Signposts
and Junctions
Remembering the Dugout and Larry Lisciotti
Remembering the Dugout and Larry Lisciotti
A teenager discovers the game of pool, and meets the future world champion
I was thirteen years of age when I made my first visit to Manchester,
Connecticut’s own den of iniquity, the pool hall known as the ‘Red Sox
Dugout’, or just the 'Dugout' for short. The year was 1963, and I was in the
seventh grade at the Illing Junior High School. That year I also met the
fine young pool player and future world champion, Larry Lisciotti.
The pool hall had quite a bad reputation among the parents in town. Most
considered the place a haven for hoods and thugs, but the Dugout was not a
hangout for the stereotypical tough of those years, a sneering youth wearing
a leather motorcycle jacket. If you are old enough to remember the days of
the ‘Mods and Rockers’, the Dugout was definitely a ‘Mod’ type of hangout.
The people who gathered and played pool at the Dugout in the mid-1960s were
primarily a well-dressed group who sported penny-loafers, chinos, madras
shirts, and a white London Fog raincoat when required.
On Saturday nights, the older players, those that owned and drove cars,
would stop at the Dugout for a game of pool before heading out on a date.
They typically sported a crisp cotton shirt (usually with a pack of Kools,
Camels, or Lucky Strikes in the front pocket), a pair of leather shoes, and
a nice pair of slacks. A couple of shady characters did frequent the place,
but the regular group was not comprised of the miscreants and degenerates
envisioned by the local ‘Legion of Decency’ do-gooders.
The Dugout was located in the middle of town on one of Manchester’s busiest
intersections, Main and Center Street. A large building with a curved front
sat on the southeast corner and this structure housed several businesses,
including the pool hall, which was located in a basement beneath the Center
Restaurant. The entrance itself was in an alley off Main Street where a set
of cement steps led down to a portal on the right fronted by a large heavy
green door.
The pool hall was a dimly lit world and during the daytime, your eyes needed
a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. Once inside, you stood in a corner
of the basement and the room extended off to the right. Eight pool tables
sat between the large square concrete pillars that stood spaced throughout
the dark cellar. Two lights, with large green metal shades, hung down over
each table to illuminate the felt playing surface below. Several small
rectangular windows with frosted glass were set in the wall of the building
about seven feet above the basement floor, and they allowed a small amount
of light to filter in from the alleyway during the daytime.
From the entrance, a pool table stood just inside and to the right of the
green door. You skirted around this table on the left and then turned right
along a cement wall for a few steps. When the wall ended, a hard left
brought you into the ‘office’, a small open area where the owner, Don
Fitzgerald, conducted business. The office consisted of several small chairs
next to a desk and a cash register, a dim desk lamp, a small TV, and
cabinets filled with the sundry supplies required to operate a pool hall.
On a pillar by each table hung a dark wood box containing four small
shelves, each just big enough to hold cigarettes, lighters, and small
snacks. Attached to the walls were large flat wooden frames that held an
assortment of house cue sticks of various lengths and thickness. The cement
floor was perpetually dirty and dusty. High above one end of each table hung
a string of beads on a heavy metal wire used for scoring straight pool
games; the player used a cue to count and move the beads along the wire.
Stools for spectators sat clustered near the walls of the cellar, and
against the far wall stood several vending machines. One machine was an old
red Coke dispenser with a large flat paddle in the front that, for a dime,
would rotate the circle of soda bottles until a full one appeared at the
opening, a small 8-ounce Coca-Cola in a heavy glass bottle, served ice cold.
Wooden cases for the empty bottles stood stacked against the wall.
The tables were old regulation tournament tables, the playing surface was a
slate rectangle covered with green felt and measured 4 ½ feet wide by 9 feet
long, and the cushions, or side rails, were covered in green felt as well.
Every table had six pockets, one in each of the four corners and one in the
middle of each long rail. The tables all had thick wood bodies and large
legs that were fashioned from a heavy dark-stained lumber made darker by
years of use and tobacco smoke.
