Friday, July 11, 2003 | 9:26 a.m.
Ron Kantowski is a Las Vegas Sun sports writer. Reach him at [email protected] or (702) 259-4088.
Edwin Kelly hails from a bygone era, when billiards was called pool and participants were known as "hustlers" instead of "players." They honed their games in dingy halls that had character, rather than in megawatt billiards centers that have clean bathrooms. For both sexes.
Back then, smoking something -- a fat cigar, three packs a day, an unwitting opponent -- was all but mandatory, and water usually came from a bar tap, not some underground mineral spring. It usually had something mixed with it, too, like scotch or bourbon. Indeed, the most popular names on the circuit in those days were Jim Beam and Jack Daniel's.
And all the really good players had nicknames. Fast Eddie. Fats. The Miz. Or in Kelly's case, Champagne Eddie.
If they were really good or really lucky -- or both -- they'd leave the pool hall with enough $20 bills to pay another week's rent. Provided they made it home, or course.
As for the part about doing Samarai sword antics with their pool cues while "Werewolves of London" played on the jukebox, well, by 1986, when "The Color of Money" came out, Eddie Kelly, much like the movie hustler Eddie Felson, was more or less finished making it the hard way. And for that matter, sinking 8-balls in side pockets.
In 1971, Kelly, by then living in Las Vegas, entered an event in Los Angeles billed as "the richest pocket billiards tournament of all-time." He won the all-around championship. The next day, the LA Times covered the richest pocket billiards tournament of all-time with a tiny blurb that read "Kelly Wins Cue Title" on the back page of the sports section.
"I threw up my hands," Kelly recalled. "That was the last straw."
Figuring pool was never going to make him rich and/or famous, he quit trying to scrape out a living on the circuit and started dealing blackjack.
Champagne Eddie Kelly was gone, but at least he hasn't been forgotten. On Saturday, Kelly and Efren Reyes -- Efren "The Magician" Reyes -- will be inducted into the Billiard Congress of America (BCA) Hall of Fame during a ceremony at the BCA International Trade Expo at the Venetian.
Kelly even bought a new suit for the occasion, which shows right there how pool has changed.
"Back then, the perception was that the game was populated with nefarious characters," he said. "There weren't any billiards emporiums or academies. Pool was played in halls. They were dark, and they weren't filled with upstanding citizens. You never saw a woman in a pool hall.
"That has changed, and kids and families are playing pool these days. My dad always told me to get out of the pool hall and concentrate on the books. I think he would be proud of me now."
Kelly, 64, grew up in Waterbury, Conn., where he took his cue, quite literally, from the local sharks and hustlers.
"They'd play me straight pool, 150 points to 30 for a half-dollar, and every time they'd do something that was foreign to me, I'd put down my stick in the middle of the table and say 'Oh, man, you've got to show me what you did there,' " Kelly said.
"They'd go ahead and show me, just to get rid of me."
Kelly became making a name as a professional in 1963, when he finished second to Luther "Wimpy" Lassiter in the so-called but quite unofficial World Championships at Johnston City, Tenn., that was covered on ABC's "Wide World of Sports."
By 1965, that tournament had shifted to the Stardust in Las Vegas, and Kelly won the world 9-ball championship. He would go on to win major titles in One-Pocket, Straight Pool and 3-Cushion, and with most of the money events taking place west of the Mississippi, settled in Las Vegas in the mid-1960s.
Noted for his dapper attire and boyish-good looks, Kelly became friends with Hollywood luminaries such as Fred Astaire, James Caan, Peter Falk and Richard Conte. In 1966, he even married a Las Vegas showgirl, Joan "Kelly" Evans.
The two split many years ago but have remained friends. In fact, Kelly said his ex-wife will be his date for the induction ceremony.
Time, as they say, heals many old wounds, including the sore spot Kelly had for pool. He had become disillusioned with the game when he quit playing competitively and all but put his cue into cold storage, along with the snappy wardrobe for which he was known.
But he said the Hall of Fame buildup, and the reception he has received during this week's convention at the Venetian, has him wanting to rack 'em up again.
"At the time when I quit, and it looked like (pool) wasn't going anywhere, I lost a lot of love for the game," Kelly said. "And you cannot play this game at the top level without loving it.
"One thing this affair has done ... is that it has rejuvenated some of that love I used to feel for the game."
So much so that Kelly is thinking about giving lessons, or maybe even taking on a young protege. Just like Paul Newman in the movies. Only without Martin Scorsese's cynicism.
Anybody interested can contact him through the Las Vegas Hilton, where he deals "21" from noon-8 p.m. Or, as Kelly said, "The last time I checked, I was still in the (phone) book."
Sounds like Champagne Eddie has only begun to flow.
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