It was a simpler time, when life was easy and a man said what he meant and meant what he said. When we wanted to know about the rest of the world, we bought the New York Times. Our local newspapers accurately reflected what our neighbors were doing. In those days, people actually worked at their jobs with pride and dedication. Starting out like everyone else, I needed a plan, some direction, and a job.
So, sit back, and relax, my friends and I will take you on a ride you’ll enjoy. As your conductor you should know, I’m Angelo Cataldo, but you can call me Angy. I’m formerly of Revere, just outside Boston. My five foot nine, one hundred and thirty five pound frame makes me average, but my willingness to learn, I believe, elevates me to a higher status. At seventeen years old I’m not very precocious, but I am hard working and always try to do the right thing, well, maybe not ALWAYS, but at least most of the time. I like being an average guy who feels a little bit special. So, pay attention and hang on tight, my friends. I will take you on a tour. Next stop Boston, 1964.
The year is 1963 and the place is Revere Beach, Revere Massachusetts. Revere was named for Paul Revere, but that’s where history leaves off. Revere is a working class town just outside Boston and the beach is one of the most beautiful natural beaches in the world. It is inside a natural bay. Although the beach itself is several miles wide the bay opening to the Atlantic Ocean is only about a half mile wide and the natural grey sand slopes down very gently from shore to sea. At low tide a swimmer could walk out almost a half mile before the water was over their head.
When I think of the beach I naturally think of Joe Russo. Joe is a good friend and school mate from Revere High School who worked at the beach. After school Joe worked at his brother’s place, Russo’s Pizza, on Revere beach. I could count on Joe to make me the best pizza pie in the world. By our senior year at Revere High, Joe could make pizzas faster and better than anyone else in the world. During the very early spring I would take a bus to the beach and Joe would join me sitting on the sea wall across from the pizza place while I ate my slice. We talked about everything, but being young guys we talked about girls.
“Wow, look at that girl crossing the street over there. I’d marry her if she’d let me get a word in edgewise.” Joe confided.
As pre teenagers we just notice it was tough talking to girls they had a lot more to say than we did.
“Come on Joe, she’s so beautiful she wouldn’t look twice at either of us.” I countered.
“You sure have it made Joe, working here at the beach. You get to eat all the pizza you want and see all these beautiful girls walking around in their bathing suits.”
“It sounds better than it is. The only time I spend looking outside is when one of you guys from school show up and I take a break. I spend all my time tossing pizza dough and pouring tomato sauce. After high school is over I’m going to college to get away from this.”
“Really, I thought you would love to work here.”
“Angy, I’ve been here 5 years, gees, that’s almost a third of my life. I want to do something with my life, don’t you?”
“Sure Joe, you know I love doing weddings, though, the pay is never enough.”
“Gees and you of all people, I thought you’d be a photographer forever.”
“Lately I’ve been thinking, as much as I love photography, I can’t make much money doing it. I mean, I can make the best money on weddings, but I can only do them on the week-ends. Usually, I can’t do more than two weddings a week-end and that is very limiting for money. If I charged enough to make it worth while, I’d price myself out of the market.”
“I guess your right, I never noticed that before. Both our families are in the food business, maybe that’s the way to go.”
"I’m beginning to realize that I need to find something. Joe, I need to make a list and look at all my options. The food business is looking better and better. I guess something I know will be easier than trying to learn a new trade.”
The list I made included:
It has to be easy to do or learn.
- It cannot have babies sitting on tables. Although I love babies, photographing them is the pits. I learned that in high school.
- It has to be cheap to buy or get into.
It cannot be owned by anyone I’m related to.
It has to be close enough to commute to.
And, last but not least, it must make money, a lot of money.
Eventually, the idea of a submarine sandwich shop became my immediate solution for the future. Joe was a help with this idea because his brother’s place sold some sub sandwiches and Joe told me how much money you could make with each sandwich. My own personal love for sub sandwiches also helped me decide to buy a sandwich shop in Spring Hill MA and while I studied the sandwich business Joe went off to college. I didn’t see him again for several years after that.
The sub shop was a grind at first, it was filthy and took all I had to get it cleaned up and running smoothly. The first few months in the shop, every store around me got robbed by gunmen walking in and sticking them up. I decided to protect myself with a gun of my own. I got a police pistol permit to carry a firearm for protection. To this day, I’ve never shot the gun in anger but it’s nice to have when you’re walking down a very dark and lonely street. The biggest danger was when moving the receipts to the bank at the end of the day. I first had to apply to the local chief of police in Spring Hill and then I had to approach the Massachusetts State Police for the permit. In MA they handle all pistol permits. During the permit qualification process, I met and became friendly with Sergeant Robert Long of the Watertown State Police Office. After this meeting I bumped into him again at Russo’s Pizza on Revere Beach one night; we talked and discovered we shared tastes in food and many other things including a friendship with Joe Russo. Sergeant Long informed me that he would be more comfortable if I addressed him as Bobby. Bobby is still a friend to this day. We both loved Russo’s Pizza and go there for a slice whenever we can. We grew up in adjoining Winthrop and Revere and actually had several mutual friends, starting with Joe Russo. Bobby lives at the south end of Revere Beach in a town called Winthrop, MA and Russo’s Pizza is at the north end of the same beach in Revere. Also, we both spent a lot of growing up time on the beach enjoying our favorite pastime, watching girls swimming and frolicking. Bobby and I have made it a point to get to Revere Beach about four times a year. We usually meet at Russo’s especially when Joe’s working and drag him out for a break, to sit on the sea wall with us and enjoy the pizza.
I don’t consider getting a pistol permit a good thing, but meeting Bobby, who became a lifelong friend, certainly was a good outcome of a bad thing.
Unfortunately, crime in the restaurant business, or, for that matter any business, was a daily concern and protecting one’s self was an absolute necessity. As an advertising strategy I convinced the shops around me to allow their business names to be used in an advertising campaign under the heading Shopper’s Corner. There are five of us under this heading. Collectively we presented a stronger entity in complaining to the police about the crime in our area. Our new position encouraged the police to increase the patrols in our area both in cars and walking. This intense police presence effectively stopped the crime spree we were enduring.
It took a little time and effort, but the sub shop finally became a busy and successful place. After hiring a great manager in Jack Callahan, I had time to talk to customers and observe the process of my business, something I never had time to do before. I was also able to take short breaks away from work.
From the time I took over the shop, local girls my age would hang around and, much to my surprise and delight, some were even brave enough to hit on me. One memorable night it was slow and while Jack handled everything I flirted with Peggy. After a while Peggy asked me if I’d like to see her new kitchen furniture at her apartment around the corner, I said,
“Sure why not.”
For weeks before this, Peggy would come in, buy a coke and flirt for hours. I loved her bubbly personality and sweet innocent face. When we got to her apartment, Peggy proudly showed off her new purchases with pleasure. She had bought this great kitchen set made out of chrome plated metal and plastic. The chairs and table had a red and great design that brightened the kitchen.
Over tea we talked for what seemed like minutes, but were really hours. I spent the night at Peggy’s apartment and was in love. My first time was wonderful. When I awoke the next morning, she was still asleep. So, after standing and watching her sleep for a moment, I snuck out, not wanting to disturb how peaceful and beautiful she looked.
As I arrived at work my smile was so big, it rivaled the sun. Everyone at work noticed I was smiling too much. Dancing on clouds as I attempted to go about my day as usual, the help speculating that at the very least insanity had taken me prisoner. In the late afternoon, I went out to pick up some fruit for later that night. And while I was gone, Peggy came in and left me a note. She must have been watching the shop for me to leave because, when I left she entered. When I got back and read the note, I couldn’t believe it.
“Dear Daniel, Angy (the note is in pen she crossed out the name Daniel with pencil)
I’m awful sorry for the way I acted last night. I shouldn’t had let you make love to me. I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. But I guess you don’t want anything to do with me.
Peg”
All day long I was dancing around the shop thinking what a stud I was. I guess my lady love thought I was more a Dud. I could feel every molecule of the blade as it plunged through my broken heart, making me suicidal. I never did find out why Peg dumped me, I never saw her or talked to her again.
Affairs of the heart obviously are not my thing. My knowledge of these things is so abysmal; I was actually staring life-long bachelorhood in the face. At least it wouldn’t hurt as much as this!
Sometimes, when things go bad, they seem to trigger bad times. Three years after I took over this business we were doing great and the next thing I knew we were being sued by suppliers of the former owner.
What happened was that the former owner was being sued by everyone he dealt with. The former owner lied and told each of his creditors I bought the entire business and was suppose to pay the back bills. When these creditors saw I was doing good business they decided to take it away from me if they could. Once we got into court the lawyers introduced the original Bill of Sale for the business and the case was thrown out, but, that didn’t mean anything to the next group.
Soon after losing Peggy and fighting a few of the pending battery of law suits, I decided it was time to sell out. The heart went out of me and the fight became more than I could handle.
The deal I made with the new group gave Jack a long term job if he wanted it. I also left with a substantial check that made my future better.
Frankly, if I had known the amount I could sell the business for before I started defending the court cases I would have sold out sooner.
Now that I have time and a few bucks in my pocket I think I’ll head for college and find something I can get my teeth into but with less hard work and less long hours.
Chapter Two
Fresh from selling the sub shop; still crushed from getting my heart handed to me, and for the first time in my life not sure what I wanted to do, I was excited when my wandering brother, Pat, arrived home. I always looked up to my brother. At ten years older than me, everything he did was new and exciting to me. Pasquale, Pat returned home from California, where he was attending college. He loved it out there and he couldn’t stop talking about it. His excitement was contagious.
Pat was darkly handsome and very Italian looking. His wavy hair and cavalier style made him a favorite of ladies and men alike. While in California, he attended the University of California Law School at the Los Angeles Campus. Until the term “Lady Killer” went out of fashion and began to mean something negative, Pat was all of that and more. His infectious smile captured the hearts and minds of all women who looked at him. It was incredible to watch him in action. A wink, a nod and he had a pretty young thing pressing against him jumping to obey his every suggestion. My friends all envied my close position to him, the better to learn his every trick. It was like watching Clark Gable or Cary Grant. However, I learned quickly that only one such magician is allowed in any family. One of his tricks was devouring every woman within range. I discovered that if he saw me talking to someone the next morning she would be seen leaving his abode.
During the time he was at UCLA the school sponsored several publicity events every semester that brought students and local celebrities together. I’d seen pictures of Miss Jane Mansfield in the middle of a group of law students, including my brother, many times. This was amazing to a young man from Boston, MA.
He talks endlessly about studying at the pool with all the young actresses running around dressed in outfits every man on the planet would appreciate. These images piqued my interest, and had me investigating California schools for my college of choice. His fascinating stories of the rich and famous made me concentrate my search in Las Angeles. Luckily, I came across an internationally renowned video photography school that I hoped would be exactly what I was looking for. The photography school was named Brooks Institute, and the more I read about it the more interested I became. I wrote to them and opened a dialogue which resulted in an application submission from me. I was delighted when I was accepted and I was even more excited when they told me if I stayed for two semesters, I would establish residency and as a result the classes were very inexpensive for the year as well.
So I was off to California! The general plan was to arrive in Los Angeles May 1, find an apartment and set myself up with whatever I needed. That way when the summer semester started in June, I would be ready to go. I was convinced I could easily make the transition from still photography to video.
I was grateful for the money from the sale of the sub shop as I knew it would make all my dreams come true.
Already the Brookes Institute of Photography was a great opportunity unfolding for me.
The more I heard about CA, the more excited I got. After I applied to Brookes, the first thing the school did was post my pictures in the school newspaper along with a profile from my application to the school. In Boston, my home territory, I couldn’t get a date no matter what I did, or so I thought. But, before I left Boston, I got three letters from CA girls wanting to meet me when I arrived. They saw my picture in the new students section of the school paper and were interested. This exciting development suggested to me there were unspoken cultural differences between up tight Boston and jumping LA. In Boston the girls seemed to want an official certification from on high before showing any interest in a fellow. Happily as shown by the letters from CA the girls out there let their eyes do the certifying. That was a very big difference for a shy guy like me. California seemed to continue to come into my life back then. For example, while I was signing papers for the sale of the sub shop at my lawyer’s office, I met one of his legal assistants, Ben Sturgis. Ben was from San Francisco and was handling all the paper work. While we transacted the sale, we had a conversation about the differences between Boston and San Francisco, CA.
“So, Ben, you grew up in San Francisco, California?”
“Yes, Mr. Cataldo, I did.”
“Please, call me Angy.”
“Sure, Angy;”
“What do you think is the most important difference between people in Boston and people in San Francisco, Ben?”
“Well, the difference begins with San Francisco natives; they love their city. They’re always making excuses for stupid stuff done by their politicians or their police but, at the heart of everything, they love their city, and that attitude is behind everything else. The overriding truth extends to all Californians. They love their state.”
“OK, but I don’t know what that means.” I said.
“I love Boston and I know other people in the city who feel the same, but they don’t act like San Franciscans. In Boston, if you ask a native Bostonian whether he has been to the Paul Revere House or to the Old North Church, most people answer no. They figure they have their entire lives to see these things that are right around the corner and they don’t want to take the time.”
“Oh” said Ben.
“San Franciscans go out of their way to make the time for things like that. In San Francisco, you will never hear a true San Franciscan bad mouth the city. I mean in other cities, you hear the people complain about small stuff all the time, but there you don’t.”
