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After bust at his home, ''fun guy'' faces big trouble
After bust at his home, ''fun guy'' faces big trouble
By TOM ROBINSON, The Virginian-Pilot
© December 11, 2001
Barry Behrman held monthly parties in the 3,000-square-foot game room on the second floor of his Chesapeake home. Vicki Cronis / The Virginian-Pilot
CHESAPEAKE -- Even as he was being busted for running a casino in his house, Barry Behrman couldn't help himself.
``The police were so nice,'' said Behrman, 55, owner of Q-Masters Billiards in Virginia Beach and an internationally known tournament promoter. ``It was just me and about 50 of them, quarter-to-six in the a.m.
``As they were leaving, I said, `I had a New Year's Eve party last year -- just a New Year's Eve party -- and I might be having another one.' You know what they said to me? `Are we invited?' ''
Behrman smiles.
``I'm a fun guy, I like to have a good time. I was born on April Fool's Day. That answers that.''
Background coverage: Homeowner, 7 others charged over monthly ''casino'' parties
For a good-time guy, though, Behrman is on big-time run of bad news.
His last two pro tournaments at the Chesapeake Conference Center, the Masters 9-ball Championships in April and his signature U.S. Open 9-ball Championships in September, failed at the gate.
He took months to pay off the Masters winners. His reputation suffered further when, after the Sept. 11 attacks, Behrman reduced the U.S. Open's ``guaranteed'' purse in midstream. He had to, he said, because attendance was dramatically off.
Behrman said he owes more than $200,000 to friends and suppliers.
``It's been a rough year,'' he said.
Now this:
Chesapeake police raided Behrman's 6,600-square-foot home at 900 Audubon Circle in the Warrington Hall subdivision early on Sunday morning, Dec. 2. They broke up a monthly party where, police say, Behrman sold alcoholic beverages without a license and ran an illegal gambling operation for 60, 80, sometimes more than 100 guests.
Most of last weekend's 94 partygoers were charged with misdemeanors. Behrman, however, was indicted on four felonies -- one count of cocaine possession and three counts of illegal gambling -- and 10 misdemeanors, including marijuana possession. His trial is set for Feb. 11.
Behrman claimed he doesn't know how the cocaine got into an old jacket in his closet or the marijuana into a tin in his pantry. He was convicted of cocaine possession in Virginia Beach in 1986 and 1996 but served no jail time. He freely admits, however, to hosting friends at his sprawling bachelor's pad -- it was built by a childhood friend and bought for cost at $625,000 -- the first Saturday of each month for more than a year.
``Fun Nite at Barry Behrman's Home,'' as his printed announcements read, was hardly a secret. There were no passwords or hidden entrances. Behrman circulated the invitations, which encouraged friends to ``eat, drink and be merry'' in his 3,000-square-foot party and game room.
Guests paid a $5 cover charge and were directed upstairs to neon-lit sensory overload: poker, blackjack and other card tables. Billiards and bumper pool tables. Darts, skeeball and video games. A jukebox and wooden dance floor, faced by a mirrored wall, beneath a glittering disco ball.
According to the city's search warrant affidavit, two undercover officers bearing invitations attended all three parties since October. They bought $2 mixed drinks and $1 bottles of beer. They lost hands of blackjack to a dealer who, the affidavit says, worked with Behrman's money and answered to him.
Behrman, divorced ``for 20 happy years,'' lives alone with two cats. He soaked up the excitement of seeing his place stuffed with people eating and drinking and playing.
``Barry's got the kind of personality that can make friends really easy,'' said Charlie Anderson, who built Behrman's house from a model of a recent Homearama exhibition. ``If you meet him and tell him your name and you see him in four years, he'll know your name. I don't know anybody who knows him who doesn't like him.''
The house has been on the market about a month for $775,000. ``It's just too big,'' Behrman said. ``I hear echoes when I call my cats.''
