THE PROTEGE: PART I
Mark Williams
Copyright 2014 Mark Williams
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1
The Protege
The nervous pool racker, with a cigar hanging thinly out of his mouth, leaned over and then began to rack the set of pool balls. The two others before him, the rest of the players in all, had lost badly to the man in front of the barroom table. His name, well known in ‘Randys Bar’ and in the Midwestern town of Kenosha, Wisconsin, was Big Milwaukee. He was regarded by the large pool and billiard community, nationwide and as a whole, as the best. He had dominated the pool game since the late 90’s and even moreover in the 2000s. Onlookers in the bar: a curvy blonde with a cocktail in one hand and its cherry in her other, a kiosk boy from up the street holding newspapers under his arm, several drunk but musing men and women in front of the bar, a few more men seated at the various barroom tables, three or four feigning patrons pausing from their walks down the street and Charlie---Charlie Grifter.
Charlie had, now, worked at the bar for nine months and as the rest of the onlookers had, he’d seen this particular type of pool episode happen before but had never failed to become astonished. So, all the same, the group of bar patrons formidably watched as ‘Game 3’ got underway.
It was usually during this brief transient of time that the extra drinks were hurriedly ordered and that men and women went to use the bathrooms, or that terse phone calls were made on the phone machines found against the wall (oddly, not very far from a dart board).
‘Randys Bar’ was a comfortable, homely type place-although, it was not a setting for kids, or wives. All the local drifters-drifters…not tramps, fast girls looking to score (yet, they never seem to do), pool sharks, beer brains and the bar crowd in general-tended to frequent the small bar which was plush in its bourgeois atmosphere. Its gaming consisted of three pool tables-two ordinary types along with a custom-made, carved, wooden framed version in the middle.
The middle table, naturally, was always used by Big Milwaukee himself and the professionals, and the bettors who tried superficially to imitate them.
Hanging over the pool tables, were shaped or ornate lights, adding an amiable ambient to the smoky bar atmosphere. The walls were covered with various sports memorabilia, plaques, and pictures of sporting games, sports celebrities, and team mascots alike. A Milwaukee Brewers poster covered one wood paneled wall, a Milwaukee Bucks poster covered another and Wisconsin Badgers’, beer mugs were a common site seen on tables. Winding neon wires of advertisement and sporting humor, electrified almost every corner of the room.
Altogether, the barroom was dark, but easy enough to find ones way through. The out-of-towner, or first-timer, might think the bar to be a trouble spot, or possibly a pimp hangout, but in reality the ideal itself was ludicrous. Most of the frequenters of the bar came only to have fun, or just to view one of the bars three hanging television screens, or of course, for the beer-fresh from Milwaukee's vast range of breweries, or, and most excitably, to see Big Milwaukee play pool.
Big Milwaukee was the bars only informal means of entertainment and to the bar itself, Milwaukee was as important as Babe Ruth to New York, Michael Jordan to Chicago or, Joe Louis to Harlem. But, only for entertainment purposes only. Only, so that the leering spectators of the bar could watch Big Milwaukee and his ever fretting opponents. So many had came by and tried their luck, it seemed-from Michigan, New York, Ohio, Chicago, Los Angeles-only just to play him…and, just to lose. The pool matches were sometimes close, but more times than most, were not.
Big Milwaukee was on top of his game and today-a bright sunny day, or at least so for Kenosha’s standards-the weather exceeded.
Charlie Grifter had begun working at the ‘Randys Bar’ that same year, as its secondly bartender. It was not a hard task, almost, more boring or lonesome than it was strenuous. But, at times like this, his job became exciting, and, even important-or, at least so on Kenosha's social scale. For today was another pool day and so far (so good) Big Milwaukee had easily defeated his first two opponents and was about to play his shaky third.
During his time working the bar, Charlie had watched many wondrous games and game shots made by Big Milwaukee. The pool balls seemed to work like magnets under the man, magically. Often, the pool shark would drop three or four balls in on the same, single shot. Soon, as had the rest of the patrons, Charlie came to admire Big Milwaukee's finesse on the pool table. The big man, while wearing his heavy suits-opened at the collar along with a tie-less T-shirt-never seemed to worry, become agitated, or sweat. Under the hot, fuzzing lamp shades, the big man stayed cool. Nervousness, was not a word in the big mans vocabulary.
