Solids or Stripes?

Question: what the hell was so cool about playin’ pool? Was it the lure of the thick, Camel-filter laden smog that singed your eyes? Or perhaps the foul aroma emanating from some redneck in a tank top?? I can’t pinpoint it. But in the early nineties (right I guess about the time everybody started wearing shit kickers and belt buckles the size of my shoe) any and every local business that either specialized in billiards or just had a few warped tables was the place to be.

Okay first off, a Karns classic. Any joker that paid his or her respects to the mighty beaver will remember good ‘ole Benji’s Jr. Market and Deli (I think that’s the right name. My long term memory is scary) in front of Ball Camp Elementary. Now fess up how many times did you ditch school, (knowing you would have the obligatory Dennis McMahan recorded truancy spiel waiting for you on the answering machine) run to THE Hardee’s for a quick bite of breakfast, and head back to Benji’s for a quick game of pool on one of those shitty tables with cigarette burns? If you were lucky, maybe you could get Hodge (pronounced HODD-Gee) or one of his family members to sell you a pack of Marlboros (different days, different results). You could go to that joint at any given hour and see some idiot you knew playing nine ball thinking they were Paul Newman in The Color of Money. Of course, other “commerce” went down at the place--WE ALL ARE FAMILIAR WITH THAT--but mainly Benji’s was a place for teenage punks to go hang out and play a cheap game of pool.

Down a ways off Cedar Bluff, tucked away in what is now pretty much a useless strip of random shops, was Peggy and Bill's (ummm..restaurant??). Okay now this outfit wasn't as popular as Benji's, but it was still great none the less--for reasons I'm not quite sure of. Novice players would find the same old sub par tables residing at Benji's--you know, with dips and rivets galore--so it's not as if you were going for the quality of the equipment . It was kind of a shady joint too--looked like they might have had a gambling racket in the back there--that was sorely lacking in regular clientele. Seriously I don't ever recall seeing anybody in the place except high school kids--sometimes eating burgers and fries--but mainly playing pool in the "arcade." How this joint was discovered is beyond me. And why it became popular for a while is even more perplexing. Personally, I think during this time guys were just trying to find places with tables that hadn't been exposed to the bulk of the teenage crowd yet. Rest assured, however, once word spread about a NEW place to play, it wasn't long before you would pull up and see some jag-off's car parked outside. Sigh.


There were several others that deserve a line--like Prince's Deli and Leisure World-- but due to time constraints I'll have to use the last mention for a place near and dear to the heart: The billiards bliss known simply as Brunswick. Not only could you play by the hour on their 20 or so tables, you could also play dated , (not quite yet retro) worn-out video games like Rolling Thunder and Outrun. Hopefully, you had singles for change, because the asshole that worked the counter always got pissed off you when you made him get up and break a 5 (I mean, after all we were keeping him from the latest copy of Pro Wrestling Illustrated). Now it was either here or Leisure World where you would go if you really thought you were actually a pretty good player (you know chalking up after every shot with your whitish talcum-powdered hands as you coolly surveyed the layout of the table). Then you would precede to get your ass handed to you by a much wiser cue, who enjoyed taking money from teenagers who worked crappy fast food jobs (not that there was GAMBLING or anything allowed at such high-quality family entertainment centers). Regardless, if for nothing else, Brunswick was my personal favorite because of the wide spaces you had in between the tables. As we all know, there was NOTHING worse than bumping up against some smelly fat ass attemping a behind-the-back.

In my day I guess I was a pretty decent shot who was a little above average on my best nights. I could just never finish! I would be up three or four shots , start to get a bit cocky, shank some easy shots, and proceed to get waxed the rest of the match. I guess it was fun to play , and especially fun to win money (we would play big stakes---one, maybe even two dollars per game), but I just think of all the time that I, and countless others like myself, wasted leaning over a felt table. Oh well. Rack ‘em up.

Knoxville Urban Legends........

It seems to me that we had a few bogus myths when I was in high school about certain places that were supposedly haunted. A high school tall tale sprouts wings and flies very quickly--as we all know--and has plenty of bullshit stacked on top along the way.

In my mind, the urban myth that stands out the most is the so-called Hart House. It has long been demolished, but it used to stand on (amazingly) Hart Road, off the Farragut end of Northshore between Concord Rd and Ebenezer. The story goes that Mr. Hart killed his family and then hung himself (or was it shot himself) on Valentine's Day. Hmmmm. I'm sure everybody that knows about this joint has heard a slightly (or completely) different account. Well, in the age of google anyway, one would think that something as HORRIFIC as this would be detailed thoroughly and readily available on countless web pages. Nope. Now, I know it's a load of crap. I just want to know how it got started!

