Hustler Days

Hustler Days, R. A. Dyer, ...

In my first house we had an expansive living room. Into that living room we were able to place a pool table with a surprisingly large amount of room. Sure, there were occasions when the cue had to be used in strange and acrobatic configurations, but for the most part any shot you wanted to attempt was there for the taking. And so we learned a little bit...how to put English on the ball to make it kick off to the right or left, how to strike the ball low to create draw or high to create follow. And every so often, someone would go on one of those magical runs where every shot left them another make able shot, pocketing 4, 5, 6 or perhaps even 7 balls at a time. It was a magical feeling.

Reading Hustler Days with its vivid descriptions of how some of the great "hustlers" of the 60s played brought that readily to mind. You could feel the cue sliding through your hand, feel the satisfaction of a well-aimed shot and hear the ball drop into the pocket as he guided you through the careers of Minnesota Fats, Jersey Red, and Wimpy Lassiter.

Dyer clearly has a love for the game of pool and Jersey Red, ambivalent feelings towards Wimpy Lassiter, and an overt, latent dislike for Minnesota Fats. He takes a chapter at a time, bouncing back and forth between the three and giving anecdotes from their careers.

Minnesota Fats dominates the early part of the book. Known by several names, after the release and success of The Hustler (1961) he changed his name from New York Fats to Minnesota Fats and capitalized on numerous similarities between himself and the Jackie Gleason character. The dislike for Fats shines through as Dyer writes on his pool playing abilities. He comes through as someone who can beat any average Joe off the street but who loses to anyone with real talent...the jersey Reds, Wimpy Lassiters, Mosconis, etc. He writes so well that you actually feel the contempt rising from the page.

Meanwhile, his reverence for Jersey Red's game could not be higher. He shows Red as being all but unbeatable even though only once does Red overcome Lassiter in a meaningful game.

Lassiter is on death's door from almost the opening chapter yet manages to scrape out win after win after win...clearly demonstrating his dominance of tournament pool. And there is the rub.

Most of this book is about tournament pool. A couple of times Dyer will relate how the hustles worked...but most of the book deals with the suit and tie or tuxedo wearing world of televised tournament pool. For a book grounded in and centered on hustled pool there is remarkably little about the dirt, filth, and chicanery that are the bread and butter of the pool hustler.

He does develop the feel of pool hustling. In a transparent attempt to create a particular feel Dyer departs from established rules of acceptability for "literature". He freely dispenses F-bombs as casually as the word "pool" throughout the book, transforming it into a rough and tumble bit of reading. This does a nice job of creating an atmosphere although at times it gets a bit distracting.

Eventually he winds down, not so much stopping the story as ending a series of anecdotes because it is about the right number of pages. The writing is crisp, the stories often interesting and entertaining, but the lack of a narrative structure leaves you hungry for some sort of conclusion rather than a simple..."here are three guys who played some pool, here are a few people they ran into, and..." which leaves you asking the question, "and what?"

So even though the writing is at times excellent, this book falls apart due to a vague sense of direction, sad as that is to say. After reading it, I kind of felt like my time had been hustled.