Snookerino

Billiards and Snooker. December, 1936

By Julian A. Millest

Listen all ye mighty people to the song of Hiawatha,
Wielder of the slender willow, guider of the wayward globule,
Who, when visiting the White Man in his wigwam, joined with him
In the game of Snookerino played with balls of many colours—
Varied as the leaves in Autumn when the sun's majestic glory
Shines upon them in the wild woods.
There it was the Pale-face met him, having buried deep the hatchet.
There it was that Hiawatha clasped the hand of him the Pale-face,
Smoked the pipe of peace, and gently lapped the white man's whisky soda.
Strangers were they 'til that moment, but when he, the mighty redskin,
Showed the Pale-face all his gold dust, product of the secret places
In the lofty mountain ranges known alone to Hiawatha,
Where the wild boar and the leopard hunted in the deep recesses.
Then the Pale-face to his wigwam took the Redskin and his gold dust,
Took him to his heart like brother, feasted him and set before him once again the whiskey soda,
‘Til the simple child of nature melted like the snow in Summer
And he bade the Pale-face take him to the places where the fun was,
To the township where the white man painted all a bright vermillion.
''Many moons,'' said Hiawatha, "have I trailed the bear and bison,
Living in the lonely places 'neath the pine trees in the forest,
Climbing to the lofty mountains where the gold in secret places
Known to none save Hiawatha, lies in caverns dark and dreary
Glitters in the sullen silence where the eagle seeks her prey.
Tired am I of lonely places and the rustling of the birches,
Let us seek the lighted wigwams where is heard the song and laughter.
Where the white man goes for gladness when the binge is full upon him."
Then the Pale-face smiled in rapture, turned his face to Hiawatha,
And in joyous accents murmured low, " Oh boy, you've said a jugful,
Sure we'll go to lighted wigwams and in places lit with laughter,
You shall lift the toe fantastic, twist the hip and shake the femur
Halls of mirth there are a many where the, music of the jazz band
Kills all thought of trailing bisons.
Bring the little bags of gold dust found in caverns dark and dreary,
Button up the old mocassins, button up and make it snappy,
Where we're going' they asks no question, but thars one thing most important
Don't fergit the bags of gold dust found in caverns dark and dreary."
Then did simple Hiawatha from the mountain and the forest
Grasp the hand of him the Pale-face, grasped the white man's hand and shook it,
And in broken accents murmured, "You my all the one time friend am,
Let us take the bags of gold dust to the halls where toe fantastic
And the what you call the femur shakes like aspen in the wind storm."
So they struck the trail the Pale-face and the Redskin Hiawatha,
To the wigwams of the white man where is sold the whisky soda
Known to all as firewater.
But the white man kept a close eye on the Redskin's bags of gold dust
Till the time was ripe and ready when the heady fire water
Laid a hold on Hiawatha.
Then the subtle Pale-face took him to the hall of many tables
Verdant as the lonely prairie in the fullness of the Springtime,
Pressed on him the slender willow tipped with hide of mountain chamois,
And with words of sagest wisdom soft as snowflakes in the Winter
Falling on the virgin forest, told him all the cunning pitfalls
Of the game of snookerino, played with balls of many colours,
Showed the Redskin many dollars staking them against his gold dust,
Seeking thus to do the dirty on the simple child of nature.
And the gold dust flowed as freely as the streams upon the mountains
To the pockets of the Pale-face, and within himself he murmured
"This is swell and sure pie easy."
Then did simple Hiawatha yet another bag of gold dust
Draw from out his coat of deerskin
Matching this against his losses and the white man's pile of dollars.
"All or bust" he gently murmured, "and the marker holds the boodle."
And the Pale-face chuckled "Sure thing, atta boy, go to it baby."
Then did simple Hiawatha show the Pale-face how to do it
In the game of snookerino in the hall of many tables.
Whilst the Pale-face gazed in wonder at the simple child of nature
Who proceeded to instruct him how to lay the cunning snooker,
And the artful shot of safety
Straight as from his bow the arrow sped the balls of many colours
'Til the simple Hiawatha left the
White man broke and busted
Left the Pale-face clean and empty
Cleaner than the bones of jackals where the hungry vultures hover.
Then he faded in the darkness with the dollars and the gold dust,
And the Pale-face, broke and busted, turned and murmured to the marker
"Boy, say tell me, am I crazy, who's the gentle child of nature
Who the family cash-box raided, who has on me done the dirty?"
And the marker drawled out "Stranger, that there simple child of nature
Makes a livin' out of wise guys when they takes him for a sucker;
Lures 'em with his bags of gold dust and his tales of caverns dreary
Where the wild bear and the leopard has their dens in dark recesses.
In them bags he keeps brass filings, he's bin at the game for years;
Sure he knew you'd come a mucker, he's the wise guy, you're the sucker."