Who were the best players for the Big Money?

I look at this question from a little different perspective. I rate not who played the best for the big money, but rather who you had better not give a gamble to. Some guys played great for big money, but they always had a good game. My respect goes out to those guys that didn't need a good game, just a good gamble. Just show them that they could win big money, and how good the game was was secondary. Artie Bodendorfer played great for big money, but he wouldn’t play with a bad game. Cornbread Red Burge, Ronnie Allen and Leonard "Bugs" Rucker, their only requirement for playing was to just give them a gamble and tititlate them with the prospect of a score. Having the worst of it did not really matter. Actually, every time I ever seen those guys playing for the big stuff they had the worst of it. The standard advice about playing one of those guys for big cheese was, "Whatever it is you think you need to have the nuts, you better still try to get one or two more balls, if you want to win. I never in my life seen any of those guys get an even-up gamble for the mega-bucks. As the bet went up, so did their competitive nature.
The key factor that those guys had for outrunning the nuts, was when they did come with a shot they got all the way out! Games that had both players in the one-hole were rare because those guys never stopped on the game ball. If I had to pick the most frightening guy to play with for giant money out of those three it would have to be Cornbread Red. As the bet went up his already long slip stroke would lengthen ever further. I will never forget a set for 30k he won in Philly playing "Cornflakes" (aka John "World" Hennigan, he now plays in the World Series of Poker) with me, Buddy Hall, and Wade Crane each betting 1800 each on Red. Cornbread was shooting at a triple-shimmed 4" pocket, and he had a long straight-back for the money. He long-stroked it in 100mph. After the set he grumbled that he didn’t have time to go home to Detroit and get more money to bet than the measly 30k. He was my hero and I miss him terribly.

Beard's TV interview part 1

Knockers and the Poolroom Police

How does one conduct ones self in the poolroom? It depends on whether you have a huster's mentality or a square-johns. A hustler is looking to CREATE action, ALLOW action, and WIN MONEY. If you are hanging in the poolroom with a hustler's mentality then you should learn to hate the knockers and the mother hens that run around looking to "protect" their flock, the self-appointed poolroom patrolmen. If you want to make sure that every game is exactly even (and who are you to make that determination?), and take it personal when you see someone going "off," why did you pick a poolroom to spend your time in the first place? When I was coming up, knocking was a dangerous profession. If a player came around that I knew and nobody else did, it was professional courtesy to keep my mouth shut and let grown men take care of themselves. The pluses for this type of behavior was many; you could bet on the side, you could discreetly ask the player for a piece of his action, and you could ask for a consideration bite after the player won. By keeping the player anonymous, you could take him to other spots and win more money. Lastly, If you had a treacherous nature, as some did then, after accumulating trust by keeping silent you could later steer the player into a game where he couldnt win. If the players knew they could go somewhere, get action and not get knocked, this encouraged other players, some not so good, to come around and want to play in your place. This made for an action spot where everybody had a chance to make money. In Chicago’s Bensingers, and Detroit's Rack and Cue, knockers were looked upon as pariahs and were always at risk for physical violence.

Here is a good example of how this works out well for everybody concerned (except the victims):
I brought Jack Cooney to the all-black poolrooms on the South and West Side of Chicago. There were several players in each room that knew Cooney. None said a word. However, after Jack took each joint off, they all came around with their hands out and all received fair consideration.

I always thought that you went to a poolroom to play, gamble and compete. Knocking does nothing to further those concepts.

Interview part 2

The Hillbilly Code

"Tom" and "George" are two of the secret components of the "Hillbilly Hustler's Code." There are many more words and hand signals that all "made" hustlers used throughout the country in the old days. Using the word or name"Tom," in any conversation denoted something "bad." Conversely, the word or name "George," meant something or whatever, was "good." You knew you were a "made" scuff when someone taught you the hand signs and code words. It was a small tight group. You all would be surprised to find out just how many old-time, famous pool hustler/players were never made privy to that info.

Sample code words for playing cards or pool balls:

One ball or Ace .............play
Two ball or deuce...........sit or sh*t
Four ball or four...............funny
Eleven ball or Jack..........break
Fourteen ball or Kind.......come

Hustler talk:
"Laying out a spread."
A ploy used to lure a victim into a bad game or trap. It's lIke laying out a banquet spread on a buffet table, seemingly with all kinds of goodies to choose from. But when you go to bite into something it bites back. 'Frisco Jack Cooney was the acknowledged master of this manuever. I also used this move to beat Archie The Greek Karas out of 200 grand.

The Art of Gamesmanship

This will be a tips and tid-bits section dealing with gamesmanship, or put another way; how to secure yourself an advantage when playing, hustling, or gambling.


