In the 1950s Leo Eckhart became my mentor.
Leo ran a billiard parlor — we all called it the pool hall — in Humboldt. Along with regular pool, he had two snooker tables, with racks of 15 red balls rather than the nine found in joints where the owners wanted games to end quicker so they could make more money.
The object of snooker is to pocket a red ball followed by one of six numbered balls, and then end the game by running the numbered balls in sequence.
I became pretty good at the game because Leo let me play for free when no one was around. He also gave me tips, and a professional-looking jointed cue that I kept in a special locked holder on the wall.
When school was out, I often shot a lot of snooker — unless the Works brothers had hay to haul — and late in the evening I’d perch on a barstool under a tin Anheuser-Busch advertising sign that chronicled Custer’s Last Stand to hear Leo’s intriguing yarns.
I started playing pool when I was 14 or so. Leo was strict about age and wouldn’t let anyone under 16 in his place because he served beer, unless accompanied by an adult. Dad liked a beer or two and also played a little snooker himself. That was my ticket.
Shorty Gurwell was Leo’s ball boy, and he also gave a few hints, including how to strike the cue ball just right to get position for the next shot. Shorty — he was maybe 5-foot-4 in heeled shoes — also told me time and again to shoot just hard enough to make a ball and get “shape” for the next shoot. Shooting hard, he’d chide, was just a way to attract attention, and was looked down upon by good players.
Saturday nights were special.
A fellow named Don Cushman would arrive, usually along about 8 or 9 in the evening, and played a few games. He strutted in dressed as a dandy, and watching him shoot snooker was a treat. His stroke was smooth as silk and he had down pat all the nuances of the felt-cover table. Everyone was in awe, myself included.
Leo gave $1 for the top three runs in snooker each week. Invariably, Cushman had one of the three, sometimes all three. Eventually my name frequently was on the high-run column on a chalkboard next to the bar, and a few times I even topped Cushman, which meant much more to me than a dollar.
I very seldom shoot pool nowadays and when I tried a few months ago, I found time away from the game — age too, you think? — had eroded my skill.
But, nothing lasts forever.
Practice makes a difference
