One thing we had been searching for was an antique pool table for the house. The thought was that we would eventually create a billiard room in the attic. It would be so cool…we could have a “Clue” party with a murder mystery dinner night or something, and the guests would have to figure out whether it was Mr. Green in the parlor with a pipe, or Miss Peacock in the dining room with a candlestick or whether it was Miss Scarlett in the billiard room with the pool cue…anyway. It seemed the standard room to have in a Victorian house, and would fit quite nicely up on the third floor. A Vintage pool table would look most appropriate for the house, so we began our search.
Always on the lookout for a good deal, we kept scanning Ebay to see what we could find within a reasonable driving distance. A Vulcan Cushions pool table popped up in the Philadelphia area, and the opening bid price was just right. This table was made by the Victor Billiard Company of Philadelphia. We contacted the owner out in Bryn Mawr, PA to ask some questions about the condition and got additional photographs. After finding out that we were the successful bidder, we arranged to pick it up the following weekend.
At first I thought I would have to rent a truck, but after looking at the number of YouTube videos which took me step-by-step through disassembling exactly that same pool table, I realized that it would probably fit in the back of my station wagon. I took some measurements, consulted the Toyota Camry station wagon owners manual, and calculated the load. According to the manual, the maximum capacity was 1095 lbs. Each of the three pieces of slate weighed approximately 300 pounds, and with the rails, bumpers, frame, and legs, it looked like I would have to watch how much I ate that week…With me in the driver’s seat, it would be, at the very least, 250 pounds over the maximum load but, well, what the hell.
I made arrangements with a company called Labor Ready, and arranged for two able-bodied and strong men to meet me at the pick-up location in Bryn Mawr, just outside of the city of Philadelphia. I arrived that morning in my station wagon and was met by a young man at the door who, upon seeing my lone station wagon sitting in the driveway, peered down the street and asked where my entourage was. I Explained that my helpers would be arriving shortly and that we would load the pool table into my car. He looked at me with disbelief and asked what I would do if it didn’t fit. I assured him that it would. Shaking his head with annoyance, He took me down to the basement of the house where the simple vintage pool table had resided for many years. When I told him that I had two helpers coming, he seemed a bit frustrated and explained that it would take more than two people to move this huge table out of the basement, and that he was sure it would not fit in my car. He seemed almost exasperated with me. I took a quick inventory of the accessibility of the table and the basement staircase, reassured him again, and headed back to the car for my toolbox. Thanks to the YouTube video, I knew exactly which wrenches and what types and sizes of screwdrivers and other equipment I needed to bring with me in order to take this beast apart.
This was a simple oak table with cushions inlaid with ivory diamonds. The vase-form reeded legs were substantial and lent the table a balanced sense of proportion; not too top-heavy. There was very little decoration on the piece, but the heavy graining of the quartersawn oak was lovely and the color of the stain was deep and mellowed with age. The leather pockets were still supple and none were missing. The table had a solid feel when pushed against, and did not give in the slightest even with a strong shove. I was more than pleased with the condition. It was exactly as advertised.
I carefully inserted a flat head screwdriver between the table top and one of the bumpers, near one of the pockets, and worked it gently back and forth until I had loosened a corner of the ancient green felt. I took hold of the edge and in a smooth motion, quickly peeled back the faded and worn green surface to reveal the slate underneath. The young man moved to stop me, then hovered, unsure of what exactly I was doing. As I reached for my wrench and began to unbolt the first bumper, he seemed to realize that I intend to take the table apart, and not move it in one piece. Relaxing visibly, he suddenly laughed out loud, explaining that he had grown up with this pool table in exactly the same spot his whole life, and he had never realized that it could be taken apart. As I got the bumpers removed and began to look at my list for the tools needed to start on the frame, my helpers arrived… Just in time.
The young man appeared perplexed as I explained that I wanted the slate loaded into the car first, and that we would put the other pieces on top of, and around the slate. He asked if I would be calling for additional movers, because the two men, though they looked strong, couldn’t possibly lift it. He continued to express his skepticism that it could even fit in my station wagon. I pointed out the barely-visible seams, and it was then that the young man realized that the slate was in three pieces, tightly butted against one another, not a single large piece of slate, as he had always assumed. He asked if I had done this before, and I replied that I had not. So he inquired as to how I knew exactly what I was doing. My response was simple. YouTube.
