Sometimes People Are More Than They Appear To Be
by Louis Campos
When he died, there weren't any glowing articles written about him. His obituary gave his name, age, and surviving family members and said simply that he was an entrepreneur. He went to college where he played football for legendary coach Bobby Bowden. He came back to his hometown to marry his high school sweetheart and become a successful businessman. He owned several different enterprises but paid his Chamber of Commerce dues under the name of Edwards Package and Bottle Co. For as long as I can remember, Gene "Doodlebug" Edwards called me "Louisa".
But long before he paid his Chamber dues he paid personal dues as the owner of Edwards Pool Room. He ran a pool hall that opened early and closed late. At lunch time the counter would be three deep with customers. The jukebox blared country and rock and sometimes gospel and the smoke hung in the air like curtains in a cheap hotel.
His customers were as varied as their numbers. Some were bankers or lawyers. Some were truck drivers or stonecutters or construction workers. Some were newspaper columnists. Some drove Cadillacs. Some drove pulpwood trucks. Some had both. It was common to see hand rolled cigarettes dangling from the parched lips of old men who had spent too many hours in the backbreaking sun. The lines and wrinkles in their faces read like a sad novel. Some were young bucks that came through the door with a chip on their shoulder, spoiling for a fight so they could make a name for themselves. Some were teenage boys who sat around talking about cars or girls or whatever teenage boys talk about. One was a young Vietnam veteran fresh home from the war. Doodlebug told him, "I know you're not old enough to buy a beer but there's nothing that says I can't give you one. Welcome home. I'm glad you made it back." Each patron had a story to tell and Doodlebug Edwards listened to a thousand hard luck stories a thousand times.
Doodlebug Edwards packed more living into one lifetime than most men could pack into three. He loved a good time that was illustrated by the time a customer left a Volkswagen parked in front of the poolroom. Doodlebug and several other men picked the car up and carried it through the double doors of the poolroom. The next morning he received a call from his father who admonished him, "Get up here and get this car out of here. This is a business not a parking lot!"
In the 40 plus years I knew him we had words only once. I said something vulgar in front of his wife and he told me he didn't appreciate it. I apologized.
I suppose Gene "Doodlebug" Edwards' life was like a dollar bill. Everyone knows who's on the front but seldom know what's on the back. Some people look down their nose at men who run a poolroom and also the men who frequent such places. Maybe a dollar made on a bottle of wine sold in a fancy club seems less sinful than a dollar made on a bottle of wine from a poolroom. A cork is more stylish than a twist off cap.
Doodlebug gave money to local charities behind the scenes because he knew some people would say money made in a poolroom was "dirty". He sold a building for half of its worth to a local church that needed it. He hired young college students who couldn't find a summer job. He gave jobs to men who had fallen through the cracks of life and had to have a little "taste" early in the morning to "settle" their nerves. He loaned money to men who couldn't borrow a dime any place else.
Someone once said, "The true measure of a man is how he treats people who can do him absolutely no good." Two patrons of the poolroom were old men and it was obvious life had beaten them severely. One played the same song on the jukebox over and over and over again. When he had heard the song enough he would say, "My life don't mean no more to me than a walk to that telephone. I'm gonna call her. She'll come back." No one ever knew who "she" was but she never came back. The other was the one they called "Deacon". Maybe somewhere in his past he had been a deacon before something or someone pushed him over the edge. It was always rumored he had been a senator. He came to the poolroom daily wearing a dirty, tattered sport coat and carried a tablet on which he wrote the same poem over and over and over again. Sometimes Doodlebug would feed him a free meal. I never saw him be unkind to either man.
Do men who run poolrooms have a chance at heaven when they die? I don't know. I really don't. That's not my call to make. What I do know is this: Doodlebug Edwards was a friend to me and a lot of other men. We shared a lot of laughs and some good times. Some of his friends are going to miss him a lot. Some of us already do.
by Louis Campos
When he died, there weren't any glowing articles written about him. His obituary gave his name, age, and surviving family members and said simply that he was an entrepreneur. He went to college where he played football for legendary coach Bobby Bowden. He came back to his hometown to marry his high school sweetheart and become a successful businessman. He owned several different enterprises but paid his Chamber of Commerce dues under the name of Edwards Package and Bottle Co. For as long as I can remember, Gene "Doodlebug" Edwards called me "Louisa".
But long before he paid his Chamber dues he paid personal dues as the owner of Edwards Pool Room. He ran a pool hall that opened early and closed late. At lunch time the counter would be three deep with customers. The jukebox blared country and rock and sometimes gospel and the smoke hung in the air like curtains in a cheap hotel.
His customers were as varied as their numbers. Some were bankers or lawyers. Some were truck drivers or stonecutters or construction workers. Some were newspaper columnists. Some drove Cadillacs. Some drove pulpwood trucks. Some had both. It was common to see hand rolled cigarettes dangling from the parched lips of old men who had spent too many hours in the backbreaking sun. The lines and wrinkles in their faces read like a sad novel. Some were young bucks that came through the door with a chip on their shoulder, spoiling for a fight so they could make a name for themselves. Some were teenage boys who sat around talking about cars or girls or whatever teenage boys talk about. One was a young Vietnam veteran fresh home from the war. Doodlebug told him, "I know you're not old enough to buy a beer but there's nothing that says I can't give you one. Welcome home. I'm glad you made it back." Each patron had a story to tell and Doodlebug Edwards listened to a thousand hard luck stories a thousand times.
