I was only at the Ambridge Red Bull Inn for a few months. They had built a new restaurant right off of the parkway near where the new Robinson Town Center was going to be developed. By the summer of 1985 I was moved there to be one of a staff of many bartenders. Looking back I realize that, having started bartending when I was 30 years old, I have always been the oldest bartender anywhere I have worked.
Before I get into any stories about the Parkway Red Bull I have to interject that, bartending can be a noble career. I mentioned in an earlier post in my "things I think I think" blog, that after bartending for about 6 years I decided that I should have a "real" job, so I went to the Pittsburgh Technical Institute and studied Computer Aided Drafting and Design. I was good at it as I had always liked to draw. I have no artistic talent, but drafting came easy, almost like coloring between the lines.
I was hired by Transmitton, Inc. a company newly establishing themselves in the area doing control systems for water, waste water and electrical companies. Their whole group, from the President of the company to the engineers from England and most of the other employees were regular customers at the Red Bull. I had been showing them my schoolwork throughout the course of the two years I went to school, and they were impressed by what they saw. I started in June, right after graduating, and was working part-time while still tending bar. Eventually they needed me more on a full time basis and by January of the following year, I left the Red Bull.
I have some wonderful memories of a three week trip to England that Transmitton had sent me on for further training, but I'll save those for another blog at another time, the bottom line here is that I grew to hate sitting at a cubicle looking at a computer screen all day, every day.
After two years, when Transmitton could not gain the foothold they had hoped to gain in the American market they began scaling back their operation and I was permanently laid off. What a relief it was.
I weighed my options and decided to get back into bartending. I'll write my experiences about finding that next bartending job later. For now, as I said at the opening, I want it to be known that bartending can indeed be a noble career. It is what you make it to be.
I though, in my days at the Red Bull Inn in Robinson, let the bad side of the business grab ahold of me and change my life.
My son was two years old and my daughter had just been born when I started there. I was laid off from the mill when my son was a newborn, and I had the luxury of being home with him almost every day. I love being a father, and now I had a beautiful little girl too. And the bar schedule was such that I still got to spend a lot of time at home. For many years, life was good, I was happy doing what I was doing both at work and at home, we lived in a nice neighborhood where we knew and liked all the neighbors. Most importantly my children were growing up happy and healthy. It was all Ozzie and Harriet, or Leave it to Beaver.
After about five years though, things changed, I let things change. We were in the process of selling the house I had owned previous to getting married, and were buying a new one. Unfortunately the deal on the old house closed before I had the financing finalized for the new house and we had to move out.
With nowhere else to go, we chose to move in with my mother in law. Now, I won't go into details, just picture the caricature of a son in law and mother in law not getting along, and you will get an idea of how I felt. I dreaded going home, I tried to work as much as I could, and after work I found myself going out, and staying out later and later.
I made up excuses about managers from other restaurants meeting at our Red Bull and drinkng til all hours, and in fact, at times that was the case, but not always. I was hitting the bars with the other bartenders and servers and avoided going home as much as possible.
It was all quite innocent, as innocent as being a drunken ass can be, but at this point there was no "hanky panky" going on. I still had a happy marriage in spite of living with mother in law, and was just longing for the day when we could be out of her house.
Well, that day came, and although it seemed like a year had passed, I believe it was just a little more than a month. We moved into the new house, and shortly after I started schooling at P.T.I.
But a strange thing had happened in that month. I started enjoying going out and partying with everyone! I was feeling like a kid again. The new Airport Marriot had opened and the club there was jumping. I was going out dancing every chance I got, with no excuse other than I was enjoying myself too much to go home. During the day I was still being a good Dad, as I said, I love being a father, and I was as good as one could be while leading this double life.
I had always thought Debbie was somewhat attractive, especially with that nice butt of hers, and me being an ass man, well, I did notice. But I had always thought of her as a little drunken slut, after all, she was out there drinking and partying, and doing drugs, and she could get very loud at times. But hey, other than being loud, I've always been a quiet drunk, I was doing the same things she was. Yep, thats right drugs were coming into play at this point and I was spiraling out of control.
And then it happened.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Before Moving Behind Bars, I was a Young, Dumb Drinker!
The Red Bull Inn was, by Ambridge standards, a bit of an upscale restaurant and bar. As I had said, I had gone there for "date nights" when I was a mill worker. It was one of a small chain of locally owned Inns with an old English style. It had started as a small tavern in the middle of the shopping district of Carnegie Pennsylvania, selling roast beef sandwiches and had grown, at its peak in the late '70's early '80's, into an 18 unit chain, all within about a 25 mile radius of the main headquarters, and the commissary, also located in Carnegie. They saved money by making most of the soups, sauces, and dressings at the commissary and trucking them to each local store, most of which were located in the small mill towns of the area.
The outside signage at each restaurant was an old style wooden shield. Inside the shield was the big, smiling head of a red bull with a golden ring through his nose. The inside of each restaurant was also very similar, but unlike the large chains of today, each one had a certain individuality to it. They all had dark wood beams over white stucco walls, and each had similar, but unique, murals on at least one wall. The mural depicted a 19th century English inn with laughing, well dressed gentlemen enjoying pewter mugs full of beer served by full breasted wenches in peasant dresses, one of whom always had a man's hand slapping or pinching her butt. The booths were also dark wood upholstered with red cushioned seats, as were the bar stools. Before the big decline in the steel industry in the Pittsburgh area, all of the Red Bulls did a terrific business. The mill workers would go there, like I did, on dates and for special occasions, and the mill executives along with the local businessmen, who profited from all the money the mill workers spent at their businesses, used the Bulls as their main watering hole.
The main watering holes of the steelworkers were just a little different. Ambridge, at one time, was in the Guinness Book of World Records for two things; one record was that the town had more churches per capita than any other town in America. The other record was that the town also had more bars per capita than any other town in America. I'm a little surprised that it didn't hold a third record for more banks per capita. If you drove down the main street, on the corner of 5th and Merchant was Economy bank, on the corner of 6th and Merchant was Mellon Bank and on the corner of 7th and Merchant was First Seneca Bank. In between and in each direction further up and down Merchant Street were various other Savings and Loans, Credit Unions and loan companies, all of which were flourishing.
