Behind David Cox’ desk on the wall hangs a picture of Nick’s pool Hall which was located in the space occupied by Main Street Art and Antiques over 20 years ago.
I would say that I’ve heard at least four different people at different times ask how much that picture would cost to purchase but it is not for sale.
It sure is a beautiful picture.
David Cox’ Very Organized Workspace At Main Street Art and Antiques, originally uploaded by captjoe06.
Good Morning Gloucester 
somebody call the A&E show, Hoarders…quick
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looks familiar…in our defense, ponder this. ” If a cluttered desk is the sign of a cluttered mind, what is a stark desk a sign of? ” (AND, I bet he knows where everything is!)
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Hey Katie, that’s brilliant! My desk is very similar although to a lessor degree. I feel much better know that I can hide behind that defense! 🙂
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I’ve seen that photograph before. But my grandfather knew much more about it because he was there when it was booming with pool sharks and other players. My grandfather was raised in Gloucester and two years ago we went back up there to see what his childhood town was like today and how it had changed from when he was kid. Born in 1943 as Harold David Gallery, Jr., at Adison Gilbert Hospital, it wasn’t until the summer of his 68th birthday, in 2011, along with his sister, the three of us drove up there when I had known of my vacation time.
After parking and unloading up in Rockport, which was home to his cousin and his wife and kids, it was the middle of our trip and we decided to venture down to Main St. and he had mentioned of an old pool hall he used to work in as a child. We finally saw it after spontaneously jutting inside the police station for a quick visit because it turned out the cousins we were staying with told us that we had relatives working for Law Enforcement and my grandfather wanted to drop by. The store to me was heaven because of all the things lying around scattered here and there all for sale no matter how long they’ve been sitting there. After perusing around a little more my grandfather, on his way out, saw that photo above the cash register and I’m guessing it brought back so many memories and smells and many conversations about the long night of playing pool.
Initially we saw it and was wooed by it’s perfection and detail. The photo was well-done for sure and as hasty as my grandfather is he started talking to the owner about the things there were when he was there. After finishing his story we went outside under the sun to sit on a bench as his sister wanted to shop in a nearby store a block away. We sat and he then told me a little more about the photo and what he was exactly doing in there a young lad. He was working. Back at the start of the fifties my grandfather had to get a letter signed by his mother to have permission to go there. He was paid ten cents, fifteen cents, sometimes even quarters, mostly pocket change for racking balls and setting the tables so that players were well-equipped and ready for any game. I felt so proud to here that kind of thing.
As of this year my grandfather, “Pop,” is turning seventy. He’s dedicated himself for over six months now for participating in three pool leagues which he plays regularly. As his passion for pool has grown so does mine and when we saw that photo for the first time I was starstruck because I wanted to whip out my credit-card almost immediately so that we could bring a little piece of his home back home to us down in Delaware. As we enjoyed our weekly stay, we ate from the sea, we chatted about the poor times back then, and as usual we tried to visit the people we cared most when we had time.
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