Later Petersen would consult on the art with his close friend the late Burton Spain, and the two men undoubtedly made one another better. He sawed the one-piece more or less in half, fitted a joint and pin from an ancient broken-down jointed cue that was sitting around as rubble, and a cue-making legend was born. "Yes, I know, in the back," said Craig, already walking away in his first steps toward lasting fame. Take one of those nice Titleists sticks off the wall and make it into a jointed cue. Which is precisely how Romain launched Craig Petersen's cuemaking career. "Probably," said Craig, thinking it was a rhetorical question. He had already recruited Craig for his table-service duties by asking, out of the clear blue, "Think you could re-cover a table?" The room's counterman/house pro was the late, brilliant caroms player Bill Romain, a highly practical sort. This was back in the '60s, when Brunswick was still making one-piece Titleist cues, with multi-veneered points, largely intended as inventory for commercial rooms. He was hanging out in a long-gone Chicago room called Howard-Paulina, after the nearest streets' intersection, where he also served as a part-time table mechanic. TALK ABOUT humble beginnings: here's how the late, highly acclaimed cuemaker Craig Petersen got his.
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