But the local bars outnumbered both churches and banks, and the mill workers had their favorites, but frequented them all. I first stepped into one of these bars when I was 11 years old and had just finished a boys league baseball practice. Hills Tavern on Duss Ave. in Ambridge was my fathers favorite place and he took me there for a pop and to enjoy his Carling Black Label beer poured over a couple of ounces of tomato juice. I remember sitting at the bar, sipping my bottle of cherry pop and being amazed at all the different bottles lining the glass shelves behind the bar. All different shapes, colors and sizes, and I was really intrigued by one, the Jacquins Rock and Rye, it seemed to have sugar crystals growing inside it!
It wasn't until high school that I entered another bar. Negley, Ohio was the destination then. Pennsylvania's drinking age is 21, but in Ohio you could drink cheap 3.2% beer at 18 years old. My friends and I made that trip to Negley a lot on the weekends. The first stop was usually Woody's in Brady's Run Park. You had to pay $10.00 to be a member, and actually got a card for "Woody's Peppermint Nightclub". It was an under 21 dance hall that had "Rinky Dink" the DJ playing all the popular hits of the day and all the pretty young girls in the county would come out to dance and have a good time. We'd go there, stand against the wall like we were still in jr. high, and make feeble remarks to try to impress the girls. If only we'd have asked them to dance I'm sure we'd have been a lot more successful at impressing them as we had intended. The one time I did try that, it worked out pretty well, I'll never forget Lucy, the pretty little Italian girl from Freedom.
After Woody's closed up, we'd all hop into one car and take the short drive across the line into Ohio. One trip to Negley stands out above all the rest though. We had been to Woody's, made our usual ineffective passes at the girls, and then hit the road in Chris's Blue '67 Camaro, leaving my '64 four door Impala behind in the parking lot at Woody's. We stopped at Dicks bar and had a couple of pitchers, then went farther down the road to Pappy's.
That's when the fun really began. Chris, Tony, Mike and I were sitting at the bar at Pappy's when the door opened and in stepped four equally young men from another town in Beaver County. The small town rivalries were, and I guess still are, tough in Western Pennsylvania, and these boys had obviously noticed the "Bridger" bumper sticker and PA license plates on our car outside and figured they'd stir up some trouble. "Only pussy's live in Ambridge, I wonder which of these guys are the pussy's?" Now our little foursome had never been much for fighting, we were more like good time Charlie’s just lookin' to have some fun and to catch a buzz from the cheap beer, so we tried to ignore the insult. But then one of the shitheads from their group came up to the bar where we were sitting and said that we looked like pussy's and was there anything we wanted to do about it. The four of us just looked at each other and I could sense that none of us was going to do anything so, having grown some beer balls from all pitchers of cheap brew, I figured I had to save us some face and make an attempt at rectifying this situation. I got up off of the bar stool and said, "yea, I think I'd like to do something about it, why don't we take it outside, just you and I?"
I hadn't been in a fight since the 7th grade, walkin' home from school with Chuck and Georgie. Chuck said he could beat me up, I said no he couldn't. We went at least 5 three minute rounds with George keeping time on his wrist watch before we decided to call it a draw and go home and have dinner. So, even with the beer balls I had the smarts to realize that I was no fighter, and should use the element of surprise.
As we headed for the door of the bar, I was polite and said, "after you", and as he stepped over the threshold I grabbed him from behind and into a headlock with my right arm and started banging left hooks into his face. To this day I don't understand why his boys didn't jump in to help. Maybe they weren't as ballsy as he was, or maybe the thought of an all out brawl with my friends was not a desirable way to spend a Sunday night, but nobody else got involved in the melee. I landed a few good shots to his head before he managed to break out of the headlock and as we bobbed and weaved in the parking lot with the others standing around cheering us on, not another punch was thrown. Through either luck or a phone call from the bartender the Negley police showed up right then.
They flashed their red lights and got out of the cruiser asking what was going on. We managed to fabricate a story that we were just Beaver County boys out having a good time with the friends from the next town and that we were just joking around, no serious harm intended. Negley is a small town and I think they didn't want to discourage the constant influx of PA drinkers from coming into town to spend their money so they told us to dust off and go inside and have a beer and stop the shenanigan's, so we did just that.
After a few more pitchers we headed back to Woody's to pick up our other cars. Woody's parking lot was all gravel surrounded by a field of grass and weeds, and at this time of the night was completely empty except for our three cars, the perfect place to "spin out", throw gravel all over the place and go round and round in circles. We were all buzzed and excited, after all, we had just gotten the best of our cross river rivals that night, and Chris's Camaro was doing loop de loops in the gravel as I started my Chevy.
Not to be outdone, I floored it and cut the wheel, spinning the rear end sideways. I headed for the grass, so as not to cause a collision with the other guys and as I spun into the tall weeds the car came to a fierce and sudden halt, my nose smashing into the steering wheel. I had no idea what had just happened but when I got out of the car and walked to the front end, the whole grille and bumper of which were smashed in, I saw the tree stump just below the level of the tall weeds. My nose was bleeding, water was running from my radiator and I was standing in the grass, kicking the car and cussing, while Chris, Tony and Mike are standing their laughing their asses off!!
It was another great adventure buying a used front end and putting the Impala back together, but that's a story for another day.
The outside signage at each restaurant was an old style wooden shield. Inside the shield was the big, smiling head of a red bull with a golden ring through his nose. The inside of each restaurant was also very similar, but unlike the large chains of today, each one had a certain individuality to it. They all had dark wood beams over white stucco walls, and each had similar, but unique, murals on at least one wall. The mural depicted a 19th century English inn with laughing, well dressed gentlemen enjoying pewter mugs full of beer served by full breasted wenches in peasant dresses, one of whom always had a man's hand slapping or pinching her butt. The booths were also dark wood upholstered with red cushioned seats, as were the bar stools. Before the big decline in the steel industry in the Pittsburgh area, all of the Red Bulls did a terrific business. The mill workers would go there, like I did, on dates and for special occasions, and the mill executives along with the local businessmen, who profited from all the money the mill workers spent at their businesses, used the Bulls as their main watering hole.