Charlie had talked to the pool shark, on occasions, but as everyone else it seemed, he had only gotten a mild response out of him. It seemed, there were only two ways in which to get in good with the big man-(1) by serving him Fish & Chips, from one of the bar’s straw baskets, while he was playing his game of pool,(2) fixing for him, his favorite drink, Black Velvet, a job which had been already taken over by the head bartender who Charlie worked second-in-command under.
The big man kept a 14kt gold container, shaped like a vase, in which he kept his hand powder. He had a fetish about it, and every time he played, the tiny gold jar was always left on the corner pool rack and at his disposal. It seems, or at least Charlie had heard during an ado of gossip, that the big man used the jar during his victory of the Reno 9-ball championship that he won back in 1999. Ever since then, by custom-superstition-luck-or something like that, the jar never left his side. Or, at least during an important game like the one the big man was now playing in. A wager of $200 had been made ($200 apiece) from the crew of three young men. They hailed from Boston and were pretty good at the game of pool, but not good enough. Simply, the game of pool was just that to them, a game. But, to Big Milwaukee, it was not a game. Pool was a way of life. The pool balls were hit into the pockets as regulatory as the big mans breathing system-one, which lately, had not been breathing well. Rumors had it-and rumors seemed to orbit around the big pool shark at ‘Randys Bar’, that the big man had a cold. The flu. But, no matter. He was winning, now, winning good. And he only had one more person to defeat. Even matters of practicability and routine meant nothing; after the big man won his $600-total, from the men, he would buy drinks on the house, pick the best looking blond bimbo in the room, and then disappear to one of his hotel hideaways.
But now, his basket of Fish & Chips was almost empty. He looked over to one of the sluggish waiters who then hurriedly ran off in the back direction of the bar, toward the grill. In no time at all, the waiter had returned with a heaping basket of Fish & Chips, probably gratis, replaced the near empty basket with them and then headed back for the grill room.
Charlie smirked to himself. Even, as good as the big shot was, even though he was presupposably the best pool player in the United States, he didn’t understand the way people flocked over him. Sure, his game was fun to watch, but all of the foot shuffling, he didn’t understand. What? Was Big Milwaukee the president and he just didn’t know it?
Charlie glanced down at the glistening, brown marble bar top before him. He had been polishing and re-polishing all day, as he did, it seemed, everyday. As soon as a person left their stool, he was quickly over to clear their shot glass or drink and to wipe
down the counter with his lemon scented clothe. Again, as he glanced down at the shining bar which reflected his white shirted, white towel on his shoulder image, he wondered what Big Milwaukee had that he didn’t? Skills, surely, something replied, skills.
Finally-Charlie thought, I will approach him. Maybe this time (then again, maybe not) he could get through to him. What would he say? Maybe, a comforting word. A hint of enthusiasm. Yeah, yes, that would work. Charlie pulled his towel off his shoulder, fiddled with it, and then slapped it back on. As businesslike as possible, he wandered slowly over past the eyeing patrons and then slowerly, scooted over next to the big man himself.
In a room that was completely enveloped in shade, the big man glowed while standing underneath the overhead lamps light. Its thick ray shone gaudily on the mans suit and on the mass amount of fuzzy lint levitating around him. The big man hardly noticed Charlie as he walked up behind him to stand by his side. An unofficial but big bodyguard hardly took notice either after realizing the cognizance of Charlie's employee accouterment.
The big man had just watched as the pool balls were laid in a honey-oak triangle and then meticulously racked. The opponent had then fearfully backed away-three or four feet-and waited for Big Milwaukee to ‘break’.
So now, the big man had picked up a new, rough, blue chalk cube and was twisting it around the end of his custom-made pool stick. The stick itself, was a miracle in modern design and was equipped with a hardly recognizable, suddle hand grip on the end as well as a smoothed out and burnished front end for his bridge hand. Rumor had it, the stick had been hollowed out for reasons of weight and had been streamlined for efficiency. The big man chose the bridge hold for his shooting touch, as he’d had as a kid and had stuck with ever since.
Slowly though, the big man turned his head to his right side as he noticed an encroaching presence.