“People in San Francisco are proud of how clean their city is. There would never be a garbage strike there because the people would clear the garbage themselves. It’s called civic pride; California has it better then anyplace else I’ve ever been.”
“But Ben, you have to admit the people are flakes to say the least. Californians will put up with some incredible happenings without a murmur. For example, where else would people put up with drug growers right next door to them. Maybe it’s just my opinion, but jeez, they sure are different from Bostonians.”
“You can say that about any city if you only listen to the odd balls and expatriates. When you get to talk to the regular Joes and Janes you see they’re not that different.”
“Well I’m glad they’re different.” I said. “I would love to visit California and I look forward to doing just that very soon. As large as this country is, it is not impossible for geographical effects to sway some cultural changes. For example, people living along the coast of either ocean, Atlantic or Pacific, develop ocean based preferences. For one thing in food, I know being from Boston, I love cold water fish and shell fish. I would miss some of the foods I grew up with and I am acutely aware of the importance of our oceans to life on the planet. Someone living in Kansas will never know the joy of the salt sea air and biting tang of the morning chill a stroll along any coastal beach in October will bring.
“Californians are open to new things, like computers.” Ben said.
“Silicon Valley is just starting out but it won’t be long before some genius will build a computer that costs less than millions of dollars. I keep hearing about guys working in their garages and coming up with stuff that works. It’s only games right now, but who knows about tomorrow? Hewlett Packard is an enormous company in the Silicon Valley and has been producing test equipment for years. In 1968 they produced a calculator that works almost like the IBM computers. This piece of equipment is being billed as a calculator because it doesn’t have an alphabetic keyboard. HP produced a computer, as the HP 2100, which was considered a mini computer to IBM’s full computers. Steve Wozniak designed the APPLE 1 while working at HP and offered it to HP under the first right of refusal regulation. Their policy at the time was they were to have First Right of Refusal on anything invented while a person worked for them. They refused because they wanted to stay in Scientific, Business, and Industrial Markets. Who knows where the Apple Computer will go from here.”
Chapter Three
I had enjoyed talking to Ben and his characterization of California added to my excitement. But, our business came to an end.
The sub shop was gone and I was feeling flush. All that money was burning a hole in my pocket. I was making all kinds of promises to myself about not spending it, after all Brookes Institute was the plan, but I talked myself into buying a new car. I’d always loved T birds and I found myself going to look at one shortly after getting the money for the sub shop. I knew that once I saw that beautiful 1966 T Bird, I wouldn’t be able to resist buying it. But, I figured, it was worth it! It was the beginning of my dream!
As expected, I didn’t make it past the Ford dealership. In the middle of a major February snow storm in Revere, I told the salesman at the dealership I wanted to see convertibles. At first they thought I was kidding and didn’t move, but when I insisted, they agreed to show me the only 1966 Thunder Bird Convertible they had. In order to show me the car, they had to drive me to it because of where it was garaged.
Although the main show room was on a major artery from Boston to the north shore, a very visible and prominent location, its repair shop and storage garage were a half mile away on a back road across the MA Transit Authority tracks. The Transit Authority is the local Boston rapid transit so the location was not very desirable or presentable.
The car they showed me had just arrived from the plant and still was covered with all the road dust and grime from being shipped over the road. I was so excited on seeing my dream car I insisted on driving it, and the salesman agreed, but said he had to ride along. I don’t think he took me seriously because he severely limited the route, making me go around the corner near the dealership and back again. When we got back to the showroom after I complained to the manager that I was not treated seriously. He said;
“Why, do you intend to buy the car”?
I said “Yes”, over my shoulder as I walked out, “but not from you.”
As the door was closing behind me, he came running out
“Wait, we can fix this.” He yelled, “I’m sure the salesman didn’t mean to be insulting. He’ll apologize and make you a deal you can be happy with,” he promised.
I said
“Try me”
Well at $4,900.00, it turned out to be the best car deal of my life! This brightened up my day, and even my month. I later learned that my car was the only car that dealership sold during the three day snow storm. Who knew at the time that no car company would come out with a better looking car, even many years later? My T-bird had Amber Glow paint and a white leather interior. Amber Glow was a new color in 1966; it was supposed to look like the red hot coals of a wood fire and under certain lighting conditions that’s exactly what it looked like. The white interior was perfect against the Amber Glow exterior. When I put the top down people would stop and stare, as the entire back of the car would rise up vertically and the canvas top would curl into the nest the back revealed. When the back was again in place, the car looked miles long. No car since has ever made me feel quite the same. Pride, excitement, on the tip of my toes anticipation, just like a five 5 year old on Christmas morning, that's how excited I was.
So, new car, new school, I was thrilled! All my new toys had me jumping out of my skin. However, buying the car had changed my original plans as I’d have to drive to CA. But, hell I figured I’d have the best looking car in Ventura. I had a small bout of post purchase depression. I wondered if the girls out there liked convertibles. I’d blown a lot of the money from the sub shop on the car, so I now need to get a job just to pay for gas. Maybe, I could be a wedding photographer while I was learning to be a movie photographer. I was sure I’d find something. LA is a big town and I am convinced there are tons of jobs I can do. I had the idealism and optimism of youth on my side.
The State House Steps Boston Massachusetts.
“The Massachusetts State Police today honored 18 state and local police officers and 3 civilians for contributions to the safety of the public above and beyond the normal call of duty. The awards ceremony, held at the Grand Staircase of the State House, was led by Secretary of Public Safety and Security Mark H. O’Rourke, and Colonel Kevin P. Shanahan, Superintendent of the State Police.” Article in the Boston Globe
“Sergeant Robert L. Long of the Framingham office was honored today for valor above and beyond the normal call of duty, for his bravery in apprehending Interstate serial murderer and escaped prisoner Ned Monday.
Sergeant Long risked his life to apprehend this dangerous criminal. While Sergeant Long was on duty at the Toll Booth in Framingham MA, Sergeant Long recognized the car of escaping prisoner Ned Monday as it approached the toll booth. mindless of his own safety Sergeant Long stood in front of the escapee’s car and ordered him to halt. When the escapee attempted to run over Sergeant Long, the Sergeant jumped into the escaping car through the passenger’s open window. Half in half out of the car, Sergeant Long managed to subdue the escaping prisoner and take him into custody.
It will be remembered that the criminal Monday is one of the FBI’s most wanted Criminals. Monday is allegedly the perpetrator of a string of serial murders against unsuspecting young women from Seattle Washington to Miami Florida and states along this route. It is believed Monday is guilty of 19 murders. He was finally captured in Florida and after a lengthy trial was found guilty of two murders committed there and sentenced to death. During his transfer to a psychological observation unit for study, which Monday volunteered for, he escaped from his captors and has been on the run ever since.
He’s suspected of several additional murders along his route from Florida to Massachusetts. Monday is considered the very model of a serial Killer.
The local and State Police have been on the lookout for Monday since his escape. It was suspected he intended to head for Canada.” Article in the State Police News, Framingham Massachusetts.
“Sincere congratulations Sergeant Long, I expect the Sergeant designation will not be for much longer, I hear the Lieutenant bars are only days away. We in the Fraternal Brotherhood of State Police are proud to call you brother.”
“Thank you Captain Healy, coming from you that is high praise.” Answered Sergeant Long.
“You are having a proud and distinguished career Sergeant and are a good example to our new recruits. We in the Massachusetts State Police need more men like you. Let me shake your hand.”
Captain Healy shakes Sergeant Long’s hand and they briefly embrace. Captain Healy then moves on to the next honoree and Sergeant Robert Long continues off the dais to his waiting family.
“Bobby that was wonderful everyone is so proud of you, my heart is bursting with pride.”
“Mom, on a day like this that's exactly what your heart is supposed to do;
Calley, as my younger sister you are growing to quickly into a real beauty, thank you for taking your to time to come to this.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Like Mom, I’m very proud of you today, but I have always been proud of you big brother from your distinguished military career to your now exemplary police career.”
“Ok, that’s enough gushing you’ll make my head to big for my hat. I say, it’s time for lunch and I’m buying.”
“Not this time Bobby, it’s your mothers turn to buy. Now you follow me.”
At this the family went to the parking lot and their cars to drive to a local restaurant frequented mostly by police.
Chapter Four
The offices of Cataldo Food Distributors Boston Mass. Angy’s friend Robert
Cimino has a private conversation with Angy’s father.
Walking into the companies front offices, Robert approaches a woman seated behind a desk.
“Hi, is Salvatore here? Tell him Robert Cimino is asking for him.”
“Certainly Mr. Cimino, have a seat, I’ll tell him you’re here.” Said the secretary as she lifted the phone on her desk and dialed intercom.
Less than five minutes later, Robert was escorted into the main cooler where Mr. Salvatore Cataldo, Angy Cataldo’s father, was busy directing his crew.
A heavily built fellow, with a constantly moving cigar hanging out of his serious red face, Salvatore was in the middle of the refrigerated meat locker barking orders at his crew.
“Hi Robert, how’re you doing? Have you seen Angy lately?” The serious red face barked, his cigar bouncing uncontrollably and his hand extended in the classic handshake greeting.
“Sure Sal, I saw him yesterday,” answered Robert as they shook hands;
“That’s why I’m here. I’m looking at a night club I want to buy and I want Angy to come and run it for me for a while. It’s a great place. It was called the Executive Suite when it was open, and I’m thinking of making it into a Dixieland Club. But, before I offer the job to Angy, I want to make sure I’m not upsetting any of your plans for him. I know he wants to go to school in California, but I think this would be better for him in the long run.”
“You’re taking me by surprise,” said Sal. “I know Angy wants to go to California but this is the first I’ve heard about a night club job. Can he do it Robert? He’s very young.”
“Sal, I don’t have a doubt. Your son is smart; you and your wife did a good job. And, I’ll be only a few blocks away all the time. I intend to haunt the club at night. It’s time I made a profit on the money I spend on dates. This way I can take my girls to my own place.”
“I’m glad to hear you think so highly of Angy. I know he’s smart, but it’s difficult for me to get him to follow directions.” Sal objected.
Are you sure you’re ready to take him on as manager?”
“Sal, rebelling against their parents, is the way kids are built today,” but, in this case, it will be good for him and me. He won’t rebel against me and this’ll make him grow up overnight.”
“Well Robert it sounds good.” Sal said “If there is anything I can do, don’t hesitate to let me know. But for God’s sake don’t tell him I’m helping him in any way.”
“Thanks Sal, I’m glad I spoke to you. Angy is a good kid and will do very well. This is the type of business where a person can grow personally as the business grows.”
With all this behind the scenes maneuvering going on Angy is giving Robert’s proposal a lot of thought.
My family and friends all knew my plans to go to CA. Some were as excited as I was about the move, others, like my mother, not so much. However, before I had a chance to get away, a friend has made me a proposition. He wanted me to run a night club for a month or so in Boston. But he said we had to move on it immediately. So I had to make a decision: go to CA to study photography or stay in Boston to manage a night club?
It was lucky for me I had three months before my classes started in Ventura; I had time to do both.
The bank was hovering over the building Robert had chosen for the night club. Robert believed he had to act now or the bank would foreclose and sell the building stripped of all its restaurant equipment and great antiques, like the second floor bar or the great new kitchen fully equipped. Robert was excited to get moving and gave me a quick tour of the night club. The more I looked around the more I felt my resolve to move to CA slipping away. I became an invested in Robert’s proposition because I loved the building. My family has been in the food business all my life and I’d seen restaurants with half that much ambiance and atmosphere succeed wildly. Now, if only Robert could tailor the deal to our advantage, we could have a business venture that would make us proud!
The deal Robert made was to give the former owner money, enough to bring the mortgage up to date, and then some. In those days the commitment was a lot of money to lay out with almost no guarantee of anything except more risk.
Finally I suspended my dream of CA and said yes to Robert. After I agreed to work with him, Robert gave the former owner, Jacob Melvin, a paper job at a thousand dollars per month. He is not expected to do anything, but he’ll get paid off over time and then Robert would own the business outright. Written in the contract was the condition that in order to fire Jacob, Robert must give him ninety days notice with pay. I was insecure about dealing with Jacob as I believed he was a first class jerk. I was aware of events in Jacob’s life that made me uneasy, for example I knew that his girlfriend’s current broken arm was a result of his pushing her down the night club stairs in a drunken effort to save himself. She was a very attractive 31 year old book keeper, who was half his age. When I first saw her, I thought of a little pouting girl who cried all the time. She had that type of face, pretty but hurt by life. They met when she came to work for him. Both being alcoholics, they formed a couple, seemingly out of convenience. I’d heard they were drinking on the second floor alone one night and decided to go out to eat at another restaurant. As they were drunkenly staggering down the stairs he lost his footing. Falling uncontrollably, he pushed into her to save himself. Because she was on the step in front of him, she fell all the way to the bottom of the stairwell, breaking her arm in the process. He, on the other hand, dropped straight to the stairwell and didn’t fall any further. I wasn’t raised to treat a woman that way, using her body to break my fall, and I didn’t think much of him because he had.
I was aware of another incident that influenced my opinion of Jacob. I’d heard that before they renovated the building they didn’t have the hat check on the first floor closing off the view into the first floor, but the stairwell was open all the way up. Then, a person coming down the stairs could see into the first floor almost from the top of the stairs. Jacob, coming down the stairs could see his girlfriend talking to a young man at the bar before she was aware he was on the stairs. In a drunken fury Jacob, a former police sergeant, pulled his gun and started shooting at them. It was a good thing he couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn, or his girlfriend and they guy she was talking to would have died that night. Enough said about Jacob Melvin; I had no use for him. However, Robert was good at negotiations, and Melvin was interested in free drinks so the deal went though.