Saddled with a $4,200 mortgage as well as his other debt, Behrman nevertheless partied on. But where some hosts might pass a hat to recoup money, Behrman charged upfront at the door and at the bar.
That may be legally sticky, said Behrman's attorney, John W. Brown, because of how business-like it appears.
``If I'm selling beers for $3 and mixed drinks for $5, that's a problem,'' said Behrman, who said he's held a commercial ABC license since 1983. ``Selling beers for $1 and mixed drinks for $2, we're covering costs.''
As for the gambling, Behrman said the poker table ran itself and the blackjack dealers worked with their own money.
Most of them, anyway.
Behrman admitted he split stakes, gains and losses of usually a few hundred dollars with one Caribbean stud dealer. Brown said that may violate a statute that allows gambling at a private residence so long as an ``operator'' isn't getting a cut.
``Barry's pushed the envelope,'' Brown said.
That's the thing about Behrman. A fast-talker with a quick smile -- ``Hyper runs in my family,'' he said -- Behrman gives the impression that he's the smoothest of operators.
Friends and business associates know the 5-foot-6 Behrman, a grandfather with two grown children, as 152 pounds of schmooze.
``He has a reputation for trying to please everyone,'' Billiard's Digest editor Kirsten Pires said. ``Sometimes that gets him in trouble.''
Gambling has been a big part of Behrman's life at least since 1971, when he opened his first pool hall for $3,000 in Norfolk's Norview neighborhood. But he says it's never caused him trouble.
Though he calls himself a blackjack expert, Behrman says he's a small-time player on his occasional trips to Las Vegas and Atlantic City.
``I've played pool for a lot of cash in my life,'' said Behrman, who attended Frederick Military Academy in Portsmouth. ``I'd rather bet on myself.''
Behrman, who since 1998 has sold two of the three Q-Masters he owned, started promoting his U.S. Open in 1976. A couple hundred fans crammed into a back room at the Norview Q-Masters that year to watch 16 players shoot for a $10,000 purse.
By last September, through Behrman's determined effort, the Open had long become one of the most prestigious tournaments in the world. It annually draws more than 200 players from numerous countries, paying $500 apiece to enter.
This year, 214 men were to compete for a $40,000 first prize from a total purse of $179,000 -- not including the prevalent side action that routinely takes place at and around billiards events.
Entry fees made up $102,000 of the purse. Behrman's contribution was to be an additional $72,000 from tournament-generated money. He guaranteed it in advance, even though he was still paying off debts from his inaugural Masters in April.
The Masters gate fell far below projections, Behrman said. He said he lost $50,000 promoting the event, worsening the financial distress he said actually began in September 2000.
To mark his 25th Open, Behrman said he added $72,000 to bring that purse to a record $200,000. At the same time, he said he strained his personal accounts to move from the 2,000-square-foot home in Kempsville he'd owned for 21 years into his palatial playpen.
Last year's Open lost about $20,000, Behrman said, but he counted on rebounding this year. However, when the terrorist attacks struck on the second day of play, the out-of-town regulars who fill hundreds of Behrman's VIP seats later in the week couldn't travel.
They required refunds. And suddenly, Behrman's loyal military audience was called to duty. Behrman said he chose to continue the tournament because the players were here. But, panicked, he told them he was cutting his guaranteed added money in half. He said he lost $30,000 anyway.
Despite his track record as a promoter, Behrman was lambasted as a symbol of ``pool's general small-mindedness'' in a column by Billiard's Digest publisher Mike Panozzo.
``Behrman's actions,'' Panozzo wrote, ``were unconscionable. The players very easily could have sued. . . . Pool needs Barry Behrman. But pool needs to grow up and act like a professional sport.''
Behrman bristled at the suggestion he was scheming. ``No one has paid pool players more money than me.''
He said another spring Masters is iffy but he plans to hold next September's Open as scheduled.
``I lost $80,000 to $100,000 in a six-month period that I did not have.''
