An Uncle, and The Hustler
Welcome to Something New, where I was planning on continuing a three-part series on some records that are recently important to me. But some news came in, and plans changed, and my focus changed. So, here’s a quick story on an uncle of mine, and a movie that made me think of him.
My Uncle passed away two days ago. I thought I would turn on a movie he might enjoy, or something that would remind me of him, which is a form of self-soothing and processing that has been helpful to me since *checks diary* forever.
Uncle Dave was the “cool” uncle. Not that my other uncle(s) wasn’t, just that Dave was cool by the definition of a young middle-class midwestern suburban kid (that’s me). Dave’s sister (my mother), and brother were book readers; studious types. Dave liked Chicago sports, as I did, and he loved NASCAR, as I didn’t. He dealt blackjack on a riverboat casino. He drank (cheap) beer, smoked cigarettes, and wore denim bottoms and denim tops. He was cool the way guys were when he was a kid, cool in a slightly “vintage” way to me when I was a kid.
The most iconic photograph in his parents’ house, that I would marvel at every time I visited, was of Dave riding his motorcycle, leaning back, parallel to the ground, moving at speed, with his dog sitting stark upright on his lap. How did anyone ever pull off such a feat, let alone capture it?
He was also a trend that I see in myself, and in one of my paternal Uncles, all of us the youngest of our nuclear packs (I’m fibbing a bit here, of course, because I have a younger brother, who just doesn’t have the same personal agency to live on his own; and of course, I’m younger than my “older brother” by literal minutes). The “youngest” live a little distantly, geographically — and maybe otherwise. I would be lying if I said Dave was my inspiration to pack up and move out and make it on my own in a different place. But I’d be lying if I said his presence and character didn’t have an impact on my imagination of myself, and of my own possibilities.
So I thought I would put on something cool, something dealing in bars or back rooms; gambling spaces. Something with a kind of sport to it. I had never seen 1961’s The Hustler, but I damn well knew Paul Newman had the “cool” vibe I was longing for. And I thought that Newman, and his Hustler, or other icons of his filmography, was maybe a part of Dave’s lexicon.
And, just like Dave, I knew there would be a sadness to the reality that lays behind anyone’s “cool”, especially that of a Paul Newman character. Eddie Felson, a pool hustler that roams the country with his pseudo-father-figure Charlie making a few dozens of dollars at each pool hall and bar they come across, finds his antithesis in Minnesota Fats, an icon of the game in this part of the country. Eddie loses the match, and all of his money, and must claw his way back financially to challenge Fats again. He also finds Sarah, a partner in drinking and loneliness, and finds plenty of trouble, before finding a hint of love and stretch of sobriety and a modicum of success. This isn’t a happy story, though, and there’s no happy ending.
Relationship troubles, financial troubles, distant families, and a stylish shell to hide it all in; Newman’s ‘Eddy’ and my Uncle Dave had a little in common. I see many men in Eddy’s shadow, here. I see some of Eddy in my own shadow, if I look hard enough.
Of course the similarities end pretty quickly, and I was let in on more of Eddy’s life and story and beliefs and thought processes than I was on Dave’s. He was always a “keep it to myself” kind of guy, at least with me. I hope Dave’s story wasn’t so terribly sad.
I’m glad Dave’s struggle with his fast spreading cancer has ended, and I’m glad I had a beacon of old-school cool in my youth. I’m sad he’s gone, and I’m sad that things were hard for him, just like they are for all of us.
Rest easily, Dave