the rail and bang into the 4 ball. He tries the shot and misses. Gartner runs 32 and out I left the room and went downstairs to check out the scoreboard. It was a tough match for Danny to lose because Gartner wasnt playing well. He was 3-7 for the tournament. The loss put Danny at 8-2. I returned to the hall. Danny was inside signing autographs. Danny: remember me—from Buffalo? Jack Fiegelman Spiegelman Must be 20 years—right? Yeah. I shouldnt have lost that match. I got a bad break on that last run. Yes Ya see it dont mean anything to him but now I cant win. Im out of it. I wanted to win this thing. What are you doing out here? Nothing. Thats what Im doing—nothing. You wanta drink? Im having a drink with somebody else. He left. Come on by again. OK. I returned a few days later. I took my wife with me. Deliberto was playing a guy named Jimmy Rempe. Rempes name was vaguely familiar. I thought I remembered it from a billiard item in Sports Illustrated about Irving Crane. Rempe was mid- twenties with long hair—the current Johnston City one pocket champ—a big tournament. We went upstairs. The room was deserted or nearly. It was professional pool--the best players in the world plying their craft in a wonderful game and no one was interested. But hold a soccer match with 22 guys kicking a ball back and forth for 2 hours to arrive at a score of 2-1 and 100,000 people show up and a riot follows the game and three referees are stabbed to death. We took the $5 seats in the first row. It was a short match. Deliberto lost the lag and broke. Rempe ran 12 balls. Danny ran nine. Rempe ran 24. Danny ran 15 and played safe. Rempe played safe. Danny played safe, Rempe played safe and then Danny got a shot and ran 31. Rempe ran 30. Danny ran 42 and scratched and Rempe ran 84 and out. Final score : 150—97 Down to the bar. One of the players entered—a kid about 23—Walsh. He was a dead ringer for Mick Jagger. Now he looked like someone had been beating him over the head all night with a pool cue. He had a match at two with Joe Moore that he forfeited by not showing up. He ordered a large tomato juice and two aspirin. He said: I just got up. I went to a party last night and didn't get in until 9 this morning. Now Im playing Martin at 4. this was bad news. Martin was the defending champ. His game was off and he had lost 3 games with no chance to win the tournament but seemed to have $300 sewed up on the side for high run of the tournament. Playing Murphy he ran 141 balls. Murphy broke, Martin ran 9. Murphy ran 22 and played safe, they exchanged safes and Martin ran 141 and out. Walsh himself was 2-12 and slugging it out for last place with a jap—Ichiro Fujima. He drank his tomato juice and stood. Good luck. Thanks. Delibere walked in with Rempe. They had changed clothes. Danny said: I lost again for ya. Wanta drink? No. We/re goin to the park—watch the ducks. They left. The next night It was Danny vs Irving crane By now I was hooked on the tournament and was attending all three sessions, morning, afternoon and night. At this point it was It was Joe Balsis and Crane tied for the lead at 10-1. Danny was 9-3. I saw by the Times that morning that Martin had destroyed Walsh 150- 32. We were late for the match. Danny was leading54-26 with Crane on a run of 9. Crane is one person out of three players in the history of professional pool with a name familiar to the general public. The other two are Willy Hoppe and Willy Mosconi. Crane was tall, late fifties, thin, the quiet type, non- flashy. There was not one thing about him to attract your attention until you watched him methodically work his way through a 70 or 80 ball run on a pool table. He had a nickname: the deacon. He was from Rochester where he worked as a car salesman for a Cadillac agency. Crane ran 20 balls and played safe when he failed to leave himself a break shot. A few safes were exchanged and it was Dannys turn and it looked like there was a possible shot—a break shot off the 13 ball. It was a difficult shot with the cue at the far end of the table frozen to the rail. He takes the shot. He busts the rack open and 2 balls drop but not the 13 that misses by a mile. Crane runs 36 balls and plays safe. Danny has a shot—another tough shot—the 4 ball into the corner pocket at the other end of the table but its frozen to the rail and there is no angle to the shot--or barely. He is tempted because he has a break shot if he makes the 4 ball and gets some decent position on the 6 ball off to the side of the rack. He takes the shot and drills it. The cue ball banks off the end and side rails and works its way into perfect position for a break shot on the six. A terrific shot and the room bursts into applause. He runs 20 balls and misses an easy shot. Crane runs 32 and plays safe. Its Cranes lead 118—74 They exchange a few safes and then Danny makes a tough shot and breaks open the rack and now something happens. He gets hot. He becomes a different player. A visible rhythm has entered his game. The balls start dropping like they are guided by radar. His position is perfect. He never leaves himself a tough shot. Each time he shoots the cue ball moves four inches. He was in the groove. He runs 71 balls in 9 minutes. Then he gets a bad break— he scratches on a break shot—a tough shot that he doesnt quite pull off. this is the shot: This is what happened: Crane gets up. During Delibertos run Crane sat there in