Robert paid the bank $10,500.00 up front, to bring the mortgage up to date and took over the balance. He felt with a little time from me he could interview and find a full time manager and I would be free to go to CA.
Robert was willing to pay me $2,000.00 for being his interim manager in addition to the weekly pay he paid me along the way. It was a great deal for me because I looked forward to taking my T Bird to CA and going to school with no worries about money. Robert was getting a $600,000.00 building for $24,000.00 down and a mortgage of $250,000.00, so it was a good deal all around.
Let me go back and tell you a bit about my friend Robert Cimino. He was a little older than me and I met him while I was photographing a wedding he attended several years before. He must have been impressed with me that night because he asked me to do some formal and candid photographs of his girlfriend and we have been friends ever since. Robert was 21 years old and, from the results I observed, he was handsome enough to attract any woman he wanted. He had that bad boy look that many women seem to find interesting and irresistible. At the time he had a successful wholesale meat company that he ran day to day, which is why he needed me. Although he looked forward to being there every night Robert’s meat business was too successful to give it up for something as risky as the night club, and take a chance on hurting the meat business, which was his real bread winner.
Robert was a businessman who had finished law school but never took the bar exam. He felt he had learned enough law to protect himself in business, which was his goal. Not that Robert was or wanted to be a criminal, but he sometimes walked a very thin line in business. In America’s litigious society having a working knowledge of the law is a major advantage, and Robert used his law school knowledge in some very creative ways sometimes. Personally, not that Robert was conceited, (a little irony here), but he could never get enough of himself. For Example, one day he and I were walking in the Boston meat market area, heading to a lunch room near his office. I’d managed to drag him away from the business telephone, his day time lifeline. Robert looked up at a building near us and saw a woman leaning out of a top floor window; Robert started yelling, “Don’t jump lady! It’s right here, don’t jump.”
Then he started un-zipping his pants and laughing his head off, as if he believed that he was every woman’s dream.
Robert always had several steady girl friends who thought it was time to start planning their wedding with him. He seemed to be able to sit in a restaurant with the most beautiful woman in the world and flirt with every other woman in the room at the same time. As long as his date’s back was turned. When I asked him about his lack of loyalty to women, his answer was always;
“What’s the problem? What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”
He once dated a legal secretary and they slept together on the first date, which wasn’t unusual for him but, apparently was for her. The following day, she was out pricing wedding reception halls, and he was interviewing a new girl friend. This one almost made trouble for all of us; she was my lawyer’s secretary and couldn’t understand why Robert wasn’t going to marry her. After all, he’d swept her off her feet with promises of a glorious future together and she’d believed him.
Amazingly women seemed to find him very convincing and believed every word he said, and men found him fascinating because of his prowess with women. He exuded such an air of confidence that people listen to him when he talks about anything. I’ve never understood his gift of getting women to believe everything he says. Me, I’m different. Girls looked at me as if I was lying when I told them my name.
Robert was and amazing salesman he’d sold Wear Ever pots and pans and the first year he sold them he became the top salesman in the entire East Coast USA. He kept that record for as long as he worked for Wear Ever, which was several years. On a visit to his apartment I discovered what he did to be so successful. I was there for dinner and saw, next to his desk, an extensive script. It turned out he only sells to women, and every word he said was written down and extensively rehearsed when he calls them.
Every year he had at least one new fiancée and one new Chevrolet Corvette, I don’t know which was more important to him the girls or the car. I suspected the car was more important, after all he could easily get another woman, the car he had to pay for. That was Robert: the good, the bad and the ugly all rolled into one person.
Chapter Five
But, back to the club. In our quest to purchase and successfully open the club, I studied every similar operation in town. Some, like Players Club, I surreptitiously scouted, both for prime employees and good working habits managing the business. I enjoyed this research after all I am a serious and hard working fellow! Players Club was a unique example, for it was a very successful franchise. They had their main branch in Chicago and a dozen other clubs around the country. Every ruling from Chicago was written in stone. The girls were treated well for the most part, but they were under the gun if they had a problem with local management. If a girl had a disagreement with the local manager, she was fired. It didn’t matter who was right or wrong. The club had been open for a very short time in Boston and they already fired a number of girls, which worked well for me. I heard a story about a girl who refused to date an assistant manger, so he took her off shift. The other girls sided with her and told management about the reasons behind the move. Instead of firing the assistant manager as they should have, they fired all the girls involved. This made the remaining girls start looking around for other jobs. The problem was no other night clubs were as successful, and the girls could make crazy money at Players Club.
I knew the first girl and thought management overreacted. But, Chicago has the last word and the local manger was god, with a little g. I filed this information away for later use as a manager of Robert’s club.
Other clubs I watched were run very differently from Players. For example the Tic Toc Lounge was one of these other clubs and I liked the way they managed their business. The club was locally owned and operated. The manager was a local man who lived here in Boston and has for years. He’d been at the Tic Toc for eight or nine years and he got along very well with the girls. Actually sometimes he got along with them too well, if you know what I mean, but the girls loved it. So, every chance I got I spent some time there studying the correct way to do things. Not only did the people at the Tic Toc teach me how to manage, but they also introduced me to one of my favorite people, Janet Lally.
The Tic Toc Lounge was located two doors from the Players Club, in Park Square, Boston. The two clubs were close enough to each other that I never needed to worry about getting lost walking from one to the other no matter how much I drank. The Tic Toc Lounge had a long narrow bar that had an entrance on Boylston St on one end and another entrance, at the other end of the bar, onto Park Square. As I said I started going in there to see how they ran their place. At the time, the Tic Toc Lounge was actually a Go-Go bar, which was a little different from a night club or a bar. A Go-Go bar was a place where they had pretty girls dancing on a stage in skimpy outfits, usually behind the bar with enough distance from the customers that the girls were not afraid of being accosted by the clientele. The Tic Toc had a small dancing platform right behind the bar, with stairs alongside of the platform for the girls, all well away from the patrons.
After spending several nights watching the operation, I noticed a particularly pretty dancer who seemed to notice me as well. On a slow night, I waited until she was on her break and bravely, sent her a drink along with my Gas Light business card. Actually, this was a first for me; I had just turned 21 and was a novice at picking up girls in bars. As you know, I committed myself to a life of celibacy and bachelorhood.
She came over to my table with the drink and asked me;
“What am I supposed to do when someone sends me a business card?”
My brilliant reply and my first ever line;
“The drink was to thank you for doing such a great job dancing and looking so beautiful up there. I would love it if you would sit and enjoy the drink with me. The card is just to let you know who I am.”
She smiled and sat down next to me.
“My name is Janet and I’m glad to meet you.”
“Woo wee!” This exclamation was in my head and not out loud, for a change. I’m old enough now to act like an adult, no matter how I really feel.
“As you can see by my card, I’m Angelo Cataldo, and I’m very pleased to meet you as well. Please call me Angy.”
Janet was one of those women that all men loved. At five foot two inches tall and 110 pounds, she had the prefect shape. Her bubbly personality and happy smile made everyone who saw her want to know her. Both men and women found her attractive and she was always in the middle of a group of admirers. Janet’s most endearing quality was that she didn’t know how wonderful she was. She always thought people were only being nice when they said nice things to her. I found that modesty to be very appealing.
Janet told me she just moved from Cincinnati, Ohio and this was her first job in Boston. She was living with a roommate on Newbury St. which was right around the corner from the Tic Toc. We seemed to have so much to say to each other and during the next two hours we got to know each other much better. She sat with me between her dancing sets and we talked. By the time we left the Tic Toc (I drove her home) we both had had too much to drink and could barely stand. But, it didn’t really matter because both of us were happy enough to not even notice our condition.
As luck would have it Janet’s apartment was on the first floor, and we went straight in. She said her roommate would be in much later so, stripping as we went, we were both naked by the time we got to the couch. The sex was incredible. There were times I couldn’t tell where all my body parts ended and hers began. It was wonderful exploring and experimenting and I wondered if this is what it felt like to be in love.
Actually, I thought I’d discovered body parts I didn’t know I had, she had or, well, at least one of us had. I’m living my fantasy. To this day, I still don’t remember who was on top or, in fact, where either of us actually was. I don’t know if it was the liquor, the couch, or the girl but it was simply the best night of my life. That night, I liked to think it was the girl. (I didn’t know it at the time but we would do this many more times over the coming months and it was definitely the girl.)
The next morning she had coffee waiting for me when I awoke. We sat and contemplated her roommate, naked and coverless ten feet away, on her rollout bed. Janet said,
"It was a good thing we were asleep when my roommate got home or she would have attacked us. She’s into three ways.”
Janet’s bisexual roommate would be a carnal fantasy for another day. At this thought I was pretty sure I died and had gone to heaven.
Leaving quietly so as not to disturb the roommate, I went to find my car. As I walked, the nasty thought took some of my joy away, I better not enjoy this too much, remember what happened last time. I didn’t have far to walk to find my car. Unfortunately, I’d parked on the sidewalk the night before. There were six $30.00 parking tickets hanging off the windshield wipers, but still smiling despite the tickets, I drove away.
When Janet and I first met, the Gas Light Club had not opened yet. Some days, as we prepared to open Janet would come into the club with me on her days off. The first night she came to the club, I hired Janet to dance as soon as it opened. During these days and nights before the grand opening she liked to practice dancing on the bar and the tables, trying different techniques to see what worked best. Working with her like this, she and I perfected the dancing on the table’s act that the girls later used for years to great success. It was so fun being spontaneous and creative with Janet. We learned in order to stabilize the tables enough to support the girls as they danced the customers had to put their drinks on the floor and hold the table with both hands. Also, the girls had to wear rubber or soft soled shoes or they might slip off the table. The tables are a smooth marble and leather soled shoes were slippery on them. Our strategies worked well; we were in the club for years with not one single accident, with hundreds of hours table and bar dancing. Working this way Janet and I quickly became more than friends.
Usually after working together to perfect the table dancing, Janet and I would head upstairs to make love on the cot in the back office. Somehow, I was as excited and energized by her dancing as she seemed to be, at these times we only had a few drinks in us and were the most sober of any of the times we made love. But, sober or drunk didn’t matter; we enjoyed each other so much, we literally could make love for hours. After making love on the cot we would get about an hours sleep and I would drive her home, where we would begin making love again.
Later, we would get about an hours sleep and I would drive her home, where we would begin again making love. Her roommate never stayed if I was there; when we arrived, she left. Early in our time together, Janet offered her roommate to me as a threesome.
At first my fantasy world got all excited at the thought, but the reality of it turned me off. The thought of the roommate, no matter how great in the sack she might be, paled, in comparison to what Janet and I had. I enjoyed Janet too much to bring anyone else into the relationship.
I know Janet was proud of my attitude about the threesome; it made us a real couple. Over the years I have heard many men brag how they would enjoy multiple beautiful women. But, in my case, faced with the real possibility of sharing Janet with another human being this way horrified me.
Janet and I work great together. There was no doubt about that and there was nothing in our way. I loved that I could count on her to stand by my side. I loved how we worked together, created together, and shared ourselves in our own private world.
Chapter Six
The Gas Light Club is in the financial district of Boston. Robert showed me the building this afternoon for the second time and it’s impressive. It’s a four story building just off Franklin St in Boston. The building’s address used to be Page St. where the building is actually located. But Page St. has ceased to exist since Page Street was a very short street, the city allowed a parking garage to be built where the street once stood. They then put brick walkways in what was left of the short section of Page Street in front of the club building. They planted trees and shrubs along the walkways. It is a little park right in the middle of all these tall granite and glass insurance companies. The parking garage is one they call a day garage because all the cars are put on elevators and taken up and down during the day. After 8 pm the elevators don’t run, so it’s quiet at night. Also Franklin Street out in front of the brick mall is totally quiet after 5:00 PM. We are right in the middle of downtown with high rise buildings all around us. In the middle of winter this little mall in front of us is never deeply buried with snow. The buildings all around us protect our little mall from the worst of winter.
The first floor is a cozy lounge area with an alcove in the left side which has a rounded corner leading from the back wall to the left, hat check room side of the lounge.
We put an old player piano in the round corner with a three piece Dixieland band. The band has a piano player, banjo player and an alto sax player, which produced the sweetest Dixieland Music this side of New Orleans. The Dixieland band, though not always the same players, was a mainstay of the first floor’s entertainment. Union rules gave the band a twenty minute break every forty minutes of play. We added a versatile request piano player for the breaks, which gave us full time entertainment coverage here on the first floor.
The bar is a twenty seat Formica covered affair with a brown wood patterned design. Along the wall behind the bar is a full mirror from just above counter height to almost the ceiling, with three shelves in front of the bottom of the mirror. The seats are round leather covered stools with a small back. The room looks fairly clean and just needs decent furniture to make it useable.