The main watering holes of the steelworkers were just a little different. Ambridge, at one time, was in the Guinness Book of World Records for two things; one record was that the town had more churches per capita than any other town in America. The other record was that the town also had more bars per capita than any other town in America. I'm a little surprised that it didn't hold a third record for more banks per capita. If you drove down the main street, on the corner of 5th and Merchant was Economy bank, on the corner of 6th and Merchant was Mellon Bank and on the corner of 7th and Merchant was First Seneca Bank. In between and in each direction further up and down Merchant Street were various other Savings and Loans, Credit Unions and loan companies, all of which were flourishing.
But the local bars outnumbered both churches and banks, and the mill workers had their favorites, but frequented them all. I first stepped into one of these bars when I was 11 years old and had just finished a boys league baseball practice. Hills Tavern on Duss Ave. in Ambridge was my fathers favorite place and he took me there for a pop and to enjoy his Carling Black Label beer poured over a couple of ounces of tomato juice. I remember sitting at the bar, sipping my bottle of cherry pop and being amazed at all the different bottles lining the glass shelves behind the bar. All different shapes, colors and sizes, and I was really intrigued by one, the Jacquins Rock and Rye, it seemed to have sugar crystals growing inside it!
It wasn't until high school that I entered another bar. Negley, Ohio was the destination then. Pennsylvania's drinking age is 21, but in Ohio you could drink cheap 3.2% beer at 18 years old. My friends and I made that trip to Negley a lot on the weekends. The first stop was usually Woody's in Brady's Run Park. You had to pay $10.00 to be a member, and actually got a card for "Woody's Peppermint Nightclub". It was an under 21 dance hall that had "Rinky Dink" the DJ playing all the popular hits of the day and all the pretty young girls in the county would come out to dance and have a good time. We'd go there, stand against the wall like we were still in jr. high, and make feeble remarks to try to impress the girls. If only we'd have asked them to dance I'm sure we'd have been a lot more successful at impressing them as we had intended. The one time I did try that, it worked out pretty well, I'll never forget Lucy, the pretty little Italian girl from Freedom.
After Woody's closed up, we'd all hop into one car and take the short drive across the line into Ohio. One trip to Negley stands out above all the rest though. We had been to Woody's, made our usual ineffective passes at the girls, and then hit the road in Chris's Blue '67 Camaro, leaving my '64 four door Impala behind in the parking lot at Woody's. We stopped at Dicks bar and had a couple of pitchers, then went farther down the road to Pappy's.
That's when the fun really began. Chris, Tony, Mike and I were sitting at the bar at Pappy's when the door opened and in stepped four equally young men from another town in Beaver County. The small town rivalries were, and I guess still are, tough in Western Pennsylvania, and these boys had obviously noticed the "Bridger" bumper sticker and PA license plates on our car outside and figured they'd stir up some trouble. "Only pussy's live in Ambridge, I wonder which of these guys are the pussy's?" Now our little foursome had never been much for fighting, we were more like good time Charlie’s just lookin' to have some fun and to catch a buzz from the cheap beer, so we tried to ignore the insult. But then one of the shitheads from their group came up to the bar where we were sitting and said that we looked like pussy's and was there anything we wanted to do about it. The four of us just looked at each other and I could sense that none of us was going to do anything so, having grown some beer balls from all pitchers of cheap brew, I figured I had to save us some face and make an attempt at rectifying this situation. I got up off of the bar stool and said, "yea, I think I'd like to do something about it, why don't we take it outside, just you and I?"
I hadn't been in a fight since the 7th grade, walkin' home from school with Chuck and Georgie. Chuck said he could beat me up, I said no he couldn't. We went at least 5 three minute rounds with George keeping time on his wrist watch before we decided to call it a draw and go home and have dinner. So, even with the beer balls I had the smarts to realize that I was no fighter, and should use the element of surprise.
As we headed for the door of the bar, I was polite and said, "after you", and as he stepped over the threshold I grabbed him from behind and into a headlock with my right arm and started banging left hooks into his face. To this day I don't understand why his boys didn't jump in to help. Maybe they weren't as ballsy as he was, or maybe the thought of an all out brawl with my friends was not a desirable way to spend a Sunday night, but nobody else got involved in the melee. I landed a few good shots to his head before he managed to break out of the headlock and as we bobbed and weaved in the parking lot with the others standing around cheering us on, not another punch was thrown. Through either luck or a phone call from the bartender the Negley police showed up right then.
They flashed their red lights and got out of the cruiser asking what was going on. We managed to fabricate a story that we were just Beaver County boys out having a good time with the friends from the next town and that we were just joking around, no serious harm intended. Negley is a small town and I think they didn't want to discourage the constant influx of PA drinkers from coming into town to spend their money so they told us to dust off and go inside and have a beer and stop the shenanigan's, so we did just that.
After a few more pitchers we headed back to Woody's to pick up our other cars. Woody's parking lot was all gravel surrounded by a field of grass and weeds, and at this time of the night was completely empty except for our three cars, the perfect place to "spin out", throw gravel all over the place and go round and round in circles. We were all buzzed and excited, after all, we had just gotten the best of our cross river rivals that night, and Chris's Camaro was doing loop de loops in the gravel as I started my Chevy.
Not to be outdone, I floored it and cut the wheel, spinning the rear end sideways. I headed for the grass, so as not to cause a collision with the other guys and as I spun into the tall weeds the car came to a fierce and sudden halt, my nose smashing into the steering wheel. I had no idea what had just happened but when I got out of the car and walked to the front end, the whole grille and bumper of which were smashed in, I saw the tree stump just below the level of the tall weeds. My nose was bleeding, water was running from my radiator and I was standing in the grass, kicking the car and cussing, while Chris, Tony and Mike are standing their laughing their asses off!!
It was another great adventure buying a used front end and putting the Impala back together, but that's a story for another day.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
The Ambridge Red Bull Inn
The Red Bull Inn in Ambridge had been our favorite dinner spot. Jan and I and Jack and Jeanne would double date a lot, and the Red Bull was the usual destination. The Bull claimed to have been the first restaurant to introduce the salad bar. I'd hate to think about what might have been in some of those salads we had eaten before the Red Bull was also the first to introduce the "sneeze guard" a few years later!
