Rainmakers: Feeding the Pool Food Chain

Cleo Vaughn and Norfolk Whitey played vital roles in hustler culture - losing great sums to fuel the poolroom economy.

By R.A. Dyer

A stranger walks into a pool room. "Is there anybody in here, anybody at all, with some money?" The challenge is astonishing. A fat man and a bald man look up from a game of one-pocket. Another snorts. There are four tables, all dusty four-by-eights, and a lunch counter. The place is a rat trap. Is there anybody here with any money?

Those gathered eye the stranger with both amusement and avarice. He is young, reedy, cocksure. There's a pool cue, in a case, slung over his right shoulder.

"Boy," says one of the old men, "there must be four people in this room with at least $10,000 in their pocket." Perhaps the stranger went a bit pale then. Perhaps the rebuke stunned him. But what is certain is that the stranger returned to his motel room, dug around for his bankroll, and then reappeared at that backwater room the very next day. "Make that five people," he said.

Welcome back to Untold Stories. This month's column touches upon a topic which lately has come to fascinate me - the poolroom gambling economy, and the "rainmaker" gamblers who fuel it. Much has been written about the big winners, about those who bring home thousand-dollar paydays. But the winners don't fuel the subculture's economy; rather, it's the losers. Their facility for losing feeds the action like manure on mushrooms. And so on behalf of pool lovers everywhere, I say: "Thank you."

This month's column features a casino operator and a bookmaker - professional gamblers, but not professional pool players. This is the definition of the rainmaker: a man who knows how to make games, who is accustomed to winning and losing large amounts of cash, but who typically can't stand up to the top shooters. And so he gets a spot, makes a game, and hopes for the best.

And when it doesn't work out, the results can be spectacular. There's evidence that Norfolk Whitey, the second player referenced in this column, lost $10,000 to one player, $24,000 to another, and - if you're to believe one second-hand account - $123,000 to a third. And this was in 1946! That money then got redistributed to other gamblers, who used it to match up with still other players, who would then take it to gamble with the chumps, … and, viola, a poolroom economy is born.

I mention two rainmaker stories in this column, but there are countless more. Bob Henning, in his book on Billy Joe Burge, "Cornbread Red: Pool's Greatest Money Player," talks about such a player at the Rack, a poolroom in Michigan. Eddie Beauchene, also known as "Detroit Whitey," said he once hustled a Miami department store owner out of $72,000. And I've heard similar stories about rainmakers in Houston. In each case, the players lose big, keep losing, and then that money gets redistributed through wagers by other players up and down the food chain.

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Since 1978, Billiards Digest magazine has been the pool world’s best source for news, tournament coverage, player profiles, bold editorials, and advice on how to play pool. Our instructors include superstars Nick Varner and Jeanette Lee. Every issue features the pool accessories and equipment you love — pool cues, pool tables, instruction aids and more. Columnists Mike Shamos and R.A. Dyer examine legends like Willie Mosconi and Minnesota Fats, and dig deep into the histories of pool games like 8-ball, 9-ball and straight pool.

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