The workers I had hired got the first piece of slate lifted off of the frame, and with great effort hauled the 300 pound piece of stone up the basement stairs, through the house, out the front door, and into the back of my station wagon. It fit perfectly between the wheel wells. The younger of these two workers was not tall, but was powerfully built, and he had youth on his side. The older one was tall and lean, And held up his end with more strength than I had figured was in him. What he lacked in musculature, he seemed to make up in determination, and he was clearly the one in charge. It was an even match.
Once the three pieces of slate were in the car, I brought out my cooler filled with ice and bottles of water, and allowed the workers a long break while I disassembled the rest of the frame. The right tools made all the difference, and I hit no barriers as I methodically worked my way down the frame and finally to the legs. I had the entire structure disassembled by the time the workers felt rested and up to continuing. It was a warm early fall day, and they were working hard. From that point on it was just a matter of picking up the pieces of the carcass and making multiple trips back and forth from the basement to the car. The young man continued to express his amazement that the entire pool table would actually fit in the back of the station wagon. His humor was up significantly, which seemed to affect his sense of charity; as we were loading the last pieces of the table into the car he volunteered to throw in all of the pool cues and the large decorative cue rack as well. I had not taken those items into account in my weight calculations, but, well, what the hell.
By this time I had also worked up quite a sweat, having moved my fair share of pool table parts up from the basement. We were enjoying the rest of the cold bottled water in the young man’s living room, the air conditioning helping to cool us down. The older of the two workers, eyeing the piano, asked the young man if he would allow him to play it. Somewhat skeptical, the young man consented adding the caveat that it was simply a cheap upright, not a very fine instrument, and probably hadn’t been tuned in years. Undeterred, the older worker approach the bench and made himself comfortable, knitting his fingers together and stretching them out against one another. Then, without the slightest hesitation, his fingers hit the keys running, and the sound that suddenly burst out of that ugly upright piano was tremendous. The three of us, his audience, sat with mouths agape as we were treated to the most densely layered, beautifully arranged, outrageously complex piece of music. To say that we were surprised would have been an understatement.
I don’t remember how long the piece he was playing lasted, but I do recall being sad that it was over. The worker left his fingers on the keyboard, unmoving, as the last notes faded away into silence. He sat for a moment longer his whole body hunched over the keys, Then with a slow determined movement, he straightened and gently pushed back from the piano. He stood, his face blank, and the three of us were immediately on our feet; the young man slapped him on the back, as I was shaking his hand, and his coworker tousled his hair. Only then did he give us a shy smile.
The day was growing short, and it was time to go, however; as we stood in the front yard he told us about how he used to be a concert pianist. Certain life choices had derailed that dream for him, but he still loved to play. On those rare occasions where he had the opportunity to touch a keyboard, it gave him great joy, and he appreciated being able to play today.
All I could think of was those gifted hands handling 300 pound slabs of slate and carefully maneuvering them into the back of my station wagon. Each piece placed atop the other, each placement posing a risk to crush those talented fingers. It seemed such a horrible shame.
By this time, my car was filled to the brim. The tires looked somewhat squashed and barely cleared the tops of the wheel wells. I would have to be especially cognizant of potholes on my drive home.
But, we are talking about a Toyota Camry wagon here, and the trip home to Falls Church proved uneventful, as did the trip the following weekend to Danville.
To this day I wonder whatever happened to my concert pianist slate mover. He earned every dollar of the generous tip I put on top of their Labor ready fee. I know that doesn’t fix his problems, though, and I hope one day to hear of a concert pianist who once had to move an antique slate pool table in order to make ends meet.
Carla Minosh
While I am new to Blogging, I have always enjoyed sharing the stories of my crazy life, so this is simply another medium to share, and hopefully entertain and enrich others. Perhaps you can feel thankful that your life is so steady and predictable after reading these, perhaps you can appreciate the insanity and wish you had more of it in your life. Either way, the crazy tales are all true (to the best of my spotty recollection) and simply tell the tale of a life full of exploration, enthusiasm, curiosity and hard work. I hope you all enjoy being a part of the journey.
That was a lovely read! Thanks for sharing! 🙂
What an extraordinary story. And so beautifully told!
Thank you for the warm feeling in my heart!
Oh, and what a gorgeous pool table! Congrats!
Your approach to this topic is unique and informative. I am writing an article for our school paper and this post has helped me. Thanks.
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Hi there! Do you still have the source you used to disassemble the table? Will soon be undertaking this same challenge on an identical table. Also, did you need to replace the felt after reassembly or can it be reused?
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