I saw various pocket billiard games contested at the Dugout including
straight pool, nine-ball, six ball, one pocket, pill pool, and eight-ball. A
full rack consisted of 15 object balls, seven balls of different solid
colors numbered 1 through 7, seven balls with different colored stripes
numbered 9 through 15, and the black 8 ball. The shooter used a white cue
ball to knock the colored and striped object balls into a pocket.
I started learning about pool by playing 14.1 continuous billiards; also
known as straight pool. This game started with a full rack of fifteen balls
arranged in a wooden triangle that shaped the balls prior to the start of
play. In our straight pool games, the first person to pocket 125 balls was
the winner. Other than a small wager, the bet was usually for ‘Time’, the
rental charge for the table.
The basic strategy was to pocket fourteen object balls and then leave the
last object ball on the table as a break ball. A player then placed the
fourteen-pocketed object balls back on the table within the wooden rack once
again, this time leaving the space at the head of the wooden triangle empty
and placed over the table-spot. Strong players would leave the cue ball and
break ball in 'good position', which meant that when they sank the break
ball, the cue ball caromed into the rack of 14 balls and spread them out on
the table, dispersing them for the shooter who continued on with the play
(hence the term ‘continuous billiards’). Professionals can win a game by
‘running’ (pocketing) 125 balls in succession without allowing the opponent
a chance to score.
I studied other players with a keen eye, especially the ones with talent.
Eventually, I learned how the good shooters approached the game when they
faced each other in a match. I saw how uniquely each used position play and
how, and when, they took chances, and I began to understand both the style
and pace that each individual brought to the table.
One older gentleman, Frank ‘The Bank’ DeVoto, took an early interest in my
game. Frank was a Dugout regular; he was in his seventies and always wore an
old suit along with a well-used fedora that covered a head of sparse white
hair. A cigarette with a long curling ash continually drooped from his lips.
Old Frank took me under his wing and instructed me on some of the pool
game’s finer points: he taught me about bank shots, how to use English
(putting spin on the cue ball), and how to ‘throw’ balls that were touching.
Becoming a better player was a process and I enjoyed the challenge that the
game presented me. Over time, the quality of my game improved and within two
years, I was a top player in my age group and strong enough to challenge
some of the older players at the Dugout in cash games.
During the early years of the sixties, Larry Lisciotti was a regular player
at the Dugout. He was a slim young man with a great sense of humor who
enjoyed a good laugh with his friends. He had intelligent eyes and a
wonderful smile with lips that turned up at the end, lending him a type of
Cheshire cat grin. When money was involved and Larry played in a big game,
those eyes became focused and fierce, like a cat on the prowl. I will always
remember those eyes, and the intensity that shone out from behind them.
He would stand at the table and study a logjam of grouped balls searching
for a hidden combination with great concentration, moving and bending and
changing his viewpoint as he looked intently for the hidden gem, and he
often found one. He had a smooth and beautiful stroke, and a prodigious
break when required. He was a gambler and a pool hustler, and even though he
was young, the stories about his exploits traveling around New England
playing pool were becoming the stuff of legend. His close friends called him
‘Lice’, and they said it with affection and respect.
All through that first year when I was a regular at the Dugout, Larry often
played a Sunday evening game with a young man named John. He was a fine
player in his own right but was not a gambler and had no desire to make pool
the dominant pursuit in his life. Aside from being friends, Larry just
seemed to enjoy the competition. I watched those weekly games at every
opportunity and gained a broad insight into the nuance and strategy inherent
in the game of 14.1 continuous billiards: how the battle ebbed and flowed,
how and when they played safe, and of the determination and confidence
required to see the match through and best your opponent. I also developed a
deep appreciation for the beauty and grace that the great players brought to
the game of straight pool.
John was a strong player but Larry competed at a different level; he was a
juggernaut and regularly added new tools and tricks to his arsenal. And
although Larry was young, he possessed a distinct physical presence when he
stood at the table, a tangible power, and Larry’s opponents needed to combat
this force of will in order to maintain their own poise and self-assurance
during a match.
