My Story, 'San Jose Dick' McMorran
I actually started this project, as a way of telling my kids, more than they ever really knew about me. This first chapter may be a little redundant, as I believe Steve covered some of it in his interview with me, and I have shared much of it, with a few close friends... But after I get into the second chapter, the SJ , and Texas years, its all new stuff !
.............................................................................Chapter One
Those of us addicted to pool lore, tend to root for the old ‘cross-roader’s’ or ‘gunslingers’, if you prefer, and the lifestyle they led…I would compare most of them to happy-go-lucky wanderers with a pool cue, and the skill to use it. At least that’s how always I looked at it. Some were smart gambler’s, some weren’t, but it was hard, not to love the lifestyle. Sleep ‘til noon, or later, and no time clock to punch. And, no drive was too far (often in an old beater, which doubled as a hotel)...if there was the slightest hope of making the “big score” ! Many of the guy’s I met, criss-crossing that never ending highway, looking for an easy buck, could tell similar stories. For what its worth, this is mine.
I was raised in the small town of Dolores, Colo., pop. 500. The town set in a canyon at an elevation of about 6,000 ft. Its main sustainance were the surrounding farms and ranches. I guess nowadays, tourism is also a big business. As soon as you left town, heading north along the Dolores River, you were in the high mountains and pine forests of one of the most scenic areas in the entire state of Colorado. During deer and elk season, the invasion of hunters was almost overwhelming. The three bars and two restaurants, and the old three story Del Rio Hotel, did a land office business. It was a great place to grow up and the memories of those years are filled with camp-outs, fishing, and hunting with my childhood buddies. While growing up, I scarcely noticed the beautiful landscape. I guess we all thought everyone lived that way.
Back then, even the smallest of towns, had a poolroom. Ours was on the main drag next to the Malt Shop, where all us kids hung out. By age 9 or 10, I became fascinated with the noise of the balls breaking, and the colored balls on the green felt. There were no age restrictions then, so I soon found myself spending more time in the pool room, than I did at the Malt Shop. That is until I played hooky one day and tried to go in there. Kenny Hart, the owner, booted my ass out. Plus, he snitched on me, and I got some more ass pounding when I got home ! Plus, I was forbidden to go in the pool room, ever again ! That put a damper on my first love affair with pool, and I continued on with a fairly normal childhood. Damn stupid old Kenny Hart ! And, his son, Ken Jr., was my best buddy in school ! He thought it was funny, ‘til I threatened to tell his dad, about all our ‘smoking’, beer drinking, and watermelon stealing escapades. That shut him up !
My life as a serious pool player began when I was a fourteen year old freshman in high school.
My folks moved 50 miles east, to Durango, (pop. then, about 9,000) I thought I’d died, and gone to heaven. Durango supported three bustling pool rooms, and my parents soon gave up trying to keep me out of them. I still played hooky but I knew better than to try and go in the pool room during school hours. But after school, weekends, or summer vacation, I opened and closed the joints. I cleaned tables and swabbed out spittoons for free pool at old Fred Titus’ pool room at 7th and Main, next to the Piggley Wiggley Market. Fred took a liking to me, and showed me the basics of the game. In about a years time, the student had surpassed the old master. By the tender age of sixteen or so, I was accepted as the best player in town, and the surrounding area.
The primary games played at that time, were Golf on a 5X10 snooker table, and “Kelly”, or pill pool, on the pool table. An occasional 8 ball, or 9 ball game would surface, but rarely. I guess one pocket, had been invented by that time, but I’d never even heard of it. The Kelly games were for dimes,and quarters. The stakes in the golf game were much higher, usually 5 or 6 handed, for $1 and a dime a hicky. On week-ends, it would soar to $2 and a quarter....'Double sellout'. My win/loss record was pretty good, even though I was a constant target, in those golf ring games. But, if I had a bad run, I always had the Kelly game to pump up again. You could not keep me broke !
In the late '40s, it was a gold mine for a kid who shot straight and loved the game. Durango was pretty well off the beaten path, so I progressed as a player without having to face much real competition from whatever road men there were at that time. I did have some fairly tough action, with some of the player’s from the larger oil boom town of Farmington, N.M., just 50 miles south of us. It gave me a chance to hone my 9-ball game. I usually prevailed and would often invade their turf, when things were slow at home. Times were good !
My step-dad, Walt, was a great guy, and a good father to all us kids. (my real dad died when I was 7 yrs. old) He would occasionally stop in to sweat my games, after a long hard day at the sawmill. He was usually impressed with the size of my bankroll, compared to the buck or two a day my mother doled out to him. After a good day at pool, I’d often treat him to a few beers and a good steak at the old Western Steak House, just a few doors down from the pool hall. Plus, he was always a soft touch for a few bucks on the rare occasions I needed it.