We learned very early that a good impression in the foyer helped our patrons get into a happier mood. So, putting a table against the wall across from the hat check accomplished this. We had two chafing dishes, full of some good tasting hors d’oeuvres during most nights. Usually we had Chicken wings or cut up hot dogs, but you never knew what the chef’s idea today would be. People would come out and get a small dish and fill it with whatever the day’s offering was. You could be sure it would be something very salty and good tasting, to help them maintain their thirst. In keeping with this first impression magic, we had Ella Marky as the hat check girl most of the time. Beautiful, sexy, and she can carry on a conversation. Her most important asset, Ella likes people. She came to us from the Midwest and loves her new home in Boston. This certainly is our good fortune. At just over five feet tall and about 115 pounds, she has the type of hour glass figure that turns heads. Of course the forty two inch bust, prominently displayed, doesn’t detract from the overall image. Her natural golden blonde hair is always perfectly coiffed and frames a smile that tugs at your heart strings.
The craftsmen who did the wall coverings did the most professional job I have ever seen. They covered every square inch of wall space with this incredible velour wallpaper. They went so far as to cover the stairwell handrails, which are stitched not glued, all the way to the top floor. Since I went up and down these stairs many times a day, over time I managed to inspect this covering closely and it was seamlessly stitched in place. In fact, after a while I noticed that I would hold the hand rail very loosely and my hand slid along the rail, making a distinctive hissing sound as I bound down the steps two at a time.
When you go up the stairs to the second floor there is a ladies room at the top of the stairs, right outside the second floor dining room. This bathroom has two very small sections inside. The entrance is completely mirror lined so that the ladies can get a 360 degree view with a little sink for emergencies.
Quiet elegance, warm and inviting colors and an overall sense of welcome greets you once you enter the second floor dining room. You’re first greeted with a small antique bar on the left; which was originally made for a private men’s club around 1880. We’re all sure that if we could get this bar to tell its secrets it would be quite a story.
Our furniture consists of antique Chippendale chairs and marble topped tables for the first floor. More Chippendale chairs and larger wooden tables for the dinning room and small tables and chairs for the third floor.
Just after the chairs and tables were delivered a group of workmen came in with a work order to repair our antique Chippendale chairs. The three workers got going pretty quickly and had most of our chairs out on the sidewalk ready to be loaded on their truck when the police arrived. Luckily we caught on that it was a scam before they got any chairs in their truck and the first floor bartender was the first to smell a rat and called the police. When the phony workmen were confronted by the police they showed their work order and it had a different address on it than ours, which made them look almost legitimate. The police took the names of each of the men and looked at the trucks registration before letting them go. They really had nothing to hold them on. We later learned the Chippendale chairs would have fetched about $200.00 dollars each.
Just before we opened, I had an incident that scared the hell out of several of our employees and embarrassed me a bit. One afternoon before we opened, Janet and I worked all afternoon on the third floor trying furniture arrangements to see our best choice for the most people in the room; and a configuration that would allow us to reconfigure the room for other purposes with the least amount of rearranging of furniture, a very important endeavor.
After setting up the third floor in what we thought was the best configuration, Janet and I had a few drinks and decided to sleep right there. About 4:00 AM I heard a racket coming from the second floor and decided to investigate. Without thinking I grabbed my gun, a pair of pants and ran down the stairs like James Bond chasing Gold Finger. I burst into the second floor dining room, gun at the ready, and hand shaking like a leaf. Three very scared cleaning men stared back at me, dropping their vacuum cleaners and sticking their hands in the air. Before they would agree to continue cleaning the club, I had to promise no more running around with guns or they would not come back. However, several months later I heard a noise soon after we closed and this time I checked surreptitiously and found a left over, (someone who didn’t leave at the end of the night), a customer who would have been a problem without the gun, he was hiding on the third floor. Acting very drunk, he docilely let me lead him out, but every once in a while, as we walked he would suddenly sober up and stair pointedly at my gun hand. When I first confronted him, I told him I wanted to see his driver’s license. He acted as if he didn’t understand, and I never got the license. But, as he was leaving I made him understand that I would recognize him if he ever came back to the club. Once outside he walked away very quickly. I followed him hoping to get a look at his registration, but he soon lost me in the dark streets surrounding the club. In the liquor business it is better to be safe than sorry. You can be right and still be dead.
During our first year at the Gas Light Club there was a terrible tragedy at the Boston Player’s Club. It put every single liquor establishment on notice and was one of the reasons I had a gun in my hand in the first place. The thousands of workers in the food service industry in Boston hesitated before going to work in the next few days. In fact, many times I thought the gun in my hand may have saved my life the night I lead that fellow who stayed after we closed.
One night in March two men with masks entered the Player’s Club from the back entrance and shot and killed the manager and two bus boys. This happened some time after the club closed for the night. The perpetrators were never caught and no reason for the attack could ever be discovered. No one ever knew for sure whether the killers had entered the club after it closed or had hidden there at the end of the night. What bothered everyone in the business was the fact that Player’s did not do a large cash business. More than 98% of Player’s Club receipts were by their credit card. All the liquor was locked behind steel mesh cages. There literally was nothing to steal. The manager and busboys had no enemies that anyone could find. There were no clues left behind. The criminals snuck into the club as the employees were leaving, and no one saw them. The entire city of night club people took notice of late night crime after the Player’s tragedy.
For a few months some positive reactions came of this tragedy, one of which is the fact that no female waitresses left work and walked through the dark parking lots alone. Even young men took no chances and walked the city in pairs or more. Doors that stood open on most nights now were closed tight and locked, as they should have been in the first place.
Boston is no stranger to the fear of its citizens. Just seven years before the Player’s tragedy, the Boston Strangler plied his trade among the unsuspecting women of the Back Bay area, a residential section. For eighteen months Albert DeSalvo murdered with impunity. Even the great F. Lee Bailey, his attorney, didn’t want to get him off; Mr. Bailey wanted to help Albert cure his insanity. Their goal was Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity but this was thrown out by the judge.
Albert was housed in a medium security prison until his escape. After a single day of freedom and his re-incarceration the following day, Albert was this time moved into the maximum security Walpole prison. Albert died in that prison, at the hands of other prisoners six years later. There was an audible sigh of relief at his demise from the female population of Boston. These types of crimes stand out for their brutality and senselessness. Any city under siege from these monsters visibly closes ranks and holds its breath until these monsters are shown the light of day.
Albert DeSalvo plied his trade for years as the Green Man, a notorious rapist. He would knock on a door, or ring the bell and when the lady of the house answered, if she was alone Albert would pretend to be a handyman, there to fix some mythical broken fixture. Since he was dressed for the part in a green workmen’s outfit no one questioned him until it was too late. He would rape them and leave. However, June 14, 1962 someone began raping and murdering women in Boston. The rapes occurred in their own apartments, with articles of their own clothing as their murder weapons, and continued until, Jan 4, 1964. It is chilling for me to note that as I embarked on my new venture as a restaurateur in my Spring Hill sub shop, Albert DeSalvo was ending his spree of terror. In October of 1964 Albert DeSalvo attempted to break into a home in Bridgewater Mass. The home owner shot at him and Albert escaped. That same night he raped another victim and later she described him well enough that his picture was produced by the police and she recognized him as her assailant. The police published his picture as a rapist and many women came forward accusing him as their assailant. At the time he was not suspected of being the Strangler, but, when he was arrested he confessed to the strangling cases. The police did not have enough evidence to try him as the Boston Strangler; however, they did have enough on him for the serial rapes to put him away for life. Although his confession was quite detailed, many in the police department do not believe it was him.
“There are many inconsistencies in his recounting of details.” This was a police quote in the newspapers of the day.
The local population wanted to believe Albert DeSalvo was the Strangler so that it put an end to the Strangler’s rampage. The police felt that as long as he was put away for life for the serial rapes he would not be able to murder anyone again. By the way, the strangling ended with the January 4, 1964 murder. Albert DeSalvo was never tried for the strangling cases, and went to his death a convicted rapist, not a murderer.
Chapter Seven
Robert and I discussed the best way to use this night club space to get a successful and profitable bar business going. Because of the way the place looked we planned a speak easy type operation, that is: we would put in a small trap door in the entry door and people would have to knock on the door and give a password to be identified before being allowed in, as if this were a speak easy during the Roaring Twenties. Robert had some friends who were actors at a local theater. They would dress up as gangsters and gun molls and come in the club. The idea was a show twice a night of the actors swaggering around with spats and straw hats and the girls wearing the Jean Harlow look.
Jean, you probably don’t remember, was a great Film Star of the 1920s. and if you do remember MORE POWER TO YOU!
The look was more of: white flapper dress, (white or black), fishnet stockings, blonde wavy wig, glittery jewelry, bright red lipstick, long fake eye lashes, a boa (feather scarf), and an extra long cigarette holder.
Actually this re-enactment was a great idea, and even though our, speak easy, theme was turned down the performances were not illegal. The actors in their costumes, men with a cigar hanging out of their mouths and women with long cigarette holders would pose to fit the caricature. The final part of the plan was having actors pass the hat for tips from our patrons. Good for the actors and free for us.
Of course when we approached the liquor commission with these ideas they wouldn’t hear of anything that would give people the illusion we were not legal. (However, we had already put the peep hole and sliding door into the main entry door of the night club, so on occasion we would not open the door until they knocked, and as I said earlier we would do the show, no matter what. The commission couldn’t stop us entertaining our patrons.). Finally after three months of back and forth, with every new condition met, we got all the paperwork ironed out with the liquor commission. We now are able to furnish and stock the night club. Among our well wishing fans were all the local businessmen and most of the local politicians. Since Boston is the capital of Massachusetts and the Massachusetts State government buildings are less than a five minute walk from the club, we also had most of the state’s legislators as our well wishers as well. Many of whom are now, and have been long time family friends. Friends, new and old were constantly stopping by, in the middle of our setting up, to wish us well and find out when we were opening.
In the meantime, the newly opened Player’s Club, across town, was a nightly draw for me. At least until the Gas Light Club opened.
Player’s had a more difficult time with the liquor commission than us. It took them two years to clear up all the bureaucratic red tape they went through. One particular issue was the girl’s costumes. The regular Player’s costume has a very high hip side that ran to the waist. The Boston Liquor Commission insisted that it be level with the crotch and this changed the look of the costumes from a show costume to a beach bathing suit. After the altered costumes got approved by the commission, Player’s started changing the costumes back, a little each month, until eventually they matched the original Player’s concept and the commission never said a word.
When Gas Light opened my nightly forays at Player’s dwindled to almost none. Setting up the club took all day long, and most of the time we were tired and hungry by the days end. Some nights after leaving Player’s or Tic Toc alone, I would go to one of the all night cafeterias on Boylston St. There were two big competitors at the time, Copley Place Cafeteria across from the Boston Public Library and the Rat’s Gellar, further up Boylston St. across from the Prudential Tower.
When Robert would come into the Gas Light Club before we opened he would sometimes take the opening crew, whatever workmen and waitresses were there at the time, to breakfast, usually at the Copley Place Cafeteria. That’s where we met Andy Diamante, the local mafia boss. He would come in with his crew every night and take over one corner of the restaurant; he always had a dozen or more people with him. When they came in, his men would come in first and pick out his tables and then he would come in and sit in the middle of the group with his back to the wall, so he could see every part of the room. He quickly noticed that Robert and I always came in with a bunch of great looking women and Andy made sure to say hello every time he saw us. We never talked in the cafeteria and Andy never came to our club, but Robert somehow got to know him pretty well over the coming years.
Sometimes this can be a very small world. This is something I didn’t know at the time, but learned much later. Robert’s long time steady girl friend from Malden MA, Maggy, is a very good friend of Andy Diamante’s wife Maria. The girl that later became my long time girl friend was a beauty school friend of Andy’s current girlfriend Candy.
As we got all the preliminary crap taken care of for the liquor commission, and to get us going, we settled into a routine. During the daytime we had good business because the bar was very dark and the local insurance men and other office denizens nearby find the fun atmosphere in the club very inviting and the liquor very liberating. I would arrive at the club about 9:00 AM and lock the door behind me. Then go up to my office on the fourth floor. My early routine was to take care of the day’s banks and do the previous day’s basic books. I would work on the books until about 10:00 am when the kitchen staff began arriving. They rang the bell and I would go down and let them in.
When the kitchen opened I kept one of the kitchen helpers on the first floor until the wait staff came in. The location of the club was remote enough that anyone could walk in and steal a case of liquor or some furniture, then leave without being seen, either by anyone inside or outside.
I would talk to the chef first to coordinate that day’s luncheon menu. Then, the dining room service people would make up large poster menus to put up on the entry wall and in the first floor bar, so they could be seen by any patron coming in. The dining room employees also made up individual chalk board menus for customers of the dining room. We use these very small children’s chalk boards for lunch menus and the customers loved them, which were left on each table. We open at 11:00 am but the first customers usually came in about 11:30 and by noon we would be full. The dining room did about one hundred and twenty lunches a day, but the bar always did more money even if we only did fifty lunches down there; proving that liquid refreshments were more of a draw to our customers.
While giving my secretary, Donna a total tour with commentary, I suggested she come in with her husband or boy friend some weekend night to see what goes on. She is all for it and will let me know when she can. My secretary Donna Kale is a five foot three inch tall brunette with a good figure that she hides from anyone at the club. Donna is a very bright, hard working girl who became my right hand girl, from the first day. Between her daily exercise routine and her great eating habits Donna is the all American girl with the beautiful girl next door face. She was the third or fourth person to apply for the job, but the moment I met her I knew she was a keeper.
Donna, being a very private person, and also trying to avoid a sexual relationship with me or anyone else at the club, or even a hint of anything inappropriate, keeps her private details private. I didn’t find out whether she was married or not for the first year, she’s not.
