The Bad Influence Godfather

 The Bad Influence Godfather





      Greg loved this story about his godfather (a.k.a. my father) who equated hospitality with getting his guests sozzled. BC was a genuine dipsomaniac and it is pointless to pretend he was a socail drinker or any of those euphemisms thrown around to deny "the disease." The old man was a martini guy or should I say martinis guy. He also was a skilled mixologist and loved to prepare drinks for guests at our homes in South Gate, La Habra or Long Beach. This one incident always tickled Greg so I will spill the tea on the incapacitation of the Stanley family One Winterfest evening in the 1960's he struck out the side not with pitches but with pitchers...of gin and vermouth.  The Stanleys were very nice across-the-street neighbors when we lived at 9400 Annetta, my birth home. My first friend in the world was Mary Carol, the daughter number two of Roy and Imogene who were straight out of a Norman Rockwell cover. Stephen even took Sharon to his first homecoming dance and we were all fond of the family, even after we returned to the Gate and moved down the street in 1963. So it was that in a sort of South Gatean Wassailing  Imogene dropped by to wish us a Merry Christmas in the Yule season. Mrs. Stanley was not much of a drinker but BC dropped a martini on her that robbed her of her mobility while her giddy. She remained in a chair in the front room at 9230 until her oldest daughter Sharon showed up, worried about her Mom's long abscence. BC poured once again from the pitcher of tinis and before you knew it there were two Stanleys tipsy beyond their normal staid state. All that was left was for next daughter Mary Carol to show up and not only did the martini man ambush the young lady but she ended up somehow stinko in the bathtub. No one is quite sure why or how but three up and three down for bartender BC on this fine Winter's imbibing. It was a family trait that the Stanleys were a great audience and laughed easily. On this Yule evening the front room at 9230 Annetta was like the main floor at the Comedy Club. BC was a true Santa with red nose from booze instead of the cold weather of the North Pole.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Paul Knowlton's White Lotus

Image
 Paul Knowlton's White Lotus \      It is ironic that this post is titled something that means nothing to the protagonist. Paul, Zeke, "the Prince," "Senor Suerte" or the Snail (I never called him that.) My old pal just created a memorable vacation on the island of Oahu where the mean old world was a far off nightmare and the closest thing to stress was choosing which kind of massage you would request. Paul was the second friend in my life and we grew up about a block away from each other. We were Catholic boys and loved sports that created a bond lasting seventy years. This connection continued from grammar school to High School, to Community College to University. We were roomates from 1968 to 1972 and our families had a solid respect for one another. Paul grew up in a family of nine kids at a tract house in South Gate when the common man lived the American dream. Then again with 11 mouths to feed the American dream can only stretch so far. It is a cliche but ...
Read more

alright mother

Image
  alright mother- “You can find poetry in your everyday life, your memory, in what people say on the bus, in the news, or just what’s in your heart.” —Carol Ann Duffy  Greg was always delighted by a story told by his mother in law about a "sortie" dinner party attended by a Doctor "Putty" Putnam who had been forced to attend an opera by his wife. When asked by a clueless guest if he enjoyed the opera, his response was  "fuck you!" When I was visiting Bear Cove and sitting next to the matriarch Greg goaded her into telling the tale. But a rum n' coke had loosened "Minnie's" tongue and when she got to Putty's answer she blurted a rather hard FUCK YOU!  Roy, hearing his bride curse thusly said across the table "Alright mother!"
Read more

Athletic Club Flower shop

Image
  Athletic Club Flower shop      This phrase is actually the telephone greeting at Greg's uncle Johnny Tassano's flower shop at 808 W. 8th street near Flower street in downtown L.A. Greg loved the place and culled many a story and line from his experiences at a place he worked and visited fondly. Even when he wasn't employed he drove around with cousin Kent (Kevin Smith) and they had a ball observing the absurdities of modern living in the Southland. The phone was answered by different employees and each had a unique turn of "Athletic Club...flowershopppp" There was owner John Tassano, right-hand man Ronald P. Lord, "Speed," a delivery man, and Carmen who cut flowers and told odd anecdotes such as the origin of pizza. I believe Greg and Kevin could go on for weeks about the people they met on their deliveries as they set forth across the city of the angels to spread floral joy. This might include places to eat, fascinating neighborhoods, cemeteries, lone...
Read more