In the opening of the musical The Music Man, huckster and con man “Professor” Harold Hill convinces the town’s people of River City that the vice of a newly-arrived billiard table in their community meant trouble. (If you haven’t seen The Music Man, The Simpsons’ Marge vs. the Monorail episode was based on it.)
Harold Hill, the Music Man, sang,
“Oh, ya got lots and lots o’ trouble
“I’m thinkin’ of the kids in the knickerbockers shirttails,
“Young ones peekin’ in the pool hall window after school
“Ya got trouble, folks, right here in River City
“With a capital ‘T’ and that rhymes with ‘P’ and that
“Stands for ‘pool’”
My, have things changed.
I was in Saskatoon recently, and having a free evening to spare, I went and shot some pool at my favourite billiard hall from my university days, 20 years ago. Precious little had changed. They even had an old CRT style TV in one corner. There, I and my opposition, with our fat waists and double chins, looked like escapees from the old folks’ home, compared to the 16-to-22 year-olds that populated much of the premises. That didn’t bother us too much as we racked the balls and then proved we’re both really out of practice.
About two games in I looked up and glanced around. I realized that, unlike in 1995, I could see across the room, since no one smokes in pool halls anymore. I could breathe clearly, which was a nice change. I didn’t have to throw my clothes immediately in the wash upon getting home. But then I noticed something that took my breath away in another manner.
Of the 40-odd young people I saw in my line of sight, only one at any given time was hunched over, looking at his smartphone, presumably communicating with someone not present. Everywhere else this odd thing occurred – people talked to each other, spoke eye-to-eye; smiled even. The girls were flirting with the boys. The boys were strutting their stuff, trying to impress those same girls. They were living in the moment, in the present, with the people around them.
That almost never, ever happens any more.
This was something that used to really bug my sister Melanie. She would say that no one talks anymore. They’d rather play on their phones or text other people not there than interact with those around them. It really upset her, be-cause she was not like that. She had missed the social media boat and preferred to be personable.
My grandfather at one point ran a pool hall, or so I am told. Once, while visiting me in Saskatoon, I challenged him to a game. He wiped the floor with me. I had never been so whipped in a game so quickly in my life. It was one of my favourite memories of him, because we were doing some-thing together.
I don’t know if pool halls these days are considered dens if inequity. They’re not as common anymore. Other than a small handful in a few of the bars in Estevan, there is no pool hall that I’ve found.
Harold Hill sang,
“Oh, think, my friends, how can any pool table
“Ever hope to compete with a gold trombone?”
Well, I don’t know how many people carry gold trombones in their pockets, but it seems a pool table can stand up to texting, WhatsApp, Instagram, Twitter and Facebook quite nicely.