They also made a "lobster pot", chunks of langostino in a little crock with butter, and great French Onion soup. To this day though, my favorite meal when eating out is a Filet Mignon paired with a Lobster Tail with lemon and butter. It doesn't get any better than that.
Well, now the Red Bull wasn't just my favorite dinner spot, it was also my new employer. Don was the manager, and he was happy to have an "experienced" bartender like me apply for the job they had posted in the B. C. Times. I started in the summer of '84.
I still had so much to learn about being a good bartender. At this point the only thing I had going for me was, because of bartending school, I had memorized over a hundred classic old cocktail recipes. I also had the fundamentals of bartending down pat. I could mix a great drink, and I kept, and still do keep, a spotless bar. Whether on slow nights or when as busy as hell, your bar should be kept tidy. To this day nothing bothers me more than working with a sloppy bartender. You should be able to do your job blind, in the dark. It should be routine to reach for something, a bottle, a mixing glass, a bar spoon, or whatever it is you need, and have it be in the same spot everytime. The seconds that it takes to clean as you go saves minutes of aggravation later.
But at this point, those were the only things I knew about being a bartender, and being a great bartender is so much more than that. I would learn, little by little, sometimes two steps forward and one step back, but I would indeed learn in the years to come. My real education started at the Red Bull Inn in Ambridge.
Shirley was the regular daytime bartender and I would be picking up most of the night shifts. Business already had started to slip because of all the mill closings in the area. Unemployed steelworkers just don't spend money like they did when the mills were working 3 shifts a day, 7 days a week. Most of my customers now would be local business men, and car salesmen.
The car salesmen were the most fun. They would come in every night and tell tales of the sales they had made that day. Jim always had the best stories. My favorite was when he had a young couple in looking at for a new car.
He led them to the car they wanted. Believe me, leading is what a good car salesman does. They actually use what is called the "Control" system of customer service. Ever notice that when you go into a car dealership looking for new cars that the first thing they do, or try to do, is to get your car keys from you so that they can get the service department to give you an estimated trade value? That's the first step in controling you. They don't want to give you your car keys back until either the salesman makes the sale, or passes you off to the new car manager who will try to make the sale, and if that fails, his manager will take a crack at you too. Give up those keys and you can expect to spend hours in the dealership, with them hoping to wear you down until you'll do anything, like making a purchase, to get the hell out of there.
So Jim has the young couple in his grasp, he's shown them the car, he's asked the big question, "if I get you the deal you want, will you buy this car TODAY?" but the couple is still hedging. Jim has been selling cars for a long time, and he knows how to read his customers. He begins to show signs of nervousness, shifting in his chair and looking over his shoulder at the managers office. He tells the couple that he's had a really slow month, and that he really needs to make this sale. He tells them that his wife has been ill and that the boss has been giving him a hard time for missing work because of it. He breaks down and actually begs the couple, "please, if I don't make this sale, I'm going to get fired", and, the coup de grace, he begins to cry!!
Believe it or not, the couple buys the car, and here sits Jim, in the Red Bull, having a Chivas on the rocks, with his wife who, with a glass of Cabernet, is toasting him on a job well done!!
They also made a "lobster pot", chunks of langostino in a little crock with butter, and great French Onion soup. To this day though, my favorite meal when eating out is a Filet Mignon paired with a Lobster Tail with lemon and butter. It doesn't get any better than that.
Well, now the Red Bull wasn't just my favorite dinner spot, it was also my new employer. Don was the manager, and he was happy to have an "experienced" bartender like me apply for the job they had posted in the B. C. Times. I started in the summer of '84.
I still had so much to learn about being a good bartender. At this point the only thing I had going for me was, because of bartending school, I had memorized over a hundred classic old cocktail recipes. I also had the fundamentals of bartending down pat. I could mix a great drink, and I kept, and still do keep, a spotless bar. Whether on slow nights or when as busy as hell, your bar should be kept tidy. To this day nothing bothers me more than working with a sloppy bartender. You should be able to do your job blind, in the dark. It should be routine to reach for something, a bottle, a mixing glass, a bar spoon, or whatever it is you need, and have it be in the same spot everytime. The seconds that it takes to clean as you go saves minutes of aggravation later.
But at this point, those were the only things I knew about being a bartender, and being a great bartender is so much more than that. I would learn, little by little, sometimes two steps forward and one step back, but I would indeed learn in the years to come. My real education started at the Red Bull Inn in Ambridge.
Shirley was the regular daytime bartender and I would be picking up most of the night shifts. Business already had started to slip because of all the mill closings in the area. Unemployed steelworkers just don't spend money like they did when the mills were working 3 shifts a day, 7 days a week. Most of my customers now would be local business men, and car salesmen.
The car salesmen were the most fun. They would come in every night and tell tales of the sales they had made that day. Jim always had the best stories. My favorite was when he had a young couple in looking at for a new car.
He led them to the car they wanted. Believe me, leading is what a good car salesman does. They actually use what is called the "Control" system of customer service. Ever notice that when you go into a car dealership looking for new cars that the first thing they do, or try to do, is to get your car keys from you so that they can get the service department to give you an estimated trade value? That's the first step in controling you. They don't want to give you your car keys back until either the salesman makes the sale, or passes you off to the new car manager who will try to make the sale, and if that fails, his manager will take a crack at you too. Give up those keys and you can expect to spend hours in the dealership, with them hoping to wear you down until you'll do anything, like making a purchase, to get the hell out of there.
So Jim has the young couple in his grasp, he's shown them the car, he's asked the big question, "if I get you the deal you want, will you buy this car TODAY?" but the couple is still hedging. Jim has been selling cars for a long time, and he knows how to read his customers. He begins to show signs of nervousness, shifting in his chair and looking over his shoulder at the managers office. He tells the couple that he's had a really slow month, and that he really needs to make this sale. He tells them that his wife has been ill and that the boss has been giving him a hard time for missing work because of it. He breaks down and actually begs the couple, "please, if I don't make this sale, I'm going to get fired", and, the coup de grace, he begins to cry!!
