Maestro of Mass

Lank, tonsured Charlie ("Show me a shot I can't make") Peterson has spent 51 of his 64 years learning, loving, mastering the art of billiards, and bringing the masse to the masses. Now he is bringing it to the services.

Since Pearl Harbor, 344 Army camps have witnessed the cue work of billiards' No. 1 trick-shot Svengali. Peterson has peregrinated 75,000 miles, given 1,239 exhibitions, walked goo miles around tables making 92,000 fancy shots for his uniformed audiences.

To a line of facile patter Charlie clicks rabbits out of his green felt hat, has his gallery alternately rolling in the aisles and sitting on the edges of their seats. Typical crack out of his million-gag grab bag (after a difficult miss): "Gentlemen, you have just seen me tie the great Willie Hoppe. He can't make that shot either." Typical sample (named "Over the Top") from his 600 trick-shot repertoire: after making two cushions, the cue ball jumps up on the wooden rail, rolls along its full length, drops off to complete a perfect around-the-table, three-cushion billiard.

Other Peterson eye-gogglers : making a silver dollar leap from the cushion-top into a hat; putting the balls through a game of leapfrog all over the table; making a ball jump off the table, roll about on the floor, bounce back on the table. Peterson is the performer who has made the fabulous "impossible shot" possible. The cue ball and two object balls are jammed together in the corner jaw. A brilliantly executed force masse puts such heavy "English"* (spinning motion) on the cue ball that it clears a path, spins to the side rail, reverses back to the end rail, where it loops several times and meets the second object ball near the corner for a completed three-cushion billiard.

Charlie's Empty House. Charlie was born in Milwaukee, became an elevator boy at the Republican House when he was 13, rarely left its billiard room. Instead of firing him, the manager ordered his proficient boy employe to play with well-paying guests, and he soon became the favorite of billiard-playing Actors Joseph Jefferson, Richard Mansfield, Willian Collier, Kate Emmett. He watched the distinguished and dazzling performances of billiard greats Jake Schaefer Sr. and Frank Ives. While still uniformed after his return from the Spanish-American War, Peterson took a beating from beknickered Willie Hoppe, but got his revenge later in an exhibition match (1906) when he was not so rusty.

In 1904 St. Louis hosted both the Louisiana Purchase Exposition and the world's foremost cue artists, became the billiard center of the world. Peterson opened a billiard parlor, brought the game to all sexes and ages.

He suffered a spine injury in an auto accident (1910), lay in a plaster cast for seven months. His first act after being discharged was to rush to his billiard rooms and grab a cue. He was as good as ever--but only for a few minutes at a time. He worked on fancy shots, mastered the mysteries of angles and ballspin, became the game's Fancy Dan, a combination cue-and-ivory Houdini and amiable Billy Sunday, who evangelized for the game.

Only once in his long career has an audience walked out on him. It happened in an embarkation camp near Seattle. Troops jammed the mess hall where the table had been placed. Peterson had just delivered his opening spiel, was about to illustrate, when an officer barked a command. The boys walked out on him--they had a rendezvous on Attu.

* Father of "English" was Englishman Jack Carr (early 19th Century), who called it "side," worked it by chalking his cue. Carr said it was magic chalk, sold it for ten shillings ($2.50) a box, was soon rich enough to tour Spain and France. When a depleted customer tried plain chalk and got "side," Carr's "English" racket was scotched.

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