I wanted everyone that worked at the club to know exactly what the club is all about. When people ask “What kind of place is it?” our employees should know exactly and be able to describe it enthusiastically. I also made sure Donna, and everyone else knew a little about Robert and me, since we run the operation.
Robert’s business office, for wholesale meat distribution, is based a very short distance from the club. Robert’s notoriety in his field is well known in the community and here at the club, so, employees know about Robert and his reputation as a businessman from word of mouth. Robert and his family have been in the same business for fifty years, so when the name is mentioned everyone knows who you mean. When Robert and I first met, his connection to the meat market was another personal connection between us because my family also has a large and long time presence in the Boston wholesale food industry. In the club this actually translates into good advertising. Because Robert is so big in wholesale meat, everyone expects the best meat products to be served, which is exactly what they get. What they’re surprised at is the fantastic quality of the fish. Most don’t know Robert has an uncle, Damiano Valentino that is a wholesale fish broker in Gloucester Massachusetts and Damiano buys our fish fresh from the boats every day. The fish served in the club tonight was peacefully swimming in the ocean twelve hours or less, before it was cooked. In the end, food is our best attraction and that gets out to the general public only by word of mouth. In an advertisement you can say you have the best food all you want, people only believe other people who have been there and not some advertisement in a newspaper or magazine.
One night in the early weeks of setting up, Robert said;
“Let’s go out and get some more waitresses.”
Of course I said.
“We first need to advertise, then set appointments then interview the girls and choose the ones we wanted.”
He had another idea. We went out to local bars all over Boston that night and just recruited girls from each bar. Robert would just start talking and they listened. He told them how beautiful they were and asked them why they were working for nothing when they could come with us and make their fortune.
Listening to him talk I found my self drawn into his pitch even though I already worked for him. I couldn’t believe our results that night. From the first bar the girls simply quit where they were working and came with us bar hopping. It didn’t take long for us to become a good sized group moving from club to club.
The first girl was Merry Parker, a tall beautiful blonde with body and brains to match. Merry knew her worth down to the penny. To our credit Merry Parker stayed with us for several years. Merry was always one of our highest earners. Selling more drinks than any three girls. The second girl was Mary Crane, an attractive brunette who looked a tiny bit worn around the edges, but cleaned up nicely and could work a floor with the best of them.
By the end of that night we had four girls with us, three more agreed to come in the next day. Robert and I had one hell of a hang over but enough girls to start up. I figured that I had better remember that these girls’s loyalty lasts only as long as a good story from a handsome stranger. However, of the first seven girls only one left our employ in less than a year. Robert’s recruiting technique gave me a serious insight into his approach for handling women.
From the first night we opened Robert never worried about having more than one of his steady girls visiting him at the club at the same time. After a while the help started betting on when the blow up would happen. It turned out that the girls did not know each other or even know about each other so as long as Robert was not in the room and no one told them, they would not know what was going on. He was smart enough to send a waitress to get whichever girl he wanted to talk to and bring them to him.
After our scrutiny of the night club section of Boston and the examination of the building that wants to be The Gas Light Club Robert and I discussed our up coming endeavor at length:
“Well what do you think Angy can we do it? It’s going to be an expensive experiment and we need to be prepared for all kinds of problems.”
“To tell the truth, I’m holding my breath waiting for the other shoe to drop. The building is fantastic, the kitchen is a chef’s fantasy, and I love the layout. But, what the hell went wrong for the last group that had it?”
Looking back, I realize my early enthusiasm and naiveté betrayed my inexperience. The food and liquor business is the single most difficult type of business. Between the huge amount of competition, and the infinite number of things that can go wrong, it’s a wonder that any succeed at all. As Robert explained what had caused the prior group to fail, I got a sense of what the club business is really like.
“The money man lost interest and walked away. The owners were a group of several businessmen, one of which was a very wealthy local contractor. They had just done all the renovations you saw. The wall paper alone cost over $300,000.00, they did four entire floors. Every roll of wall paper was specially ordered and hand prepared which took months to complete. Angy, you noticed that the kitchen equipment is all new. I was told he had his accountants figure out how long it would take to pay him back on his investment. But when he realized it would never happen with people like Jacob Melvin and the others he was involved with, no matter how profitable the place became he lost interest. In the end he came to the realization it could never make a profit for him.”
“Well, we have a deal in place, we have workers, we have inventory and we have a band if they show up. What else do we need?”
“Money coming in and steady customers Angy and it’s your job to keep them happy.”
“I think we have a good start on the help, I’m putting an ad in tomorrow for more waitresses and bartenders.”
“By the way Robert, I think it is time to give the former owner, Mr. Jacob Melvin his walking papers. He came in today and became very irate when the bartender asked him to pay money for the drinks he had. He then stalked out without paying.”
“Angy I think your right, it might be time. I’ll talk to the lawyer tomorrow.”
“By the way Robert, tomorrow you should stop by the club to meet Donna, my new secretary. I also hired a part time book keeper. I’ll give you her telephone number so she can get in touch with your book keeper to coordinate.”
The club has a promoter that handles all our promotional work, but the public only believes so much advertising. A restaurant needs a good reputation and we’re lucky enough to enjoy that condition. I guess, aside from the food, the next biggest draw we have is the Dixieland Band.
When new customers come in they are greeted by a slightly smoky room, happy smiling people. Guests and employees having a good time, with a New Years Eve feel to the room three hundred and sixty five days a year. Also waiting for them are good drinks and a jumping Dixieland band that enthusiasts come from miles around to hear. The walk from the hat check to a table is less than twenty feet, but it might as well be fifteen hundred miles, all the way to Bourbon Street, New Orleans LA.
People literally change from quiet, serious adults, to a toe tapping, hip swaying, flappers and hipsters from the twenties, in their favorite den with all their cronies, in that amazing twenty feet.
Dixieland music makes your toes tap, your hands clap and the blood pound in your veins.
Now, just picture our actors arriving in a pair of antique black Cadillacs with three men and two women from each car. The men wore spats over their shoes, black tight pants and white tux jackets over ruffled shirts with a black bow tie, all under a white straw hat with a red hat band.
The women wore the traditional flapper outfits, white flapper dress, black fishnets stockings, blonde wavy wig, glittery silver jewelry, bright red lipstick, long fake eye lashes, a boa, and an extra long cigarette holder.
Our little gangster play began with the actors’ arrival; the band stops for a moment while the invaders swarm into the room, slinking through the crowd heading for the piano player. Once there the girls stop and turn to confront the men. Here the band starts a practiced piece which four of the actors dance to in flapper mode (which is “the Charleston” A distinctive hip swaying type of dance designed to make the fringe on their dresses stand out as they dance.). After a moment of frenzied dancing, the gold curtains at the doorway are noisily yanked aside to get everyone’s attention. Two men, (the last two actors) all dressed in black enter the room carrying Tommy guns (which are a particularly nasty hang over from the gangster era). They prepare their guns and shout, “compliments of Mr. Big” and start shooting. They assassinate the dancers for cheating on Mr. Big. All the dancers fall in a bloody heap in front of the band. At that moment the stage lights go out for several seconds, during which the dancers disappear into the darkness leaving a wisp of smoke and the smell of cordite.
The entire show, from antique cars to the disappearing bodies, takes less than five minutes. The show is always a huge hit. Immediately following the show the dancers reenter the room as guests and mingle with the patrons, usually collecting tips and praise. I love using the actors. They are great people, good working actors, and our customers love them because they add another dimension to the club. Robert especially loves using them, because to us they’re free, their only pay is the tips.
Chapter Eight
The next day Donna arrived at the same time I did and before she went upstairs she wanted the tour I had promised her a few days ago.
At the entrance to the first floor bar I stopped and explained.
“Our plan is simple. We hired a three piece Dixieland Band called the Carl Randle Trio and they work in the left corner over there.”
I pointed to the corner of the room with the piano, across from the bar.
“The band is made up of Carl, the Alto Sax player, Frankie, the Banjo player and Billie the pianist. We have Janet sitting on the piano when the band is on, and occasionally dancing on tables and on the bar. The band is on forty minutes and off twenty, so when they are off we have a full time pianist who plays show tunes and takes requests. Our plan is to have a male or female singer roaming between floors on weekends.”
“Dancing on tables sounds kind of dangerous, are there any city regulations about this?”
“Actually no, we already checked with the liquor commission and if anybody had a problem with it, it would be them.”
“I didn’t see any stage lighting.”
“That’s coming this week.”
“Janet and I spent time practicing the table and bar dancing. She’s a professional dancer and she perfected the moves that are used. Actually all I did was stood by to catch her if she fell.”
“I’m impressed; it sounds like it will be jumping with people.”
“We certainly hope so.”
“Angy, there’s a call for you on line two.” Mary called from the bar.
“Thanks Mary, I’ll take it here in the check room.”
“Hello, hold on a minute Freddie.”
“Donna, this is going to take a while lets continue the tour tomorrow, OK?”
“Sure Angy, I’ll be upstairs.”
Freddie, my high school friend is trying to convince me to use him as a car service for the club. But, when I tell him I’m not interested he is not too happy, meanwhile I get to go back to work.
The following day, Donna arrived early again, anxious to get on with her tour.
“Before we leave the first floor, let me show you the wine cellar.”
“Angy, are you coming on to me or what, should I be worried?”
“Of course you should be worried. Ha; ha, you know I like that idea, but I think your partner would hurt me.” I say as I affect a lecherous sneer calculated to get her laughing in derision.
“You don’t have to worry about him, I’m your biggest worry, I kick like a mule and my left hook is registered with the fighting commission, wow.” She swung her left hand expressively through the air to demonstrate.
“Moving on, watch your step on the steep stairs and the deep bull shit.”
“Donna, this is the liquor storage down here. As you can see there are two wire cages. The first one is for hard liquor, the second is for wine.”
“It looks like a good system, how many people have keys?”
“Just two Donna, Karl, our assistant manager has one and I have the other.”
“That’s good to keep the number of keys limited.”
“Ok, now that we’ve been intimate in the wine cellar, let’s head upstairs. Do you need to put your clothes back on?”
“Ha, ha yourself wise guy, I’ll go as I am and shock our customers.”
As we entered the second floor dining room Donna remarked about the bar;
“I love the antique bar, what a coup to get that here. You couldn’t imagine a better accompanying piece for this room. It fits perfectly and couldn’t be more functional.”
“Now all we need behind that bar is a silver haired gentleman who is an expert in the arts of Mixology, and opera.”
As we moved along the room, toward the front of the building I explained;
“We hope to have a singing bartender for this room. Our plan is to put a low piano, one of the very small ones I think they call them spinet pianos, right in front of the windows, with a microphone and a little raised stage. We can then put a single spot on the ceiling and have a mini show room. Only used occasionally, never in the way, but always ready at a moments notice.”
“That sounds like a plan. I guess the dumb waiters transport the food from the kitchen. It must be slow delivering food to the tables?”
At these comments we both turned back toward the bar and the back of the room;
“Actually, you’d be surprised. The dumb waiters are very fast for what they are. We have the food covered with heat conserving metal covers as it’s transported. Once the food is down here, there is enough space in that service area on the left to garnish and embellish the plates before they’re delivered to the tables. While all that is going on those heat lamps above the work area are keeping the food warm.”
“I hear people talk about how good the food service is here, that must make you feel good?”
“Of course, we pride ourselves on our service and good food. The entertainment is really secondary.”
“Another floor to go, this room will be a show room. I’m polling our customers and asking what they think would be the best type of entertainment. We have been open such a short time I’m not entirely sure of what will go over best here. I keep hoping for a sign, but I guess trial and error will have to suffice.
We entered the third floor room. This room is the Green room because the antique velvet wall paper is different shades of green.
“Welcome to the green room. We’re building a service area in the back near the exit doors so that we can store enough liquor to use this room as a show room. The coolers for the beer will be back there hidden from view, but near the exit passage way. The intention is to have a cashier sitting in the passage way with a register and here along the wall we intend to build a small bar and service area. Here, directly in front of the passageway where the cashier will be I want a wall of shelves from the floor to the ceiling. This will block out the view of the cashier and give the girls a place to hide while putting the drink orders together for the customers. The only thing visible from the room will be a small section of the back bar where the bartender will be working. We don’t anticipate any walk up patrons, only waitress service.”
“What kind of entertainment will you have here?”
“We intend to have a comedian, or showman type, like a hypnotist or a ventriloquist.”
“That sounds wonderful. I want to see a show.”
“What shall I do, shall I dance for you, no, no, I’ll sing for you, or how about a strip tease? But, only if you get a Barf Bag first my singing is quite distinctive, people have been known to take extremely ill during my performances whatever they are! I tell you, I’m the pride of my coven.”
“And now last, but not least. The gourmet room here on the fourth floor, as you see, there is an executive table with sixteen seats. The local Gourmet Club meets here every few months, and this room is perfect for them.”
“This room does have an executive look about it, but it’s a little small.”
“You’re right for a restaurant though, it can be good for very small private parties.”
I didn’t tell Donna, but the table is also perfect as a substitute bed, a little hard but very wide and plenty long enough to chase each other back and forth if the need arises and with Janet the need arises more often than not! Fun to play on but can be dangerous if you roll off and miss the chairs as my sore butt, and Janet’s amusement, can occasionally attest.
“The kitchen you have seen a few times, since you must pass through it on your way to your office. The back room also must be very familiar. What have I missed?”
