Those of us who grew up in the little town of Lexington, South Carolina fondly remember a local establishment by the name of Berley's, appropriately named for its proprietor, Berley Kyzer.

Berley had all the mannerisms of Porky in the movie by the same name released in 1982. Porky was played by a redneck named Chuck Mitchell. Like Porky, Berley ran a pool hall on the west end of town just down the street from the old Lexington Post Office on West Main Street, a spot now occupied by a medical center.

Berley never met a pair of shoes he liked. In all the years I knew Berley Kyzer, I never ever saw him with shoes, winter, spring, summer or fall. As a child, I delivered his newspaper to Berley; as a teenager, I played the pinball machines in his beer joint and shot pool in his pool hall, like every other red blooded Lexingtonian.

Berley's… like going to Gibson's Pond on a Saturday night… like playing football for Coach Ingram on Friday night… like going to Myrtle Beach in the summer… like going to watch X-rated movies at the Sunset Drive-In theater in Columbia… Berley's was a right of passage.

Among the many blemishes of my youth was my penchant for playing pool at Berley's and routinely getting my clock cleaned by the best pool sharks around. The three that come to mind were classmates Mike Corley and Tim Dugan and an older guy by the name of Tony Porth. These guys made a living off or suckers like me. Thank God there were some who were worse that I was at 9-ball, so I evened my losses with an occasional win against the others.

Berley's was an institution. I say that with all the reverence I can muster. If you lived in Lexington in the fifties, sixties, seventies and eighties, sooner or later you bent an elbow at Berley's.

Berley ran a respectable establishment, or as respectable as pool halls in their day could be. Gambling was of course illegal, but it never stopped any of us from laying a bet on our game.

Berley's was not the only institution where an occasional bet on pool took place. Charlie Jabour, who ran Charlie's Cue and Cushion in Columbia, had a similar environment. When you got really good at Berley's you took your game to Columbia to play against the big boys at Charlie's Cue and Cushion.

Charlie Jabour was a fellow member of the Lebanese tribe and the owner of Charlie's Cue and Cushion. Uncle Charlie, as I affectionately called him, and his lovely wife, Carmen, always let me play for free. I would go there to play pool with Ike Cockfield, the late Robert McSwain and Mike Corley, three of my closest buddies. However, Charlie and Carmen would never allow me to participate in any kind of betting that took place, albeit under the table activity.

Growing up in Lexington you did not have many places to spend your free time. So going to Berley's was the thing to do. No women were allowed in the place either. I guess this was the early version of "man's law." No need to screw it up with babes causing fights.

However, occasionally there was a fight or two. I remember one summer night I got into a tussle with Wayne Arnold, a guy who was about half my size but who liked to goad me. We took it outside that night because the beer was doing most of the talking for both of us.

Let the record reflect I never used a fist on Wayne. Nope. Just got him to the ground with a tackle (just like Coach Charge Driggers taught us) and quickly moved to my secret weapon, the scissors hold, where I nearly choked him to death by squeezing the air out of him. When he gave up, I took him back inside and bought him another beer. That was the way we settled the score in those days.

Shortly after I got married, I remember my wife Christine dropping in on me at Berley's one night. She was working the second shift as a Pediatric Nurse at Lexington County Hospital and, like all loving women, she thought it would be cute to drop in and say hi to me on her way home.

I have never been so humiliated and embarrassed in my life. For months thereafter, I caught hell from all my buddies at Berley's. This was early version "man's law" and Larry Kyzer, Berley's right hand man and son who worked the counter, wasn't about to let me off easy.

Perhaps my most favorable memory of Berley's was sitting with Norris Wingard and eating pickled eggs. Norris, a local contract mailman, liked to eat the yellow. I ate the whites. We'd polish off a gallon jar of pickled eggs at least once a week. You didn't want to get down-wind on us; that's for sure!

There is no redeeming message in this week's column except to say it's a wonder I'm not any more screwed up than I am despite the many transgressions of my youth.