Who’s in 418? (Part 2)
As I crossed the lobby toward the Front Desk, I saw Nancy waiting nervously. “You told Carol that you have a problem?” I began. Nancy went quickly to the PBX and pointed at the small display. The hotel’s phone system had been upgraded recently and part of the new equipment was a modern “switchboard”. “When ever a room dials “O” in house, their room number shows in this little window”, she explained. “About ten minutes ago, a man called for the correct time, when a room number from the fourth floor appeared, it caught my attention”, she continued. “Why would a fourth floor number catch your attention?” I asked. “The house is slow tonight and we haven’t got any rooms rented on four or five”. Nancy blurted it out, “I’m sure it was room 418”.
Well, there it was. It must be obvious that a hotel’s staff needs to know the status of every room, at all times. It starts early in the morning when the desk makes lists of check-outs, stay-overs and new-arrivals. The housekeeping department brings updated information to the front desk through-out each day, as they work their way down the long corridors, cleaning and inspecting their guest room assignments. Our desk had never impressed me very much with their procedures and organization. “It’s probably a sleeper”, I suggested. After all, hotel guests change their plans all the time. “Should I call them?” Nancy wanted to help. “No, just get the security guard down here, give me the pass key and I’ll go up there and check it out”. “Nancy, are you sure it was 418?” She was sure.
If it was an “Unauthorized” person, I didn’t want them tipped off by a phone call and I had always found it easier to explain a mix up in a guest’s registration, (which of course was the most likely scenario), while standing face to face with the guest. I took the hotel keys from Nancy and walked back to the restaurant. In the short time it had taken for me to leave, go to the front desk and come back, the “grapevine” had gone into high gear and now, everyone knew that there was “a problem in one of the rooms.” I walked over to where Carol and Maria waited in excitement at the service end of the bar. “I need to go up to 418 and check it out”, I assured them, “Probably nothing to it; just a sleeper”.
A moment later, a very small security guard walked into the restaurant looking for me. Size didn’t matter with security. They were uniformed like police, and the hope was that the silhouette of a police hat, seen from across the parking lot would be enough to deter the bad guys. Also, they carried a two-way radio. I carried brass knuckles. One of the local cops who stopped by occasionally for a drink had given them to me my first night on the job. “It can get rough in here; you may need these some day”. They were the real thing. I reached back and felt the lump of their metal in the back pocket of my trousers as I led the way to the elevator which would transport the two of us to the fourth floor of the guest room tower and room 418.
I must confess that my standard approach at a guestroom door has been modified throughout the years by the many different images that have met my eyes once the door was swung open. I could fill the pages of a book with the tapestry of impressions left behind by people who conduct their acts in the privacy of a hotel room. It is precisely the interruption of this private space and time that I intend with the words, “It’s the Hotel Manager, please open the door”, which immediately follow my quick, loud knocks. The security guard and I looked at each other in the silence that filled our ears after the door stopped rattling in its jamb. We didn’t hear any sounds from within. I repeated the knocking and the request a little louder. There came no response. I began to think that the 418 that Nancy saw on the display was more likely 148. I put the pass key in the lockset and turned the tumblers one time around. The door latch did not release. As I spun the key around the second time, I immediately knew that there was someone inside. The pass key was an E-Key. It was for emergencies only. It was the Grand Master of all hotel keys since it alone could double lock, (or un-double lock) a guestroom door. The only other way for a guestroom door to have the privacy lock in place was to be in the room and turn it with your hand. You could not do it from the outside unless you had the E-Key. We only used the E-Key on the rare occasion that we needed to lock a guest out of their room for non-payment or in an emergency. I slowly began to push the door open and I was stopped as it hit the safety chain. Now, there was no doubt at all. Someone was in the room. I spoke loudly through the crack. “My name is Dave VanArsdale, I’m the Hotel Manager, please come to the door”….. “I need to speak with you”…..”Somehow, the front desk of the hotel shows this room as vacant”…..”Most likely a simple mistake”…..”I know that you’re in there, this chain can not put itself in place”. “I don’t want to scare you, but you must answer me”, I implored the occupant. “Go to your phone and call the hotel operator so that we can get your registration corrected.” Still no response. I put my weight behind the door and easily “popped” the chain open.
The security guard let me go in first. As I walked cautiously into the room, I glanced left into the bathroom. It looked empty. One look around the bedroom and I knew. He was under the bed. I reached down and lifted frame, box springs and mattress up above my head. “Hi Johnnie, why didn’t you answer me?” It was one of the dishwashers. He stayed silent as he rolled out from under the bed. I lowered it back down to the floor. The security guard had remained in the doorway, and I moved back that way to prevent a hasty exit. “Where is she Johnnie, the bathroom?” I looked in and saw the young girl hiding behind the shower curtain. “How did you get in here?” I tried to scare her. She didn’t want to talk either. They were both partly undressed, so I told them to get their clothes back on. “You going to fire me?” Johnnie asked. “How did you get into the room?” I demanded. Of course I would fire him, but for now let’s see if we can learn anything. “Give me the key that you used.” I stayed in the entryway and Johnnie and the girlfriend made a sudden rush, trying to get past me into the hallway. As I caught him by the wrist, I turned to the guard and said, “You keep the girl from running off and radio for the cops, and I’ve got him”.
She looked at me from under the visor of her “police hat”. It was like seeing a deer caught in the headlights as she almost sobbed back at me in a timid little voice,” We aren’t allowed to put our hands on anyone!” It was a girl! The small security guard was a woman! It had not occurred to me until that very instant that she could be a woman. I mean, they just never were. I don’t have a problem with her being a woman guard but it’s not fair to hide it like that. I had at least ten guys downstairs, who were my employees, who would have been glad to accompany us to 418 and be my back-up as I dealt with the “traitorous” Johnnie. Johnnie interrupted my amazement by pulling me off my feet as he bolted away, breaking the hold I had on his arm. I caught my balance and started after him. “Call the cops!” I yelled to her over my shoulder. The girlfriend was running away in the other direction. He sprinted the long hallway and darted around the corner into and down the stairwell. I was gaining on him, taking each landing in two strides with my long legs. When we reached the bottom, he went through the heavy steel door just ahead of me. He turned and slammed against the outside just as I was coming through it. It stopped me in my tracks. I felt the pain shooting up from my left ankle. My foot had been the only part of me to make it through the door before it shut. I freed the foot from its confinement. It still held my weight. I was livid. My right hand slipped quickly into the back pocket and its fingers each found their intended opening in the clammy brass. In a single motion, I pushed back on the heavy door, and leaped for Johnnie as he tried to turn and run out the nearby exit. I caught him by the collar and spun him around. His fists had already landed once and were ready to seek another target on my face when I brought the hammer blow home to the top of his head. Johnnie went limp at my feet with me drawing my arm back for another thump on his pumpkin.
I thought I may have killed him. His eyes were rolled back in his head and he did not move at all. Time stood still. I walked to the stairwell door, opened it and looked up. No one was following. My ankle was screaming with pain. Maybe he broke my leg. The exit door opened and I turned to see Johnnie heading out and across the parking lot. The same parking lot that Cass had a house trailer parked on. Rocky! The trained German Shepard, that no doubt would eat Johnnie if told to, was in that trailer. I hopped on my one good leg over to the small steps leading to the door. I pounded and shouted for five minutes, no response. Not even a bark from the killer dog!
Well, the pass key wouldn’t open the door to Cass’ house trailer. Not that I tried it. Head lights shown up at me pounding and shouting at the dark and unresponsive dwelling, so I stopped. It was Roger, in his Corvette, who pulled up to me as I climbed off the porch. “Get in,” he called to me. I climbed into the second seat and looked back up at the trailer. “He wouldn’t wake up,” I complained to the “plain clothes” detective. “Don’t worry; we caught them at the motel next door.” I’ll take you over and you can ID them for us.