Believe it or not, the couple buys the car, and here sits Jim, in the Red Bull, having a Chivas on the rocks, with his wife who, with a glass of Cabernet, is toasting him on a job well done!!
Friday, February 26, 2010
Another Year at LTV Steel
So that Memorial Day I went back to work in the mill. Hell, it was a holiday too, double time and a half. I made more in that one day than I would have for a week at the lumber yard!
But it was to be short lived. I would work a couple of weeks, then get laid off for a couple of weeks, and this went on for the next year. It was a wonderful time for me. We had our baby girl in March of '84 and because of the layoff situation I got to spend plenty of time with my 21 month old son and my brand new baby girl. I love being a Dad and the lay off time afforded me the perfect opportunity to bond with my children.
In hindsite I couldn't have asked for things to be any better. Money coming in whether I was working or not, and lots of time off to spend with my family. Not only that, but I had started working in the mill on April 1st, 1974, yeah, that's right, April Fool's Day, and I had passed my 10 year anniversary date. Because of that I was now eligible for a vested pension once I turned 62 years old. Based on years of service and wages earned, they "owed" me $214.00 a month for the rest of my life!! Life was good!
Then in the Summer of 1984 the LTV Steel and Unemployment Compensation gravy train came to an end. The Welded Tube Department laid me off for good and the state unemployment compensation was about to run out. It was time to move back into the real world!
Oh, and by the way, I still get updates from the Pension Benefit Guaranty Corporation. They took over the LTV pension plan when the mill went bankrupt. They tell me I can start collecting a reduced retirement pay when I turn 60 or wait, and still get the full amount, but now not til I turn 65.
But it was to be short lived. I would work a couple of weeks, then get laid off for a couple of weeks, and this went on for the next year. It was a wonderful time for me. We had our baby girl in March of '84 and because of the layoff situation I got to spend plenty of time with my 21 month old son and my brand new baby girl. I love being a Dad and the lay off time afforded me the perfect opportunity to bond with my children.
In hindsite I couldn't have asked for things to be any better. Money coming in whether I was working or not, and lots of time off to spend with my family. Not only that, but I had started working in the mill on April 1st, 1974, yeah, that's right, April Fool's Day, and I had passed my 10 year anniversary date. Because of that I was now eligible for a vested pension once I turned 62 years old. Based on years of service and wages earned, they "owed" me $214.00 a month for the rest of my life!! Life was good!
Then in the Summer of 1984 the LTV Steel and Unemployment Compensation gravy train came to an end. The Welded Tube Department laid me off for good and the state unemployment compensation was about to run out. It was time to move back into the real world!
Oh, and by the way, I still get updates from the Pension Benefit Guaranty Corporation. They took over the LTV pension plan when the mill went bankrupt. They tell me I can start collecting a reduced retirement pay when I turn 60 or wait, and still get the full amount, but now not til I turn 65.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Out of the Business
It's now April, I've been layed off from the Welded Tube Department of LTV Steel for 6 months, gone through one bartending job and I am not happy with the second. While browsing the want ads in the Beaver County Times I see that 84 Lumber in Beaver, PA is hiring "Associates" to train to become Managers. Chris, one of my best friends through high school and the best man at my wedding, who had also worked in the mill for a summer while attending college, was now employed at 84 Lumber Company as a programmer in their main offices in 84 PA.
I'm so confident after a phone call to Chris that the next day I quit G's and I'm in Beaver filling out an application and being interviewed by an 84 district manager. The good news is that I'm hired, the bad news is that they expect ALL new hires to relocate. I explain that I am married, have an 11 month old son and a home that I had bought only 4 years ago!
They decide, because of Chris I imagine, to bend the rules a little for me. I won't have to move immediately but they do want me to commute to the Mars, PA store and then when I progress from being an associate to the next step, Assistant Manager, I will be expected to move. Every time store personel get a promotion at 84 Lumber, they are expected to move to a new store.
The district manager also asks me what would happen if the mill should call me back to work. At this point I don't believe there is even a remote possibility of that happening so I tell him that if they hire me I will stay on no matter what and that I am looking forward to the opportunity to manage my own store some day.
So I shave my moustache and cut my long hair, company policy you see, no long haired hippy types allowed. Joe Hardy runs a tight, militaristic organization. I'm happy to do this though, because I'm getting out of a bartending job that I hate, I'm moving into a position with a good future, and I'm very grateful to Chris for having put himself on the line to help me out. He's a true friend and I'll never forget that he's done this for me.
I also go out and buy a brand new red 1983 'vette!!! Loaded!! Four speed, cassette player, sunroof, etc. it was BEAUTIFUL. After all, I'll be driving about 20 miles each way to my new job every day and the 1977 Ford Fiesta that I owned had seen much better days. I wasn't much for preventive maintanance in those days and most automobiles that I owned went straight from me to the junkyard. The Fiesta was no exception.
The Chevy dealer in Beaver had a nice '83 Cavalier stationwagon in the showroom, and Jan liked it a lot, but when I saw the 'vette I knew it had to be mine! After only a little haggling over price, we said good-bye to the Fiesta, loaded Joey's baby seat into the back seat of the 'vette and away we puttered!!! Yeah, that's right, I said backseat, and indeed we puttered for sure. It wasn't a Corvette silly, it was a Chevette, but I loved it just the same.
So it's early May, I've been at the lumber company for a couple weeks, I look dashing in my 84 uniform and I'm ready to conquer the world. A trailer truck had arrived in the middle of the night and the manager tells me the first duty of the day would be to unload the truck, full of barrels that had been cut in half and that we would be selling as planters. It was spring and we were getting ready for the big outdoor product push that would be coming.
Out to the truck I go, throw open the trailer door, and the smell of whiskey just about knocks me on my ass. The barrels had just come from the Jack Daniels Distillery in Tennessee. The distillery uses new charred oak barrels for every batch of whiskey that they make, and they sell the used ones off. How about that, I'm still learning things about the liquor business even though I'm not a bartender anymore!! 84 had bought the whole lot of used barrels that year and I had the pleasure of unloading them into our parking lot. That was the only place we had room for all those barrels. I swear that by the time I had finished unloading that truck, I was drunk just from the fumes. I might have left bartending, but the odor was certainly still with me!