I remember around that time, I made my first 'big' score, off a stranger from Alamosa, Co. We were playing 9 ball, for $2, and then $5 a game, and I beat him out of $180. Safeties were unheard of then, and whoever shot the straightest, got the cash. After about the first $20-30, the rest was all on the wire. When he gave up, he wrote me a check. I thought I was rich. He asked me to wait a few days to cash it, ‘til he got back home..Sure, I said, no problem. Walt, had sweated the whole match, and he was very proud of me. Anyway, time came to cash the check, and I would soon be a hundred-aire. Well, the check was declined. It was not that he didn’t have the funds, he had stopped payment on it ! My dad was so hot, he drove me 130 miles to Alamosa, to get what I had coming. He was ready to fight, because in those days, you just didn’t do things like that. We did track him down, and got the money, and my dad even demanded an apology from him.
This story is not that unique, but for a funny coincidence. Just a few years ago, I was playing an exhibition match, with Bakersfield Bob Hernandez, at a local pool room here in Phoenix. Bobby and I had been friends for years. He was with a nice guy, who was a well known cue maker from Colorado. His name escapes me. But as we got to talking, out of the blue, he said I looked familiar, and asked me if I was from Durango. It seems that he remembered, that long forgotten 9 ball session with the guy from Alamosa, because as a 16 year old kid, he was his traveling companion. It seems, to this day, he was somewhat embarrassed, and apologetic, at how it was all handled ! I have his card somewhere, and when I locate it, I will tell you his name. It just goes to show, how small the pool world really is.
Moving on, as my pool game progressed, by time I was 18 or so, I felt I could surely beat anyone in the world. A few trips to the much larger cities of Denver and Alburqurque, soon convinced me I was wrong about that. They called me the “Durango Kid” in those days, and I had garnered a reputation, for being tough to beat, and willing to bet it up. But I was mostly a meal ticket for any smart hustler, and I’d often wind up borrowing gas money to get home, to pump up and try it again. My main problem was, I always had way too much gamble, and a young, headstrong attitude often got me in match-ups I had no chance of winning. It took me a while to shake that albatross. There was no one in my home town who had the slightest idea how to mentor a talented young player, on the ‘art’ of hustling. And looking back, I guess I lacked the 'street smarts', to figure it out for myself. It was a tough learning process.
The love bug bit me at 19, and in 1953, I barely escaped the angry wrath of her father, and eloped to Salt Lake City, to marry my pregnant first wife, Paula.. We would go on to have a great family, three boys and a girl, and, even though we were divorced in 1970, we remained very close, and I never stopped caring for her. Her untimely accidental death, in her 40's, (and in perfect health) was almost the end of me too. It is hard to dwell on that subject too long, so I won’t.
SLC in the 50’s, was another pool players haven for me. I found counter work in a small out of the way pool room, and I gradually learned a little more about what it took to make money at pool. The best player in SLC at that time, was Dick Miles. Dick was a successful roofing contractor, and after he endured a few costly pool lessons, at the hands of the ‘Durango kid’, we became good friends and he put me to work as a foreman on one of his roofing crews.
He had a contract with the government, to do the roofing on many of the Forest Ranger buildings being built throughout the Western states. They were usually in the mountains of Idaho or Wyoming, and it was a great job. I almost became a ‘square apple’, long before I was ready.
Dick also became my first real “Stakehorse” and rarely backed down from putting me in high dollar action against almost anyone, at golf or 9 ball. I spent a great few years in SLC. The old Peter Pan Billiards and the Iron Horse, were just a few doors apart downtown, on State St. There was almost always something going on at one place, or the other.
But, as I was learning, about my new found vocation, if you play too good, you soon run out of good action. So in the mid-fifties, at the urging of Paula's brother Roland, (also, coincidently a roofer) I moved my young family to San Jose, California (population then, about 170,000) I worked with Roland, for the first few months. Than, through a friend, I got kissed into a good job at Memorex (when they were just barely out of their garage) Silicon Valley, was just starting to take shape. But, the lure of easy pool action, soon caused me to quit that job.
Talk about a pool player’s paradise. San Jose was really booming then, and the pool rooms and bars were full of construction workers, with fat paychecks, lining up to play $2 or $5 ring 9 ball. Coin operated bar tables were just starting to show up then, but a lot of bars had at least one 8 or 9 footer in them. Also, there were hundreds of pool room’s throughout the bay area, and each one seemed to have it’s local hero. Money was very easy to come by.
I was pretty sure we'd found a great place to settle down…Our son and daughter (now 5 and 6) were in a good school. Paula was now an RN, and had a great job at the San Jose/Kaiser Hospital. I bought into a small pool room in Campbell. Things were going well. We bought a nice tract home, in the Alum Rock district of town and settled in for the good life. And, it was good for quite a while. Maybe too good to last !
....to be continued !