Sure thing, there was Johnnie and his girlfriend, surrounded by at least a dozen cops, sitting on the Motel’s curb. I told the two “love birds” that if they would pay $50 for the cost of the room, they would be off the hook with me. His girl complained loudly at Johnnie as she got the money out of her purse. She didn’t look so innocent in the harsh glare of the street lights. As it turned out, she was a pro and now here she was, having to pay the tab! Once she handed me the fifty, Johnnie stood, turned and started walking away from the group. One of the cops shouted, “Where do you think you’re going?” In what was left of his surliest attitude, Johnnie turned and spat out the words, “I’m going home.” “The man got his money.”
The police took a dim view of Johnnie’s attempted leaving before being dismissed and there was a brief scuffle before the now hand-cuffed and shackled Johnnie landed head first in the back seat of a patrol car. It was not hard to read his lips as the police car pulled away; “I will kill you,” he mouthed at me with a murderous look in his eyes. He hasn’t yet. Roger came by a few days later and called me over to his bar stool, next to Cass. “Yeah, I was just telling your boss about that dumb dishwasher that you thumped last week.” “Believe it or not; after you pounded on him and we pounded on him, he decided to give the turnkeys trouble, later that night, while they were giving him a ride in the elevator down at the county jail.” Some guys just never learn!
Cass just kept his eyes on his drink, one of those clear ones. He never asked me about the story and I never offered to tell him. The numbers had all worked the next morning and I am sure he never heard me at his door. He sure knew how to sell excitement.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Who's in 418? (part 1)
There have been many hoteliers with whom I have worked. No two General Managers were ever close to being the same. Some were “old school” and had come up through the ranks. Others had studied at Cornell or Michigan State and learned their skills by completing the required courses for a hotel degree. Either way, I always tried to learn from each man or woman everything that I could while employed as a team member within their unique operation.
Kent was a cowboy from Idaho. He always wore his boots and had an easy way with people. He treated his staff like they were his friends. Charles was a smallish, round, grandfather type. Don’t let that fool you, he would take no nonsense and was a perfectionist, although he was never unreasonable. The daily envelope was always complete and in the noon mail. Betty started her day in the office but would always make her way, by mid-morning, to the laundry room of the housekeeping department and she truly felt more comfortable with the housekeepers than she did around the front desk. She taught me what a “clean room” really looked like. “Fresh as a daisy”, she’d always say.
Peter was a Certified Chef de Cuisine. I cleaned up his kitchen until you could eat off the floor under the pot sink. He seemed to be a little out of his element as a General Manager and would say and do odd things from time to time. Once, he decided that we would begin having a formal, weekly staff meeting, with required attendance for all of the department heads, every Monday morning at 8:00 AM. We had never had structured, regular staff meetings. In fact, he had always been quite casual in his style of management. At the first one, Peter stood at the head of the long, board room table around which his dozen or so managers were assembled. We were smiling, sipping our morning coffee and chatting with each other as we waited for the meeting to start. Suddenly, he leaned forward, placed his hands palms down on the table and literally shouted into us at the top of his lungs, “My first name is Mister - My last name is Renz - and I expect to be called by both-of-them!” I don’t recall the rest of the meeting.
Cass was a promoter. He had grown up in a tough Chicago neighborhood. Everyone called him Mr. Opyt, even the hotel’s owner. We called him Mr. O when he wasn’t within earshot. Cass knew how to operate with entertainment better than anyone I’ve ever seen. He painted everything black and used lights, mirrors, sound and stage to create a Las Vegas style Show Bar in our dining room when the competition was trying to sell their room as a pancake house! He always sold out the hotel for New Years Eve and jumped on the Elvis Impersonator bandwagon almost before the King’s body was cold. Cass was selling “Sizzlers” for $19.95 back in the 1970s. I added up the food cost for these petit fillets that everyone ordered and it was less than five dollars. If enough of them were not leaving the kitchen, Cass would order one and instruct the waitress to walk slowly around the entire dining room before setting it down in front of him, where it eventually grew cold and became Rocky’s dinner. The sound and smell of the au jus hissing on the red hot steel always did the trick. Later in the evening, we did the same with Irish coffee. The customers could not resist the suggestion.
Cass did not need me as his Assistant because of my Food and Beverage experience and I remember his surprise when he found out that I had helped the front desk’s new Night Auditor balance for a week or so until she finally learned the job. “Just watch the joint for me”, he’d said, and so that was what I did. I wore a suit and tie and babysat Mr. O’s action hotel, six nights a week. I’d arrive at 4:00 PM, Tuesday through Sunday, pick up the keys from the office and stay until Maria, the bartender, had closed, cashed out and was ready to make her deposit and let me lock up. At 4:30, Cass would walk out of the office, cross the lobby, and take his place on the second bar stool from the left end of the bar. It was a strategic spot from which he could see most of the dining room, all of the bar, the front desk, all of the cash registers and the front doors of the hotel. Maria always sounded a little nervous as she immediately sat one of his “clear ones’ near his right hand and smiled, “Hi Mr. Opyt” she’d say. Maria would always try to say something cute or clever but he mostly ignored her. He was at his best when he ignored all of us and just got down to pounding down six or seven of the “clear ones”, at which point, usually 7:00, he would rise and weave his way down the corridor, into the elevator, one floor down, out the back door of the hotel and across the parking lot to his home. Cass and his wife lived in a house trailer at the far end of the back parking lot with their trained German Shepard, Rocky. Sometimes, (I never figured out why), he would leave the bar earlier and come back with the dog. Cass would have a murderous look on his face at these times and as he entered the bar room and went to his stool, Rocky, who I never saw leashed, stayed close by his side. “Rocky, lay down”, he’d say too loudly and a little bit slurred. The dog lay down at the foot of the second stool and although he would closely watch people as they came and went, Rocky never moved until Cass told him to.
The main entrance to the lobby, front desk, meeting rooms, restaurants and bar of the five story, 200 room hotel was on the second floor. The first floor was ground level in the back of the rooms building and although there were several guest rooms and the hotel’s indoor swimming pool on the ground floor, most of that floor’s space were “back of the house” areas like housekeeping, laundry, maintenance and storage. There were two elevators next to the desk area by which guests could access the guestrooms in the tower. The rooms tower was long, with interior corridors and rooms on both sides. There were three stairwells; one on each end and one in the middle, near the pool.
On a slow Sunday night, in the summer of 1979, Mr. O and Rocky had gone home about three hours ago. The band was beginning to make their way back to the stage to start the second set. Carol was at her Hostess station at the entrance to the dining room and Maria and I were talking about something unimportant as she filled a dining room waiter’s drink order at the service end of the bar. I heard Carol’s hostess phone ring and after she answered it and spoke for a moment, she motioned me over to her. “Nancy has a problem at the desk and needs you right away”, she whispered discreetly. Carol continued in a concerned tone, “She said that there/s someone in room 418 and it’s supposed to be vacant.”
To be continued…….
Kent was a cowboy from Idaho. He always wore his boots and had an easy way with people. He treated his staff like they were his friends. Charles was a smallish, round, grandfather type. Don’t let that fool you, he would take no nonsense and was a perfectionist, although he was never unreasonable. The daily envelope was always complete and in the noon mail. Betty started her day in the office but would always make her way, by mid-morning, to the laundry room of the housekeeping department and she truly felt more comfortable with the housekeepers than she did around the front desk. She taught me what a “clean room” really looked like. “Fresh as a daisy”, she’d always say.