“Hello,” said Charlie.
The big man nodded and then stared in a sly, beckoning manner.
“Uh,” stuttered Charlie, “I just wanted to wish you good luck.”
“Oh,” said the big man, partly confused and obviously vexed. He quickly looked Charlie down, noticing a young man with brown hair and a plain, all-american face. He then took notice of his employeed appearance and thought to take use of it. He quickly glanced over at the pool rack and next to his gold powder jar, to his drink-it was only a quarter full and his third and final match was beginning. His nervous opponent was beginning to give him the creeps but one more glass of Black Velvet, his favorite-and only drink during tournament time-would give him everything he’d need to insure an easy, monotonous victory. Just how he liked it. No close calls, no game winning shots, no whimsical wins. Just, plain, simple victory.
The head bartender, as custom, was usually the man who fixed the big mans drink and he did an ok job. The big man had had better Black Velvets-one in Vegas, one in New York, and he himself could fix a better Black Velvet. But, where was the head bartender?
“Hey, kid,” the big man said.
“Yes sir,” responded Charlie.
“Wheres the head bartender at?”
“Oh…?”
Charlie thought to himself for a moment, not knowing. The head bartender was inane at times, wandering off when he was most needed, even if only to screw some young blonde near the back office. Or, if only to go into the back office itself, when Randy was gone-as he usually was, to use the phone to call up his girlfriend and most of the time, only to argue with her.
Charlie, as a quick afterthought, decided he would look out for the bartender who's unapproved leave of absence could have serious ramifications.
“Well,” Charlie lied, “I believe he’s in the bathroom. Hemorrhoids.” Charlie put his index finger in front of his lips as a signal for silence and probity.
“Oh!” said the big man, not happy with the response.
“Yes sir,” said Charlie, attempting to look earnest.
The big man leered for assurance and then sneered.
“Ok,” he then said, agreeing, but then adding, “say, you’re a bartender, correct?”
“Yes sir.” Charlie smiled.
“Well, do you know how to fix a Black Velvet?”
“Dooo I?,” Charlie said with a smile. “Its one of my personal fortes.”
Charlie then slowly turned around, noticing the near empty glass off to the corner. He then pointed at it.
“Is that yours, sir?”
“Yes,” the big man said.
“Well, ok, don’t worry. I’ll fix it up. One Black Velvet to go.”
The big man, as he rarely did, smiled. Charlie went over to pick up the glass and then nonchalantly headed over to the bar where several deterred and anxious patrons awaited him for their drinks.
Charlie quickly shushed them off.
“Hey,” he quickly said, while holding up the glass, “this is for the big man.”
Almost immediately, the ‘call of alcohol’ died down. The big man? His drink? Well…of course, it came first.
Charlie smiled. He carefully, but still quickly, prepared the drink with all the professionalism he had picked up in his career. Pour prechilled Stout and Champagne into a tall, highball glass, simultaneously, and do not stir. His father had been a bona fide drunk, who after returning home, lushed, from work, would often order the young Charlie to fix him a drink. The directions were quickly slurred out and almost immediately, young Charlie was off and fixing the drink. So, bartending came naturally to him. It was his only trade, or at least the only one in which he could excel in, and it was destined to become his avocation. He surely got no hangups from the bar patrons and certainly not from the regulars who often came in drunk and couldn’t tell a good drink from a bad drink from the next. But, Charlie was a good bartender, even as mildly and modestly as he usually served his customers. But, for the big man, he would utilize his talents. He would furbish his talents at preparing a drink to his highest summation. All the tricks he’d learned-from childhood to his teenage years and beyond-the ice, the mixing order, the amount-would all be eclectically selected.
Soon, the drink was prepared and topped with a lemon slice, then hurried over to the pool tables side.
The big man restively waited as the drink was handed to him. He stared ominously. Was it good? Was it bad? The big man then sniffed the drink and then squinted at it with his left eye. It looked ok, the big man concluded. He then slowly bowed his neck and then tasted the preparation. One slurp was quickly followed by another, and then another. The big man briefly held the drink in his mouth and then swallowed. His eyes became bright.
“Ehmmm,” he said while raising up the glass. “This is good kid. Good!”
Charlie nodded with assurance.
“Can you fix all your drinks like that?”