his chair like he had nothing to do with the game. He was cool as a cucumber. He sat there like he was watching Deliberto play someone else. In his mind the match was over and had been over the minute the pairings had been announced. He gets up and runs 17 balls and now he studies a mean looking shot—the 6 ball into the corner pocket with the cue ball down at the far end of the table. He is 2 balls into a fresh rack after a weak break shot and this is the only shot unless he wants to play safe. He studies the rack and decides to play the shot. He strikes the shot and the 6 ball slams into the corner pocket with a thunk you could hear at the other end of the room. He runs out. Back to the bar--having a drink with Nagy, 25 or therbouts, from New York—make that Queens. He was quite thin with a blue face and narrow shoulders who looked like he didnt have a vitamin in his body. He was telling us about life at The Golden Cue in Queens. He had a brutal Queens accent. I get up aroun tree and shtagger inna ta living room in my batrobe. I lay down on ta couch. My mudda brinks me cawfee. She turns onna tv. I open my eyes. I watch tv for a couple hours while my mudda cleanza house. She like ta scream at me while she cleanza house. 25 years old and still watching cartoons on television! Cartoons and pool! No job! 25 years old! Sleeps all day! Plays pool all night! Doesnt eat! Eats shit! Coffee and cake, cheeseburgers and cokes, pizza and popsicles! Every day I go troo dis. Around six I get dressed and go over ta da Golden Cue. I dont eat dinner. I eat a cheeseburga aroun midnight. I feel lousy alla time. I got no pep. Ill die when Im 50. I been thinking bout stayin out here –in LA. I like it out here but I cant make any money. All the tournaments are back east. Fred says he could get me a job at Marina Billiards. I might do it if I win some money in this here thing. It dont look good. Im playing bat. I should be winnin this thing, at least I should be doin better. Ive run more 60s and 70s than anybody in the tornoment. But I cant play the way these guys play. The longest games I ever played in my life. Im getting piles from playing these characters. Crane and Lassiter are the worst. Lasssiter is unbelievable. You could go out and look for a job while that guy plays a shot. I could run a rack while hes chalking his cue. He had me climbing the wall. And he knew so he took twice as long. I beat myself when I play guys like that. I cant do it. I hafta play fast. I play better against guys like Butera and Marino and Jack Breit. Or Danny. I should have beat Deliberto did you see that match. I lost by one ball. He broke and I ran 85 balls. He comes back with a 70. Then I run a few and he runs a few and then I run 32. He runs 5. I run 22 and need one ball to win. But I dont have a shot. I have a bank shot in the side pocket but the odds are against. The correct call would be to play safe but playing safe isnt my game. I am the worlds worst safe player. So I take the bank shot and miss and Danny runs out. Everyone tells me I got a bat attitoot—too negative. Maybe they are right. I let these guys bodda me. I aint relaxed. I dont scare them. You hafta scare them a liddle bit. Maybe I/ll get a razor and cut my face up. Danny entered the bar with Rempe and Ed Kelly and Kellsy wife. Kelly was mid 30s and the wife also—a tall blonde. They lived in Vegas. He was a previous winner of the tournament in '69. Danny said: you came to see me 3 times and I lost 3 times. I hope I havent jinxed ya. I dont believe in that stuff. Dont come see me again. We drank for an hour and the bar closed and we stood around for a bit Danny said: come on up to the room. We bought a couple bottles of wine at the bar and went up to the room. Deliberto broke out some grass and Rempe rolled a few joints. There was a portable stereo tape outfit in the middle of the floor with a dozen tapes dumped around it. Deliberto picked out a tape and inserted into the machine—Jesus Christ Superstar He said: I love this thing. He made an announcement: no pool. Nobody talks about pool We sat around for a bit listening to the music. No one spoke. Deliberto was laying on the floor with his feet up on the bed. He got up and went over to the closet and poked around inside it for a plastic cleaning bag that he slipped off over a pair of trousers. He started tying knots in the bag. Ever see this Kelly? What? This What? He tied 6 or 7 knots in the bag a few inches apart and tied one end of the bag to the coat hanger. He hooked the coat hanger over the rim of the light fixture. There was a small wastebasket beside the bed that he filled with a few inches of water and placed under the knotted bag. He turned out the lights. He struck a match and ignited the bag. As the bag burned tiny flaming pellets of cellulose detached themselves from it and splashed into the wastebasket. The bag alternately flared up spectacularly and then the flame killed when it reached one of the knots. Marbled patters of light from all this were splashed onto the walls and ceiling of the room. Everyone was pretty well bagged at this point and the effect of the thing was ecstatic. The bag burned for 10 minutes. Deliberto turned on the light I asked him about this stunt. Rempe said: he discovered it one night sitting in a hotel room going crazy. How else could anybody think of something like that? We sat around for another hour listening to