Selling his mansion will dig him out, he said. But first he needs to avoid losing it in a trustee sale scheduled for Jan. 8 on the courthouse steps. According to Dolan's Virginia Business Observer, which cited city records, Behrman hasn't paid taxes on the property since March. Behrman, told of this by a reporter Monday evening, claims he did not know he was $6,421.53 in arrears, but he promised to square his account.
``I was aware of some taxes, but I'm not going to lose that house for six grand. I'll take care of that right away.''
In another concession to practicality, Behrman said he may sell the '98 pewter Corvette he bought new for $38,000., ``a great deal,'' he says.
Behrman said his parties weren't a stab at making money. He said he was shutting them down anyway.
Friends had told him his parties were probably illegal. Lately, he suspected he was being watched. He said the weekend party was to be his last.
``I have a microphone upstairs,'' Behrman said. ``I reminded people several times, `Enjoy it, don't trash the house and this is the last party. Happy holidays.' ''
Behrman could be a lot happier. Each of his three illegal gambling charges carries a penalty of up to 10 years in prison. A cocaine possession conviction could mean 10 more years.
``Of course I'm scared,'' Behrman said. ``My nerves are frail.''
Brown says he hopes to plea bargain most or all of the charges. He and Behrman hope the goodwill Behrman has built with the city through his billiards events will be considered.
``That won't make a difference,'' said Randall D. Smith, the Chesapeake commonwealth's attorney.
The U.S. Open was the conference center's inaugural event in 1997. The tournament annually generates about $50,000 for the conference center and about 1,500 hotel room nights, said Kimberly Murden, the center's sales and marketing director.
``It's probably one of the biggest functions held in the city of Chesapeake.''
Especially now that Behrman's ``fun nites'' are finished.
``Are there violations of ABC law? Absolutely,'' Brown said. ``Was there illegal gambling going on, based on the definitions of the statutes? Yes. Should it make everybody's hair stand on end? No.''
Worried as he is, Behrman said he takes heart in the outpouring of well-wishers, many of whom he's never met, and even his early morning chat with those nice police officers.
``They said they've never seen such a well-behaved, well-
By TOM ROBINSON, The Virginian-Pilot
© December 11, 2001
Barry Behrman held monthly parties in the 3,000-square-foot game room on the second floor of his Chesapeake home. Vicki Cronis / The Virginian-Pilot
CHESAPEAKE -- Even as he was being busted for running a casino in his house, Barry Behrman couldn't help himself.
``The police were so nice,'' said Behrman, 55, owner of Q-Masters Billiards in Virginia Beach and an internationally known tournament promoter. ``It was just me and about 50 of them, quarter-to-six in the a.m.
``As they were leaving, I said, `I had a New Year's Eve party last year -- just a New Year's Eve party -- and I might be having another one.' You know what they said to me? `Are we invited?' ''
Behrman smiles.
``I'm a fun guy, I like to have a good time. I was born on April Fool's Day. That answers that.''
Background coverage: Homeowner, 7 others charged over monthly ''casino'' parties
For a good-time guy, though, Behrman is on big-time run of bad news.
His last two pro tournaments at the Chesapeake Conference Center, the Masters 9-ball Championships in April and his signature U.S. Open 9-ball Championships in September, failed at the gate.
He took months to pay off the Masters winners. His reputation suffered further when, after the Sept. 11 attacks, Behrman reduced the U.S. Open's ``guaranteed'' purse in midstream. He had to, he said, because attendance was dramatically off.
Behrman said he owes more than $200,000 to friends and suppliers.
``It's been a rough year,'' he said.
Now this:
Chesapeake police raided Behrman's 6,600-square-foot home at 900 Audubon Circle in the Warrington Hall subdivision early on Sunday morning, Dec. 2. They broke up a monthly party where, police say, Behrman sold alcoholic beverages without a license and ran an illegal gambling operation for 60, 80, sometimes more than 100 guests.