Doodlebug Edwards packed more living into one lifetime than most men could pack into three. He loved a good time that was illustrated by the time a customer left a Volkswagen parked in front of the poolroom. Doodlebug and several other men picked the car up and carried it through the double doors of the poolroom. The next morning he received a call from his father who admonished him, "Get up here and get this car out of here. This is a business not a parking lot!"
In the 40 plus years I knew him we had words only once. I said something vulgar in front of his wife and he told me he didn't appreciate it. I apologized.
I suppose Gene "Doodlebug" Edwards' life was like a dollar bill. Everyone knows who's on the front but seldom know what's on the back. Some people look down their nose at men who run a poolroom and also the men who frequent such places. Maybe a dollar made on a bottle of wine sold in a fancy club seems less sinful than a dollar made on a bottle of wine from a poolroom. A cork is more stylish than a twist off cap.
Doodlebug gave money to local charities behind the scenes because he knew some people would say money made in a poolroom was "dirty". He sold a building for half of its worth to a local church that needed it. He hired young college students who couldn't find a summer job. He gave jobs to men who had fallen through the cracks of life and had to have a little "taste" early in the morning to "settle" their nerves. He loaned money to men who couldn't borrow a dime any place else.
Someone once said, "The true measure of a man is how he treats people who can do him absolutely no good." Two patrons of the poolroom were old men and it was obvious life had beaten them severely. One played the same song on the jukebox over and over and over again. When he had heard the song enough he would say, "My life don't mean no more to me than a walk to that telephone. I'm gonna call her. She'll come back." No one ever knew who "she" was but she never came back. The other was the one they called "Deacon". Maybe somewhere in his past he had been a deacon before something or someone pushed him over the edge. It was always rumored he had been a senator. He came to the poolroom daily wearing a dirty, tattered sport coat and carried a tablet on which he wrote the same poem over and over and over again. Sometimes Doodlebug would feed him a free meal. I never saw him be unkind to either man.
Do men who run poolrooms have a chance at heaven when they die? I don't know. I really don't. That's not my call to make. What I do know is this: Doodlebug Edwards was a friend to me and a lot of other men. We shared a lot of laughs and some good times. Some of his friends are going to miss him a lot. Some of us already do.
Sometimes People Are More Than They Appear To Be
by Louis Campos
When he died, there weren't any glowing articles written about him. His obituary gave his name, age, and surviving family members and said simply that he was an entrepreneur. He went to college where he played football for legendary coach Bobby Bowden. He came back to his hometown to marry his high school sweetheart and become a successful businessman. He owned several different enterprises but paid his Chamber of Commerce dues under the name of Edwards Package and Bottle Co. For as long as I can remember, Gene "Doodlebug" Edwards called me "Louisa".
But long before he paid his Chamber dues he paid personal dues as the owner of Edwards Pool Room. He ran a pool hall that opened early and closed late. At lunch time the counter would be three deep with customers. The jukebox blared country and rock and sometimes gospel and the smoke hung in the air like curtains in a cheap hotel.
His customers were as varied as their numbers. Some were bankers or lawyers. Some were truck drivers or stonecutters or construction workers. Some were newspaper columnists. Some drove Cadillacs. Some drove pulpwood trucks. Some had both. It was common to see hand rolled cigarettes dangling from the parched lips of old men who had spent too many hours in the backbreaking sun. The lines and wrinkles in their faces read like a sad novel. Some were young bucks that came through the door with a chip on their shoulder, spoiling for a fight so they could make a name for themselves. Some were teenage boys who sat around talking about cars or girls or whatever teenage boys talk about. One was a young Vietnam veteran fresh home from the war. Doodlebug told him, "I know you're not old enough to buy a beer but there's nothing that says I can't give you one. Welcome home. I'm glad you made it back." Each patron had a story to tell and Doodlebug Edwards listened to a thousand hard luck stories a thousand times.
Doodlebug Edwards packed more living into one lifetime than most men could pack into three. He loved a good time that was illustrated by the time a customer left a Volkswagen parked in front of the poolroom. Doodlebug and several other men picked the car up and carried it through the double doors of the poolroom. The next morning he received a call from his father who admonished him, "Get up here and get this car out of here. This is a business not a parking lot!"
In the 40 plus years I knew him we had words only once. I said something vulgar in front of his wife and he told me he didn't appreciate it. I apologized.
I suppose Gene "Doodlebug" Edwards' life was like a dollar bill. Everyone knows who's on the front but seldom know what's on the back. Some people look down their nose at men who run a poolroom and also the men who frequent such places. Maybe a dollar made on a bottle of wine sold in a fancy club seems less sinful than a dollar made on a bottle of wine from a poolroom. A cork is more stylish than a twist off cap.
