(In today’s post we’ll look at two notable Thanksgiving gestures.)

Guess who’s coming to dinner . . .

Back when I was bartending at The Lark Tavern, I also volunteered one overnight a week at Refer Switchboard — a 24-hour hotline/crisis center in Albany, NY.

Refer was part of Project Equinox, a larger non-profit community organization that my sister Kathy helped create.  I’ve always thought that one of Refer’s and Equinox’s finest efforts was the free Thanksgiving dinner they’d prepare every year for our low income, homebound, or homeless neighbors.

By the time I moved to Albany and began at Refer, they were already serving 500 people at The First Presbyterian Church, and delivering more than 1500 Thanksgiving meals to the elderly and shut-ins.

Equinox and The First Presbyterian Church still serve the annual dinner– but now the number of Thanksgiving meals they serve and deliver is 9,500.

That’s right . . . for Thanksgiving this year 9,500 meals will be cooked, packaged and delivered to really some appreciative folks.

It’s a mind-boggling operation.

Here’s an idea of some of what they prepare:

10,400 pounds of turkey
2,000 pounds of ham
2,800 pounds of yams
8,500 dinner rolls
1000 pies
19,500 pieces of fruit.

Nine thousand, five hundred meals . . .

Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of volunteers now work under the direction of professional chefs who donate their time.  This army of workers peel mountains of potatoes, shred truckfuls of carrots, baste countless pans of turkeys.

The project has become so large that they can no longer cook in the kitchen at the church.  The Empire State Plaza donates its restaurant facilities, and the volunteers start on the Sunday before Thanksgiving.  With each volunteer working as little as a 2-4 hour shift, group after group of hundreds of people continue working on through Thursday morning.

Once the food is prepared, it has to be packaged for delivery.  Drivers have to be organized, delivery addresses have to be collated, and all the maps and GPS’s are pulled out.  And then there’s the clean-up.

It’s an incredible effort.

Check out this video and you’ll see volunteers stirring giant, four-foot-wide caldrons of gravy.  You’ll see longs rows of tables with volunteers lined up on either side, packaging the dinners, sorting them by delivery neighborhood, and then helping the roughly 1000 volunteer drivers load the food into their cars.

Maybe I’m prejudiced because my sister is one of the people who started all this, but I think it’s a wonderful Thanksgiving gesture.

If you’re in the Albany area, it’s not too late to donate or volunteer (click here for details.)  And afterward you can head to The Lark Tavern to relax.

 

Restaurants offer free Thanksgiving meals to Hurricane Sandy victims (and others) . . .

Years ago at The Sunflower Café in Harvard Square, owner Lenny Levenson came to us just before Thanksgiving with a proposal.  Any of the staff who would still be in the area were invited to work a free Thanksgiving dinner at The Sunflower.

Apparently this had been a tradition at the Levenson’s family restaurant in NYC, and Lenny wanted to continue it now at his own place.

A free dinner would be served to anyone who walked in . . . college students stranded here during Thanksgiving break, people who simply had nowhere else to go, or had no one to share the holiday with, . . . older neighbors living on limited incomes, and even the homeless who panhandled in the Square.

Every dining room table was filled for several turns of “customers”, and at the end of the day Lenny gave each wait person enough cash out of his own pocket to make up for what they hadn’t made in tips.

Serving free food to the less fortunate is something of a tradition in many restaurants across the country.  This year — following the devastation of Hurricane Sandy — the list of contributing establishments continues to grow.

Below is a limited sampling of some of the restaurants and chefs making the extra effort.  (And then back next week with more bar stories.)