An excerpt from George Fels column, NEW CLOTH, in Billiards Digest, Dec. 1993
"...the perfection of the cloth itself. It has not yet been violated by chalk, dust, or that most sinister of stainers, talcum... Naturally, one cannot ignore the sharking possibilities inherent to these aesthetics. The late billiards player Bud Harris, who played pretty fair pool when he could be coaxed into it, had an undeniably prissy nature; he liked everything just so. Thus he stood no chance whatsoever against the Machiavellian Freddy Bentivegna, despite being a much better player back then, because Freddy would simply bring to the table mounds of powder unrivaled for size except in the jungles of Colombia and the mountains of Peru. One had to peer through perpetual fog to watch Fred flay Bud, and more often than not, what one would see was poor Harris doing a kind of forlorn vertical breast-stroke, striving for a reasonable glimpse of at least table if not balls too. The cloth itself was a wonder to behold, (the Fred/Bud encounters took place on 5'x10' tables in the classic Bensinger's, for even greater cloth carnage) Kelly green yielding glumly to ...white whorls and whirls and swirls...Michael Jordan made a point to decorate the broadcast announcers with a clap or two of talcum just before tip-off; Jordan reportedly plays decent pool, and you have to wonder if he studied talcum technique at Freddy Bentivegna's knee."

Here's an addendum to the above post: As irritating as talcum clouds might be to a fastidious type player -- and this should include almost all 3 cushion players -- something almost as effective is to turn the chalk upside down and let the granules leak onto the rail. I used to drive the suit and tie billiard players nuts with that move. In truth I was just as big a neat freak as they were, but I was compensated by how much it jerked their chain.

When hustling in a strange joint, bring your own chalk, powder, and cue ball with you. Tricks to get your own cue ball into the game:

When you are about to start a game, make sure you volunteer to bring the balls to the table, this way you can sneakily switch cue balls at the counter. If your opponent is already playing on the table, suggest playing on a different table. If he concedes, you go get the balls and switch the cue balls. If your opponent refuses to change tables, suggest a compromise and ask for a clean set of balls. He can hardly refuse. To keep him busy when he agrees, tell him you will go get the clean balls if he takes the old set off the table. Switch cue balls at the counter.

Advice on lagging for the break: Make sure your opponent goes first. This will allow you to measure his speed of stroke. It is at least a 25% advantage.

When flipping for the break, if flipping a penny, call tails. It's a 10 to 15% advantage over the normal 50/50 due to the weight disparity on one side. If you are able to make the penny spin on the table, your advantage goes up to at least 60%.

Here's how strong gamesmanship can be. I was in Milwaukee, WI playing in the National 8ball Bar Team League Championships in 82 or 84 (I forgot). There were about 200 teams and this was the final shot of the final game of the final match. My team was a strong one, Artie Bodendorfer, Johnny Abbruzzo (greatest team 8ball player ever), George Powalski (a legitimate 250 ball runner) and me, I was the anchor man. I wound up frozen on the long rail, with the 8 ball between the foot spot and the pocket, and dead straight in. It was not that hard a shot but it was worth $5000, and it was hard to keep the trembles from showing. Needless to say, I dogged it brutally and I miscued. Now I may have been shaky, but I hadn't lost my ability to think on my feet, so as the cue ball drizzled away from the rail, I caught it with the bottom of the shaft of my stick and rolled it back to be refrozen to the rail, leaving my opponent a tough cut shot on his last ball. It all occurred in one smooth motion, and in those days you could make a guy shoot again after a foul, but there was no cue ball in hand. My opponent shot, missed and left me the length of the table away from the 8. Revitalized now, and with nothing else left to lose, I had already embarassed myself, I hit the 8 as hard as I could, made it, and the cue ball flew around the table and fortunately didn't scratch. We made the front page of the Billiard News.

When you are not blessed with natural talent, you have to develop other skills. For example, I was playing in Monroe Brock's big tournament in Richmond, KY at the Maverick Club. Keith McCready was my opponent, and we were playing 6 out of 11, short rack 9 ball banks. The score was, Keith 5 games to my zero, when I broke the balls and didn't make anything. Keith banked 4, missed a tough shot for the session ball, and left me hanging in the corner pocket at the foot of the table with no shot. Responding criminally to a hopeless situation, I took a ball out of the ball return box and put it on the spot, giving myself a cross-side. Keith, thinking HE must have broke the balls and made one, didn't bat an eye. I banked 3 from there, played safe, and wound up winning that game and the next 5 to take the session! There were sweators in the bleachers that knew what had happened, and they were writhing in their seats trying to mentally tip Keith off. Later in that first game, Keith counted the balls that were left, and realized that the score didn't add up right. He knew something was wrong, but couldn't put his finger on it. I cooled him out by allowing that no matter what, he still only needed 1 ball, and that was the one thing we were both in agreement about. He also agreed that I banked 3, so what was it we were arguing about? Gamesmanship was my compensation for the discrepancy between Keith and my shot-making skills. Did I feel guilty about it? Nah.

True Road Adventures

I'm gonna post some true adventure road stories for them's that's interested in such.