The new job was working out pretty well. The pay wasn't great, but the possibilities of advancement were exciting. Then it happened.
It was a busy day about a week and a half before Memorial Day. I was in the yard helping a very picky contractor sort through 2 x 4 studs that he was buying for a home he was remodeling. We spent a lot of time going through the whole pallet of studs. Any of them that had the slightest bow, or too many knots, he would throw back on the pile. When we finally had loaded his truck with all the perfect studs that he could find, I started walking back to the office to complete the paperwork on this sale. The manager came riding by on a forklift and as he was nearing me he yelled at the top of his voice, "RUN". I looked at him and said what?? I wasn't quite used to being spoken to in this way! He stopped the forklift, gazed at me with a crazed look in his eyes and repeated, again at the top of his voice, "I said RUN!!" Well indeed, I broke into a trot, but I'm thinking, if one of the bosses in the mill had screamed at me, or any employee, this way, we would have laughed at him and told him to go f--k himself!! I just couldn't believe that a boss could talk to an employyee that way, but here I was, running, because that's apparently what was expected of me here.
Wednesday, May 24th 1983, I have a day off, the phone rings, Jan answers, "Joe, it's the Welded Tube on the phone, they want to talk to you" Terry Barr, my old foreman, is on the line, he wants to know if I'd be interested in coming back to work. He says he knows it's been more than 6 months since I'd worked in the mill, and that some guys had even taken severance pays, but they've got some big orders for oil field tubing and are putting extra crews on. If I want, I can start on Memorial Day!!
The next day I arrive at work at 84 and the first thing I do is tell the Manager about my call. He's shocked and can't believe I'd want to quit. By the middle of the day the district manager arrives at the Mars store. He is irate and tells me that before I was hired I promised him that if the mill called for me to return to work that I wouldn go back and that I was going against my word to him. I explain to him that I have a wife and child to think about, and that in spite of the opportunities that may lie ahead with 84, the money at the mill was just to important to pass up.
I told him that I was very sorry, I could work through the weekend but couldn't even give him a two week notice, because by Monday, Memorial Day, I would be returning to work in the Mill. He told me I was fired and told me to leave the property immediately. I said thank you and walked to my car.
Yeah, "RUN" my ass, dickhead.
I'm so confident after a phone call to Chris that the next day I quit G's and I'm in Beaver filling out an application and being interviewed by an 84 district manager. The good news is that I'm hired, the bad news is that they expect ALL new hires to relocate. I explain that I am married, have an 11 month old son and a home that I had bought only 4 years ago!
They decide, because of Chris I imagine, to bend the rules a little for me. I won't have to move immediately but they do want me to commute to the Mars, PA store and then when I progress from being an associate to the next step, Assistant Manager, I will be expected to move. Every time store personel get a promotion at 84 Lumber, they are expected to move to a new store.
The district manager also asks me what would happen if the mill should call me back to work. At this point I don't believe there is even a remote possibility of that happening so I tell him that if they hire me I will stay on no matter what and that I am looking forward to the opportunity to manage my own store some day.
So I shave my moustache and cut my long hair, company policy you see, no long haired hippy types allowed. Joe Hardy runs a tight, militaristic organization. I'm happy to do this though, because I'm getting out of a bartending job that I hate, I'm moving into a position with a good future, and I'm very grateful to Chris for having put himself on the line to help me out. He's a true friend and I'll never forget that he's done this for me.
I also go out and buy a brand new red 1983 'vette!!! Loaded!! Four speed, cassette player, sunroof, etc. it was BEAUTIFUL. After all, I'll be driving about 20 miles each way to my new job every day and the 1977 Ford Fiesta that I owned had seen much better days. I wasn't much for preventive maintanance in those days and most automobiles that I owned went straight from me to the junkyard. The Fiesta was no exception.
The Chevy dealer in Beaver had a nice '83 Cavalier stationwagon in the showroom, and Jan liked it a lot, but when I saw the 'vette I knew it had to be mine! After only a little haggling over price, we said good-bye to the Fiesta, loaded Joey's baby seat into the back seat of the 'vette and away we puttered!!! Yeah, that's right, I said backseat, and indeed we puttered for sure. It wasn't a Corvette silly, it was a Chevette, but I loved it just the same.
So it's early May, I've been at the lumber company for a couple weeks, I look dashing in my 84 uniform and I'm ready to conquer the world. A trailer truck had arrived in the middle of the night and the manager tells me the first duty of the day would be to unload the truck, full of barrels that had been cut in half and that we would be selling as planters. It was spring and we were getting ready for the big outdoor product push that would be coming.
Out to the truck I go, throw open the trailer door, and the smell of whiskey just about knocks me on my ass. The barrels had just come from the Jack Daniels Distillery in Tennessee. The distillery uses new charred oak barrels for every batch of whiskey that they make, and they sell the used ones off. How about that, I'm still learning things about the liquor business even though I'm not a bartender anymore!! 84 had bought the whole lot of used barrels that year and I had the pleasure of unloading them into our parking lot. That was the only place we had room for all those barrels. I swear that by the time I had finished unloading that truck, I was drunk just from the fumes. I might have left bartending, but the odor was certainly still with me!
The new job was working out pretty well. The pay wasn't great, but the possibilities of advancement were exciting. Then it happened.
It was a busy day about a week and a half before Memorial Day. I was in the yard helping a very picky contractor sort through 2 x 4 studs that he was buying for a home he was remodeling. We spent a lot of time going through the whole pallet of studs. Any of them that had the slightest bow, or too many knots, he would throw back on the pile. When we finally had loaded his truck with all the perfect studs that he could find, I started walking back to the office to complete the paperwork on this sale. The manager came riding by on a forklift and as he was nearing me he yelled at the top of his voice, "RUN". I looked at him and said what?? I wasn't quite used to being spoken to in this way! He stopped the forklift, gazed at me with a crazed look in his eyes and repeated, again at the top of his voice, "I said RUN!!" Well indeed, I broke into a trot, but I'm thinking, if one of the bosses in the mill had screamed at me, or any employee, this way, we would have laughed at him and told him to go f--k himself!! I just couldn't believe that a boss could talk to an employyee that way, but here I was, running, because that's apparently what was expected of me here.