The Food Network’s “Extreme Chef”, Terry French, Egg Harbor Township NJ

Swingbelly’s BBQ, Long Beach NY

Fireside Saloon, Lindhurst NY

Hartigan’s Grille, Englishtown NJ

Salt Gastropub, Byram NY

Queen City Restaurant, Reading PA

OpenTable, New York NY

Via Napoli Pizzeria & Restaurant, Lanoka Harbor NJ

Seabreeze Catering and Deli, Spring Lake Heights NJ

Ma Duke’s, Danvers MA

Patty’s Place, Canandaigua NY

Blue Willow Café, Wausau WI

Theo & Stacy’s Restaurant, Kalamazoo MI

Jac Cekola’s Pizza, Portage MI

Calamari’s Squid Row, Erie PA

Sisters Gourmet Bistro, Van Buren AR

Samantha’s House of Pancakes, Angola IN

Novak’s Hungarian Restaurant, Albany NY

Cafe Gratitude, Santa Cruz CA

Apple Barrel, Bixby OK

La Casa Garcia, Anaheim CA

Richard’s Restaurant, Moberly MO

Paradise Grille, North East MD

Original Cottage Inn, Ann Arbor MI

The Iron Monkey, Jersey City NJ

Pops Restaurant, Milford CT

Siggy’s Restaurant, Murrieta CA

Anokha’s Cuisine of India,  Novato CA

Bierstube Steakhouse and Grille, White Bear Lake MN

Distractions Food and Drink, St Michael MN

Ristorante Don Giovanni, Mountain View CA

Our Place Bar and Grill, Decatur TN

The Family Buffet, East Dundee IL

Old Town Cafe, Bellingham WA

Pocketstones Cafe, BigFork MT

Sad, terrible news . . . Ex-Navy SEAL Rob Guzzo Jr. died Sunday night, November 11, 2012, on Veterans Day.

We’ve written about Rob Jr., and his Navy SEAL veteran dad Bob Sr., in several of our posts.

Rob JR. was a member of the physical education fraternity Beta Phi Epsilon at Cortland State (NY).  His dad had also been a member; I remember when Bob SR. pledged.

On the day of the 9/11 attacks at the World Trade Center, Rob called his father from the Beta house saying that he wanted to join the Navy SEALS to personally engage in this fight against terrorism.

“I’d been through it myself,” Bob recalled, “He’s my son, and I was concerned about him getting involved.  There’s no guarantee when you go in that you’ll come out alive.  But I supported his decision.”

When Rob JR. finished Special OPs training he was awarded his father’s TRIDENT, the first medal Navy SEALS receive upon graduation.  He entered into combat in Ramadi, Iraq where he lost his good buddy, Marc Lee, the first Navy SEAL killed in the Iraq War.

After a distinguished and lengthy combat record in Iraq and Afghanistan, Rob JR. gave up his commission in Navy SEAL Team Five to begin a career in action movies  Here’s a partial list of his credits on the big screen and television . . . you may have seen him in one of these films.

Film
*Role- Zimmerman on Lennox’s Team, Transformers 3

TV
*Role- Bravo Team Member 2, tru TV’s Crises, Dir. Tom DeSanto
*Role- Direct TV Commercial, Iwo Jima

Web Series:
*Role- Petty Officer Henderson, www.UniversalDead.com, now a featured film.
*Role- Soccer Hooligan, short film “For the Cup” sponsored by Upper Deck.

Short Film:
*Role- “Boom Operator,” Indie comedy, I’m a Human Directional
*Role- Jerk Boyfriend, Music Video “Obsession” by band Hypnotic Odyssey

But Rob didn’t come home from his combat missions completely unscathed.  Although often silent, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder can be as deadly as enemy gunfire.

For this site, and for all the members of Beta Phi Epsilon, our thoughts and prayers today are with Bob SR. and his family.  And may his son, this fallen American warrior, now rest in peace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Ed Note 11/16:  From the Rob Guzzo Memorial Page  on Facebook — a beautiful, heart-breaking musical scrapbook on Rob JR.)

(Ed Note 11/22:  There will be a memorial get-together for Rob JR. on Sunday 11/25, from 1:00 – 4:00 PM, at The Brick Alley Pub, 140 Thames Street, Newport RI.  The gathering is open to the public; many of Rob’s Beta Phi Epsilon fraternity bros will be there.  Brick Alley Pub is owned by Matt Plumb’s family; Matt played Varsity football with Rob JR. at Portsmouth High.)   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Ed Note 1/12/13:  Some of you have asked how Rob died.  Click the picture below for a video on the tragic story from The Washington Post.  Click the highlighted letters for another report about it in The New York Daily News.)

As I mentioned last week, 99.9% of the customers at our club are welcome any time.  It’s a good crowd, and they treat us well.

But anyone who works in this business runs into cheap people now and then . . . the cheap 00.1%.

Two weeks ago, about an hour before Wanda Jackson was scheduled to play, this one couple walked up to the bar.

They found two empty seats and I took their order . . . but while I was making their drinks, they kept looking around.  They got up and moved to another spot further down.  They kept looking at the stage in the performance room.

“What happens?” the man asked when I set down their cocktails, “What happens if we’re just here for drinks?”

(Wait a minute . . . you just got up and moved three seats to see the stage better.  You went out of your way to find the best view, but you’re not here for the show?)

“We’re not into that rockabilly, or whatever it is you have playing tonight,” the man continued, “We’re just here for drinks.”

At Johnny D’s we do allow people to sit on the bar side when it’s slow.  But when a show is about to sell out, we’re not going to let the people willing to pay just stand outside.

