Jack’s Gameroom Revisited

A Sea Of Change Doesn’t Sway Memories

By Jason Jones

Messenger Reporter

GRAPELAND – Please allow me to preface; This is not news. I have no idea whether mixing my emotionally spurred ramblings among the actual reporting of news is well-received, or is met with the inevitable eyerolls of those who simply wish to be kept abreast of area happenings via skilled journalistic effort. But I am still in the learning phase of my newfound (and, so far, much loved) profession. As such, I will occasionally revert to what I do best; string together a few words that my mom will find entertaining, and hope others feel the same.

As I sit in my office – actually Will Johnson’s office, which I’m occupying during his wedding and honeymoon-filled absence – I find it difficult to not find myself going back in time to the many hours I spent in this very building almost 4 decades ago. The beautifully renovated Messenger office occupies what was once Jack Watson’s gameroom and arcade. I sit roughly in the spot formerly occupied by pinball machines and the foosball table – an entity which never consumed one of my quarters. I know my skillset, and twisting knobs to make tiny soccer players send a ball into the dark void at the ends of the table wasn’t one I possessed.

I did, however, pour many Washington-adorned discs into the pool tables in the back and the jukebox next to them. Those were good times.

Jack Watson had no idea what he meant to the community. I suppose, in his mind, he was simply enjoying himself. He always had a smile on his face. He knew every kid’s name who entered his establishment, and he never tolerated any who would disrupt the peace or bring anything in that wasn’t supposed to be there. Many times, in order to get change for a dollar, one would have to wait until Jack finished telling whatever hilarious anecdote he was sharing with the small crowd that always seemed to occupy the space around his counter. Every now and then, someone who wasn’t in on the joke would notice the quarter on the floor near Jack’s chair. They would reach down to pick it up and be met with laughter. Jack had epoxied the quarter to the floor for entertainment, and it worked for years. In my mind, Jack Watson was living the American dream, and I suppose, for all intents and purposes, he was.

In actuality, Jack was providing an invaluable service to his community. As a father, I know all too well the unease of watching your children pull out of the driveway on a Friday or Saturday night. You try to relax or watch some TV, but it seems you never are able to fully exhale until you hear their car arrive safely back at home. Jack Watson took it upon himself to shoulder some of that burden for the parents in his community. Watson’s gameroom was a safe haven. To say that there was no bad behavior among teens in the 80s would be a severe bending of the truth. But it didn’t happen at Jack’s. Watson’s gameroom was a place where local kids could go, and their parents knew they would be as safe as possible. And should some of those kids disappear for whatever mischief may have been at hand, it’s probable that their parents knew about it before they arrived back home.

It was truly a different day and age.

Downtown Grapeland was different in the 1980s. Main Street was a social gathering spot. Many summer nights found my car parked somewhere along the two block strip, alongside five or six others. We would all be sitting on tailgates or trunk lids, talking about whatever the subject du jour was and likely trying to solve the world’s problems. We never solved anything, but we felt certain that we could. Today, strangely enough, my car occupies the same spot as it did back then almost every day. It’s hard not to picture myself sitting right there with my friends, most of whom I’m still close with today. I honestly think, however foolishly, that given one more Saturday night on Main Street, we could make some sort of profound difference in the world. If nothing else, we’d laugh. A lot.

The quarter didn’t make the transition. I wasn’t around during the recent building renovation, but if I had been, it would have been chiseled out and turned into a piece of art for display. And every day, as I laid my eyes on it, I would have surely broken out into a fit of laughter… or at least a chuckle.

113 N. Main may no longer be the site of Jack Watson’s place, but rest assured, the impact he had on a generation of young people from east Texas means he’ll never really be gone.

Jason Jones may be reached via email at [email protected]

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