Granted, the first time I came upon it, yeah it was really creepy (I don't believe it was on the Parade of Homes List or anything). It was all boarded up and broken down and had clearly been abandoned for eons (at least a few years anyways). That's the one thing that was surprising: it was prime real estate near the lake and they just left a rotting old shack sit on that expensive property? Regardless, me and a couple of naive friends decided to have a closer look. We took a trip in the ole' Pontiac 6000 (Limited Edition mind you) one autumn eve to do a little ghost-busting. After parking the car up at the Weigels a 1/2 mile or so away, the Three Stooges made their way to the house of horrors. Long story short--we made it up to the property line, performed an Abbott and Costello routine walking up towards the house, manifested some freakish light or ghoulish noise (that suddenly everyone saw and heard with SUCH clarity), and ran our asses full sprint back to the car. Did we see something or hear something? Only in our young, naive impressionable minds.

Now the other place (also on Northshore--only way out in Loudon County) is the "Pumpkinhead Lady" House (I agree--it's hilarious that anything with a name that ridiculous could be scary). There was never a clear background story--at least that I'm aware of--on how this place came to be, but none the less it existed in Karns High folklore.

A few years after the Hart "incident," me and a few buddies (different ones this time--I'm the only stupid one that still went in for this kind of shit) ventured out to the place. We didn't have precise directions, just a ballpark of where it was supposed to be located. Now it was like driving through a chapter of Children of the Corn to get to the joint--I mean it was way out in B.F.E (It was probably a good 7 or 8 miles past the Choto flashing yellow light). Anyways we get to the house--the description we got was spot on so it had to be the place--and just kind of idle in the middle of the road for a bit. All of a sudden, the door flashes open, and there is someone--or something--looking at us. We are saying "Holy shit! It's the pumpkinhead lady!" and I'm fixing to throw the gear shift in drive when out of the corner of my eye I see some old man at my window with a gun! All of us scream like girls as I peel out and drive like mad to get out of the reaches of this crazed lunatic! Unlike the Hart House, this time we had all actually seen the spectre!

Of course, later we realized all that we had really seen was a homeowner get pissed off that there were three idiots sitting in a car outside their house open her door quickly to see what the hell we were doing! And as for the guy, he was just probably the old lady's son who lived close by (and since we knew others had come before us with similar results) he brought out the gun to send a message: for us to tell all of our shithead cronies NEVER to come by this way again! So yeah, we did see something on this ghost hunt. Was it supernatural? Jesus--of course not. But once again I ask how did this rumor start? Did the old lady turn her lights off on Halloween or something (maybe she left one of those bowls of candy corns and cheap gumballs on the porch) and piss somebody off enough for them to start a rumor that she was some kind of a witch?

Only in high school fairy tales my friends.....

Cruising?? A Movie Theater??

Okay think back to say 1991. I was a young sprat fixing to start my sophomore year at Karns High (still relying on the parentals or older friends for rides) and a short-lived phenomenon was about to explode. While the mall was still a viable hangout for teens without their own wheels, a new dive was on the rise for teens with or without a car. Of course I speak of the Dollar Movies, the Windsor Square Mecca where Front Row Joe and grumpy ass rent-a-cops all come (or should i say came) to congregate.

The Dollar Movies was a melting pot where every high school niche was represented fully. On any given weekend night (Friday seemed to be the busiest) you'd find teens cruising in their junky hand-me-down oldsmobuicks, hoping to find a buddy or, God willing, a member of the opposite sex. There was bad sound a' plenty--as EVERYONE seemed to think they had kick-ass systems. The general idea was if you turned Ice Cube, or even T, up loud enough your mom's Caravan would sound just as good as the low rider. How stupid is bass anyway? People were just driving around listening to garbage they couldn't even make out just because it had a lot of BASS? But I digress...

The funny thing was if you ever did actually see a movie the theater was half-empty--even though the board said the showing was a sell-out. Now this is of course attributed to the fact that the younger crowd would be forced to produce ticket stubs for their non-trusting parents, who assumed all was well when they saw that their son or daughter had in fact seen the 7:20 Backdraft show. The wool had been thrown over their eyes....

Anyways, it was a cool meeting place there for a few--where even older teens who were too cool for the scene would even find themselves driving by some late Friday evening, find nothing worth staying for, then jump on the Pike and head back down towards Brunswick--after all they did have a cigarette machine.