“Sure can.”
“This stuff is better than Pete's.” Pete was the head bartender.
Again, Charlie nodded as his stance slowly cavorted. Suddenly, because of his fixed drink, the big man was now on his side-for whatever that meant. He had gained his acceptance, an important acceptance. The big man, now ready for business, walked over to the corner stick rack and set down his drink. He then came back over to the front of the pool table and, as if it were a carbine rifle, examined his pool stick.
“Ok kid,” the big man then said, “step away.”
The big man gave a directing eye to the far right side of the pool table and Charlie-still happy, still knowing that he was on Big Milwaukee's buddy list-backed away.
The big man raised the beige and black colored, pool stick over the table and then aimed it at the front of the triangular outline of pool balls. He cocked the stick back and then whammed it into the cue ball. Immediately the rack of balls departed into various, diverging directions. Several balls landed in the table pockets, including the 8-ball-which according to game rules [an 8-ball which drops on the initial break…] meant that he’d won. The big man grinned and then slowly turned right to view Charlie in salutation. r />
It seemed the beginning of a beautiful relationship…
Again, the feeling of awe. Again, Charlie had watched Big Milwaukee play a game of pool unlike any he’d seen played by anyone else. As he watched the big man kneel down to place his pool stick back in its case, he felt as if he should say something. So, he approached the big man, who then looked upward after spotting Charlie's hovering shadow.
“Great shot, sir.”
Big Milwaukee recognized Charlie as the bartender who had served him earlier and managed a smile.
“Nothing to it,” he replied. “Its all about initial contact, getting a good look at what kind of rack the guy gave you and positioning it for the break. Say, you still on duty?”
“Sure am.”
“How about another glass of Black Velvet? You make a pretty good Black Velvet, I think you got me hooked.”
Charlie smiled. Now it was his time to explain.
“Nothing at all, I’ve been fixing them since I was a teenager, before I even went to Bartending School.”
The big man gave an impatient nod and Charlie was quick to understand.
“I’ll be right back sir.” He hurried back over to the bar and soon was made aware of a slew of customers waiting for service. Charlie ventured back behind the bar, ducked behind it for a moment and then came back up holding several glasses which he set down on the counter. Calmly, he listened to the many drink orders fired at him-a Beer & Ale, Gin ‘n’ Tonic, Creole-and then ventured over to the liquor shelf. He grabbed three bottles with his left hand, four with his right and as always, did not drop any of them. Within seconds, he was mixing and fixing drinks and serving them alike. The customers, still waiting, did not let up on him and more jeers were made at him for drinks. Likewise, Charlie matched the demands in order and after a couple minutes, had everyone seated in front of the bar served and nearly silent. Now, and with more skill and care, Charlie began to fix Big Milwaukee's drink still with the same expertise he had used before. He then quickly left the bar-while he still was able to-and headed across the room to the pool table area. The big man was standing still where he’d been before, except now he was surrounded by two men wearing expensive suits and a leggy blonde wearing a tight, white dress.
Charlie held his step and soon enough, the two men shook the big mans hand and then went away. The beautiful blond, after giving the big man a full hug and then receiving a kiss on the cheek, left also.
The big man now stood alone, holding his cue case in one hand while staring boredly at a floor covered with wrappers and crinkled paper cups. Even for a man in a day to day suit, he looked a grade above the other frequenters of the bar, and in someway seemed to enhance the surroundings. He turned to see Charlie, holding his drink, and then politely waved him over. The big man then eagerly accepted the drink and while praying that it would be even half as good as the first, taste tested it. After a quick slurp, his eyes twitched and he swallowed.
“Good, good, great,” the big man finally responded. He then followed up the first slurp with another, swallowed and then looked into Charlie’s eyes. “Better than the first, I think. You know, you should be working in one of those fancy restaurants, mixing em’ like this. This ain’t bad.” Charlie nodded. “Kid, I got a game tomorrow, and I need someone to cover me. You gonna be working?” Charlie nodded again, slowly. “I’m playing some asshole from Indiana. He’s supposed to be pretty good and he has a great reputation. On the table that is. Anyhow, I want to be well juiced when he comes, understand?”
“Yeah,” said Charlie, even though not quite sure.