Most of last weekend's 94 partygoers were charged with misdemeanors. Behrman, however, was indicted on four felonies -- one count of cocaine possession and three counts of illegal gambling -- and 10 misdemeanors, including marijuana possession. His trial is set for Feb. 11.
Behrman claimed he doesn't know how the cocaine got into an old jacket in his closet or the marijuana into a tin in his pantry. He was convicted of cocaine possession in Virginia Beach in 1986 and 1996 but served no jail time. He freely admits, however, to hosting friends at his sprawling bachelor's pad -- it was built by a childhood friend and bought for cost at $625,000 -- the first Saturday of each month for more than a year.
``Fun Nite at Barry Behrman's Home,'' as his printed announcements read, was hardly a secret. There were no passwords or hidden entrances. Behrman circulated the invitations, which encouraged friends to ``eat, drink and be merry'' in his 3,000-square-foot party and game room.
Guests paid a $5 cover charge and were directed upstairs to neon-lit sensory overload: poker, blackjack and other card tables. Billiards and bumper pool tables. Darts, skeeball and video games. A jukebox and wooden dance floor, faced by a mirrored wall, beneath a glittering disco ball.
According to the city's search warrant affidavit, two undercover officers bearing invitations attended all three parties since October. They bought $2 mixed drinks and $1 bottles of beer. They lost hands of blackjack to a dealer who, the affidavit says, worked with Behrman's money and answered to him.
Behrman, divorced ``for 20 happy years,'' lives alone with two cats. He soaked up the excitement of seeing his place stuffed with people eating and drinking and playing.
``Barry's got the kind of personality that can make friends really easy,'' said Charlie Anderson, who built Behrman's house from a model of a recent Homearama exhibition. ``If you meet him and tell him your name and you see him in four years, he'll know your name. I don't know anybody who knows him who doesn't like him.''
The house has been on the market about a month for $775,000. ``It's just too big,'' Behrman said. ``I hear echoes when I call my cats.''
Saddled with a $4,200 mortgage as well as his other debt, Behrman nevertheless partied on. But where some hosts might pass a hat to recoup money, Behrman charged upfront at the door and at the bar.
That may be legally sticky, said Behrman's attorney, John W. Brown, because of how business-like it appears.
``If I'm selling beers for $3 and mixed drinks for $5, that's a problem,'' said Behrman, who said he's held a commercial ABC license since 1983. ``Selling beers for $1 and mixed drinks for $2, we're covering costs.''
As for the gambling, Behrman said the poker table ran itself and the blackjack dealers worked with their own money.
Most of them, anyway.
Behrman admitted he split stakes, gains and losses of usually a few hundred dollars with one Caribbean stud dealer. Brown said that may violate a statute that allows gambling at a private residence so long as an ``operator'' isn't getting a cut.
``Barry's pushed the envelope,'' Brown said.
That's the thing about Behrman. A fast-talker with a quick smile -- ``Hyper runs in my family,'' he said -- Behrman gives the impression that he's the smoothest of operators.
Friends and business associates know the 5-foot-6 Behrman, a grandfather with two grown children, as 152 pounds of schmooze.
``He has a reputation for trying to please everyone,'' Billiard's Digest editor Kirsten Pires said. ``Sometimes that gets him in trouble.''
Gambling has been a big part of Behrman's life at least since 1971, when he opened his first pool hall for $3,000 in Norfolk's Norview neighborhood. But he says it's never caused him trouble.
Though he calls himself a blackjack expert, Behrman says he's a small-time player on his occasional trips to Las Vegas and Atlantic City.
``I've played pool for a lot of cash in my life,'' said Behrman, who attended Frederick Military Academy in Portsmouth. ``I'd rather bet on myself.''
Behrman, who since 1998 has sold two of the three Q-Masters he owned, started promoting his U.S. Open in 1976. A couple hundred fans crammed into a back room at the Norview Q-Masters that year to watch 16 players shoot for a $10,000 purse.
By last September, through Behrman's determined effort, the Open had long become one of the most prestigious tournaments in the world. It annually draws more than 200 players from numerous countries, paying $500 apiece to enter.
