Baldwyn Businesses – Palmer’s Pool Room

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By Robert Palmer

The photo above is from the early 50s. Daddy (Mr. Haddon Palmer) is the one that is second from the right holding a cue with his left hand on the table. I don't have any idea who the others are but it would be fun to find out. One person that worked for him was Rob Bolton. I have no idea if he's in this picture or not.

Daddy always ran a "clean" place, made sure that no rough stuff went on. People would drop kids off as they went to shop and come back and pick them up later knowing that they would be safe and looked after. I can well remember walking up the sidewalk between Mr. Claude's theater and the pool room when the street was so crowded that you'd have to weave around people and occasionally get in the street. Automobile traffic was at a crawl because of so many people.

The pool tables in this picture are either Brunswick or A.E. Schmidt tables. I think that they are the latter, but 2 or 3 manufacturers made similar tables. They are definitely not the ones we made. Daddy started making tables in about 54' or 55' so this picture pre-dates that.

Notice in the picture that the scoring beads ran the full length of the building. Usually the snooker tables were at the front. I don't know if this is the front table or not. Best I can tell from the picture it is a pool table, not a snooker table. It cost more to play snooker because it was a much slower game.

The way you determined how many tables you could get in a room was the cue length (57") from the nose of the cushion on one table to the edge of the next table or possibly a little less. Even if your cue had to go over the edge of the next table (a straight across shot) usually you would not be in the way of the players on the next table. Every inch counted. The more tables you could get in a room, the more games you could have at a time, hence, more revenue! It was a bargain at a dime a game.

"RACK IN THE BACK, JACK!"

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Related reading: Click on "Pool Hall Baby" in the box below, then scroll down and read Jo Carolyn's story.

Pool Hall Baby

by Jo Carolyn Anderson Beebe

The people in the town where I was born were hard-working, trustworthy, and caring. Some might say they lived a life of simple innocence—never locking doors, inviting traveling salesmen into their homes, and leaving their babies in pool halls.

When my mother went shopping, she would often drop me off at the pool hall where I would rule the parlor from my vantage point in the middle of a pool table. The proprietor was also the rural mail carrier and a good friend of my parents. I don't remember this of course, but I can imagine Mr. Palmer surrounding me with billiard balls which I rolled into the side pockets. From time to time, Mother would walk by and sneak a look through the plate glass window to see if I was okay.

When I was older, of course, I was never allowed to go inside the pool hall. By the time I was six or seven, the pool hall became a den of iniquity and remained so until I was a teenager, and we moved away. The same men hung out there, as they did when I was holding court; however, they now were labeled drunks and loafers, and the dandies with the bow ties went by another name.

Now if it seems that my mother was irresponsible for leaving me in the pool hall with the above mentioned men, nothing could be farther from the truth. Those men respected my mother and cherished me and would have fought each other to protect me from anything vile or harmful. And when I saw them at church on Sunday, I saw my friends.

There was another store where Mother found eager babysitters—Gordon's Department Store, staffed by Mr. M. Gordon, Mrs. Gordon, and Mr. Luster Williamson. Mr. Gordon was a Jewish immigrant from Russia. He and his wife and their son, Phil, were the only Jews in town, but no one ever seemed to think about that. Those folks loved for Mother and me to come into their store, and Mother said they argued over who was going to hold me. They would tell Mother to go do her shopping. They would take care of me. I can vaguely remember strutting around on the counters as if I was on a stage. Being dressed in copies of Shirley Temple dresses made by Mother probably prompted such showing off.

By the time I was nine or ten, my favorite babysitters were Mr. and Mrs. Claude Gentry. These were the years when Daddy worked at Oak Ridge, Tennessee, helping construct the atomic energy facility. At the time, no one knew its purpose. The men just knew the government was paying their salaries. So anyway, if Mother had a women's evening meeting at church, she would have me walk to town to go to the picture show. Mr. Gentry owned the Ritz Theater, and Mrs. Gentry sold the tickets. Mr. Gentry always stood by the ticket booth, and if he didn't think the movie was appropriate for kids, he wouldn't let us buy a ticket. I remember going back to the church in tears because he wouldn't let me see "Forever Amber." But if the movie was okay, I stayed happily for the previews, RKO News, a cartoon or short subject, and the feature show. Mother would usually be waiting for me in the lobby, but if she wasn't there, Mr. and Mrs. Gentry would watch after me until she arrived.

There are many reasons for not going back to the good old days, but memories of the days of simple innocence bring a longing in my heart.