“Should be a good game though.” The big man smiled, and if he’d given the impression that he was made nervous by his upcoming game, it was certainly obvious now that he wasn’t. He took another sip from his drink and then glanced around at the nearby pool tables. “What time you getting off?”
“Oh…about a half hour, give or take a few minutes.”
“Go on, we’ll talk.”
Charlie nodded and then wandered back over to the bar where he knew a buildup of patrons would be waiting for more drinks. And, as before, Charlie soon had the place on track.
As badly as the customers hounded him, they recognized that Charlie had a knack for his job and most of the time, he was tipped graciously for his services. But still he took a back seat to Big Milwaukee, and, had only been working in the bar for under a year while the big man had been the bars own personal mascot for several. Again, after serving up another round of drinks, Charlie wondered to himself what the big man had, that he didn’t. Far, far across the room, he stared at the figure standing over by the pool tables. A man holding a cue case and wearing a suit, as if he were about to go out on a dinner date. He ordered Black Velvet, never drank beer, and he played pool while eating chips from a straw basket. He spoke intelligently, eloquently unlike the gutter mouths who usually haunted the pool tables. He seemed a good sport and did not at anytime, mock his opponent after defeating them. Once even, after marginal victory, Charlie had seen him walk over and shake the opponents hand. He had a reputation as the best and lived up to it. And, the women seemed to love him and rarely, was the big man seen after a game without a pretty girl at his side. Perhaps, men wanted to be like him or rather, in his position? Why not? Who doesn’t want to be a winner?
Soon, Charlie's work day ended. He quickly counted up the total of his tips, a suffice amount, then left the bar and walked back over to the pool area. The big man stared indifferently as Charlie approached and then flashed a quick grin.
“Ok, Big Milwaukee.”
“Call me Stuart. Ray Stuart.”
“Ok…Stuart.”
“Say, uh, let me ask you a question and I want you to answer it seriously.”
“Ok.”
“You ever wanted to learn pool?”
“Sure.”
“I’m the best, you know?” the big man said while folding his arm and touching his chest with his hand.
“I’ve heard.”
“In two weeks,” the big man snapped his finger, “I could teach you everything you’d need to know, to be a champion.”
“Ok. What do you want?”
“Nothing. Just a respect for the game. You’ll be my protégé, my masterpiece, my legacy.”
Charlie thought quietly about the ideal and liked it.
“How about a ride home? I’ll give you your first free lesson tonight?”
“Well, ok. Sure, lets go.”
Big Milwaukee shouted over to a barroom table where the man who had been guarding him earlier was now seated, telling the husky figure not to wait up for him.
A ride? The unofficial bodyguard?
He and Charlie then left the bar together.
The night was cool and still. The sky was blinding dark, shadowing a brisk breeze that awaited them. There was something about Midwest fall, that sometimes made it seem like winter.
The two men hurried down to Charlie's vehicle, parked alongside a curb on the block, as the big man noted to him that it looked like it might rain. Charlie disagreed. Within seconds, the tutor and pupil had made it to the car and soon were both inside its warm and safe confines.
“Where to?” Charlie then asked, officially.
“How about home?”
“How far away is that?”
“Newberry Apartments. They’re at-”
“-Oh, I know,” Charlie said, cutting the big man off. In fact, he had already known where the big man lived, as most of the residents of Kenosha had, and figured that he would be driving there. He had heard about his boisterous late night parties attended by beautiful women, important socialites and even sometimes by celebrities. No doubt, there was something about being a pool shark-or, even not a pool shark in general, if only a good pool player-that made people want to befriend you. The pool player was the embodiment of a winner, success, a leader, a qualifier. And, this circumstance hadn't gone unknown by Charlie. He turned to smile and only then, noticed how pale the big man looked
against the dark night. Was he becoming sick, tired, had he possibly drank too much? Oh well, he then thought as he started up his car engine, checked for blocking car traffic, and then zoomed out into the lane.
The drive to the Newberry Apartments took fifteen minutes, and during the way, the big man reflectively told jokes and old stories of his pool days.
Charlie soon was quickly recognizing that his new friendship was nothing short of a benediction. He almost looked up to the man, like he had to his own father, before he passed away in his youth. Except though, the big man was a more colorful person and interesting.