Wednesday, May 24th 1983, I have a day off, the phone rings, Jan answers, "Joe, it's the Welded Tube on the phone, they want to talk to you" Terry Barr, my old foreman, is on the line, he wants to know if I'd be interested in coming back to work. He says he knows it's been more than 6 months since I'd worked in the mill, and that some guys had even taken severance pays, but they've got some big orders for oil field tubing and are putting extra crews on. If I want, I can start on Memorial Day!!
The next day I arrive at work at 84 and the first thing I do is tell the Manager about my call. He's shocked and can't believe I'd want to quit. By the middle of the day the district manager arrives at the Mars store. He is irate and tells me that before I was hired I promised him that if the mill called for me to return to work that I wouldn go back and that I was going against my word to him. I explain to him that I have a wife and child to think about, and that in spite of the opportunities that may lie ahead with 84, the money at the mill was just to important to pass up.
I told him that I was very sorry, I could work through the weekend but couldn't even give him a two week notice, because by Monday, Memorial Day, I would be returning to work in the Mill. He told me I was fired and told me to leave the property immediately. I said thank you and walked to my car.
Yeah, "RUN" my ass, dickhead.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Next Stop
So it was with mixed emotions that I left The Inn. I was relieved because this place certainly did not fill my expectations of what being a bartender should be. It felt more like being a butler to the family who owned the place. The boys would come in every night after closing up the grocery store which was located right next door, and just have a jolly old time. Problem is, they, and some of their staff from the store, were usually the only customers. I wasn't happy and it wasn't a very lucrative endeavor for me.
But now what was I going to do? Sure, I still had weeks of unemployment compensation to collect, but that's not a permanent fix, I needed a job.
As luck would have it, a local contractor who owned a big apartment building on the main street of town, decided he would try his hand at being a restaurateur. He remodeled the first floor and basement of the building into what he perceived as a fine dining establishment.
What is it about the restaurant business that makes so many people believe that its an easy job, with easy money and that anybody can run one? Sure, the ones that are successful are fun places to go. The owner or manager and the staff treat their guests like family. The food is good and the drinks flow, everybody has a great time and it is a wonderful way to relax for a few hours.
But what isn't seen is all the hard work and preparation that goes into making each and every day a success. Through the years, the best places that I worked had owners or managers who spent more hours in their restaurant and worked harder than anyone else in the place.
Believe me when I tell you though, that everyone else employed there works hard too. The porters who come in and clean in the morning so that the restaurant is spotless when the guests begin to arrive. Damn, you can't imagine what they find in the restrooms sometimes! The chef and cooks who come in early to put away stock and start prepping food for later in the day. Hostesses, servers and bartenders, in long before opening, making sure their stations are clean, and rearranging tables and chairs for whatever reservations are booked for that evening.
There are many man hours spent before the doors even open, just getting everything prepared, and once the doors are opened the work certainly doesn't stop. There are no 9 to 5 positions in a restaurant and there are certainly no easy jobs in a restaurant, but if you're dining in a good restaurant, be it upscale, or just a little hole in the wall diner, good owners and good employees will at least give the illusion that they are having as much fun serving you as you are having being served. Truthfully, with the best employees, they ARE having fun and they do enjoy serving you. They treat their customers as they would guests in their own homes.
Well, this was to be my next stop. The day I was fired from The Inn, I went straight to G's restaurant to apply for a job. The strange little manager with the shifty eyes hired me on the spot and I started the next day. I don't remember much about G's. Here too, business was never very good. The main bar had a few seats but mostly served as a service bar for the people who would come in for dinner. They were few and far between though because there was an old established Inn just down the block that had much better food and definitely a much better atmosphere. You'll read more about it later!
The downstairs bar at G's, was where the action was. Unfortunately it wasn't the type of action I was looking for. The place was quickly becoming a haven for drunks, not too bad for a bartender, but also for druggies.
I had gone through a period, before getting married and having a son, when I can't deny I was into that sort of thing. Working in the steel mill was almost the equivilant of working in a drug store. There was always a vast selection of mind altering substances to go around, but I digress.
G's was developing a very poor reputation and I was enjoying working there even less than I enjoyed working at the Inn. My second bartending job was worse than my first. Once again, something had to change.
But now what was I going to do? Sure, I still had weeks of unemployment compensation to collect, but that's not a permanent fix, I needed a job.
As luck would have it, a local contractor who owned a big apartment building on the main street of town, decided he would try his hand at being a restaurateur. He remodeled the first floor and basement of the building into what he perceived as a fine dining establishment.
What is it about the restaurant business that makes so many people believe that its an easy job, with easy money and that anybody can run one? Sure, the ones that are successful are fun places to go. The owner or manager and the staff treat their guests like family. The food is good and the drinks flow, everybody has a great time and it is a wonderful way to relax for a few hours.
But what isn't seen is all the hard work and preparation that goes into making each and every day a success. Through the years, the best places that I worked had owners or managers who spent more hours in their restaurant and worked harder than anyone else in the place.
Believe me when I tell you though, that everyone else employed there works hard too. The porters who come in and clean in the morning so that the restaurant is spotless when the guests begin to arrive. Damn, you can't imagine what they find in the restrooms sometimes! The chef and cooks who come in early to put away stock and start prepping food for later in the day. Hostesses, servers and bartenders, in long before opening, making sure their stations are clean, and rearranging tables and chairs for whatever reservations are booked for that evening.
There are many man hours spent before the doors even open, just getting everything prepared, and once the doors are opened the work certainly doesn't stop. There are no 9 to 5 positions in a restaurant and there are certainly no easy jobs in a restaurant, but if you're dining in a good restaurant, be it upscale, or just a little hole in the wall diner, good owners and good employees will at least give the illusion that they are having as much fun serving you as you are having being served. Truthfully, with the best employees, they ARE having fun and they do enjoy serving you. They treat their customers as they would guests in their own homes.