Peter was a Certified Chef de Cuisine. I cleaned up his kitchen until you could eat off the floor under the pot sink. He seemed to be a little out of his element as a General Manager and would say and do odd things from time to time. Once, he decided that we would begin having a formal, weekly staff meeting, with required attendance for all of the department heads, every Monday morning at 8:00 AM. We had never had structured, regular staff meetings. In fact, he had always been quite casual in his style of management. At the first one, Peter stood at the head of the long, board room table around which his dozen or so managers were assembled. We were smiling, sipping our morning coffee and chatting with each other as we waited for the meeting to start. Suddenly, he leaned forward, placed his hands palms down on the table and literally shouted into us at the top of his lungs, “My first name is Mister - My last name is Renz - and I expect to be called by both-of-them!” I don’t recall the rest of the meeting.
Cass was a promoter. He had grown up in a tough Chicago neighborhood. Everyone called him Mr. Opyt, even the hotel’s owner. We called him Mr. O when he wasn’t within earshot. Cass knew how to operate with entertainment better than anyone I’ve ever seen. He painted everything black and used lights, mirrors, sound and stage to create a Las Vegas style Show Bar in our dining room when the competition was trying to sell their room as a pancake house! He always sold out the hotel for New Years Eve and jumped on the Elvis Impersonator bandwagon almost before the King’s body was cold. Cass was selling “Sizzlers” for $19.95 back in the 1970s. I added up the food cost for these petit fillets that everyone ordered and it was less than five dollars. If enough of them were not leaving the kitchen, Cass would order one and instruct the waitress to walk slowly around the entire dining room before setting it down in front of him, where it eventually grew cold and became Rocky’s dinner. The sound and smell of the au jus hissing on the red hot steel always did the trick. Later in the evening, we did the same with Irish coffee. The customers could not resist the suggestion.
Cass did not need me as his Assistant because of my Food and Beverage experience and I remember his surprise when he found out that I had helped the front desk’s new Night Auditor balance for a week or so until she finally learned the job. “Just watch the joint for me”, he’d said, and so that was what I did. I wore a suit and tie and babysat Mr. O’s action hotel, six nights a week. I’d arrive at 4:00 PM, Tuesday through Sunday, pick up the keys from the office and stay until Maria, the bartender, had closed, cashed out and was ready to make her deposit and let me lock up. At 4:30, Cass would walk out of the office, cross the lobby, and take his place on the second bar stool from the left end of the bar. It was a strategic spot from which he could see most of the dining room, all of the bar, the front desk, all of the cash registers and the front doors of the hotel. Maria always sounded a little nervous as she immediately sat one of his “clear ones’ near his right hand and smiled, “Hi Mr. Opyt” she’d say. Maria would always try to say something cute or clever but he mostly ignored her. He was at his best when he ignored all of us and just got down to pounding down six or seven of the “clear ones”, at which point, usually 7:00, he would rise and weave his way down the corridor, into the elevator, one floor down, out the back door of the hotel and across the parking lot to his home. Cass and his wife lived in a house trailer at the far end of the back parking lot with their trained German Shepard, Rocky. Sometimes, (I never figured out why), he would leave the bar earlier and come back with the dog. Cass would have a murderous look on his face at these times and as he entered the bar room and went to his stool, Rocky, who I never saw leashed, stayed close by his side. “Rocky, lay down”, he’d say too loudly and a little bit slurred. The dog lay down at the foot of the second stool and although he would closely watch people as they came and went, Rocky never moved until Cass told him to.
The main entrance to the lobby, front desk, meeting rooms, restaurants and bar of the five story, 200 room hotel was on the second floor. The first floor was ground level in the back of the rooms building and although there were several guest rooms and the hotel’s indoor swimming pool on the ground floor, most of that floor’s space were “back of the house” areas like housekeeping, laundry, maintenance and storage. There were two elevators next to the desk area by which guests could access the guestrooms in the tower. The rooms tower was long, with interior corridors and rooms on both sides. There were three stairwells; one on each end and one in the middle, near the pool.
On a slow Sunday night, in the summer of 1979, Mr. O and Rocky had gone home about three hours ago. The band was beginning to make their way back to the stage to start the second set. Carol was at her Hostess station at the entrance to the dining room and Maria and I were talking about something unimportant as she filled a dining room waiter’s drink order at the service end of the bar. I heard Carol’s hostess phone ring and after she answered it and spoke for a moment, she motioned me over to her. “Nancy has a problem at the desk and needs you right away”, she whispered discreetly. Carol continued in a concerned tone, “She said that there/s someone in room 418 and it’s supposed to be vacant.”
To be continued…….
Friday, June 11, 2010
Hotels are more than 'scrubbin toilets n makin beds' Hotels Are Glamorous!
It is not a stretch to say that most hourly hotel workers have seldom been hotel customers. That was the case with me. Growing up in Flint, with a large family, we went camping. Mom and Dad both worked hard all week and many Fridays, during the summer, both parents would rush home at five o’clock and pack the car full of all five kids and the camping gear. Dad bought a Comet in 61’. Those of you over forty-five will remember the cat eyes look to the rear tail lights. That must have been quite a site; all seven of us packed in that two door sedan, heading North on US23, with the car top carrier piled high and lashed to the top of the roof!
Michigan was great for camping. There were lakes and rivers with wonderful campgrounds everywhere. I now know that there were also some great hotels. We never stayed in any hotels. We either camped or stayed with family. Grandma Bracebridge lived in Traverse City, seven blocks from the bay. Staying with her was like being at a resort with one of the best beaches in the country. On cold and rainy days we walked downtown to the Park Place Hotel. For fifty cents each, my brother and I could swim all afternoon in their indoor pool. I’m pretty sure that is the only money a hotelier ever got from me in advance of beginning my hotel career.
An hour or so North-East of Traverse City is where one of the world’s most unique and truly glamorous hotels has been renting rooms since 1887. Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island has a porch that goes on forever and no cars are allowed on the island so guests are picked up at the Ferry by horse and carriage just like they were a century ago. Many of the industries’ best servers have been employed for years in the food service outlets of Grand Hotel. During the winter, they travel south to work the cruise ships and island resorts until the hotel opens again for next summer’s season. If any hotels, today, can be thought of as glamorous, Grand Hotel has all the qualities.
After all, Presidents and Royals, Movie Stars and Millionaires all stay at hotels, don’t they? I have had many of these, as guests, through the years, and even folks in the rare air they live in, enjoy the special touches like Room Service and Spa Treatments one associates with a nice hotel. What would the casinos in Las Vegas or Atlantic City be without their hotels? There is a sense of extravagance about having someone else make your bed and clean up after you each day. I can tell you that the fun of watching the Bride and Groom’s family and friends check into their rooms and then see each other for the first time, down in the lobby, as they start a weekend of loving celebration is as real and exciting as knowing that President Ford enjoyed his dinner, right down to the cup of tea with honey that surprised him and made him feel right at home. That is what makes a hotel’s service special. That another person could feel good about serving your needs. When such service is delivered with sincerity and members of a hotel’s staff work together like a team, the results can be very glamorous! Perhaps you have felt it too.
Michigan was great for camping. There were lakes and rivers with wonderful campgrounds everywhere. I now know that there were also some great hotels. We never stayed in any hotels. We either camped or stayed with family. Grandma Bracebridge lived in Traverse City, seven blocks from the bay. Staying with her was like being at a resort with one of the best beaches in the country. On cold and rainy days we walked downtown to the Park Place Hotel. For fifty cents each, my brother and I could swim all afternoon in their indoor pool. I’m pretty sure that is the only money a hotelier ever got from me in advance of beginning my hotel career.
An hour or so North-East of Traverse City is where one of the world’s most unique and truly glamorous hotels has been renting rooms since 1887. Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island has a porch that goes on forever and no cars are allowed on the island so guests are picked up at the Ferry by horse and carriage just like they were a century ago. Many of the industries’ best servers have been employed for years in the food service outlets of Grand Hotel. During the winter, they travel south to work the cruise ships and island resorts until the hotel opens again for next summer’s season. If any hotels, today, can be thought of as glamorous, Grand Hotel has all the qualities.