I was in New Orleans about 10 years ago. On Bourbon St they used to have an off-track betting parlor. It was in a bad section of Bourbon St, it's not there anymore. Desperate to bet horses, I went there anyway. Once inside I realized that it was a real low class operation. Homeless types, bag ladies and various brokes filled the joint. It was the only place I have ever been in whereby you could bet as little as $1 to win. As luck would have it, I got off tremendous winner. By the 4th race I was $4k ahead. I started to get nervous because I suddenly realized just how much 4k would have to mean to people who had less than 5$ in their pockets. I didn't dare go outside alone because the street was dark and dead empty. I called my partner, Wayne Hopkins to come and get me, and bring help. In the meantime a security guard appeared magically after the phone call and confronted me. I figured the guard was gonna say like, "Don't worry sir, We know you got all that money. We protect high-rollers here. I got the gun and I will walk you out."Instead he tells me this, "Listen sir, you are going to have to pull your pants up or leave, we have received complaints from the ladies here." Huh? While I am somewhat famous for originating low-riding jeans and often baring a little crack, the fact that I was singled out for humiliation in this dump, and by a hideous collection of hags was unbelievable. I looked around all over the place and could not find any women who I thought could possibly be offended by anything. Wayne finally showed, and I zoomed, red-faced out of the joint -- never to return.

Article by Pat Putnam in Sports Illustrated, Nov 10 1975, Regarding the Burlington, IA tournament. Quote the great Mike Sigel, "...Without a strong tournament tour, we'll simply never be accepted as anything but pool hustlers."... Fair enough. In fact, just about the only dissenting view, and a mild one at that, came from Freddy the Beard. Early in the week he had stepped into the lobby from the Hotel Burlington elevator, his custom pool cue broken down and fitted snugly into its black leather case. An old railroad type, in engineer's cap and bib overalls, spotted him. The aged gent eyed the case and said, "How's the pheasant hunting going?' Freddy the Beard laughed, "Pops," he said, "this isn't for shooting pheasant. This is for shooting pigeons."

Anonymous said:
Did you ever play Earl Heisler?
The Beard said:
Earl Heisler was one of the few humans I never got down with. I wasnt too anxious to play him anyway. The wet, humid conditions he thrived on in New Orleans was a deterrent to my game. I liked dry tables.

Worst Tables I Ever Played On:(from my interview with Steve Booth of Onepocket.org).

...Yeah, and the equipment was hideous. There was no pocket at a couple of the corners, there was just a hole. They had those high floor model ashtrays, and they'd put them under the pocket and the ball would go plunk and roll around in there. The cloth was patched up with two-inch wide tape; it was an adventure to play on it. That's where I beat my first guy from Bensingers. I used to have to sneak in there (Bensingers) because I was underage. They had this real high counter by the door. So I used to duck by the old guy who worked the counter -- who was about a hundred years old, and sneak off into the back. When I was in the back, about fifty feet away, I'd say 'Turn the lights on,' he didn't know who the hell it was. The balls were already there, and he'd turn the light on and I got in action.When I first started going up there I never won; I'd just try to last. I would try a new guy each time, and each guy would beat me. I kept thinking, man, they've got to run out of guys that can beat me pretty soon, but they never did. So finally I got a couple of them to take a ride out to my joint, Nap's poolroom on 26th street in Chicago. I said, "I'll play you over there." Fortunately, I had such an advantage there it was ridiculous. I played Mexican Johnny Vasquez first. There were tracks for the banks; you just shoot the ball into that track and it would go right down the tape into the pocket. I beat him and he quit. We were only playing for three or four dollars a game. So Johnny quit. Then I played this other hustler, Gus the Greek, and I broke him. He stayed for the whole show. He had taken the bus down and wanted me to give him a quarter to take the bus back to Bensingers, but I let him walk, the son-of-a-b*tch -- that's what they did to me. I'd have to walk from downtown because I didn't have sense enough to ask for bus fare; I was too proud. They'd break me and I'd lose every quarter; I'd make sure I had nothing when I left.

More Worst Tables I Ever Played On:
In the 60s there was an open-air poolroom on South Beach in Miami. It was called, Moe's. It was once an old garage, and it was the only open-air poolroom I ever encountered. To open the joint in the morning, Moe would lift the garage door and leave it wide open. He had about 4 tables and it was right on the street facing the beach. The tables and balls were beyond horrible. The tables were taped and slashed and the balls had big chunks missing from them. Open air and on the ocean, you can imagine the humidity factor. Since I was a broke beach bum at the time, I hung out and hustled there daily. A big game was 25 cents. Here's the kicker, the house man was a champion pool player who could run 100s on these atrocities. His name was "Kokomo" Joe Ross, but he was actually from New York. He broke every human that tried to come through there and play him, including the great Cincinnati Clem Metz. It took me a couple of months to find a backer to move me to Miami proper, and stake me to play in the big action room, Kramer's Cue and Cushion on 79th and Biscayne where Minnesota Fats hung out. (Whereupon I made a big score playing Fayetteville Charley 8 to 7 bank pool) Beach life wasn't all that bad either. I ended up dating Murph the Surf's ex-girlfriend just before he went off the jail.