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Johnny Daytona
Johnny Daytona
Johnny Daytona
Ebook45 pages41 minutes

Johnny Daytona

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"I'm a pool player. l love this! Thank you very much for writing this!" – Amazon reviewer

 

In this story, a young boy discovers the incredible fascination the game of billiards holds for him. Most of all, it recalls the love, respect and hero-worship he had for the legendary Johnny Daytona, the greatest player the game has ever known. If you love to play pool, this story is for you!

 

 

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMar 18, 2017
ISBN9781386428503
Johnny Daytona
Author

John Isaac Jones

John Isaac Jones is a retired journalist currently living at Merritt Island, Florida. For more than thirty years, "John I.," as he prefers to be called, was a reporter for media outlets throughout the world. These included local newspapers in his native Alabama, The National Enquirer, News of the World in London, the Sydney Morning Herald, and NBC television. He is the author of five novels, a short story collection and two novellas.

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    Book preview

    Johnny Daytona - John Isaac Jones

    Johnny Daytona

    John Isaac Jones

    Published by John Isaac Jones, 2017.

    This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

    JOHNNY DAYTONA

    First edition. March 18, 2017.

    Copyright © 2017 John Isaac Jones.

    ISBN: 978-1386428503

    Written by John Isaac Jones.

    Table of Contents

    JOHNNY DAYTONA

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    JOHNNY DAYTONA

    The year was 1949. Harry S. Truman was president, Jersey Joe Walcott was the heavyweight champ, Hank Williams’ Your Cheatin’ Heart was the top pop song, and Billy Johnson was eight years old and living with his parents on a small farm in the pine-studded hills of North Alabama.

    During late November of that year, the youngster’s days were mostly preoccupied with his studies as a third grader at the local country grammar school. After school each day, he would return home, help his father with farm chores, have supper with his parents, do his homework, and then go to bed. The following day, the cycle would repeat itself.

    During that period, the highlight of Billy’s week was Saturday. This was the day he would go with his father into the nearby town of Hamilton to attend to family business. With great anticipation, the eight year old always looked forward to those Saturday trips in the family pickup with his father. He loved the excitement of driving the 12 miles into town and reading the road signs along the route. Once in town, he was always fascinated by the local townsfolk, and he loved to see all the downtown stores built side-by-side, each and every one offering its own particular goods and services. Most of all, on these trips, Billy looked forward to going to the local Wrenn’s ice cream parlor and getting a double-dip chocolate cone.

    On one particular Saturday afternoon, the father and son had driven into town to pay the electric bill and then stopped by the local hardware store to buy some paint. After they left the hardware store, Billy asked his father when they were going to Wrenn’s. The father explained that he wanted to stop by the family lawyer’s office first, and then they would go for ice cream.

    As the father and son walked back up the street from the lawyer’s office to the family pickup, the father stopped abruptly in front of a dark, windowless building on one of Hamilton’s back streets. It was an older, often-remodeled structure with a single, triangular-shaped window high on the building’s door. Above the door, a neatly painted sign in black letters read, Al’s Billiard Parlor.

    The father turned to his son.

    Let’s go in here a minute, the father said.

    With that, the father opened the door and Billy Johnson, close behind his father, entered a pool hall for the very first time.

    Inside, the eight year old suddenly found himself in a world unlike anything he had ever seen before. There was a lively buzz of men’s voices in the place. A heavy pall of cigarette and cigar smoke hung in the air. All around him, scruffily dressed men—both young and old—moved mysteriously under bright, fluorescent lights playing a game in which players wielded pointed sticks and punched a white ball around a felt-covered table that knocked colored balls into pockets. As Billy surveyed the surroundings, his father turned to him.

    Wait right here! the father ordered, indicating a row of seats

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