After all, Presidents and Royals, Movie Stars and Millionaires all stay at hotels, don’t they? I have had many of these, as guests, through the years, and even folks in the rare air they live in, enjoy the special touches like Room Service and Spa Treatments one associates with a nice hotel. What would the casinos in Las Vegas or Atlantic City be without their hotels? There is a sense of extravagance about having someone else make your bed and clean up after you each day. I can tell you that the fun of watching the Bride and Groom’s family and friends check into their rooms and then see each other for the first time, down in the lobby, as they start a weekend of loving celebration is as real and exciting as knowing that President Ford enjoyed his dinner, right down to the cup of tea with honey that surprised him and made him feel right at home. That is what makes a hotel’s service special. That another person could feel good about serving your needs. When such service is delivered with sincerity and members of a hotel’s staff work together like a team, the results can be very glamorous! Perhaps you have felt it too.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Golfing with Hollywood, (part 2)
Forest Tucker was a big man. He filled the doorway of my office when he came to see me, about 9 AM Monday morning, the day after he checked into the hotel. I would guess that he was 6 feet 4 inches tall and not heavy as much as thick. “Do you play golf?” he asked. “Sure I play golf” I told him. This was true in the sense that I did possess a set of clubs, in a golf bag, owned golf shoes and had paid greens fees several times. Mostly, I showed up at charity events that the hotel had sponsored and tried to be good company for the real golfers as they hit great shots and made the putts that kept our foursome in the mix. “Well, I want to play a round while I’m here”, he continued, “You can take me to your club.” I confessed that I did not belong to a club but had friends who did. I told him that I would make some calls and set up something for Thursday or Friday morning and let him know.
The actor, Forest Tucker, was most familiar to me for his role in F-Troop as Sergeant O’Rourke. This weekly television comedy series was very popular family entertainment back in the mid 1960’s. Forest had previously played staring roles on the silver screen in dozens of movies through the years. His western and soldier characters were favorites for many millions of movie goers in the 40’s and 50’s after the war years. Now, here he was, in the early eighties, staring in Show Boat, a national production of the famous musical play, up for our town’s local summer stock theater. The show sold out every performance and the reviews praised his gregarious natural talent and enthusiasm on the stage.
Each morning, “Tuck” would pop into my office and spend time with me. What an easy going and likeable man he was. He had great stories to tell and I listened with interest as he made icons like John Wayne, Spencer Tracey, Jack Benny and George Burns seem like regular guys with his descriptions of their shared antics and mischievous adventures from back in the golden days of Hollywood. To hear Tuck tell it, someone was always getting a trick of one sort or another played on them and then they would have to get even!
We were going to play at Winchester Golf Course on Friday morning. Ten o’clock. The club was not private. When I called my friend who belonged to the Country Club, he kindly explained to me that he could only bring one guest at a time and it wouldn’t work this week anyway because of his business schedule. None of this seemed like a problem to me. Winchester was one of the nicer golf courses in the area. We loaded up the golf clubs into my station wagon. I had invited two buddies along and we headed down the highway on the twenty minute drive to the course. It was a beautiful morning. The sun was shining. The weather forecast called for mid 80’s and sunny all day. This was going to be great.
We pulled into the parking lot and found a space. The place was quite busy. Golfers were getting their bags out of cars and golf carts were cutting in and out of the lot, carrying their happy hackers off to the practice greens in anticipation of the day’s fun. We got out of the car and I opened up the tailgate. Tuck was not smiling. He just stood there, looking around and then he began to shake his head.
“I’m not playing a golf course where they put their shoes on at the trunks of their cars”, he declared. Then he started laughing and looked at me with his best character face. “Is that a bar over there?” We spent the rest of the morning listening to stories and having lunch with Forrest. He was one of the greatest. I was saddened to hear of his passing a few years later in 1986. Tuck gave me the best ”golf lesson” I ever had.
The actor, Forest Tucker, was most familiar to me for his role in F-Troop as Sergeant O’Rourke. This weekly television comedy series was very popular family entertainment back in the mid 1960’s. Forest had previously played staring roles on the silver screen in dozens of movies through the years. His western and soldier characters were favorites for many millions of movie goers in the 40’s and 50’s after the war years. Now, here he was, in the early eighties, staring in Show Boat, a national production of the famous musical play, up for our town’s local summer stock theater. The show sold out every performance and the reviews praised his gregarious natural talent and enthusiasm on the stage.
Each morning, “Tuck” would pop into my office and spend time with me. What an easy going and likeable man he was. He had great stories to tell and I listened with interest as he made icons like John Wayne, Spencer Tracey, Jack Benny and George Burns seem like regular guys with his descriptions of their shared antics and mischievous adventures from back in the golden days of Hollywood. To hear Tuck tell it, someone was always getting a trick of one sort or another played on them and then they would have to get even!
We were going to play at Winchester Golf Course on Friday morning. Ten o’clock. The club was not private. When I called my friend who belonged to the Country Club, he kindly explained to me that he could only bring one guest at a time and it wouldn’t work this week anyway because of his business schedule. None of this seemed like a problem to me. Winchester was one of the nicer golf courses in the area. We loaded up the golf clubs into my station wagon. I had invited two buddies along and we headed down the highway on the twenty minute drive to the course. It was a beautiful morning. The sun was shining. The weather forecast called for mid 80’s and sunny all day. This was going to be great.
We pulled into the parking lot and found a space. The place was quite busy. Golfers were getting their bags out of cars and golf carts were cutting in and out of the lot, carrying their happy hackers off to the practice greens in anticipation of the day’s fun. We got out of the car and I opened up the tailgate. Tuck was not smiling. He just stood there, looking around and then he began to shake his head.
“I’m not playing a golf course where they put their shoes on at the trunks of their cars”, he declared. Then he started laughing and looked at me with his best character face. “Is that a bar over there?” We spent the rest of the morning listening to stories and having lunch with Forrest. He was one of the greatest. I was saddened to hear of his passing a few years later in 1986. Tuck gave me the best ”golf lesson” I ever had.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Golfing with Hollywood, (part 1)
We had a local "Summer-stock" theater company which was a great piece of business for the hotel for several years. Each summer there were five or six shows which followed each other in and out of our town's "Star Theater" every two weeks. The many actors and crews were in need of guest rooms so we would bid for their long term stays. Most of the shows had a "Head-Liner" as the star of the show. Some of the ones I remember were; Mitzi Gaynor, Bert Convey, Forrest Tucker, Debbie Reynolds, Imogene Cocoa and Sid Caesar. This all took place in the 80's, when these famous name stars were still very well known albeit somewhat at the twilight of their careers.
Imogene Cocoa was the sweetest little lady. She kept to herself and was nice to everyone. When she left her guest room, Miss Cocoa wore large dark glasses, a hat and a long coat. Sid was determined to live a healthy life style and he needed a special diet. Each morning we loaded several large trays for Mr. Caesar and delivered them to his room. Every fruit we could find was provided, in quantity, along with whole grain breads and cereals, juices, and other items he listed for us. I had always thought of Sid Caesar as kind of a playboy type. He was the "Top Banana" from the early 50's television hit, Your Show of Shows. A real comedian and Imogene was his sidekick. She was older than Sid by more than a decade and for her, it was beginning to show. Here he was, however, in his sixties, eating and drinking a natural diet and obsessing over his daily exercise routine. We had to take all the furniture, from the room adjoining his guest room, and put it in storage when his fitness machines arrived. He looked great! Sid turned 87 last September, has his own dot com and just had an interview video posted to YouTube a few days ago.