Big Milwaukee was great; considered the best at what he did, but was still nice enough to remain ‘down to earth’ with other people. He was a Dr.Jekell and Mr.Hyde, of sorts, but only becoming the latter when playing opponents and staring them down with piercing eyes.
At the Newberry Apartments, Charlie parked underneath a carport and then he and the big man left his vehicle. The Newberry Apartments was an upscale division of two-flat, red-brick buildings with tulips aligning either side of the walk-in. It was located near the outskirts of the city, but still, close enough to the life that Big Milwaukee loved-barroom pool. After all, he was often seen downtown and in ‘Randys Bar’ and was good friends with the owner. When not downtown, he was usually on the road, playing in tournaments, or giving lessons, or even-but rarely, hustling money.
After entering one of the apartment buildings, Big Milwaukee led Charlie up to its second floor and then down to the left side of the hallway. Near its end, Big Milwaukee stopped at a door on his right side, opened it with a set of keys and then entered the room. Charlie followed. Inside, was a living room burnished with a brazen sectional, a small bar and an even smaller cabinet filled with books.
The big man shuffled on, leading Charlie into the extending rooms and then pointed at the one with an opened door, before making known that he had to go use the bathroom.
Charlie walked into the opened room and noticed in it, a pool table, and off to the wall a soda bar with two stools, a card table off to the right and a dart board on the wall. Also on the wall was a cue rack loaded with sticks; framed, stained glass designs, a scoreboard and a perforated shelf for holding drinks. Charlie wandered around for a moment before the big man returned, looking less pale than before, and now smoking on a white cigarette.
“You smoke?” he then asked.
Charlie said no.
The big man nodded, went over to grab a cue stick off the rack and then began to hurriedly chalk it. He then slipped off his coat, flung it over unto the closest chair nearby and then rolled up his left arm sleeve.
“First rule,” the big man then said. “Always make sure your comfortable. Comfort comes first. Second, don’t smoke when you play. Drinking…? Well, depends on the person. Some people can concentrate better with a beer, some can’t. You know how to rack balls?”
Charlie gave an insulted grin, went over to the rear of the pool table and then began to bring up the balls-one by one-from the return. After fetching all fifteen of them and then rolling the cue ball down to the other end, Charlie preceded to rack the balls together with a plastic roller and after steadying them all into place.
“Good,” said the big man. “In a professional game, racking is important. Could make the difference between winning and losing. But, if your just playing for a drink or for fun, well, it ain’t no big deal. It’s even more important in 9-ball, but that’s another game, and, another lesson. I’ve been playing this since I was a kid and even then I was good. Used to play older fellows and bet them with my lunch money. Then one day, a guy came along and showed me the basics. And then, even then, I was a shark of sorts.”
The big man, after realizing that he was getting off the point, lowered his stick unto the pool rail. Suddenly, his eyes became dark and Charlie recognized the
gamesmanship in them right away. The big man then whacked the cue ball with his stick, causing the latter to explode into the pyramid of pool balls. Several dropped down into pockets and nearly all the rest ended up close to them.
Charlie flashed a respectful smile. That’s what he liked about the big man, he didn’t just show, he proved. Underneath the suit, the mild mannerisms, the gentlemen air, was a pool shark. It was obvious when he made his pool shots, reconnaissanced the felt green on the table, walked around it like a tiger stalking its prey.
As the big man began to teach and preach, Charlie watched on like a kid in a classroom. And, he would be learning from the best.
“Ok. Lets first go over the basics. To play the game you have to know the technique. Always call the most sensible.” The big man then rose his index finger up to the side of his head before continuing. “Sensible. Not necessarily the most easy. If you have an all around easy shot, save it, like money in the bank.”
Charlie, standing with his hands behind his back, nodded.