This year, 214 men were to compete for a $40,000 first prize from a total purse of $179,000 -- not including the prevalent side action that routinely takes place at and around billiards events.
Entry fees made up $102,000 of the purse. Behrman's contribution was to be an additional $72,000 from tournament-generated money. He guaranteed it in advance, even though he was still paying off debts from his inaugural Masters in April.
The Masters gate fell far below projections, Behrman said. He said he lost $50,000 promoting the event, worsening the financial distress he said actually began in September 2000.
To mark his 25th Open, Behrman said he added $72,000 to bring that purse to a record $200,000. At the same time, he said he strained his personal accounts to move from the 2,000-square-foot home in Kempsville he'd owned for 21 years into his palatial playpen.
Last year's Open lost about $20,000, Behrman said, but he counted on rebounding this year. However, when the terrorist attacks struck on the second day of play, the out-of-town regulars who fill hundreds of Behrman's VIP seats later in the week couldn't travel.
They required refunds. And suddenly, Behrman's loyal military audience was called to duty. Behrman said he chose to continue the tournament because the players were here. But, panicked, he told them he was cutting his guaranteed added money in half. He said he lost $30,000 anyway.
Despite his track record as a promoter, Behrman was lambasted as a symbol of ``pool's general small-mindedness'' in a column by Billiard's Digest publisher Mike Panozzo.
``Behrman's actions,'' Panozzo wrote, ``were unconscionable. The players very easily could have sued. . . . Pool needs Barry Behrman. But pool needs to grow up and act like a professional sport.''
Behrman bristled at the suggestion he was scheming. ``No one has paid pool players more money than me.''
He said another spring Masters is iffy but he plans to hold next September's Open as scheduled.
``I lost $80,000 to $100,000 in a six-month period that I did not have.''
Selling his mansion will dig him out, he said. But first he needs to avoid losing it in a trustee sale scheduled for Jan. 8 on the courthouse steps. According to Dolan's Virginia Business Observer, which cited city records, Behrman hasn't paid taxes on the property since March. Behrman, told of this by a reporter Monday evening, claims he did not know he was $6,421.53 in arrears, but he promised to square his account.
``I was aware of some taxes, but I'm not going to lose that house for six grand. I'll take care of that right away.''
In another concession to practicality, Behrman said he may sell the '98 pewter Corvette he bought new for $38,000., ``a great deal,'' he says.
Behrman said his parties weren't a stab at making money. He said he was shutting them down anyway.
Friends had told him his parties were probably illegal. Lately, he suspected he was being watched. He said the weekend party was to be his last.
``I have a microphone upstairs,'' Behrman said. ``I reminded people several times, `Enjoy it, don't trash the house and this is the last party. Happy holidays.' ''
Behrman could be a lot happier. Each of his three illegal gambling charges carries a penalty of up to 10 years in prison. A cocaine possession conviction could mean 10 more years.
``Of course I'm scared,'' Behrman said. ``My nerves are frail.''
Brown says he hopes to plea bargain most or all of the charges. He and Behrman hope the goodwill Behrman has built with the city through his billiards events will be considered.
``That won't make a difference,'' said Randall D. Smith, the Chesapeake commonwealth's attorney.
The U.S. Open was the conference center's inaugural event in 1997. The tournament annually generates about $50,000 for the conference center and about 1,500 hotel room nights, said Kimberly Murden, the center's sales and marketing director.
``It's probably one of the biggest functions held in the city of Chesapeake.''
Especially now that Behrman's ``fun nites'' are finished.
``Are there violations of ABC law? Absolutely,'' Brown said. ``Was there illegal gambling going on, based on the definitions of the statutes? Yes. Should it make everybody's hair stand on end? No.''
Worried as he is, Behrman said he takes heart in the outpouring of well-wishers, many of whom he's never met, and even his early morning chat with those nice police officers.
``They said they've never seen such a well-behaved, well-