Once, when a new group of actors and crew members arrived, there seemed to be alot of vivacious young women among the group, (more than normal). Seemingly dozens of unusually tall, tanned girls with curvy figures were checking in at our front desk. They all shared the big hair and heavy makeup, sometimes associated with "Vegas Style" show business, and drew much attention from hotel guests and employees alike. When I looked at the name of the show, I realized that it was a "Burlesque" type of production. The lead in on the program said that it might not be suitable for children. The big talk among the hotel's staff, at the begining of those two weeks, was how those girls had been caught, by the "Old Man", laying out in the sun, behind the hotel, mostly nude! They couldn't have tan lines for the performance. I found them a place on the roof that was much more private. This helped in at least two ways, the girls got their tans and the staff got their work done.
Imogene Cocoa was the sweetest little lady. She kept to herself and was nice to everyone. When she left her guest room, Miss Cocoa wore large dark glasses, a hat and a long coat. Sid was determined to live a healthy life style and he needed a special diet. Each morning we loaded several large trays for Mr. Caesar and delivered them to his room. Every fruit we could find was provided, in quantity, along with whole grain breads and cereals, juices, and other items he listed for us. I had always thought of Sid Caesar as kind of a playboy type. He was the "Top Banana" from the early 50's television hit, Your Show of Shows. A real comedian and Imogene was his sidekick. She was older than Sid by more than a decade and for her, it was beginning to show. Here he was, however, in his sixties, eating and drinking a natural diet and obsessing over his daily exercise routine. We had to take all the furniture, from the room adjoining his guest room, and put it in storage when his fitness machines arrived. He looked great! Sid turned 87 last September, has his own dot com and just had an interview video posted to YouTube a few days ago.
Once, when a new group of actors and crew members arrived, there seemed to be alot of vivacious young women among the group, (more than normal). Seemingly dozens of unusually tall, tanned girls with curvy figures were checking in at our front desk. They all shared the big hair and heavy makeup, sometimes associated with "Vegas Style" show business, and drew much attention from hotel guests and employees alike. When I looked at the name of the show, I realized that it was a "Burlesque" type of production. The lead in on the program said that it might not be suitable for children. The big talk among the hotel's staff, at the begining of those two weeks, was how those girls had been caught, by the "Old Man", laying out in the sun, behind the hotel, mostly nude! They couldn't have tan lines for the performance. I found them a place on the roof that was much more private. This helped in at least two ways, the girls got their tans and the staff got their work done.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Bloody Lobby
It was my weekend to be the MOD, (Manager on duty), and we checked in early that Friday afternoon so the kids could swim. I finished my weekly duties and cleared my desk off with Monday morning and next week's shedule in mind. There were six of us who shared these weekend watches, so for the most part none of the hotel's department heads had to work weekends.
The satelite gave us HBO in the rooms, a luxury not present in our home. The family decided we would order room service and watch a movie. Around ten PM I took a walk through the hotel, saying goodnight to employees as I touched all the bases and headed for the kitchen. It was closing time for the restaurant and the dishwasher was ready to take the garbage out. I unlocked the back door and helped him drag the heavy barrels outside to the dumpster. Back in our room, everyone was fading fast. Swimming and sunshine had worn out our little band and Mama had them all tucked in and asleep. I changed out of my suit and tie and put on a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt before landing in a tired heap on "my side" of the king bed.
The ringing phone rattled my mind awake. "There's a fight in the bar!" said an excited desk clerk.
The bar only had four tables and ten barstools. It was there more for service to the dining room than to be some "action lounge". Betty had been the weekend barmaid since Hector was a pup. Everything was set up to be a one person operation and she handled it well although she was only 5 feet tall, 110 pounds and well into her sixties. When she had to change a beer keg, she got the kitchen to handle it for her or just served something else and left a note for the Day Shift. She was standing in the middle of three men who were screaming and swinging fists at each other. Her outstreched arms were the only part of Betty I could see as I rounded the corner and saw the donnybrook responsible for the loud voices. Tables and chairs were upside down. Several uninvolved guests were at safe distances watching. The lights were too dim to make out much more.
"Betty, get back behind the bar",I ordered, "Now!" She squirmed out from between the fighters and ducked behind her bar. It had the effect of a "pause button" on the three and I realized they had stopped and were now all staring at me. "OK guys, I don't know how this started, but you have to leave" I said in my best "authority" voice. "They owe me $19 first", says Betty from her new location. "Who are you?" the closest one to me sneered. "I'm Dave VanArsdale and I'm the General Manager of the hotel" I informed him. Now Betty chimes in, "That's what they were fighting about" she shouted, "Who was gonna pay the tab."
I saw what I thought at the time was my way out of this mess. After all, what was a lousey $19? "Forget the tab" I announced, "just leave".
Well, old sneer face wasn't very impressed with my voice of authority. Looking back, I was only thirty at the time, wore a mustache to look older and was at least 8 or 10 years younger than this mob. Plus, they had that "special view" of the world I inhabited at that particular moment, which can only be understood and shared by others who have had plenty to drink. He lowered his head and charged across the small barroom. I took the weight of his shoulder to my belly, reached under his chin and got my right hand on his throat. I squeezed as hard as I could and started to back out of the bar into the lobby, dragging this clown. bent over and wheezing as I went. As the front desk of the hotel came into my view to the left and behind me, I shouted over my shoulder at the clerk, "Call the Cops!" "Their on their way", he yelled back. It was at that very moment that the second fighter jumped me from behind. His weight on my back should have knocked me down, but I still had sneer face throttled with my right hand and I used him for support and kept my feet under me. That was when Phil started poking the third fighter with the broom! That's right, here was the desk clerk who had called the police, now come out into the lobby with a broom and was using the handle like some kind of weapon to keep the last guy away from me. I squeezed harder on the windpipe and felt him go limp. In one motion, I let sneer face drop to the floor and spun away from #2. "Listen you guys, the police are on their way." "Let's all just stop and you can leave before they get here and arrest you." I suggested as I took a step back and raised my open hands to them in a calming gesture.
#2 was helping sneer face get back to his feet and I turned to Phil and his broom. He still held #3 at bay and I told him to get back behind the desk. Just as it seemed that things were calming down, the heavy fist landed hard on my left eye. I fell back a couple steps but kept my balance and didn't go down. My hand found its way to the stunned eye and when I drew it away from my face, I realized I was dripping blood.
"OK, you hit somebody." "Now would you just leave?" I said sarcastically.
Sneer face was the hitter, which made sense as he had the most liquid courage in him.
It was almost cartoonish, he got so mad that his face turned purple. He stomped across the lobby to the plate glass double doors at the entryway and smashed his fist straight through one! The glass cut a gash in his arm and now he was bleeding all over the floor. His two friends got on either side of him and out into the night they went. What a threesome.
Now it was my turn to get mad. They had damaged hotel property and now it looked like they might get away. I ran out the doors after them and seeing no police yet, started screeming taunts across the lot at them. It worked and they were still not in their car when the Township Patrol car arrived a few minutes later. I tried to begin the explanation to the officer as he got out of his car but he was not ready to hear anything from me. "We'll be in to get your story in a few minutes," he directed me to wait inside the hotel.
Almost unbelievabley, five minutes later, no less than five police officers stood and watched the three drunks pile into their car and drive away into the night. I ran out into the parking lot. "What did you let them go for?" I pleaded. "They were so drunk, they couldn't walk!" I accused, "and you let them drive!" One of the cops lead me back into the hotel lobby. I pointed to the blood, the broken glass and my poor swollen eye as I filled him in on the events of the last twenty minutes. I certainly did not hide my dismay at the fact that the three were not taken to jail to dry out for the night. He did not give me any explaination other than, "Well, the driver wasn't that drunk." He wasn't even sure he had their names! He didn't stay long. I was confused. One of the payphones on the other side of my bloodied up lobby started ringing. Phil walked over to it and answered it. He looked up at me, "They asked for Dave the Manager."
"You don't know who told you this" said the voice. Actually, I did recognize the voice as that of one of the county sheriff deputies I knew personally. "The reason the Township Police they let those guys go is that they are City Cops!" he went on to explain.