the stereo. Kelly and his wife left. The wine was gone. There was a half pint of Johnny Walker Red on the desk half filled not with scotch but something else—perhaps gin. Deliberto said: moonshine. A girl in Lexington Kentucky gave it to me. Go ahead. I uncapped the bottle and took a small taste. A few murderous vapors flew up my nose and incinerated some nostril hairs. The liquid as it passed my lips and coated my throat anesthetized various tissues and membranes. It was like drinking embalming fluid. I took another taste. This shit is unbelievable Rempe was looking at me like he was awaiting for me to go blind. We sat around some more. Nagy and Rempe left. Deliberto was laying on the floor with his eyes close and his feet on the bed. Member Joe Bi Danny? Sure. I saw him last time I was back. What a great guy. Member Garrow? Yeah. Basil and hooky miller? yeah Joe Tontillo? Yeah. Nini Locurto? Member Cotone? Yeah I wonder what ever happened to those guys. Nothing ever happened to them. Thats what happened to them. It was 4 o clock. Deliberto was falling asleep on the floor. I opened his cue case and took the stick out—a beautiful thing. The shaft was birdseye maple. The handle was rosewood with a leather grip and a lot of peral and ivory inlay work at the butt. How much was the stick? 400 On the dresser were two scrap books. They were old and falling apart. None of the material inside had been pasted in and a few clippings and pictures floated to the floor. You need a new scrapbook Yeah In the ring he fought as Danny Torriano. How come you changed your name? My family didnt know I was fighting. How come you quit. I broke my hand 4 times. There were pictures of him in his ring gear and shooting pool before he had grown the moustache and long hair—the face I remembered from the Butler Mitchell club. He was a handsome, tough looking boy. There was a big picture of 50 or 60 midgets in suits with shoulders like ironing boards and a priest sitting in the first row—the 1951 sophomore class of Canisius high school. I looked for Deliberto in the picture. I found him in the second row with his head between the shoulders of two kids on either side. He looked like he was 9 years old Danny—this picture is too much. I know some of these guys. This kid here. What the hell was his name? I was looking at a kid with a pointed head, large ears, a banana for a nose and a dent in his chin like someone had been stabbing him with the end of a penholder. Iggy something—right. Wait. Iggy Marino! It occurred to me there was something extraordinary about a pool player carrying around with him on the road pictures of his sophomore class in high school Or was it me? Deliberto fell asleep. We watched him sleep. He woke up and went to the bathroom. We got up and left He said: I wanta write a book. Or a movie. I got a lot of stuff written down—notes. We oughta talk about it Sure. Ok. Don’t forget I feel bad about that game tonight. You should have won that thing. I should have won it. Not because I played better than he did but because I outsafed him. Crane is the best safe player in the world. I got up the next day and went over to the Elks club. A few of the players were in the lounge having breakfast. Crane was sitting with Jack Breit and Breits wife at a table. I sat down in a booth and read the paper. There was a paragraph in the last page of the sports section about the Crane/Deliberto match— none too well described. The impression received was that Danny had the game won but choked by missing a routine shot and he only needed 5 balls to win. Danny would love this one. Crane got up and left the room. I intercepted him at the door—asked for an interview. We sat down at a table He said: The tournament is not doing well. It never has. This is the third year Fred has had it out here and every year he has lost money. All of it comes out of his pocket. He cant get a sponsor. Last year he lost $7,000. The year before he lost $7,000. This year hell lose $7,000. You cant keep doing that forever—I don’t care how much you love the game. I doubt if there will be a tournament next year. I don’t know the problem. I think the tickets are too high. There are no discounts. They chase you out of the room following the 8 o’clock match and make you go downstairs and buy another ticket if you want to see the match at 10. Many people have complained to me about that. But its not Freds fault. The game is dying. There is nothing to be done. Its dying because women don’t like it. It doesn’t interest them. They don’t enjoy playing it. Why? I dont know. Its a difficult game. Golf is also a difficult game but has no problem attracting women. Also bowling. Women love bowling. Maybe they don’t like the pose, to bend over with that big ass sticking out. But either way you cant have a popular sport if it isnt popular with women. Thats the story He continued: 30 years ago there was more interest in the game than there is now. Brunswick had 20 players on their payroll. Now they have one: Jimmy Caras. Even then you couldnt make a living at it. I tried. I didnt fancy the idea of spending the rest of my life alone in a hotel room. I wanted to get married and raise a family. You cant be a family man and a pool player. No sir. I said: I dont understand why Deliberto tried that break shot last night on the 3 ball. Why didnt he try for different position on the three and leave you safe down at that