Pool continued from page 1 view of the traditional green felt that covers the table’s slate surface. The table was manufactured by my great-grandfather, James G. Herd, who emigrated from Dundee, Scotland, in County Angus, to Philadelphia in 1871 at age 17 and settled in a Scottish neighborhood in Kensington near Front and York streets. There he joined Thomas Clark and began manufacturing billiard and pocket-pool tables in a three-story building at 2419-25 North Front Street, where they traded as Clark, Herd Mfg. Co. Upon the death of Clark in 1916, James and his three sons (including my grandfather, John J.) operated the business. An old catalog shows eight models, some very ornate, others with plain lines like the Beaumont table. Clark, Herd became a leading company in Philadelphia not only for sales but also for service, especially when it came to repairing rips in the green felt. However, with the passage of the 18th Amendment in 1919, prohibiting the sale of alcohol nationwide, including bars and pool halls, and the financial crash of 1929, the demise of pool table manufacturing for residential use was very quick. The Clark, Herd company went out of business in the late 1920s.
Weather continued from page 1 There’s quite a lot of snow on the ground already, though nothing like what the TV newscasters are gleefully reporting is yet to come. What’s special about the view from our villa is that one of Beaumont’s snowplows is keeping the roadway clear. A little red motorized snowblower is zipping in and out of driveways, keeping them clear. A man with a shovel and a portable snowblower on his back is across the road, keeping a neighbor’s sidewalk clear. (Our sidewalk is already clear.) In a little while the doorbell will ring, and it will be one of Beaumont’s after-hours drivers, stamping and shaking the snow from his boots and hood, delivering our dinner. We ordered it this afternoon from the maître d’ in the mansion up the hill, where nine separate full-service dining rooms, open at almost any hour anyone would want to eat, will be waiting for us to choose from when we again feel like venturing out. If, when the time comes, we feel like dressing for dinner, there’s the paneled Oak Room, the original dining room used by the railroad baron who built the mansion, or the Green Room, which was his family’s living room, with wonderful moldings and an exquisite, ornate marble fireplace. The other dining rooms are all different; less formal, each with its own character. The Bistro has huge TV screens, a bar and an en suite poolroom. (Tonight we’re having cream of crab soup, grilled Cornish hen with peaches and a port-wine sauce, herbscented rice, and stir-fried broccoli. There were plenty of other choices, but that’s what we both felt like tonight. The dress code for tonight is PJs and bathrobes. We’ll supply our own wine, but we could have ordered that delivered too, and our Wine Committee knows its grapes.) Of course there are all the other amenities you would expect in a high-end CCRC, and this one is unique in the country for being owned and run by its residents. We are beautifully exercised, amused, stimulated and cared-for as well as elegantly fed. Many are not even retired—they’re enjoying a sort of medium-relaxed pre-retirement. But back to me, an 83-year-old elder with a slightly older husband, and our main reason for smiling at this moment—as we have smiled during all of our almost 10 years here. Up and down the East Coast TV anchors are shouting bad news about the oncoming Blizzard of 2015, and home owners are glumly eyeing their shovels. We are sitting cozily in our study, watching the snow fall and NOT HAVING TO DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT! You’d smile too, Mr. Brooks.
Photos by Richard Stephens
AT LEFT: Bob sees result of his shot. ABOVE: Joan Stuart uses a bridge to line up hers.
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