Mose, the owner of The Strand now, said, "Sure, Rod."
"He was a good one, wasn't he?" Hot Rod asked. "One of the best?"
"Sure he was," Mose said.
"They had some big games here in Charleston," Rod went on. "Butch was the houseman here—and over at The Arcade, too, when he worked there—on all the razzle-dazzle games. I can see him now. He'd come in wearing a new white shirt, and the first thing he'd do was turn the cuffs back. Hey, right away, roll 'em back—one, two, three times. Then put a cigarette in his mouth.
"I played pool long before I played any basketball. Hey, listen to this. I gave a speech the other night, and I started off telling them how I had a pool table in my house. I told them I wanted my children to have the same advantages that I did. Hey, the place went wild."
Hot Rod said good night to Mose, waved to the oldtimers and headed up the street to Babe's place. There all the other people from the Chemical City greeted him at the bar; he said, "Take me, don't tease me," and he got a Cutty and water on the house; he told all the people about Converse and West Virginia; he picked up a cue so he could play Buzz some skill pool, and hey, listen to this, it looked altogether like a little slice of heaven.
You can always end a Hot Rod Hundley story that way.