end of the table. Crane said: what Deliberto didnt do isnt the point. If it was the shots you dont shoot that count we would all be heroes. Look at that shot I made on the 7 ball. Now why did I try that shot. I could have played safe. Why didnt I. Because I dont want him to get up from that chair. He only needs 5 balls. If I play safe than he plays safe then I play safe and and we go back and forth playing safe and sooner or later one of us gets a shot. Maybe its him. The way he had been playing me safe all night it could easily have been him. Thats why I took the shot. It was a gamble. If I make the shot Im a hero. If I miss Im a bum—like they made him look in the paper. Did you see that story? My point is—even though not three guys in this tournament could make that shot—under that kind of pressure--nine times out of ten—if I miss the shot I lose the match and Im a bum. Thats my point. I dont know why Danny took the shot. I think he played the right shot. He needs 5 balls. All he has to do is make the shot and knock two balls out of the rack. He got a bad break and scratched. Too bad. Dannys a fine player. Hes never beaten me. The tournament continued. I saw most of the games and from time to time my wife tagged along. She had the pool bug. She said: its so interesting! During the next week I laid out $30 or $40 to watch pool games. Crane was right. But I saw some good games. Balsis had lost 2 games and Crane and Butera were leading the tournament. Crane was 14-1, Butera was 13-1 Breit and Balsis were 12-2. Danny and Lassiter were 10-4. Danny then lost to Balsis and Breit beat Balsis and then dumped Butera. This was a good match. Butera was an amazing player. He played fast. He was a blur The announcer introduced him as machine gun Lou Butera--the fastest shot in the world. Butera came trotting out onto the stage holding a machine gun over his head. He was early forties and beginning to lose his hair that was combed up and over across the top of his head. Breit also was a fast player. He was a big guy, mid- thirties with a nickname—the Red Raven. He had red hair but the raven part of the nickname was a mystery. He was a southpaw who played with the cuff of his tux rolled up a few inches. He wore short sleeve shirts and when he took a shot the sleeve of the tux traveled up over this meaty paw to reveal 8 inches of furry forearm the size of the average persons neck. He bent low over his shots with his chin barely clearing the cue. He had a big ass which stuck way up in the air. He was the animated type and it showed whenever he missed a shot. His wife was present and he he would miss a shot and up would come the hands and up would come the head, the eyes would cross and a horrible strangled agonized groan to escape his lips and give a stunned look to his wife to confirm the unbelievable luck he was having. Earlier that day I had a conversation with Breit in the bar. He said: the game is dying because it lacks color. The players—with a handful of exceptions are dull—stiffs. The promoters think the game has a seedy reputation and trying to give it class. For example: tuxedos. This just compounds the problem. What is more boring than a tuxedo? Also its too quiet in there. We arent attending mass. Yes its a game that deserves respect and that normally brings out some reasonable manners on the part of the players but—you cant have your cake and eat it too. You missed a good tournament last year in Bakersfield. There was a terrific fight when Ervolino broke a cue stick over Joe Russos head. I dont condone that but lets face it—we got some good pub from that one. Saturday was the last day of the tournament. On Friday Crane beat Breit which put Breit out of it. Butera beat Balsis. That meant the Crane/Butera match Saturday would decide the tournament. Crane was 17-1, Butera was 16-2. If Butera won there would be playoff Sunday. I noticed that when Butera was introduced he left the machine gun at home. It promised to be a good match because of the contrast in styles. Butera was “machine gun Lou” and Crane was the Deacon. It was a close game all the way. Crane would get up and run 20 or 30 balls which would take 15 minutes. Then Butera would get up and run 30 balls in 3 minutes. Then Crane would get up and shoot for another 20 minutes and then Butera would get up and shoot for 4 minutes. Butera played like there was a map of every shot on the table. He had a few trick shots in his repertoire and played one—a memorable shot—the masse shot— the six ball into the side pocket with the cue ball partially stymied. He stood the stick straight up in the air and drove it down on the cue ball applying strong English. The cue ball took a bounce, jumps the 9 ball, returns to the table and spins right, back on line and bangs the object ball into the side pocket. This was the shot: The crowd went wild. But it was Cranes game all the way. He never missed a shot. He played perfect pool. The safes were brilliant. Danny was right. Every time Butera got up to shoot he had nothing. But he made some tremendous shots and at one point led the match 111- 108. Then there was an exchange of safes that Crane won and he ran out. So that was that. Crane won, Butera finished second, Breit third and Danny was fifth. Danny won $1000 and Nagy who finished in a tie for 10th picked up $750 We left the Elks Club and my wife said: I think for now Ive seen enough pool. |
rempe