
by Peter Twitchell
Don’t ever underestimate the honesty and the ability of young minds to look beyond our own objectivity. “H*** House” was the name us boys called the old pool hall throughout our high school years in the 1950s and 1960s here in Bethel.
The old pool hall was two lots over from the Nerby’s Store. The H House is where we headed to right after our dances on the weekends at the famous Cowan Hut. The building itself was painted pitch black. It was one of our favorite hangouts when we were growing up.
Marie Pensgard’s hamburgers and fresh cut fries were out of this world. Chuck and Marie created some of the world’s best hamburgers right here in Bethel. I never quite learned the trade secrets to their meat and spice mixture and how those burgers were cooked.
I have not once tasted a burger quite as good as theirs since the old pool hall and Chuck’s Wild Goose closed down.
I guess we called the old pool hall “H*** House” because all h*** broke loose when two women, and usually men went at each other with fists and anything they could get their hands on.
I know of a few instances where people I know were clobbered just outside the front entrance as they left the premises of the old pool hall. The hitman waited out his victim(s) usually because of a woman, money, some other misunderstanding, or a simple drunken brawl.
People just couldn’t let things slide. Everything had to be dealt with right then and there on a very personal level.
One evening Vern Kinegak was playing pool with a few of his buddies when Joe Pete came up to Vern and spoke to him just a few inches from his face. Joe got a little long winded and Vern lost his patience and concentration of his game of nine-ball.
As fast as a lightning bolt Vern grabbed Joe by the breast of his coat and pushed him back, causing Joe to lose his balance and go crashing to the floor. When he finally put himself together, Joe got up and walked over towards Vern.
I thought for sure Vern was going to be pulverized. Instead, Joe was cool, calm, and collected when he once again came within a few inches of Vern and said, “Wanna cuppa coffee?”
They both smiled and disappeared toward the back where the 3 foot by 66” oil fired cooking stove was going full blast, smoking and sizzling with burgers/bun, bacon and eggs.
When us boys walked into the old pool hall we walked in as if we owned the place. It may have been a front, not knowing what was awaiting us on the other side of the door. We walked between four pool tables, lighted by a pair of four foot fluorescent tubes. Three to four light bulbs were lit on the ceiling.
A Wurlitzer jukebox blasted out the classic oldies of the 1950s and 60s. Tonight, Jewel Aiken’s “Birds and the Bees” was pulsating in our heads and Petey Nicholson and Annie Kinegak were standing next to the music machine, feeding it quarters and liberty 50 cent pieces.
Stan Nevak, Judy Guinn, Minnie Sallison, and I strolled in and faded into the crowd standing around the 24 foot “L” shaped counter. We ordered four hamburgers, fries, and coca-colas. Our reason for going to the old pool hall was now satisfied, and as we all went our separate ways, fading into the darkness of night. I heard the last few notes of The Platters’ “Only You” ringing in my ears.
I think the moral of this story is quite simple. We come into this world alone, and we will leave it the same way – alone. This article is reprinted and was first published on August 30, 2006.