Doodlebug gave money to local charities behind the scenes because he knew some people would say money made in a poolroom was "dirty". He sold a building for half of its worth to a local church that needed it. He hired young college students who couldn't find a summer job. He gave jobs to men who had fallen through the cracks of life and had to have a little "taste" early in the morning to "settle" their nerves. He loaned money to men who couldn't borrow a dime any place else.
Someone once said, "The true measure of a man is how he treats people who can do him absolutely no good." Two patrons of the poolroom were old men and it was obvious life had beaten them severely. One played the same song on the jukebox over and over and over again. When he had heard the song enough he would say, "My life don't mean no more to me than a walk to that telephone. I'm gonna call her. She'll come back." No one ever knew who "she" was but she never came back. The other was the one they called "Deacon". Maybe somewhere in his past he had been a deacon before something or someone pushed him over the edge. It was always rumored he had been a senator. He came to the poolroom daily wearing a dirty, tattered sport coat and carried a tablet on which he wrote the same poem over and over and over again. Sometimes Doodlebug would feed him a free meal. I never saw him be unkind to either man.
Do men who run poolrooms have a chance at heaven when they die? I don't know. I really don't. That's not my call to make. What I do know is this: Doodlebug Edwards was a friend to me and a lot of other men. We shared a lot of laughs and some good times. Some of his friends are going to miss him a lot. Some of us already do.
by Louis Campos
When he died, there weren't any glowing articles written about him. His obituary gave his name, age, and surviving family members and said simply that he was an entrepreneur. He went to college where he played football for legendary coach Bobby Bowden. He came back to his hometown to marry his high school sweetheart and become a successful businessman. He owned several different enterprises but paid his Chamber of Commerce dues under the name of Edwards Package and Bottle Co. For as long as I can remember, Gene "Doodlebug" Edwards called me "Louisa".
But long before he paid his Chamber dues he paid personal dues as the owner of Edwards Pool Room. He ran a pool hall that opened early and closed late. At lunch time the counter would be three deep with customers. The jukebox blared country and rock and sometimes gospel and the smoke hung in the air like curtains in a cheap hotel.
His customers were as varied as their numbers. Some were bankers or lawyers. Some were truck drivers or stonecutters or construction workers. Some were newspaper columnists. Some drove Cadillacs. Some drove pulpwood trucks. Some had both. It was common to see hand rolled cigarettes dangling from the parched lips of old men who had spent too many hours in the backbreaking sun. The lines and wrinkles in their faces read like a sad novel. Some were young bucks that came through the door with a chip on their shoulder, spoiling for a fight so they could make a name for themselves. Some were teenage boys who sat around talking about cars or girls or whatever teenage boys talk about. One was a young Vietnam veteran fresh home from the war. Doodlebug told him, "I know you're not old enough to buy a beer but there's nothing that says I can't give you one. Welcome home. I'm glad you made it back." Each patron had a story to tell and Doodlebug Edwards listened to a thousand hard luck stories a thousand times.
Doodlebug Edwards packed more living into one lifetime than most men could pack into three. He loved a good time that was illustrated by the time a customer left a Volkswagen parked in front of the poolroom. Doodlebug and several other men picked the car up and carried it through the double doors of the poolroom. The next morning he received a call from his father who admonished him, "Get up here and get this car out of here. This is a business not a parking lot!"
In the 40 plus years I knew him we had words only once. I said something vulgar in front of his wife and he told me he didn't appreciate it. I apologized.
I suppose Gene "Doodlebug" Edwards' life was like a dollar bill. Everyone knows who's on the front but seldom know what's on the back. Some people look down their nose at men who run a poolroom and also the men who frequent such places. Maybe a dollar made on a bottle of wine sold in a fancy club seems less sinful than a dollar made on a bottle of wine from a poolroom. A cork is more stylish than a twist off cap.
Doodlebug gave money to local charities behind the scenes because he knew some people would say money made in a poolroom was "dirty". He sold a building for half of its worth to a local church that needed it. He hired young college students who couldn't find a summer job. He gave jobs to men who had fallen through the cracks of life and had to have a little "taste" early in the morning to "settle" their nerves. He loaned money to men who couldn't borrow a dime any place else.
Someone once said, "The true measure of a man is how he treats people who can do him absolutely no good." Two patrons of the poolroom were old men and it was obvious life had beaten them severely. One played the same song on the jukebox over and over and over again. When he had heard the song enough he would say, "My life don't mean no more to me than a walk to that telephone. I'm gonna call her. She'll come back." No one ever knew who "she" was but she never came back. The other was the one they called "Deacon". Maybe somewhere in his past he had been a deacon before something or someone pushed him over the edge. It was always rumored he had been a senator. He came to the poolroom daily wearing a dirty, tattered sport coat and carried a tablet on which he wrote the same poem over and over and over again. Sometimes Doodlebug would feed him a free meal. I never saw him be unkind to either man.
Do men who run poolrooms have a chance at heaven when they die? I don't know. I really don't. That's not my call to make. What I do know is this: Doodlebug Edwards was a friend to me and a lot of other men. We shared a lot of laughs and some good times. Some of his friends are going to miss him a lot. Some of us already do.
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