Another pool hall existed in Manchester during those years and this billiard
hall was a modern facility located in a large well-lit basement under a
restaurant over on Middle Turnpike. This was an upscale pool hall; the
basement was much bigger than the Dugout and it held twice as many tables.
The owner sponsored large ‘open’ tournaments that drew fine players from all
over New England and beyond.
On occasion, other professionals would come into Manchester to challenge
Larry. If they played at the Dugout, the stools would be set out three-deep
around the best table for the crowd to sit on. If the game were in the other
pool hall, we would travel across town to watch Larry play. I enjoyed
watching top shooters compete in such a close and intimate setting, and my
respect and admiration for the game and the best players grew as I came to
understand that, underneath it all was the intensely personal and combative
nature of pocket billiards that was both the essence and the beating heart
of the game of pool.
When I was fifteen, I discovered nine-ball, and the world of pool, and
gambling on pool, changed for me in an instant. The nine-ball game only uses
the balls numbered 1 through 9, with the balls arranged on the table using a
diamond-shaped rack with the 9 ball placed in the center of the other balls.
The object was to sink the 9 ball, and you had to shoot at the other balls
in their numerical order first. You could use a multi-ball combination to
win, which meant that you could hit the 1 ball into the 9 ball and win if
the 9 ball fell into a pocket. Instead of renting a table on ‘Time’, Don
arranged the balls in the small diamond rack and charged a fee of fifteen
cents a game. Nine-ball was a real gambling game and compared to straight
pool, nine-ball was like playing speed chess instead of 2-hour tournament
matches. When many tables were busy with nine-ball games, you would hear
someone yelling "Rack!” almost constantly.
I continued to play and practice as often as possible, and the improvement
in my game was noticeable. Over the years, I became a feared nine-ball
opponent, especially at the Dugout, and the stakes I played for grew in size
as well. I even acquired my own name at the Dugout, the 'Niz'. The word 'Niz',
long a slang word for the 9 ball, now became my nickname. Larry Lisciotti
would watch us play and if I sank the 9 ball on the break, or made one later
with a nice combination, he would smile that Cheshire cat smile of his and
say, "Niz", drawing the name out in a long snake-like hiss of a syllable.
Soon, other shooters began to call me by that name and I had arrived as a
pool player.
During this period I, too, joined the coterie of friends who called Larry by
the name 'Lice', and when I did, I said it with the same respect and
affection as everyone else.
Those were turbulent times and the Dugout, along with the rest of the
country, was not immune to the currents of change that swirled through
America during the period of the late sixties. Drugs, and the violence that
seemed to follow them, were becoming more prevalent throughout society and
the country as a whole, and this scourge affected some of my friends. As the
war in Asia grew, more people visited the dark confines of the Dugout in
uniform. I, too, would join this line of soldiers soon after my graduation
from high school.
In the month before I entered the Army, I had my longest run at straight
pool, forty-five balls. Yet I knew intrinsically that I was not a good
player; all I possessed was enough talent and intelligence to shine in a
small local pool hall like the Dugout.
Then, for almost two years, I found myself separated from the game of pool.
After joining the Army in 1969, I completed six months of training and
followed that with a 30-day leave before departing for a twelve-month tour
of duty overseas. After serving a year in Vietnam, I rotated back to the
States for the remainder of my enlistment, but I never returned to my old
pastime as a regular player. For one thing, my heart was no longer in the
game. I despised the small coin-operated tables that dispensed pool balls in
bars or Army clubs around the country and I hated the game usually played on
those tables, eight-ball. For a while, I missed the game of nine-ball and
the action that went with it, but new possibilities presented themselves and
I turned my attention towards other pursuits. Nevertheless, every now and
then when the conditions were right, I could rise to the occasion and catch
some local pool playing bar stud unaware. I could still do that.