I explained this to the man, and told him that if they decided to stay, someone would be over to collect the cover charge.

“Well we’ll just sit here for now, if that’s OK with you,” the man snapped.

(If it’s OK with you?)  I didn’t like the snide tone but I remained polite.

“That’s fine with me,” I said, “But it won’t be my call when the doorman comes over for the cover.”

“But you do work here, don’t you,” he snapped back.

Now he was pissing me off.

I gave a short laugh before answering.

“Well, yeah,” I said smiling, “You’re right . . . I do work here.  And if you plan to stay, you’ll have to buy tickets.”

I motioned with my hands as though asking if everything was good with their drinks … then walked away.

A few minutes later I happened to be walking by them again.

“What time does “Romano” go on?” the man asked.

(Wait a minute . . . Daniel Romano is the opening act.  You know the name of the opener, but you’re not here for the show?)

“He goes on at 8:30,” I explained, “Would you like to pay the cover now?”

“I’ll let you know!” the man said with a snarl in his voice.

“We’ll have two more,” he gestured to their empty glasses.

It’s an old trick.  He was trying to order another round, maybe order food, so they could pretend to take a long time finishing while they watched the show.

“Well,” I said smiling, “I wouldn’t want to give you fresh drinks, and then ask you to gulp them down.”

“Why don’t we check with the doorman first.”

He tried to stop me.  He was about to say something more, but I went down to the bar phone to call on the intercom.

“The couple at the middle of the bar . . . the little guy with the glasses . . . make sure he buys tickets,” I said.

“He was a bit of a dick when he came in,” the doorman replied, “I’ll be right over.”

When the doorman came up to him, the guy was squirming in his seat.

I remained a discrete distance and didn’t hear what was said, but it was clear the guy was still trying to weasel his way out of paying.  He was talking rapidly, making little agitated gestures with his hands.

The doorman leaned forward on his toes.  His body language was saying,  “So, what will it be, hmmm?  Planning to stay for the show?”

The man’s face was turning red, and his cheeks puffed out a little.  His face looked like a gigantic belch was bubbling deep inside that just wouldn’t come out.  (My apologies to Ralph Lombreglia for this variation on his metaphor.)

Have you ever seen someone with their lips moving back and forth, even though their lips were tightly pursed?

He looked so guilty, and the more he protested, the guiltier he looked.

Finally he let out a pained sigh.

When he reached for his wallet — no moths flew out — but I could almost hear the creak of the leather, that wallet had been opened so infrequently.

The doorman returned his change, and the man stuffed the small bills into his wallet quickly — as if he didn’t get them back into his wallet fast enough, someone might steal his money from him.

After they’d paid, the woman began to loosen up a little.

She had a second drink (they’d been nursing that first round for over an hour), and later she ordered a third.  She was thoroughly enjoying the show, talking with the people next to her who were also having a great time.

But throughout the entire show, that man just sat there with the same sour frown, his lips still tightly clenched.

By now his first drink was nothing but a shallow pool of melted ice cubes, a squeezed lime at the bottom of the glass, with a sip stick sticking out of the top.  For three hours he sat there clenching that empty glass.

I refilled his water glass repeatedly, smiling each time.  “Would you like a little more water?” I asked.

I have to admit I was enjoying his misery.

But as I said . . . he was the 00.1% among the crowd that night.

After the show, the most amazing thing happened.

Wanda Jackson — a member of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, a woman who’s been called “America’s first female rock and roll singer” — Wanda Jackson sat in the kitchen doing side-work with the wait staff.

And when someone at the bar was telling Wanda’s husband how she’d always followed his wife’s career, and that she had waited a lifetime to see Wanda perform live — he asked her if she’d like to meet Wanda.

Wanda’s husband lead the lady back to the kitchen where Wanda was doing roll-ups.

When the woman returned to the bar, she couldn’t stop gushing — she’d met Wanda Jackson.  She’d talked with Wanda Jackson.

Wanda came out later and sat with at the bar with this lady, who was there with her daughter.

A small crowd gathered around.  People were buying Wanda drinks, her husband was buying them drinks in return . . . and the two of them sat in the middle of all this as though they were simply in a neighborhood bar, and it was just another Saturday night.

It really was a beautiful scene.  (Listen to Wanda Jackson.)

Nobody likes cheap people . . . but in the restaurant business we really don’t like them.

Take 99.9% of the customers at Johnny D’s, and we have no complaints.  But then there are the remaining 00.1% — the cheap, nickel-and-dime c*ck s*ckers.

