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Stuck in the past, without a future

By ELIJAH GOSIER
Published August 6, 2006

It wasn't evident in the crowd gathered at Cactus Charlie's Lounge in St. Petersburg Monday night. The size and enthusiasm were rare at such events.

In the faces or demeanor of the competitors, anxiety erased other emotion from their eyes as nervousness took grace out of their motions.

Nothing about the crowd or the competitors said they were witnessing an institution on its last breath - that they were watching the St. Petersburg Pool League die.

Nothing - unless you sought out Lander Clements or Laurence Coles or Robert Harris.

Look there and you could see that this was not just about a bunch of pool players competing in a league, even if it was a quarterfinal match for this year's league champion.

This was about art and science, and culture, and even a bit of psychology and sociology.

The St. Petersburg Pool League was founded about 30 years ago - Harris, league president, couldn't say with certainty whether it began in 1976 or 1978, though he was sure that Sam Epps was the founder. It began at a time when the city's nightlife and taverns mirrored the segregation that defined the rest of the city.

Until that point, black pool players who wanted to play in a league had no choice. They couldn't very well play for teams sponsored by places that wouldn't let them in the door.

The league prospered during the heyday of the area of the city previously known as the Southside. But that name became so stigmatized that when City Hall took an interest in sprucing up the area, it renamed it the more euphemistic Midtown.

The area remains predominantly black. In the mid to late 1970s, it was exclusively black. Black businesses flourished with the support of a corralled black population. Bars and taverns that catered to black patrons profited from the city's segregationist boundaries.

"Every big-name black band in the country came to play at the (landmark) Manhattan," said Lander Clements, 79-year-old captain of the Cactus Charlie's team, in a refrain that's being heard more often in recent years as black people seek to regain the sense of community and values that seem to have been subverted. He said the casualties of the rush to desegregate may have outweighed the gains.

"We didn't just lose bars" on which the pool league relies, he said. He said other valuable, irreplaceable institutions were lost when accessibility dispersed the Southside's dollars and loyalties.

Clements branched out two years ago to play in the American Poolplayers Association, the most popular of the nationally sanctioned leagues. He said he prefers the rules and format of the APA over those of the St. Petersburg league.

The St. Pete league is essentially barroom pool. The other leagues adhere, with minor deviations, to a set of internationally standardized rules.

Laurence Coles, who was the first black player in Pinellas County to play in the previously all-white leagues, also prefers the nationally sanctioned leagues' rules. He chooses his words carefully to take the comparison a step further.

"This league seems intent on staying in the past. It's one of the few places that don't play ball-in-hand," he said. Ball-in-hand is a staple of the game in organized competition. It punishes sloppy or unskilled shots by allowing the opponent to place the cue ball anywhere on the table to set up his next shot.

In the St. Pete league, there is no penalty. The player merely ends his turn at the table. The lack of penalty eliminates skillful defense as a tactic in the game. There is no reward.

Still choosing words carefully, reluctantly, Coles, widely recognized as one of the top players in the area, advanced his observations. "Black players don't seem to appreciate the art of the game. Most black players seem to take it as bar pool - drink a beer, play a game of pool, then go home. The best pool players are ethnicities other than black. To start competing at higher levels, they have to take it to a higher level."

He said the difference between the St. Petersburg league and the others is like comparing an amateur with a professional. He returned to compete in the league only after Clements asked him to join his team.

He wishes that more black players would join the larger, better leagues, which afford chances to win trips to compete in Las Vegas, along with cash prizes locally for winners.

Harris, the St. Petersburg League president, on the other hand, is pondering ways to boost his dipping membership.

The 16 teams that were in the league when his tenure started are down to six. Unless he can recruit new teams, that will likely drop to five for the next year of competition.

Harris said he wants to keep the league geographically focused in the Midtown area, but he says he intends to invite some of the bars with predominantly white patronage to join the league.

His task is daunting. He favors the current format - 10 players per team playing one game per match - while players who have experienced other leagues detest it.

He prefers to keep the rules unchanged, but to appeal to masses of players he would have to change his rules drastically.

More than likely, the St. Petersburg Pool League will pass away in its sleep in the next couple of years. Another institution lost from Midtown.

At Cactus Charlie's Monday night, the home team won when the Elks had no player for the eighth match and had to forfeit.

It was an unfortunate ending for the supporters gathered to watch the match, but perhaps appropriate.

Sometimes it is merciful to pull the plug. And it's always hard to know whether to mourn or celebrate.

[Last modified August 5, 2006, 19:36:31]