Well, this was to be my next stop. The day I was fired from The Inn, I went straight to G's restaurant to apply for a job. The strange little manager with the shifty eyes hired me on the spot and I started the next day. I don't remember much about G's. Here too, business was never very good. The main bar had a few seats but mostly served as a service bar for the people who would come in for dinner. They were few and far between though because there was an old established Inn just down the block that had much better food and definitely a much better atmosphere. You'll read more about it later!
The downstairs bar at G's, was where the action was. Unfortunately it wasn't the type of action I was looking for. The place was quickly becoming a haven for drunks, not too bad for a bartender, but also for druggies.
I had gone through a period, before getting married and having a son, when I can't deny I was into that sort of thing. Working in the steel mill was almost the equivilant of working in a drug store. There was always a vast selection of mind altering substances to go around, but I digress.
G's was developing a very poor reputation and I was enjoying working there even less than I enjoyed working at the Inn. My second bartending job was worse than my first. Once again, something had to change.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
The Beginning
My bartending career started innocently enough. It was 1983, I was a laid off steelworker, like many Pittsburghers of the time, collecting unemployment compensation and wondering how to earn a living now that the mills were all closing down. I was married, had an 8 month old son, and had no education beyond high school.
During a previous, temporary lay-off, and on my fathers advice, I had gone to the Pittsburgh Bartending Institute, thinking that I could at least make a few bucks under the table until I found a "real" job.
My first stop behind bars was at a former "Eat 'n Park" restaurant that a local grocer was converting into a bar/restaurant. It's kind of ironic in that this same "Eat n' Park" was the very first place that I had worked while still in high school. I was hired as a car hop then, and lasted all of two weeks. Hey, how could they have possibly expected a jack off like me to work a Friday evening when there was a football game to go to?? That was a night to grab a quart of Iron City, drive around getting shit faced, then go to the game to cheer on the "Bridgers".
After the game, it was off to the local Catholic high school for the weekly dance, usually featuring B. E. Taylor and "The Establishment", and the always ill fated school boy attempts at picking up Catholic girls.
The second go 'round in the new incarnation of this restaurant would play out much the same way. Being a new place, The Inn was creating a bit of a buzz around town. The holiday season was coming up and they were supposed to be opening for New Year's Eve. I had applied for the bartending job, but had heard nothing from the son of the grocer who was going to be running the show. He wanted, like a lot of bar owners, a good looking young girl, with certain assets, behind his bar, and I certainly wasn't that, but I was fresh out of bartending school and I wasn't going to be denied. I had heard through my uncle, the state legislator in our district, that the opening of the Inn was being delayed because they hadn't secured their L.C.B. licencing yet. Well, a few phone calls and a couple of weeks later, and there I was, on New Year's Eve, opening a new bar on my first gig as a bartender.
It wasn't to last long though. The boss at the new place never did like that I had pulled strings to pressure him to hire me and besides that, he had to fill out forms every week, reporting my income from bartending to the unemployment office. They would deduct any wages I earned as a bartender from the compensation I was receiving from being laid off from the mill. Phil was quickly tiring of the extra paperwork and I was becoming disgruntled myself, because I was finding out that his bar was nothing more than a place for him and his father and brothers to go and get drunk for free and hit on any young women that came through the door. Through the years it has become quite clear that this is one of the perks of being a bar owner and is quite a common practice.
One afternoon when I was arriving for work, he was just opening the mail with the unemployment forms in it. He bitched at me about what a pain in the ass it was and said that he was really sorry that he had hired me in the first place. I told him I was sorry he felt that way, but since he was so put out by it all, why didn't he just fire me..., so he did. I got the last laugh though because he then became responsible for paying part of my unemployment compensation. He tried to deny my benefits, saying that I had quit, but they held a hearing and I won the case.
So much for a successful first attempt at being a bartender.
During a previous, temporary lay-off, and on my fathers advice, I had gone to the Pittsburgh Bartending Institute, thinking that I could at least make a few bucks under the table until I found a "real" job.
My first stop behind bars was at a former "Eat 'n Park" restaurant that a local grocer was converting into a bar/restaurant. It's kind of ironic in that this same "Eat n' Park" was the very first place that I had worked while still in high school. I was hired as a car hop then, and lasted all of two weeks. Hey, how could they have possibly expected a jack off like me to work a Friday evening when there was a football game to go to?? That was a night to grab a quart of Iron City, drive around getting shit faced, then go to the game to cheer on the "Bridgers".
After the game, it was off to the local Catholic high school for the weekly dance, usually featuring B. E. Taylor and "The Establishment", and the always ill fated school boy attempts at picking up Catholic girls.
The second go 'round in the new incarnation of this restaurant would play out much the same way. Being a new place, The Inn was creating a bit of a buzz around town. The holiday season was coming up and they were supposed to be opening for New Year's Eve. I had applied for the bartending job, but had heard nothing from the son of the grocer who was going to be running the show. He wanted, like a lot of bar owners, a good looking young girl, with certain assets, behind his bar, and I certainly wasn't that, but I was fresh out of bartending school and I wasn't going to be denied. I had heard through my uncle, the state legislator in our district, that the opening of the Inn was being delayed because they hadn't secured their L.C.B. licencing yet. Well, a few phone calls and a couple of weeks later, and there I was, on New Year's Eve, opening a new bar on my first gig as a bartender.
It wasn't to last long though. The boss at the new place never did like that I had pulled strings to pressure him to hire me and besides that, he had to fill out forms every week, reporting my income from bartending to the unemployment office. They would deduct any wages I earned as a bartender from the compensation I was receiving from being laid off from the mill. Phil was quickly tiring of the extra paperwork and I was becoming disgruntled myself, because I was finding out that his bar was nothing more than a place for him and his father and brothers to go and get drunk for free and hit on any young women that came through the door. Through the years it has become quite clear that this is one of the perks of being a bar owner and is quite a common practice.
One afternoon when I was arriving for work, he was just opening the mail with the unemployment forms in it. He bitched at me about what a pain in the ass it was and said that he was really sorry that he had hired me in the first place. I told him I was sorry he felt that way, but since he was so put out by it all, why didn't he just fire me..., so he did. I got the last laugh though because he then became responsible for paying part of my unemployment compensation. He tried to deny my benefits, saying that I had quit, but they held a hearing and I won the case.
So much for a successful first attempt at being a bartender.
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