Understandably, not everyone can afford to be generous.  At Johnny D’s the focus is on live music, and when it comes to World Beat crowds, or Reggae crowds — these people often have alternative life-styles, and probably not much money.

So I can’t complain about the loose change they leave (or don’t leave.)

But it’s the obviously well-off folks . . . those who have the money but are simply too cheap to part with a dime . . . those are the people that really bug me.

Back at The Lark Tavern, Tommy Talbor had his own way of dealing with these folks.  If someone left him a short tip — especially if they offered an insincere apology, or excuse — Tommy was quick to respond.  He’d tell them:  “That’s OK . . . people generally tip what they can afford!”

Tommy’s whole attitude behind the bar was biting and sarcastic, but over the years I have used his line once or twice myself.

There was one guy at Johnny D’s one night who left me a quarter as a tip on a $19.75 round.  I probably wouldn’t remember him, but he made such a big deal of setting the quarter down on the bar.  He had this smug look on his face — an irritating little smirk, as if to say — “I know you expected more, but that’s all I’m leaving!”

He stood there smiling as if his smug grin was intended to add insult to injury — like the $1.33 tip illustrated above, with its “get-a-real-job” jab.

I picked up the quarter, and smiled back at him.

“Thanks,” I said.

That threw him off for a second, but he continued to look at me and shrugged his shoulders as if to repeat, “Hey, that’s all I’m leaving, pal!”

“Don’t worry about it” I said to him, still smiling, “I never expect people to tip more than they can afford.”

Now he looked as though he was choking on something.  He wanted to say something more, he wanted to have the last word, but he wasn’t sure what that was.

“Just try to keep smiling, guy,” I thought as I gave him a quick thumbs-up with one hand, “I just called you an asshole.”

Then I tossed the quarter into the tip jar, and continued making drinks.

There’s a reason all this comes to mind . . . last Saturday night we had one couple who clearly belonged to this cheapskate 00.1% of customers.

Wanda Jackson was playing at the club that night . . . she’s in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and she’s called “America’s first female Rock and Roll singer.”

It was a great crowd that came to see her . . . or at least 99.9% of them were.  Early in the evening we had one cheap couple who tried to sneak into the show for free.

But that story is for part two of “Cheap People,” and it’s coming in the post next Saturday . . .

. . .  It’s 4:30 in the morning and after a Saturday night of working behind the taps, I’ve got nothing ready to post.

This has been a long two weeks at the club as we put the bar staff back together — a lot of extra shifts and seemingly endless, endless training.  Thankfully three new bartenders are now ready to go and they all look good . . . no, actually they look great.  We should be back on top in no time.

But tonight instead of pulling together the usual Saturday/Sunday post, and I’m going to have a few beers instead.  We’ll be back to the regular schedule on Saturday, October 20th.

Here’s one quick story from tonight’s show at Johnny D’s.  We had Wanda Jackson — a woman who dated Elvis “back in the day,” and then was later inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame based on her own stellar career.

This is about something that happened after the show, . . . and about someone being amazingly “down-to-earth.”

After her performance, Wanda was sitting in a chair in the kitchen (she said she was too tired to fight through the crowd back downstairs to the dressing room.)  She was enjoying a post-gig glass of wine.

The wait staff was still working, and the cooks were finishing their “night-before” Sunday brunch prep.  Even though the show was over,  it was still all-work-and-no-play for the staff.

Anthony was doing the brunch roll-ups.  (Johnny D’s has a juggernaut of a brunch requiring 600 – 800 brunch roll-ups prepared ahead of time.)  Anthony was sitting between large steel tubes of clean knives, forks and spoons, . . . and chest-high stacks of linen.

As Wanda watched him work, she didn’t feel comfortable just sitting there enjoying her wine . . . so she moved her chair close to his, and began helping him.

I’m not kidding.

This legendary Hall of Famer — she’s called “America’s first female Rock and Roll singer” — sat there doing roll-ups with Anthony.

“Doesn’t feel right doing nothing while someone else works,” she said as she continued to wrap silverware.

Then she looked over at the chef and his staff still bent over the hot stoves, finishing the brunch prep.

“But don’t expect me to do any cooking!” she continued.  She looked down at the red sequined dress she’d worn for the performance.  “I’ve got too many frills on,” she said.

She’d said it in all seriousness, and now looked as though she didn’t quite understand why everyone was laughing.

There was such an innocent honesty about the whole thing . . . I don’t remember anything quite like it.

Anyway, that’s it for this week . . . a full post coming Saturday.

Now back to some ice–cold beer.