The last time I set foot in the Dugout was early spring in 1971. I was in
Manchester with several Army friends on a short vacation from our unit at
Fort Bragg in North Carolina. While my friends had coffee, I came down the
well-worn set of cement steps one more time and entered the dark room of the
pool hall. I stood inside the door as my eyes adjusted to the darkness; the
place felt warm, comfortable, familiar. Several tables had games in progress
but I did not recognize any players. I walked into the office and Don gave
me a friendly welcome. We chatted for a few minutes about how the pool hall
was doing, and about old times and friends. Then I shook his hand and left.
I never saw Don again.
After the Army, I lived in Connecticut for a dozen years before moving to
New Hampshire. Redevelopment came to Manchester and the town razed the old
building that housed the Dugout. During those years, I crossed Larry's path
only occasionally, but when I saw him, he always greeted me warmly. Friends
would keep me abreast of Larry's exploits and relate tales of his life out
on the road.
Those were good years for Larry. In 1976, he won the World Open Pocket
Billiard Championship, and gained recognition as the world's best 14.1
continuous (straight) pool player. The following year the September issue of
Hustler Magazine profiled his life as a professional player and gambler in
an article written by Jay Levin titled ‘Larry Lisciotti, Pool Hustler’. In
1980, Larry chalked up another major victory when he won the Professional
Pool Players Association Nine-ball Championship.
After living in New Hampshire, I moved to California in 1990 and heard
little more about Larry Lisciotti or his exploits. I did remain connected to
those times however, as even today, I have seven or eight friends scattered
around the country who, when we talk, still call me by the old Dugout name
of ‘Niz’.
In early 2004, my brother mailed me a small obituary he had clipped from a
newspaper back east in Connecticut; it was an obituary for Larry Lisciotti
who had died on February 9. A flood of memories and images of the old
hometown, and of the friends I knew at the Dugout, came cascading back into
my mind. Yet one thing in particular struck me about that small newspaper
piece, something hidden among the words: whoever wrote that obituary had an
appreciation for Larry as a player and as a man, perhaps even loved him.
Various pictures of Larry, and stories of his accomplishments, exist on the
internet. One of my favorite images is the famous ‘Roadrunners’ photograph,
taken in California in 1975 during the Los Angeles Straight Pool
Championship. In that picture, Jim Rempe, Danny DiLiberto, Larry Lisciotti,
and Mike Sigel pose in front of a white Rolls-Royce. Larry leans back on the
car, supported by his right arm, wearing a white sport coat. In that
picture, he is long and thin, handsome, and forever young. It is a beautiful
photograph of a most talented and extraordinary group captured together for
a fleeting instant, a moment in time now immortalized for future
generations of players.
Another great image available on the internet is a picture of Larry's cue, a
beautiful specimen with two ivory inserts near the butt; one insert displays
his signature, the other displays, '~ 1976 ~ 14.1 WORLD CHAMPION'.
You can also find a picture of a young Larry wearing a double-breasted coat
and sporting big hair and an even bigger tie. The prominent feature on this
picture of Larry is that engaging and enigmatic smile, his Cheshire cat
grin.
I can close my eyes and see Larry now, and watch that Cheshire cat smile
morphing into the eyes of a feral cat on the hunt. He was young and handsome
in the Dugout days, and so very talented. There was such a mixture of power
and possibility in the raw beauty of how he played the game back then, the
way he held a cue, how he looked at the table, in the fluidity and grace of
his movements.
There are also the hidden words I see shining through the obituary, and they
are the words I want to use to describe Larry Lisciotti. He was a pool
player and people loved him; he was more than a pool player.
He was beautiful.
Laudizen King
March 9, 2008
Los Angeles, California
Larry Lisciotti
Photo from Wikipedia - identified as public domain
To View Larry Pictures at OnePocket Click Here
The Famous Roadrunners Photograph Click Here
Larry Lisciotti's Cue
Photo courtesy Dick Abbott at billiardcue.com
'Just Passing Thru'
Photo courtesy Leon Thibodeau
(this story first appeared in the Fall 2009 issue of the Wilderness House Literary Review , volume 4/3)