This photo was taken at Gittings in Houston around 1966. When Dad grew his beard, his sister Lennie called him “The Hippie Judge.” People sang Flip Wilson’s song “Here comes the judge” when he walked into a room. He enjoyed that very much, as I recall. Dad was one of those rare people who could pivot between dignity and hilarity in the blink of an eye. He and I played pool at Le Cue, where we once watched Minnesota Fats give an exhibition. This was soon after “The Hustler” movie. He always beat me in the end. He said I couldn’t beat. Honestly, I didn’t want to. He won with such a flourish. He was a Cyrano when he beat people at cards. He had a regular Monday night poker game with other lawyers and judges. He’d always ask me, “What’s the name of the game?” I’d say, “gin,” and he’d fan his cards out on the table. It was a wonderful ritual.
As an aside, when I looked up Le Que, it seems that cue balls weren’t the only things that changed hands there: