Pool in the cellar

One night last year I was walking around the East Village, somewhere around Avenue B and 2nd, when I came across some people hanging out near the entrance of a bodega's cellar stairway. The metal doors were open and people were on the stairs watching something going on down below. I could hear music and laughter and once I got close I saw somebody taking aim with a pool cue. I asked one of the onlookers, a man eating a Hostess cupcake, if the game was open. He said "Sure you can play, go on down." So I slowly eased myself down the steps, trying in vain not to look too conspicuous. I remember that my instinct was to pretend to be more surprised to see a pool table than I actually was. Call it "feigned curiosity." I got some quarters out of my pocket, held them out to see if anybody objected, then placed them on the table and found a spot in the corner of the room that was out of the way. I could tell I was getting a few suspicious stares from people, but I just kept my eyes on the game. I did think it was really a cool scene, something that screamed to be photographed, but I didn't dare take out my camera. People were coming and going and it seemed pretty festive. Apparently word of my presence had gotten around, as I couldn't have been down there more than five minutes when somebody, I'm guessing it was the owner of the bodega, came down and said I had to leave. Needless to say, it was pretty awkward and I think they might have assumed I was an undercover cop or something. I mildly protested, insisting that I was a good player, but he would have none of it.

Fast forward to this spring on the Lower East Side. I was walking home from the Hamilton Fish Rec Center and I had my cue with me. There was a deli with its cellar's metal doors propped open and in my periphery I caught a glimpse of the corner of a pool table. I stopped and was trying to get a better look when the store owner inside noticed me and tapped on the window, beckoning me to go on down. So I went in to talk to him just to make sure and was impressed he was so welcoming. Down below was a gathering of Hispanic men huddled around two games of dominos, and of course a game of last pocket being played on the 50-cent pool table. One thick-accented man in particular seemed very curious about me and was chatting me up. He even offered me one of his cans of beer. I didn't play very well but at least people were ignoring me and didn't seem suspicious. The next time I walked by, several days later, the cellar doors were open but there was a door at the bottom of the stairs that was shut. A few weeks ago I came across the chatty man (second from left in photo above) and asked him if he'd let me back down so that I could take a picture. Fortunately, he remembered me. I had just come from the rec center and my hands were covered in blue chalk, which he noticed. Finishing his cigarette, he asked if I had 50 cents for him. Then he lead me downstairs and made an announcement to everbody in Spanish, an introduction of sorts. I still owe him a print.