“Nothing I can think of. However, the image of you doing a strip tease has me piqued wondering. Do you take the clothes off or does your line of bull shit scare them away leaving you naked and blushing from toes to nose?”
“Well now smarty pants I can honestly say I’ve been insulted by the rest, now where is the best?”
Chapter Nine
Occasionally, one of my family members would visit me. Usually for a meal or to relax and have a few drinks. Sometimes to help out, as in the first time my sister Patricia visited me at the club. Patricia is my favorite sister, even if she is my only sister. She is beautiful and fun to be with. Her two children are wonderful and all around great human beings, if I say so myself. Patricia’s husband is also Ok, in a brother-in-law sort of way.
It was lunch time early in December of the first year. Patricia came in to say hello and I insisted she have coffee and a sandwich with me. She said:
“Angie this place is incredible. I didn’t realize how formal it is, it looks like a Victorian Parlor or something.”
I agreed and she went on.
“I love the way the second floor dinning room is sound proofed. You can’t hear anything from downstairs or outside.”
“I guess they did that on purpose, makes the meal more relaxing.”
“So, are you dating anybody, or just playing the field? I mean with all the women here you can’t miss.”
“Thanks Pat, but, I have nothing to complain about in that department. This place is really good luck for me.”
“By the way Pat, how are the little monsters Patrick and Debbie? I never see them enough, they’re my favorites?”
“Oh, they’re fine and they love their uncle Angy!”
“Well, I have to get to the bank and then back to work. Do you need anything Angy?”
“You know, you can help me. I need change for tonight. I’ll check with my secretary Donna and find out exactly what we need.”
“Ok, the bank’s right around the corner, it’ll only take me five minutes.”
After talking to Donna I told Patricia:
“I need two hundred ones, fifty in quarters and fifteen in dimes. Here is two hundred and sixty five dollars.”
With that, Patricia left the dining room and I went back up to my office. About a half hour later I got a call on the intercom from Patricia, telling me she was downstairs and ready to send up the change. I said:
“Ok, send it up I’ll be right out to get it.”
Just then the phone rang and it was our liquor salesman. He wanted our order, which I took the time to give him. After the call I walked out to get the change. But, when I got to the dumb waiter it was empty. I called back down to the first floor and asked the waitress, Mary Crane (one of the girls from our early night clubbing forays)
“Is my sister, Patricia still there?”
“No, Angy she left a while ago.”
I then asked her to look around for a bank bag, as the change had never arrived upstairs. Several minutes later she called me back and said.
“I don’t see any bank bags down here. What does it look like?”
“It is a blue zipper clothe bag that would be kind of heavy”
“Nothing like that here Angy”
I said
“Ok, Mary thanks” and hung up.
Of course I immediately went to the first floor to look for myself. There was nothing there like Mary said. I knew my sister wouldn’t steal it and thought what must have happened is, it went up on the dumb waiter and when I didn’t get it right away, either someone upstairs, or for that matter it could have been any floor, opened the dumb waiter and found it there with no one else around just stole the bag. I took a quick inventory. The first floor had Mary Crane, the waitress and Freddie Spriggs the bartender. The second floor had Marie and Flossy the waitresses and Mark O’Hara the bartender. The kitchen had the cook of the day and the dish washer. For the rest, the hat check was unmanned in the daytime and the third and fourth floors were closed, so no one there. I couldn’t imagine who of this earlier group would steal it. I began to speculate that maybe a customer saw Patricia leave the bag on the dumb waiter and waited his chance to call the dumb waiter back and steal the bag. This was really a mystery.
Years later the mystery was solved. I found out from Bella Fiori one of the third floor waitresses, who became my informant about things at the club. She came looking for me some time after she left the club. She was in a program where she had to make amends to those she had wronged and this was her penance to confess to me.
On the day of the loss Bella came in to the club to check that weeks schedule and find out when she was working. While she was at the first floor bar looking at the schedule, she saw what happened. Apparently, as soon as my sister left the building, Mary Crane punched the down button to get the dumb waiter back and when it arrived she cleaned out the bank bag and put the money in her purse. She then pushed the bank bag down between the dumb waiter and the sliding door. The bag later was found at the bottom of the dumb waiter shaft with a clear finger print on the stainless steel lock. Mary had a record for prostitution and her finger prints were on file. I figured it would be more trouble than the $265.00 and not worth the effort, so I did not prosecute.
Mary was one of the waitresses from the first group and the only one that did not last long. By the time this all came out Mary was long gone and when I went looking for proof of what Bella told me I found the money bag at the bottom of the elevator shaft. I had my friend Bobby have the bag dusted and his people found the fingerprint on the only part of the money bag that could hold fingerprints the locking mechanism.
Bartenders, some say, are the lifeblood of any liquor establishment. A place like Gas Light Club does not depend on bartenders as much as some other night clubs. Oh yes, a good bartender is important and can damage a business. The fact is, any employee who handles money can and will be tempted to steal at some time. In the liquor business, if management works closely with the bar, then bartender theft can be reduced.
Actually, that’s all bull crap! No matter what systems you put in place, or how many cameras and people you have watching, a bartender who wants to steal, will steal. When we first opened, we had a bartender named John. John was about 86 years old and could work with the best of them. He was fantastic with the customers and everyone loved him. He could mix a drink, prepare your coffee, six different ways, tell a joke, romance the waitress, do a little dance to entertain, all at the same time and never miss a beat. John told me one day every bartender will steal; even him. You just had to watch closely. I personally thought the world of John and looked forward to his arrival every day. I knew nothing terrible could happen while John was on the bar.
One Thursday afternoon, about 2:30 PM, John fell over on the bar and was dead before he hit the floor. They told me it was a massive heart attack. I was in total shock. John’s death reminded me that death is waiting for us all. He was the big rock I anchored my day to. As I took over the bar I was in a daze and continued on in auto pilot.
Fortunately in the real world life goes on, the next day Donna called the bartenders union and got a replacement. Freddie Spriggs, the replacement, came in and knew what he was doing from the first minute. Freddie is of Christian Arab extraction, but a third generation American. He has been a bartender for many years and has worked all over town. He’s five foot ten and one hundred eighty five pounds, brown eyes, brown hair and personable. The customers liked him from day one. I hoped we had a long term bartender here. For a while it looked like we had a keeper. Most customers love Freddie. However, some wouldn’t answer the question, what do you think of Freddie? Then I started to notice some interesting things. Some customers would follow Freddie anywhere. They would leave when he did, wait until he came on. No one else could make them a drink. You would think all this was exactly what a good bartender is all about, but you’d be wrong. The accountant informed me the bar was down about twenty five percent less then when John worked it, right from Freddie’s first day.
At first, I put it down to a different season. Then I started calling his former jobs and got very few answers. He didn’t last long anywhere. So, it was time to watched, as John so often told me to do, and I discovered an interesting thing.
Freddie’s customers generally drank a lot less than John’s customers. Or so it appeared from watching the register. John’s customers would drink three or four drinks at least, before they left. John, who was a more personable individual, got smaller tips and fewer overall tips from what I could see. At first, I couldn’t figure it out. But, on watching closer and closer I made an interesting discovery. I discovered that, when I looked at Freddie, he would ring up a check. When I did not look at him but rather engaged in a conversation and looked away. He did not ring up any drinks. I then watched even closer and later checked the tape by making marks on the tape, he was actually not ringing up drinks when I thought he was, but many times he was using the register as an adding machine. It sounded like cash was ringing but nothing was going in the register.
The way the bar checks and the register work is; when a drink is purchased the bartender physically pushes the check under a printer in the register, hits the corresponding keys for what ever drink was purchased and the register prints the added drink, price and a total on the check.
However, what he was doing was charging his customers for one drink and then not charging again until the last drink. Most of his customers appeared to have one or two drinks and that was all. Now, any bartender will tell you most people actually have several drinks. If they wanted one or two drinks they probably would not sit down. They would stand at the bar and have a couple of quick ones and leave. Our average customer would come in, sit down and relax for an hour or more. In this time he would drink at least four drinks. Most actually would drink six drinks while seated at the bar and the average time was two hours.
So, when the bartender charges him for two or less this customer will either say something and correct the error or will pay the bartender for two drinks and give him a bigger tip acknowledging the undercharge by the bartender.
The bartender is counting on the customer to recognize how good he is being to them. Some customers will not even notice what the bartender’s done. After six drinks they are high enough not to notice the discrepancy in their check. These people give the bartender a tip on the actual charge not on what they had to drink.
So in this case the bartender loses the larger tip he gambled on. The sharper customers will pay for the drinks charged and will leave a larger tip than normal, recognizing the bartender gave them several free drinks. In every case the house loses big because the customers are not paying for all the drinks they’re getting. The bartender doesn’t care; he really loses nothing out of pocket, only his gamble. About two months after coming to us Freddie began talking about going to England next month for a vacation. I guess he has stolen enough and plans to get out of dodge before he gets caught. Freddie miscalculated. Once I was certain of what was going on I had a friend of mine, who was unknown to Freddie, test him out. At two different times my friend had six drinks at the bar. He charged the drinks and left. The second time he signaled me at the hat check and as Freddie was ringing up his single drink I came in and fired him off the bar. I told Freddie I was calling the Bartenders Union. And I planned to give them details, I would not have him arrested but he should never return to the club. Freddie did not say a word in his own defense, he just left the bar. When an employee handles money there will always be temptation.
There are so many ways to steal in the food business that the subject needs an entire library of books to really explain. Now I’m getting to be an old hand at dealing with bartenders. When we get a new bartender Donna and I have a bet as to whether they will last and if I can catch them stealing. I caught one using the bar checks for a second time. That was daring. He would maneuver the check so that it was sticking out of the pile. When it came time to give a new customer a check, this oddly positioned check found its way back on the bar. He would check off drinks and do some adding when the new customer bought another drink. This way someone watching saw him ring up something in the register, but he was not actually ringing anything new. Like Freddie before him, this guy used the register as a piano, playing his own tune. If he wasn’t so greedy I would have left him alone, but after doing four checks this way he was going over his day’s salary. It was time to say goodbye.
Another brave fellow was hired as an assistant manager. Soon after he was hired a loyal customer, Martin Blaine, came up to see me one lunch time.
“Angy there is something you need to see. Follow me.”
I stayed right behind him as we went to the first floor. He continued on to the back exit and opened the door. Right outside the door on the ground was a cardboard box, in it was several pounds of Bacon, three pounds of Butter, some steaks, some fish, and five made-up lobster pies in their very expensive crockery cooking dishes and three bottles of Crown Royal liquor. Martin pointed to the parking lot next door and said,
“As I arrived this morning, I saw your new assistant manager Jacky put the box down and go back inside.”
“Martin your lunch is on me today. Thanks a lot for looking out for us.”
“Angy, you don’t have to do that”
“But, I want to Martin, this is going to be fun nailing this guy.”
At that I put a piece of string in the box under some of the food in there and wrapped it so that it held onto the food in the box. I then stretched the almost invisible string into and under the back door. Now it was time to keep an eye on Jacky.
Pretty soon lunch was over and Jacky disappeared.
I went down to the first floor back door and watched the string. Within minutes the string pulled right out through the door. I quickly pushed the door open and there was my new employee red faced and scared breathless.
“Jacky, you’re a crook. I guess you know you’re fired and don’t come looking for money or I will prosecute you for theft. Is that clear?”
As I said all this the first floor bartender came out behind me and heard the entire conversation. At this I reached out and took the box out of his hands.
Jacky started to stutter and blustered that;
“You can’t keep my pay.”
I said,
“It’s simple, leave now and nothing happens, insist on your pay and I call the police and file a complaint. The bartender is a witness. Make your choice and we’ll follow it.”
Jacky chose to leave and never return.
Donna asked me today which day is better for her and her boyfriend to come in for a few drinks, I told her to come in on Saturday night “I’ll plan out the night for you.”
I put together a nice schedule for her. Now all I had to do was tell everyone else. Donna was coming in with another couple for a few hours of fun.
Because it was early January, Rocky was here for two weeks before going back to Vermont. So the plan I put together was; dinner at 8:00 PM and then the first floor Dixieland at 9:00 PM. At 9:45 PM I would get them to move up to the third floor for Rockies last show. Donna liked the sound of the plan, so, off I went, putting it together with a little surprise of my own.
The two couples arrived at 7:55 PM and I escorted them to the Dining Room. Donna introduced the others as, Paul and Mary, their friends and her boyfriend as Hank. Their table was quiet and friendly and they had a great meal. Tonight, in addition to our usual menu, there was a swordfish entry that made one’s mouth water. They all had fish, three lobster pies and one swordfish and everyone complimented the chef. At precisely 8:55 PM I retrieved them from the dining room. The timing was perfect as they had just finished their meal. I took them to a table I was holding on the first floor in front of the band.
Donna, was the table’s tour guide where needed.
“This Dixieland band is famous in Boston, and when they finish playing, a piano player will take over.”
She told them. Just then, Janet approached their table and asked if they would mind her dancing on the table. They were excited to have her dance on their table and had no trouble holding it still for Janet.
Mary said to everyone at the table excitedly,
“Wow, this is great! Do they do this all the time?”
“Yes, Mary they do, six nights a week. I hear all the compliments during the day when customers call and say “I was there last night and had the best time of my life. That band was fabulous or those dancers were great.’”
Paul Asked,
“Are all these waitresses and dancers married?”