So as it turned out, two brothers, City Cops, each with 20+ years of service, had chosen my lounge to get bombed in and start a fight that Friday night with their "Business Agent" from the local Teamsters Union.
My address was in the Township, not the City, and when the Township Cops found out who was bustin' up the local hotel, the Blue Code was stronger than the risk of bad will with a local merchant.
I called the City Chief of Police first thing Monday morning. They were family men, he put forth. He assurred me that they would accept my offer and thanked me sincerly as I left his office. Later that week at an agreed time the two brothers and the Teamster sat down with me in my restaurant and after handing me $480 cash for the broken glass door, apologizing each in turn for acting in such a way, and promising never to return to my bar, they each thanked me for keeping this "between us".
Sneer face was the last to go out through the now clean lobby and he turned back toward me, letting his brother and the BA leave. He put his hand on his neck and touched the bruised skin, then got a little of that sneer back as he brought the other hand from behind him, full of a 357 Magnum which I'm sure was fully loaded. I swallowed hard and breathed steady as we stared at each other for a moment in the same place we had first met last Friday.
"I guess you know we always carry." he smiled as he returned the gun to hiding, behind his back, then quickly went out the door.
The satelite gave us HBO in the rooms, a luxury not present in our home. The family decided we would order room service and watch a movie. Around ten PM I took a walk through the hotel, saying goodnight to employees as I touched all the bases and headed for the kitchen. It was closing time for the restaurant and the dishwasher was ready to take the garbage out. I unlocked the back door and helped him drag the heavy barrels outside to the dumpster. Back in our room, everyone was fading fast. Swimming and sunshine had worn out our little band and Mama had them all tucked in and asleep. I changed out of my suit and tie and put on a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt before landing in a tired heap on "my side" of the king bed.
The ringing phone rattled my mind awake. "There's a fight in the bar!" said an excited desk clerk.
The bar only had four tables and ten barstools. It was there more for service to the dining room than to be some "action lounge". Betty had been the weekend barmaid since Hector was a pup. Everything was set up to be a one person operation and she handled it well although she was only 5 feet tall, 110 pounds and well into her sixties. When she had to change a beer keg, she got the kitchen to handle it for her or just served something else and left a note for the Day Shift. She was standing in the middle of three men who were screaming and swinging fists at each other. Her outstreched arms were the only part of Betty I could see as I rounded the corner and saw the donnybrook responsible for the loud voices. Tables and chairs were upside down. Several uninvolved guests were at safe distances watching. The lights were too dim to make out much more.
"Betty, get back behind the bar",I ordered, "Now!" She squirmed out from between the fighters and ducked behind her bar. It had the effect of a "pause button" on the three and I realized they had stopped and were now all staring at me. "OK guys, I don't know how this started, but you have to leave" I said in my best "authority" voice. "They owe me $19 first", says Betty from her new location. "Who are you?" the closest one to me sneered. "I'm Dave VanArsdale and I'm the General Manager of the hotel" I informed him. Now Betty chimes in, "That's what they were fighting about" she shouted, "Who was gonna pay the tab."
I saw what I thought at the time was my way out of this mess. After all, what was a lousey $19? "Forget the tab" I announced, "just leave".
Well, old sneer face wasn't very impressed with my voice of authority. Looking back, I was only thirty at the time, wore a mustache to look older and was at least 8 or 10 years younger than this mob. Plus, they had that "special view" of the world I inhabited at that particular moment, which can only be understood and shared by others who have had plenty to drink. He lowered his head and charged across the small barroom. I took the weight of his shoulder to my belly, reached under his chin and got my right hand on his throat. I squeezed as hard as I could and started to back out of the bar into the lobby, dragging this clown. bent over and wheezing as I went. As the front desk of the hotel came into my view to the left and behind me, I shouted over my shoulder at the clerk, "Call the Cops!" "Their on their way", he yelled back. It was at that very moment that the second fighter jumped me from behind. His weight on my back should have knocked me down, but I still had sneer face throttled with my right hand and I used him for support and kept my feet under me. That was when Phil started poking the third fighter with the broom! That's right, here was the desk clerk who had called the police, now come out into the lobby with a broom and was using the handle like some kind of weapon to keep the last guy away from me. I squeezed harder on the windpipe and felt him go limp. In one motion, I let sneer face drop to the floor and spun away from #2. "Listen you guys, the police are on their way." "Let's all just stop and you can leave before they get here and arrest you." I suggested as I took a step back and raised my open hands to them in a calming gesture.
#2 was helping sneer face get back to his feet and I turned to Phil and his broom. He still held #3 at bay and I told him to get back behind the desk. Just as it seemed that things were calming down, the heavy fist landed hard on my left eye. I fell back a couple steps but kept my balance and didn't go down. My hand found its way to the stunned eye and when I drew it away from my face, I realized I was dripping blood.
"OK, you hit somebody." "Now would you just leave?" I said sarcastically.
Sneer face was the hitter, which made sense as he had the most liquid courage in him.
It was almost cartoonish, he got so mad that his face turned purple. He stomped across the lobby to the plate glass double doors at the entryway and smashed his fist straight through one! The glass cut a gash in his arm and now he was bleeding all over the floor. His two friends got on either side of him and out into the night they went. What a threesome.
Now it was my turn to get mad. They had damaged hotel property and now it looked like they might get away. I ran out the doors after them and seeing no police yet, started screeming taunts across the lot at them. It worked and they were still not in their car when the Township Patrol car arrived a few minutes later. I tried to begin the explanation to the officer as he got out of his car but he was not ready to hear anything from me. "We'll be in to get your story in a few minutes," he directed me to wait inside the hotel.
Almost unbelievabley, five minutes later, no less than five police officers stood and watched the three drunks pile into their car and drive away into the night. I ran out into the parking lot. "What did you let them go for?" I pleaded. "They were so drunk, they couldn't walk!" I accused, "and you let them drive!" One of the cops lead me back into the hotel lobby. I pointed to the blood, the broken glass and my poor swollen eye as I filled him in on the events of the last twenty minutes. I certainly did not hide my dismay at the fact that the three were not taken to jail to dry out for the night. He did not give me any explaination other than, "Well, the driver wasn't that drunk." He wasn't even sure he had their names! He didn't stay long. I was confused. One of the payphones on the other side of my bloodied up lobby started ringing. Phil walked over to it and answered it. He looked up at me, "They asked for Dave the Manager."
"You don't know who told you this" said the voice. Actually, I did recognize the voice as that of one of the county sheriff deputies I knew personally. "The reason the Township Police they let those guys go is that they are City Cops!" he went on to explain.
So as it turned out, two brothers, City Cops, each with 20+ years of service, had chosen my lounge to get bombed in and start a fight that Friday night with their "Business Agent" from the local Teamsters Union.
My address was in the Township, not the City, and when the Township Cops found out who was bustin' up the local hotel, the Blue Code was stronger than the risk of bad will with a local merchant.
I called the City Chief of Police first thing Monday morning. They were family men, he put forth. He assurred me that they would accept my offer and thanked me sincerly as I left his office. Later that week at an agreed time the two brothers and the Teamster sat down with me in my restaurant and after handing me $480 cash for the broken glass door, apologizing each in turn for acting in such a way, and promising never to return to my bar, they each thanked me for keeping this "between us".
Sneer face was the last to go out through the now clean lobby and he turned back toward me, letting his brother and the BA leave. He put his hand on his neck and touched the bruised skin, then got a little of that sneer back as he brought the other hand from behind him, full of a 357 Magnum which I'm sure was fully loaded. I swallowed hard and breathed steady as we stared at each other for a moment in the same place we had first met last Friday.
