If you read last week’s Seedlings, you remember it was about an elderly man who was living on the streets, whom we helped with a bus ticket, in order to reach his daughter’s home in a small Kansas town.
You will also recall that while on the streets, he ran into trouble with some younger homeless men who stole some of his personal belongings. In light of this, he was desperate when he walked in our doors.
While driving him to the bus station, I learned he was a widower with several children, having worked his entire life in the construction industry. As is the case for many Americans, he is without a retirement plan or IRA, relying solely on his social security which is between $300-400 a month – certainly not enough to live on, hence the reason for his homelessness.
Admitting that his homelessness has been intermittent, I wondered what additional income he relied on through the years after retiring.
“Father, I am a pool player,” he said. “My game is eight ball. I have been playing for 65 years, since the age of 10.”
I immediately thought of the pool table a generous family donated to the rectory at North American Martyrs Parish (NAM) in Lincoln. Having not played for more than 30 years, my game is atrocious. The man admitted traveling from town to town, looking for games at local bars and pool halls for years, cleaning up. But his gigs only lasted so long once the other players figured him out.
Wondering if I was being ‘hustled,’ in the conversation, I asked him for specifics. His answer was a blend of physics and geometry. He even described how to put proper spin on the ball, keeping it near the center of the table or near the next ball to be aimed at.
Knowing I needed professional help in order to beat Father Brian Connor, the pastor of NAM, I asked him for some tips. His advice was to mark each ball with a little lipstick after lining up the shot.
‘How brilliant,’ I thought. But then I came to my senses and realized I could never walk into a department store to buy lipstick… who would believe me if I said it was for billiards? And if a woman purchased it for me, if asked, she would have to admit who it was for, and no one would believe her either. And even if I did have a hidden stick, if I had a heart attack and died, the Chancellor, Father Daniel Rayer, would find it in my bedroom and call Bishop Conley, and what would he think?
I just have to resign myself to being forever a mediocre pool (and chess) player, living in a rectory with the master!