“No Paul, most of them aren’t married. It’s difficult to work a late night job and have a husband and kids.”
Donna answered.
At the end of the number Janet got down off the table and Paul gave her a tip. Mary was looking at him funny and Donna commented;
“Be careful Paul, she’s the boss’s girlfriend and he buries the people who give him trouble.”
Mary, looking ill at ease and a little angry said;
“Paul doesn’t have to worry about the boss, I’ll bury him myself if he says another word.”
With that, Mary got up and headed for the bathroom. Donna followed closely behind. As they walked by me I heard Mary say to Donna,
“He can be such an asshole some times.”
Donna answered,
“Like all men!”
Ten minutes later they came down from the ladies room and sat at their table. Nobody said anything. A few minutes after they sat, the curtains parted and four elegantly dressed characters strolled in. The men in their white tux jackets, straw hats and spats and the ladies in their elegant flapper outfits, right down to the boa were very much roaring twenties I heard Donna say;
“I’ve heard about this from customers, but I’ve never seen it.”
All the while the four newcomers approached the band and began dancing to the music.
Dark Town Strutters Ball was playing.
When the piece was almost over there was a clatter of noise from the hat check and the curtains were noisily pulled back leaving two men in black standing there, Tommy guns in hand, they surveyed the room. When they spotted the new comers dancing they quickly took aim and began shooting. Immediately the four newcomers fell to the floor, blood spurting from their wounds. They were a gruesome sight sprawled on the floor. As the noise from the Tommy guns subsided a gasp from the audience could be heard.
In the seconds after the shooting, the room became silent, little wisps of smoke still curling up from the muzzles of the Tommy guns while people looked around terrified. Suddenly the room went dark. Another gasp and some grumbling then a moment later the lights came on and the room was clear. The two gangsters, the men, and the flappers had disappeared. There was an excited buzz in the room as everyone started looking around and talking all at once. Moments later, the main door opened and the actors sauntered in one at a time; blood still dripping from their wounds. When they entered, the room exploded into applause as the audience reacted. For the next fifteen minutes or so, the actors strolled around the room talking to people and mingling with the audience and collecting tips. Donna’s group was among the excited chatterers joining the general buzz of conversation and excitement. At 9:55 PM I took them up to see Rocky Regan and his last act of the night. I had a table reserved for them, since the room was filled with people.
Donna and her friends left the club about 11:30 PM. They stopped at the front door to compliment and thank me for the night.
Hank spoke first;
“Angy, I can’t believe this place. That Rocky Regan is funny and easy to listen to. The girl that he sings with has a great voice I hope she’s part of his act.”
“Yes, she’s a long time friend of Rocky’s named Spring, and they do sing great together.”
Donna piped up;
“Angy, I owe you big time. This was fantastic. No wonder people love this place so much. Those actors were incredible. I thought they really got shot.”
Mary said;
“I can see why this place is always busy. People just enjoy themselves here.”
Aside, Paul said to me;
“Angy, I’m sorry if I got out of line with Janet, she’s so fantastic.”
Of course everybody in this little group heard every word and I replied to Paul;
“Careful Sport, you were doing great during the apology, and then stepped onto dangerous ground. I have the shovels put away but their not to far to get out again.”
Paul turned red and tried to laugh while everyone else laughed at him.
Chapter Ten
In the early days, we were hiring and firing, looking for a balance between honesty and ability to do the job. While all this hiring was going on, one of our regular customers Arnold came in with a fellow he said was a former employee of the Executive Suite, as the club was known before we owned it. Apparently this fellow is a great singer and I couldn’t help looking him over as we talked. My first impression of him was that he’s going to be tough to get along with. He was a little belligerent and didn’t look very happy, especially when I said I wanted an audition. His answer was he never does auditions; after all he’s looking for a bartender’s job and getting paid as a bartender, not as a singer. I couldn’t fault his logic and promised to give him a trial. He started right away on the second floor bar.
This new employee’s name is Alex Saroyan and he is about five foot seven or eight and around two hundred and thirty pounds. He has snow white hair and a ruddy complexion. Alex has the look of a great tenor, a little stocky, but with great self confidence, a shock of white wavy hair and the ramrod stance of someone in charge of his surroundings. With his white hair and confident bearing, he looked like a natural behind the antique bar. Alex has this interesting walk. He walks soundlessly and effortlessly as though he is drifting. He is also a great bartender, fast and accurate.
I asked Alex how he scheduled his singing and his answer was;
“The customers will know when they want me to sing.”
His friend Arnold told me the customers tip him and Alex will sing. Well, I thought what the hell and realized Alex will be a natural on the second floor antique bar.
I left the room and found a friend, Doug, on his way up to the second floor for dinner. I asked him to do me a favor, “
“Give the bartender a $10 tip and ask him to sing a show tune.”
For this I took care of my friend Doug’s dinner which he gladly accepted. Ten minutes later I walked into the dining room and sat near the service area for a drink. I watched as Doug went up to Alex and asked him to sing and gave him the tip. Alex was a little flustered because there was no accompanying music. He started telling the room he would sing a show tune from The Music Man but he apologized because there’s no accompaniment. He sang;
“Til There Was You”
Which is sung by the Librarian Marian Paroo of the Music Man?
The dozen or so people in the room loved him. They liked him so much he got a standing ovation.
Now I thought, this is how our luck should run, a few more employees like this and we’ll be the hit of Boston. Alex not only became a great employee, but also became my best friend. I learned that his weight was not from fat but from studying karate. He was short and stocky but all muscle. What looked like stomach fat was all rock hard muscle. The reason he walks they way he does is; his lower body muscles are unnaturally taut from all the training and he sometimes appears to float along as he walks.
Alex has one problem though, he drinks. I had been warned up front that he drank on the bar and it took me several weeks to actually catch him. At slack times, he would sneak in back of the bar where the back-up bottles are kept. From my vantage point it was impossible for me to see exactly what he was doing. But, since he kept going back there and not coming out with a replacement bottle I knew something was up.
A quick check of the back up bottles proved it; and an open bottle told me what he was drinking. He drank Rolling Rock liquor which is not a popular selling liquor on a bar, and his bar went through four bottles a week while the first floor bar used one bottle in three years.
He was such a great singer I gladly put up with it. As long as he was not falling down drunk I would keep him. A cheap price to pay to keep my friend happy and the customers well entertained. One thing I have to say about Alex’s drinking, he was never drunk on the bar, he was too much of a professional for that. In fact no one ever mentioned his drinking to me.
Alex has a happy attitude and I enjoy talking to him. He also knows every person in Chinatown. He’s there all the time.
“Alex, why do you spend so much time in Chinatown you go there all the time?”
“Angy, I go to the China Moon because the owner Huo Lonuw is a great friend and fellow karate devotee. We study together. When I go there sometimes we break up his restaurant with our practice.”
“Really, how much damage do you do?”
“Well, we usually only break a few glasses and bang the furniture around. Of course we do all this after he closes.”
“You know everybody down there. Some night I would like to go with you I love Chinese food.”
“Sure, anytime as a matter of fact the best food is in Harry Macaw’s restaurant. Harry serves his drinks in coffee cups no matter what type of drink you buy. He does it as a gimmick.”
“In fact I would love to show you around China Town, I’m sure my friends there would like you”
“Alex, I’d love that, let me know when.”
After that I became a regular in China Town. The food was excellent and they’re open almost all night long.
This week the cook put Chop Suey on the Gas Light luncheon menu. I asked for my lunch to be sent to the third floor and invited Donna to have lunch with me.
“Do you like Chop Suey?”
“Actually, I do like it. It’s one of the few Chinese items I really like.”
“I wanted to fill you in on new additions to the dining room, so if you’re asked by strangers what’s going on you can tell them. I know I showed you around before, but, we have some additions.”
“It’s a dining room with daily changing menus right?”
“Well, that’s true as far as it goes. At night we have the roaming piano player I told you about, but now we also have a fantastic singing bartender on the second floor. Alex was just hired and his voice is incredible.”
“We also started to add nightly specials. Tonight, we have filet mignon, last night we had swordfish. Every night will be different.”
“Let me tell you a little about Alex, our new entertainer. Alex is a classically trained tenor. He has sung in night clubs for the last twenty years. Alex’s voice is second to none. He’s a little shy and won’t sing under any other circumstances than a gin mill as he calls night clubs and bars like ours.”
“I personally think his voice is equal to any professional tenor alive today or even, in this century. In his range he is remarkable. The other night he sang, “Mama” to a packed room on the first floor and there was not a single dry eye in the house. Every single customer stood and applauded him when he finished. When he sings “Mala Femmina” he brings the house down as well.”
“Alex is one of the great singers and we are lucky to be able to enjoy his singing. I anticipate him entertaining us throughout the club here, from floor to floor. I have already ordered the piano for the second floor and the spot light is being wired this afternoon.”
“Oh, that’s what the wiring is they’re working on in the corner. I wasn’t sure.”
“Yes, I wanted to be sure we had everything done as soon as possible. Alex has already started and our customers can’t get enough of his singing.”
Ella came into the third floor room to tell me there was a call.
“Angy, there is a call for you, a fellow named Roy, he says you know him.”
“Thanks Ella, I’ll get it here.”
“Hello Roy.”
“Greetings Angy, how’re you doing?”
“Pretty good, how are you? Are you in town for long?”
“Well, I’m with Marsha and we’re here for a week. What’s the deal with this night club, I gotta see it?”
“Sure, that sounds great. If you’re available tonight, we’ll hit the Players Club first for a show, and then back to the Gas Light for dinner and some music. Does that sound OK?”
“Sure, that’s great. Marsha is looking forward to meeting you.”
“Is she the one, I hope?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact she is.”
“Tonight come in to the Gas Light, I’ll give you directions.”
“OK.”
After giving Roy directions I went back to work.
Roy has been a friend my entire life. When we were kids we were like brothers. His father is a steel worker and when the business here in the Boston area slowed down, he moved the family to Buffalo NY years ago. Roy’s brother and some of his family still live in Revere and have forever, so this brings Roy back about once a year. We always get together when he’s home. I think Roy is here to introduce his local family and myself to his future wife. That’s why I’m taking them to the Players Club first. I want him to meet Kari, she might be, my one as well.
Roy and Marsha arrived right on time. Roy did the introductions.
“Angy, I want you to meet Marsha, Marsha this is my long time friend Angy Cataldo.”
I showed them around for less than five minutes and as usual I was in a rush. I couldn’t resist taking them over to Players in my T. Bird, Roy left his El Camino parked out front while we took in the show at Players.
Roy has always driven his, El Camino, to Boston, he would never rent a car. Roy is very particular about everything. When I say “Roy is particular about his car” it is like saying “An H Bomb makes a loud noise.”
When we got to Players Club, there was a space right in front of the club. That’s a good omen. And there was no line at the door, so we went right in. Frankie the manager greeted us at the door and I introduced him to Roy and Marsha. Frankie put his assistant manager on the door and escorted us to the Penthouse Room for a show. I had called ahead and let Kari know we were coming so she saved us a table down front.
“Hi Kari, you look fantastic tonight as usual I want you to meet two of my best friends, Marsha, this is my friend Kari,”
“Hi, it’s nice to meet you Kari.”
“Roy, this is Kari,”
“Kari shook hands with both Roy and Marsha.”
“A pleasure to meet you both, please follow me, I have a table for you down front.”
As we left the doorway, Kari said to Roy;
“So, you and Angy have been friends for a long time?”
Roy, answered;
“Yes forever.”
After seating us, Kari took our order and left the table. The Players Club has a manager on duty in every one of their four rooms, and his only job is to make sure the Player Playmates keep moving. Kari was not going to get much time relaxing with us while she was working.
The mimic David Frye was the entertainer tonight and he’s great. His most famous impression is of Richard Nixon.
A short time later, before David Frye came on, Kari was back with our order and I had asked the camera girl to come and get a picture of us as soon as Kari got back. I never get pictures taken, but, with Roy and Marsha here I couldn’t resist. I loved it that Kari was in the picture with us. When David came out he came over to our table to say hello. David had worked the Gas Light earlier in the fall and remembered me. He put on a great show and made fun of me at the end of his act which everyone enjoyed, even me. When David finished I invited him to join us for a drink and he did. While David sat with us I couldn’t help telling the story of the second floor ladies room at the Gas Light Club. David loved the room because it had mirrors on every wall and he could see how he looked from every angle. One night while David played the Gas Light he was rehearsing in the ladies room and as I came down from the kitchen all I could hear was Richard Nixon and Cary Grant arguing behind the ladies room door.
A few minutes after David left, the three of us took our leave from Kari and headed back to the Gas Light Club. I wanted Roy and Marsha to get a great meal.
“Roy, Marsha, I hope you like lobster because the chef got some very fresh lobster meat in today and made some special Lobster pies. We also have a great steak if you prefer.”
“Angy that lobster sounds great to me. But Marsha is a meat girl from way back she loves her steaks.”
“Well that’s fine. We serve only prime meat so, Marsha; you’re in for a treat.”
“Speaking of food, Angy, how’s your mother? Marsha; Angie’s mother is almost as good a cook as my mother”
“Wow, high compliment indeed. I’ll be sure and tell my mother.”
“Don’t you dare, she’ll shoot me.”
“Why, Roy, your mother and my mother have always been the best of friends.”
“No Italian mother likes to be told her food is second best.”
“Roy, my mother will be happy that you remembered her food at all.”