"I guess you know we always carry." he smiled as he returned the gun to hiding, behind his back, then quickly went out the door.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Survival Mode
The snow just kept falling. My wife Julie and I, having watched the weather last night, packed an overnight bag before limping into work that morning. Most of the staff got to work as well. Shortly after we arrived, a big 18 wheeler blocked the "exit" half of the hotel's entrance drive. The look on his face said it all as the trucker shuffled up to the desk. When we were planning the hotel, we had first drawn the drive more to the West of its ultimate location. That would have resulted in a much more gentle grade but the township engineer was not having any more "T" intersections and we had to cut the road straight up the hill. This was before cell phones were commonplace. "Can I get change for the pay phone?" the unhappy fellow asked. As the desk clerk traded him four quarters for a dollar, I volunteered, "Rivers is the name of the towing company." He gave me a deadpan look. "I guess this isn't the first time." I blamed it on the township.
I woke up at 4 AM. Impossibly, the snow was falling faster now. Most of yesterday afternoon, our snow plow contractor, Bill, had been concentrating on "the hill" and keeping a lane open in the parking lots, but it was a losing battle. He could not get home so I gave him a room. At 2 PM yesterday, I had asked for volunteers, among the employees, to check in and spend the night. I sent everyone else home. At 5 PM, after calling and finding them open and agreeable, we led a large, bundled band of thirty or so, on foot, up the hill and across the Interstate overpass to Mr. Bill's Quarterdeck Restaurant for supper. We were the only ones in the place and I don't know how the few employees who served us got home. After eating and packing the take-out orders into bags, we started trudging back across the bridge toward our hotel. We could not see our tracks! By 7 PM the hotel was full and at 8 PM, the lobby TV said that the Governor had declared a "State of Emergency" and it was against the law to drive!
As dawn broke that morning, we were ready. Our "volunteers" had set out a great breakfast for a full house. We opened and set the meeting room tables and chairs as overflow. After all, just because we ran a limited service hotel, (no restaurant), did not mean we didn't feed our guests. We had coffee, teas, hot cocoa, three kinds of juice, whole milk, skim milk, chocolate milk, fresh fruit, cold cereals, hot cereals, peeled eggs, waffles, sausage patties, danishes, donuts, bagels, English muffins, toast.....well, you get the idea. The only thing you couldn't get at our breakfast was "the check". There were just over 200 people who ate that morning.
It snowed all day. No one could know exactly how much had fallen, since there had been snow on the ground before this latest event began. It was certainly over five feet total and the paths that we kept shoveled at the hotel's four exits looked like tunnels. We notified all the guests that at 5 PM we would put food back out. Somehow the wonderful breakfast wasn't the same but there was still plenty and they ate it. We had some board games and we got them out for the lobby. The coke machines still worked and several long-term guests brought a bottle or two down to share with new friends as the "Risk Tournaments" lasted into the night.
Breakfast, after the second night finally ended, was sullen. We still had food left, but the variety was shrinking. As I looked across the landscape from the front of the hotel, nothing moved and all was silent. The snow had stopped falling sometime during the night and I wondered when the snowplows would start the clean up. It was obvious to me as I pondered the dilemma that no human effort could change the fates that would give us all at least one more night in this seemingly, smaller and smaller, soon foodless, limited service,(very limited), hotel that I was responsible for. I had to find a way to do something. It was time for action!
I called the Supermarket about a mile away and was greeted by a man who identified himself as the Store Manager. He was snowed in with two of his employees. Yes! If I could find a way to get to his store, he would take a company check for anything I wanted. I made a list. My next call found Mr. Bill at his home, (where else would he be?) and he said that he was sorry but there was no way for him to open the restaurant doors. After dismissing the idea of a break in, I asked, "if I can get to your house, would you trust me with the keys?" "Dave, if you can get here, you can have the keys", he said.
One of the "long term" guests was a young man from down south. We had come to know Allen well in the months that he lived with us and liked him allot. He had a large 4x4 pickup with a lift kit installed that looked like a kind of "Big Foot". Bill, The snow plow guy said he would give it a try. Allen, Bill and I assembled the teams. It took all day. I took my place in the bed of Allen's truck and we worked our way toward Mr. Bills neighborhood. The other team headed for groceries. I had to slough through the drifts on foot, as the last few blocks near Mr. Bills were impassable for the truck. Once I neared his home, sweating and huffing up the middle of where I thought the street was, I heard a shout. There was Bill's head, he was standing 20 feet into his driveway from his garage. It was as far as he could manage to get. He was waving and holding the keys in the air like a prize. They were.
The other team had been stopped about a quarter mile from the super market's parking lot. They too would not fail. I loaded cases of beer and wine from the storeroom at the restaurant and left a list of what we took. As the guests enjoyed their ham and cheese sandwiches, cups of soup and a cold beer at supper that evening, they could not hear enough from the "team members" about the adventures that took place to bring this feast home! They were treated like heroes.
By the morning of day four, the interstates had been opened up and the Governor took the driving ban away. Everyone was up early and we all pitched in together to dig out the cars. One by one, the guests joined in the task of helping each other. It was something to see and the momentum built upon itself so that all of the cars were freed in no time at all. People helping each other.
"Dave, we have a problem at the desk." the voice was my wife. Once inside, I saw a thirtyish couple standing at the desk. They were well dressed and had their coats and hats on with suitcases at their feet. It was explained to me by an exasperated desk clerk, who like the rest of us was working doubles on very little sleep, that these guests were checking out and had refused to pay! "Hi, my name is Dave and I'm the manager of the hotel." I smiled. "How can I help you?" The fellow looked me in the eye for a moment and sighed, "We want to leave and you wouldn't let us leave until today", he seethed at me in a thick French accent. "We pay for stay, you not let us leave, we not pay more to you." I looked the guest folio over hoping that there was a credit card that I could charge. Cash in advance, two nights paid, three nights stayed. I tried to reason with him as his wife stood a little way off staring embarrassingly at her expensive shoes. He became surly. He began to denigrate the hotel and its employees. He found my last nerve.
When the man finally pulled the Canadian hundred dollar bill out of his pocket, the police officer had just said, "You have a choice to make and you have ten seconds to make it!" "Like this hotel manager and his staff, I have been working around the clock for days to keep people safe in an emergency." "Either pay for the room or I will take you to jail!" He had found the cop's last nerve as well. The officer looked from the funny money to me with a "what now" look when the guest stated, "Eese all I have." I smiled. "At the current rate of exchange, it seems that $100 Canadian is the precise balance owed", I lied. I turned to the clerk, "Please post cash to zero this guest's account." "Thank you", I said to no one in particular. They scowled at me and left.
"I guess it's true what they say", said my officer friend, after they were out the door. "No good deed ever goes unpunished."
I woke up at 4 AM. Impossibly, the snow was falling faster now. Most of yesterday afternoon, our snow plow contractor, Bill, had been concentrating on "the hill" and keeping a lane open in the parking lots, but it was a losing battle. He could not get home so I gave him a room. At 2 PM yesterday, I had asked for volunteers, among the employees, to check in and spend the night. I sent everyone else home. At 5 PM, after calling and finding them open and agreeable, we led a large, bundled band of thirty or so, on foot, up the hill and across the Interstate overpass to Mr. Bill's Quarterdeck Restaurant for supper. We were the only ones in the place and I don't know how the few employees who served us got home. After eating and packing the take-out orders into bags, we started trudging back across the bridge toward our hotel. We could not see our tracks! By 7 PM the hotel was full and at 8 PM, the lobby TV said that the Governor had declared a "State of Emergency" and it was against the law to drive!
As dawn broke that morning, we were ready. Our "volunteers" had set out a great breakfast for a full house. We opened and set the meeting room tables and chairs as overflow. After all, just because we ran a limited service hotel, (no restaurant), did not mean we didn't feed our guests. We had coffee, teas, hot cocoa, three kinds of juice, whole milk, skim milk, chocolate milk, fresh fruit, cold cereals, hot cereals, peeled eggs, waffles, sausage patties, danishes, donuts, bagels, English muffins, toast.....well, you get the idea. The only thing you couldn't get at our breakfast was "the check". There were just over 200 people who ate that morning.