“And, before you call a shot, make sure to fully examine the table. Walk around it if you want. Sometimes, your best shot is not always the easiest to find and if you look and stare from the same place, well…you’ll be looking at the same thing. Even watch while your opponent is shooting. Always watch. Pool is an eye game. Another thing you want to remember, is to always set yourself up for the next shot. If you hit ball A, make sure that your gonna be leaving yourself a shot for ball B, C, D and E. Its very important, having ball-control, and I’ll teach you some of the secrets. Its almost like being able to stop and move a car on time. And, you’ve got to be able to drive around your opponent’s balls, like traffic. An opponents ball can be your worst enemy. It’s stripes against solids, all the way, but, the table rail can also be your friend. You can use it to help set yourself up for shots, or, to even make shots. And, another thing is: you’ve got to learn when, where and how to hit a cue ball. Sometimes you wanna hit it hard in order to make a difficult follow-up shot. Other times, you want to hit it soft in order to keep it in line for a shot. Sometimes you hit the ball low and sometimes high. Here, let me show you. Watch what happens when I hit the ball low.”
Finally, after all the talking, the big man aimed at the cue ball with his stick and then attempted a shot. The object ball landed in the side pocket, but more interestingly, the cue ball rolled backwards several inches directly after making the contact.
“You see?” asked the big man. The astonished look on Charlie's face made him feel as if he was showing off. So, he put an end to the trickier shots, momentarily, and then returned to teaching the basics-hand grips, eye coordination, body positioning, ball controlling, shot alignment, and the other fundamentals.
After an hours time, the two took a break and drank beers over at the soda bar. The big man began smoking another cigarette and then pointed to a gilded, black plaque on the wall.
“I won that in Las Vegas,” he then began to explain. “Invitational Tournament of Champions. It wasn’t the biggest tournament I ever played in, but it was the first and hardest and that’s why that plaque-even though I have twelve that look just like it-is the most important to me. I’ve never looked back since then. I could win with my hands down. I eventually converted to 9-ball because I was even better at it then at straight pool. Hell, I’ve been playing at it now for over 36 years.”
Charlie studied Big Milwaukee's face, suddenly becoming curious enough to say something which only then seemed pertinent.
“I’ve enjoyed listening to your stories, and I’ve been enjoying this lesson, but, why me? I’m only a stranger to you, a guy mixing your drinks. Why tell me all you know? Why not a pool buddy, somebody who’s already practiced?”
The questions had not been belligerent, but only an outcry of curiosity from a young man who could not manifest the situation by which he’d been dealt.
The big man slowly nodded and then turned slightly on his stool towards Charlie.
“Well,” he then began to explain, “you seem like a man who appreciates things. I could tell that from your Black Velvet. I could tell that a pe
rson like you, when given the chance, could really accelerate. Your young. You have a cool head. And, the guys that hang around the pool halls, begging me or eyeing me for pointers, well, they’re all greedy and just looking for the money and glory. And, most of all, kid, I’m getting older. I’m dying.”
Charlie’s eyes-flicking formidably, glanced over at the big man in a search for truth.
“Cancer,” the big man then said, solemnly. “I’ve had it for almost a year now. They detected it a few months ago. I’ll have enough money to live well the rest of my days. Before I start though, I wanted to teach someone all I learned, so that it wouldn’t all die with me. I saw the doctor last week and he told me that my cancer went into a slight remission, but, the way I’ve been feeling lately, I think it’s started back up again.”
The big man then rolled up the shirt sleeve on his right arm, revealing pathological growths. Charlie gave a squeamish look and the big man smiled, bravely.
“I’d say I have a couple more weeks. I’ve been receiving morning treatments at the hospital, which had been slowing up the bug, but before it all ends I insist on leaving the state to enjoy a little bit of final paradise. Maybe down in Florida, where it ain’t so cold. Hell,” the big man waved the cigarette hanging in his hand, as if just taking notice of it. “I don’t know why I’m still smoking this. Well, I guess it’s too late to stop now. But, kid, if you come by here, every night, for the rest of the week, same time, I’ll teach you everything I know. By then, my treatment will have ended at the hospital and I’ll be going down to Florida, maybe permanently.”
Charlie gave an incredulous stare.
“Well,” said the big man, “they can’t cure it.” He extinguished his cigarette in a tiny red ash tray on the bar counter. He then clapped his hands together. “Well, I guess that’s enough for today. We’ll cut it short. But, be sure to be ready tomorrow, at one o’clock. Have the Black Velvets ready.”
Charlie nodded and then scooted away from the stool. He then shook Big Milwaukee's hand, honorably, saw his eyes began to water and then hastily turned around and left.
The pool lesson was easy; the personal lesson, wasn’t.