A home away from home

Tim Yanaetsko and Ontorio Dubose were hanging around Marietta Billiard Club, not drinking anything, not eating anything and not shooting pool.

PHOTOS BY BOB ANDRES / COX NEWS SERVICE As more people lose their jobs or worry about that possibility, "third places" like Marietta Billiard Club in Marietta, Ga. (above), take on a more meaningful role as a temporary escape and place to soak up the support of friends. They were waiting to play poker.

In the dim, scattered light of the late afternoon, they were connected to a place and the people in it, linked by their anticipation, as well as by talk, by familiarity and by the threads of a stressed economy.

"I'm just trying to get by, trying to survive," Yanaetsko said.

Places like the pool hall have been around for a long time, of course, but as the job market unravels, more people reach for a "third place" — neither home nor work, but a substitute with some of the best attributes of each.

"One of the major reasons that people go is just to hang out with other people," said Ray Oldenburg, best known for writing "The Great Good Place," a look at such sanctuaries. "There are dozens of functions of third places, but what it comes down to is not being alone," Oldenburg said.

Max Manor of Acworth, Ga., lines up a shot at Marietta Billiard Club, a place where players and nonplayers can spend hours among friends. Some "third places" are obvious: libraries, beer gardens, pubs and coffeehouses. Some are less so: post offices and barber shops, for example. These places can bring people together across class and race lines. They offer a kind of social democracy, albeit one that often has a hierarchy of regulars and outsiders. Most important, with minimal admission fees, they are communities.

During economic stress, the need for a haven is even more urgent, said Oldenburg, a professor at the University of West Florida in Pensacola, Fla. "I think it makes this more important. If you are down and out, to hang around with friends helps."

This weekday afternoon, the smoke in the room is thick. Neon beer signs line the walls, and five flat-screen televisions play behind the bar.

Only nine pool tables — less than one-third — are taken. At some, only one person is shooting pool.

There are a lot of potential players these days: roughly 11.6 million Americans are officially out of work. Yanaetsko was laid off nine months ago from his job making signs for a real estate business.

His car was repossessed, so his family depends on public transportation. They go to food banks. They also took in a boarder.

Dubose lost his $2,000-per-month job driving a truck three months ago.

He gets no unemployment benefits, picking up odd jobs to support himself and his four daughters while he chases leads for permanent work. "It's rough out there. You can call the staffing services and they say they aren't hiring."

He pays rent "by the skin of my teeth."

But the pool hall charges no rent. You can hang out for hours, chat or watch television or just sit and gaze into space until the poker starts up.

And if you pay for lunch, you can play pool for no charge until 3 in the afternoon.

Harold Dorden comes to the pool hall three or four times a week, now that he's closed his construction business. The recession forced him to shut down. He and his wife are living off the salary she earns at a collection agency.

The pool hall is "an outlet," he said. "It relieves stress."