This essay was copied from the following website:
http://www.irememberhamlet.com/poolroom.html
Atkinson's Pool Room
1950's
by Russ Lancaster
In the 1950's, if you were a teen aged boy, there was a rite
of passage you were afforded whether rich or poor and more importantly,
you could go through this ritual of becoming a man even before
obtaining a driver's license. So, somewhere between the ages of
14 - 16, a friend or acquaintance of yours would come to you and
say, "Let's go to the pool room".
It was a question you had known would come but never gave much
thought to. It could come from your best friend or just another
guy. That was part of the thrill. An invitation by a peer to go
to a place your parents had warned you about. A forbidden fruit
that could no more be denied than when Eve was first tempted.
You were afraid to take the bait but ashamed to refuse. You went.
Before reading further, rest assured that the parents' fear of
your going there was no more warranted than your expectation of
what you really expected to be there. You kept this a secret from
you parents but only to appease them. There was nothing there
to be feared.
Atkinsons was located on Main Street between the railroad tracks
and Raleigh street with an innocent "beauty parlor"
on one side and Graham's Feed and Seed on the other. There was
also a back entrance off a dirt road that ran behind all the businesses
on that side of Main Street down to the train station. Both men
and boys alike used the back entrance by day and only the bravest
men used the Main Street entrance even by night. Such a mysterious
place this was.
My first visit came at the invitation of a classmate of mine,
Sidney Merchant. We were neither good friends nor did we even
share the same values. But it was MY invitation. It came in the
first semester of 10th grade when we were both 15. That fall day,
as we were leaving school, he and I met by chance and he invited
me to go with him. He had been there before and needed someone
to go with him. It was a place you went with someone, not alone.
Unless you were an adult.
We walked down and entered the back way described above. It was
a gigantic, dimly lit, open room with huge chairs, a wooden floor,
spittoons and a few steam radiators hissing out damp heat. There
were racks of pool sticks along each wall, chalk dispensers for
clammy hands, hanging totes to keep track of your games and four
full sized Brunswick pool tables with leather pockets. Above each
table there was a special hooded light designed to light the only
the pool table without infringing on the surrounding dimness.
There were mostly men at the front two tables, the third was
empty and Sidney and I soon occupied the fourth table at the back
of the room. Mr. Atkinson walked down where we were to rack the
balls and start our count of games (a dime each at that time,
loser pays all).
Mr. Atkinson was of short stature and stooped slightly forward.
His white hair was mostly covered by his ever present baseball
cap and sensing my fear, soon put me to ease with his kind and
friendly voice. Then came my first shock.
Sidney asked me if I knew how to play pool. Duh! How could I
know such a thing? I had never even seen a pool table before that
day. But, he gave me the basic rules on how to play "eight
ball", the most popular game of the times and I was soon
playing, though not very well. This was destined to be a short
day because I only had 40 cents, enough for 3 games and a 6 cent
Dr. Pepper soft drink. My basic instructions were how NOT to tear
the velvet cover of the table and how NOT to bring attention to
myself. I learned fast and well.
The adults kept away from us and the few conversations we could
hear dealt with sports. Mostly baseball back in those times as
it was indeed America's pastime. In fact, Mr. Atkinson usually
had the big old radio turned on the the Mutual Broadcasting System
game of the day. There is another story there that will be posted
here one day. Anyway, as I was saying, the adults conversations
were just about the same as ours except they were much better
informed. A few kids our age wandered in before we left and they
were quite amused at how badly I played but play I had and I had
passed the ritual with no visible harmful affects. I never told
my Mom until this year (42 years after the incident) that I had
been there. She might read this some day and I like to keep no
secrets from her (especially those she will find out anyway).
So the mystery of Atkinson's Pool Room was solved. There was
no mystery except in our own minds in our own small town in America
in the 1950's. Life should be so easy now as we approach the year
2000. The kids of today and their parents should have no worry
worse than that of the innocent but talked about pool room in
Hamlet NC in the fifties.
Mr. Atkinson would later retire somewhere in the late seventies
or early eighties and his son, Bobby would take over the business.
He turned the front area into a bar (there was no beer served
there when his Dad ran the business). But he left the pool room
area itself much like it had been for decades before.
**update** 1999: I returned to Hamlet in June of '99 to revisit
some of the places I write about, Atkinson's Pool Room being one
of them. It still exists but no longer is a pool room. The magnificent
tables old Hill Atkinson had brought to Hamlet are no longer there
to be enjoyed. The high back old chairs, the chalk containers,
the radiators, the overhead lamps.... all are gone. This place
is now a bar with a few high tech games and pinball machines.
The folks that go there now will have to remember it as it once
was if they were lucky enough to have been there when Hill Atkinson
was around. It just isn't the same anymore......
But, I Remember Hamlet..... and I remember Atkinson's Pool Room
as it was in its glory. .
Copyright © 1996 - 2002
Russ Lancaster
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