When we got back to the Gas Light Club, a table was waiting for us. Within ten minutes we were enjoying our lobster pies and Marsha’s prime steak. Unfortunately Rocky was not working this week, but I made sure Roy and Marsha were scheduled to be back at the club on Thursday, because I planned an attack of the Roaring Twenties foursome. I’m sure Roy and Marsha will enjoy that. I can see I’ll need to make time this week. Roy and I always spend time together when he’s in town. Roy will remember the time he showed up in town and we spent the weekend following a cheating husband for that detective friend of mine. Several years ago, a friend of mine started working for a detective agency here in Boston and every once in a while he would ask me to fill in when he had a heavy date. This particular weekend, I didn’t know Roy was coming in so I agreed to fill in for him. That Friday, Roy arrived for the weekend, and caught me at home. I told him to meet me in Boston and we would do the investigation together. The rest of that weekend we spent at Cape Cod, following this guy who owned a huge nursery, while he chased his girl friend from pillar to post. The girl friend ended the weekend moving into Beacon Hill Boston and we followed as the boy friend helped her move.
I think Roy had a good time; we used both cars, playing tag with our quest.
Actually, it was a great weekend.
Chapter Eleven
In the restaurant business, the cook is the lynch-pin around which everything else revolves. This is not necessarily true if the management is savvy and can take over at a moments notice. Nothing hurts a restaurant more than a change in the taste of their food. If you start off serving bad food, and you still have a clientele, don’t change the food. You can upgrade it very slowly, but if you make a drastic change, you will lose all your customers. Every cook has his own style of cooking. When you change cooks, the new cook will want his own cooking reflected in what he serves. However, your customers from yesterday won’t understand why the food is different. Big restaurant chains have a menu book that each meal must conform to. If the new cook changes the existing menu, then he is replaced. In our restaurant the menu is simple because we don’t want the cooking to change from day to day. A good steak, cooked correctly, will not vary much from one cook to another. If you do as we do, and insist that items like lobster pies conform to the exact recipe from yesterday, then customers will hardly notice when cooks change. Every item on our menu is served in a very specific way and there is an exact recipe to be followed. When I took over from the first cook we had at the club, I made a template for every item on the menu, even the luncheon items cooked off premises. If you tell a cooking service to use a specific recipe they will. Now, once this is done all our items are the same no matter who is in the kitchen. The new cook’s job is also easier this way.
We still have a job finding sober cooks, but at least the food doesn’t change even if the cook is drunk. When you add to that cooks that actually knew what they were doing and you begin to see how difficult running a kitchen can be. It’s lucky for us that I’m a quick study, not that I’m blowing my own horn, mind you. Maybe just a little
When we took over the club, the chef was a capable kitchen man, or so we thought. We quickly learned otherwise. To hear him tell it, there is no better cook than he. He’s as pretentious as his name Dominique. First he is not French. Second, he actually would not tell us his real name.
He would put a new item on the menu and as it sold for lunch he would come down to the dining room to take his bows, literally. He left the kitchen in the hands of an assistant cook so he could come down to the dining room in the middle of lunch and tell everyone that he’s the chef, and they’re eating his creations. Luckily for us, he did not like working for us any more than we liked having him. One day, about six weeks after we took over he didn’t show up for work. Apparently he had been auditioning all over town and a local hotel gave him a job, so this was the start of our cooks who never came back. We learned that all his special luncheon meals, which he bragged about inventing and lovingly cooked, were actually precooked by someone else, at Chef’s Helper Service, a local restaurant supply and sent to him in freezer bags. He also got our entire inventory of steaks and fish portion cut and frozen. He did nothing more than put them in the steam table or oven depending on what he was cooking. We always knew about the steaks and fish, but, the luncheon items were news to us. He didn’t do any actual cooking but, he was expert at heating water and the freezer was full of pre-cooked lunch packs and portioned everything else. After this jerk disappeared I took over in the kitchen. I thought if that idiot could run it, how tough can it be? I was in for a rude awakening. Making three steaks, all cooked differently for the first floor, two lobster pies and a ham sandwich for the second floor, and trying to explain to a waitress how to use the new guest checks proved my undoing. I lost it, sending the steaks to the second floor and the ham sandwich to who knows where. That night I gave away more food than I sold, mostly to apologize for my lack of coordination. Three days later I was an old pro at it and loved the work. It really wasn’t that difficult; I already knew how to cook from the sub shop, but coordinating meals to be hot and together was a little different. I loved cooking, however, had I stayed in the kitchen, I would weigh about six hundred tons by now. Really, it was more important to be on the floor smiling at the customers, rather than cooking a two inch prime steak smothered in fresh cooked onions, with a baked potato on the side drowned in butter.
Can you see the problem? The sub shop taught me how to love food, no going back now.
Hidden in the kitchen, not being able to turn on the smile and charm for the paying guests, was not my best use.
Generally, people who work in a kitchen are character actors. The chef is the star and everyone else is his understudy. If you don’t have a chef, and you have everything on the menu planned in advance, then there is no need for stars; just soldiers doing a job and another soldier can fill in if necessary.
In our place, the bus staff, which consisted of Lenny Larson and his partner Corey, was incredible. They managed to take care of the dining room by being everywhere at once. As the manager, I didn’t need to worry if the dinning room customers were being taken care of. Between excellent waitresses, Marie and Flossy, and the incredible bus boys people were always complimenting our dining room. Incredibly, if a customer needed something and the kitchen was slow sending it, they, Corey or Lenny, never hesitated to go up, the two flights, to the kitchen and do whatever it was that was needed. Lenny and his partner could cook, bus tables and wait on the customers. They are a gay couple which doesn’t affect their abilities in the restaurant one iota.
Lenny was a little over the top though. If you couldn’t tell he was gay, you’re blind or not from this planet. Lenny, liked to kid around and some of his comedy was inappropriate. I put up with him because; he is a great worker. Lenny often joked;
“I’ll get into your pants.” Meaning he would have sex with me.
Sorry Lenny not much chance of that! Like Paul Newman said “I’m sorry it just doesn’t go that way”
Working this closely with the kitchen staff I quickly learned that, put up with it is really nothing more than adapting to each other. Everyone is different and we don’t have built in adaptability to compensate for the different ways people act, what I have is a put up with it attitude and I’m sure others find they need this to put up with me.
Sometimes Lenny could be entertaining. On slow nights, he liked to tell us stories of his exploits as a hooker in the Combat Zone. He would dress up as a woman and solicit men hanging around the Combat Zone (an area where prostitution is tolerated) in Boston.
Lenny must have been one of the ugliest women on the planet. With his acne, he must have put on his make up with a snow shovel.
He even had a street name which was Sonjia”. Apparently Sonjia was notorious and constantly in trouble for soliciting and assault. He told us most of the time his Johns would be satisfied with oral sex, but when they wanted more, he was in trouble. As long as the Johns didn’t find out he was male, they did not really get angry. But, when his manhood got exposed he had to run for his life. Lenny worked the Combat Zone for several years before it became too physically dangerous for him to continue. Too many men recognized him on sight.
Boston has a large community of people in the sex business. An area known as the Combat Zone is the face and place of the sex trade in Boston. Occasionally, I would use the zone as a short cut between Park Square and the Inner Belt highway. As in driving through and not stopping. Sometimes I would take visiting friends through this area just to see their expressions when some young and beautiful woman would come up to the car window and ask:
“Do you want any company”? “Would you like a date”? “What can I do for you, honey?”
The girls didn’t care if the car was all women or couples, one hundred years old or ten years old. As long as they thought you had money you would be their target. On certain streets they were out there and needed the business. These girls actually looked good for the most part. They were not overly made up. None were fat. And they wore as little clothing as they could get away with. You know, on second thought, maybe they weren’t so good looking. But as a man I guess I couldn’t see beyond their skimpy outfits and great looking flesh. Of course I never got a very close up and personal view! But, the sexy invitations certainly stroked my youthful ego.
Later, I got to know some of the girls who would go to the Boston Press Club, for drinks and a little quiet time very late at night.
Many of the hard core longtime workers were total drug addicts and needed to work in the trade to earn enough to supply their habit. Others were simply sluts whose only interest in sex was the incredible amount of money they could make as a working girl. Still others were trapped by circumstance and poor self image.
The trade is a very hard world, being killed by a pimp or John is always a real possibility. Physical abuse was part of the day’s business. As a man, I had a difficult time understanding how something as wonderful as sex could really be so bad for the girls trapped in it. I guess for the girls, it was never about sex or pleasure, but dominance, control and power. The girls told me that even the men didn’t always enjoy their encounters. Some times the men would end up guilt ridden and ashamed, crying in front of the girls. Who Knew?
Over the years, the Boston City hall attempted to eliminate the Combat Zone, but finally realized it was better to leave them alone since the public wanted them and by disbanding them, they were spreading them all around the city. By leaving this small section to its own devices they kept this group of pimps and prostitutes together so the Boston Police could have some small measure of control over them. Of course politician’s change all the time, who knows what changes tomorrow’s crop of politicians will bring.
I didn’t have enough spare time to look for an apartment in these early days. So I moved into the club. At first I took the back office and put a small cot in there. But, I needed more room and moved out to the dry goods bin. Because of our limited menu we did not have a need for a lot of dry goods. We didn’t do any baking and the luncheon menu was prepared off premise. So, the dry goods storage bin was my bedroom. I used the lavatory in the Insurance offices with its shower and sink to groom and my business office to change clothes. Living in the club had some advantages. Sometimes I would head up to bed only to find someone warming the sheets for me. Unfortunately being so close to work also had its disadvantages. I could never call in sick, or arrive late. They simply woke me up and harassed me until I got up and went to work. To employees everything is a major crisis until he or she can put it off to the boss.
After all this time operating, Robert is taking me to New York City to see the club he wants us to imitate. We’re leaving at 3:00 PM today. The place he wants me to see is the Beacon Men’s Club in the city. Robert feels this should be the ultimate goal for the Gas Light Club in Boston.
The Beacon Men’s Club is beautiful. The interior is similar to the Gas Light Club, but more old world. There is a lot more wood and metal wall covering instead of the velvet wall paper. The women are more mature, not older, more mature acting. New York City attracts the show girl type of woman. All the girls at Beacon Men’s Club are entertainers. Most can sing and dance well because they’re professionals. Many of the girls work in the chorus of one of the many theaters around the city. Some even act in the plays on Broadway as well at work at the club.
There is some type of entertainment going on all the time. We’ve been in the club less than an hour and the girls have already done two different shows for us. The girls are now acting out parts of a play in a local theater. Using dialogue, stage direction and an MC they entertain us.
Apparently, this club is where a certain competitive national club owner got his ideas for his chain, which right now is all over the country, even Boston. To enter this New York club you must be a member and membership is about $150.00 a year. The carpets are knee deep and some of the walls are covered with velvet wallpaper. The girl’s costumes are like a one piece bathing suit with fringe or other material ornaments sewn on. They are mostly reds, and greens and assorted pastels. Each woman looks more beautiful than the last.
The drinks are the same as Players Club, about $1.50 each. Player’s food service is an after thought and available throughout the floors the Beacon Men’s Club, on the other hand, has its own superb full service restaurant located on one floor of its own. The service is exemplary and the food is out of this world. They have a Beef Wellington to die for. Each table has its own waiter and busboy. The club has several floors and cigar smoking is acceptable throughout. We visited each floor and the same sumptuous décor and service is available everywhere.
Here, even the customers are more subdued, quiet and somehow more prosperous looking. This obviously is the pinnacle of this type of club. I can see why Mr. Beacon’s ideas have endured and will do so indefinitely. It’s 12:30AM now and Robert and I are boarding our plane back to Boston and our reality. Robert is hitting on the stewardess and has a companion in her for the night. During the flight Robert and I are also discussing what we’ve seen:
“That is what I want the Gas Light to be like. Sophisticated and fun”
“Sure, it’s a good idea, but Boston will not be exactly the same. There’s not the same level of sophistication in Boston.”
“Robert, the fact is, in Boston, sophistication is at an entirely different level. In Boston the sophisticates are serious and a little haughty. They know they’re rich and expect you to show them the respect they think their due. They’re known as, The Boston Brahmins and here the word simply refers to the highest caste. New Yorkers on the other hand are just as rich; however, their money is called new money, someone this century earned it. Usually the person you’re talking to. Boston, on the other hand, none of the characters you see ever earned a penny, but that is part of their caste. New Yorkers also are more comfortable with their money. They’re slightly amused that you find them rich. It is a whole other thing this New York City sophistication. As you can tell I was impressed with what I saw at The Beacon Club.
For one thing,
“The cigars throughout will never sell in Boston. The high prices in the restaurant will never be paid in Boston even if you have two waiters for each table.”
Robert’s comment;
“I’m not talking about exactly the same. I mean similar. The atmosphere is unique but attainable for us.”
“Beacon Men’s has clubs in Chicago, Las Angeles, Washington DC and New York. Why don’t I call them tomorrow and see if they want to own one in Boston, or maybe they’ll accept a franchise in Boston instead, which would be better for our purpose.”
“That might be a good idea. The owner is Barton Beacon and I understand he is approachable.”
“Buckle your seat belts for landing please gentlemen.”
The Stewardess announced.
The Beacon people were very nice; in fact I got to speak to Barton himself. They, however,
“Are not interested at this time, but please keep us in mind. Thank you very much!”
