Harvey Martin and the West Coast Balance Standard

If Chicago gave American cue making a taste for machinery, Los Angeles offered another possibility.

Balance.

Lightness.

Clean lines.

A cue that felt less like a piece of industrial equipment and more like an extension of the player's arm.

That is where Harvey Martin enters the story.

While Herman Rambow's name became associated with Chicago and the muscular tradition of American custom cue construction, Martin represented a different California sensibility.

The difference wasn't simply geography.

It was philosophy.

California Had Its Own Poolroom

The postwar West Coast was changing quickly.

Los Angeles was expanding. New neighborhoods were appearing. The architecture looked different. The weather was different. The rooms were different.

And the tables could play differently, too.

Players adapted to the conditions they had.

Where one player wanted weight and authority, another wanted response and balance.

That created room for cue makers who understood that a serious player wasn't necessarily looking for the heaviest or most elaborate stick in the room.

He wanted the right one.

The Warm Feel of Wood

Martin's cues became associated with construction choices that emphasized a softer, more traditional feel.

Wood remained important.

A wood-to-wood connection, carefully constructed, could give a player a different sensation from a heavily engineered metal joint.

This is where cue making becomes difficult to explain to anyone who doesn't play.

A player will tell you that he can feel things in a cue that don't appear on a specification sheet.

The way the shaft comes through the bridge.

The vibration—or lack of it.

The feedback at impact.

The way the cue seems to accelerate.

Some of that can be measured.

Some of it belongs to the player's hands.

And some of it belongs to the mythology that has grown around great cues for generations.

Slim, Long and Balanced

Martin's style was associated with long, slender shaft tapers and understated woodwork.

Instead of covering a cue in metal and decoration, the beauty could be in the wood itself.

Ebony.

Rosewood.

Bird's-eye maple.

Clean points.

Subtle contrast.

The cue looked like something made by a craftsman rather than something assembled for a showroom window.

That understated approach had an appeal all its own.

The best custom cues don't necessarily announce themselves.

They wait until someone picks them up.

Rambow and Martin

It is tempting to turn Rambow and Martin into opposing characters in a billiard version of East versus West.

Chicago against Los Angeles.

Heavy against light.

Steel against wood.

Power against finesse.

History is rarely that tidy.

But the comparison is useful because it illustrates something important about American cue making.

There was never just one correct way to build a cue.

Players developed preferences.

Regions developed traditions.

Cue makers developed reputations.

And over time, those choices became part of the culture of the game.

A cue could tell you something about its owner.

It could tell you where he played.

Who built it.

What kind of game he preferred.

And, sometimes, what he believed a proper stroke ought to feel like.

That may be the most interesting thing about men like Harvey Martin.

They weren't simply making cues.

They were helping give different corners of American pool their own physical language.

Chicago had its hit.

California had its balance.

And somewhere between the two, American cue making became an art.