It snowed all day. No one could know exactly how much had fallen, since there had been snow on the ground before this latest event began. It was certainly over five feet total and the paths that we kept shoveled at the hotel's four exits looked like tunnels. We notified all the guests that at 5 PM we would put food back out. Somehow the wonderful breakfast wasn't the same but there was still plenty and they ate it. We had some board games and we got them out for the lobby. The coke machines still worked and several long-term guests brought a bottle or two down to share with new friends as the "Risk Tournaments" lasted into the night.
Breakfast, after the second night finally ended, was sullen. We still had food left, but the variety was shrinking. As I looked across the landscape from the front of the hotel, nothing moved and all was silent. The snow had stopped falling sometime during the night and I wondered when the snowplows would start the clean up. It was obvious to me as I pondered the dilemma that no human effort could change the fates that would give us all at least one more night in this seemingly, smaller and smaller, soon foodless, limited service,(very limited), hotel that I was responsible for. I had to find a way to do something. It was time for action!
I called the Supermarket about a mile away and was greeted by a man who identified himself as the Store Manager. He was snowed in with two of his employees. Yes! If I could find a way to get to his store, he would take a company check for anything I wanted. I made a list. My next call found Mr. Bill at his home, (where else would he be?) and he said that he was sorry but there was no way for him to open the restaurant doors. After dismissing the idea of a break in, I asked, "if I can get to your house, would you trust me with the keys?" "Dave, if you can get here, you can have the keys", he said.
One of the "long term" guests was a young man from down south. We had come to know Allen well in the months that he lived with us and liked him allot. He had a large 4x4 pickup with a lift kit installed that looked like a kind of "Big Foot". Bill, The snow plow guy said he would give it a try. Allen, Bill and I assembled the teams. It took all day. I took my place in the bed of Allen's truck and we worked our way toward Mr. Bills neighborhood. The other team headed for groceries. I had to slough through the drifts on foot, as the last few blocks near Mr. Bills were impassable for the truck. Once I neared his home, sweating and huffing up the middle of where I thought the street was, I heard a shout. There was Bill's head, he was standing 20 feet into his driveway from his garage. It was as far as he could manage to get. He was waving and holding the keys in the air like a prize. They were.
The other team had been stopped about a quarter mile from the super market's parking lot. They too would not fail. I loaded cases of beer and wine from the storeroom at the restaurant and left a list of what we took. As the guests enjoyed their ham and cheese sandwiches, cups of soup and a cold beer at supper that evening, they could not hear enough from the "team members" about the adventures that took place to bring this feast home! They were treated like heroes.
By the morning of day four, the interstates had been opened up and the Governor took the driving ban away. Everyone was up early and we all pitched in together to dig out the cars. One by one, the guests joined in the task of helping each other. It was something to see and the momentum built upon itself so that all of the cars were freed in no time at all. People helping each other.
"Dave, we have a problem at the desk." the voice was my wife. Once inside, I saw a thirtyish couple standing at the desk. They were well dressed and had their coats and hats on with suitcases at their feet. It was explained to me by an exasperated desk clerk, who like the rest of us was working doubles on very little sleep, that these guests were checking out and had refused to pay! "Hi, my name is Dave and I'm the manager of the hotel." I smiled. "How can I help you?" The fellow looked me in the eye for a moment and sighed, "We want to leave and you wouldn't let us leave until today", he seethed at me in a thick French accent. "We pay for stay, you not let us leave, we not pay more to you." I looked the guest folio over hoping that there was a credit card that I could charge. Cash in advance, two nights paid, three nights stayed. I tried to reason with him as his wife stood a little way off staring embarrassingly at her expensive shoes. He became surly. He began to denigrate the hotel and its employees. He found my last nerve.
When the man finally pulled the Canadian hundred dollar bill out of his pocket, the police officer had just said, "You have a choice to make and you have ten seconds to make it!" "Like this hotel manager and his staff, I have been working around the clock for days to keep people safe in an emergency." "Either pay for the room or I will take you to jail!" He had found the cop's last nerve as well. The officer looked from the funny money to me with a "what now" look when the guest stated, "Eese all I have." I smiled. "At the current rate of exchange, it seems that $100 Canadian is the precise balance owed", I lied. I turned to the clerk, "Please post cash to zero this guest's account." "Thank you", I said to no one in particular. They scowled at me and left.
"I guess it's true what they say", said my officer friend, after they were out the door. "No good deed ever goes unpunished."
Monday, May 3, 2010
Mr. McKinley, General Manager
Charles McKinley was the General Manager of the hotel where I did the night audit when I was twenty-one years old in 1974. The shift was 11 to 7 and my job was to balance all the guests' accounts, post room and tax to each and bring the hotel's "Net Outstanding" into balance. Bud was the bellman so I wasn't alone most nights. We had just upgraded the phone system from an old time cord board shortly after I started but the machine we used for posting charges and credits to guest portfolios was an NCR4200. It was like 20 cash registers, one atop the other. Since it was mechanical, there was a crank you could stick in the side in case the electricity went out so you could still do the audit, (pre-uninterrupted power source). I could start the room and tax on that monstrosity and literally keep up with it as fast as it could go through the whole guest ledger. There was a rhythm to it that was almost musical....$23.50 credit balance...$22.40 room...$1.10 tax...zero balance. I loved zero balances! Hard to have an error on any of the zero balance folios.
Errors were my mortal enemies. Did you know that a transposition error is divisible by nine? If you post $42.00 when you only collected $24.00, the difference is $18.00. Many times at 4 AM the error I had to find was a multiple of nine so that at least gave me something to look for. It was always somewhere. I caught on to the logic of charges and credits being opposites so the whole business made sense to me. Once you ran the trial balance and everything added up, it was time to Z out the machine and change over to tomorrow's business.
Mr. McKinley called me from his home one night, shortly after my shift had started. I did not expect a call from the General Manager. In fact, he had never called before. Nervously, I heard him say succinctly, "David, I want you to wait for me after you get off tomorrow morning." "Just go over to the restaurant and have a coffee until I get there at eight." The night went by slowly. I went over to the restaurant and waited. I was relieved when Mr. McKinley finally came in, smiled and sat across the table from me. Seems Mr. McKinley's Assistant Manager had dove into a swimming pool the day before and broke his neck! Would I like a shot at the job? Yes sir! Well, that was how I got into hotel management. What a great manager to learn from. Charles, (no one ever would dare call him Charles), was well into his sixties. He had started his career at the Albert Pick in Chicago fifty years ago "hopping bell" as he called it. There was nothing about hotels he didn't know. Everyone in town knew him or at least who he was. Sometimes a friend of his would drop by for lunch or just a visit. "Tell Mack that Walter is here." he'd say.
One day, after I had my new job under control and was feeling real comfortable, I tried the "Mack stuff" with him. Our desks faced each other and we had become close in a short time but I had always addressed him as Mr. McKinley. He lept to his feet and stuck his finger straight out about six inches from my nose, "Don't you ever Mack me young man!" I promised that I never again would.
When I was offered a chance to relocate to learn the Food and Beverage part of the Hotel business, (we leased ours out to an operator), he told me not to go. "There isn't that much to know", he said. He had taught me everything about the rooms and now gave me the wisdom of Food and Beverage in one little poem.
"Cold food cold,
Hot food hot.
Front door open,
Back door locked!"
Truer words were never spoken.
Errors were my mortal enemies. Did you know that a transposition error is divisible by nine? If you post $42.00 when you only collected $24.00, the difference is $18.00. Many times at 4 AM the error I had to find was a multiple of nine so that at least gave me something to look for. It was always somewhere. I caught on to the logic of charges and credits being opposites so the whole business made sense to me. Once you ran the trial balance and everything added up, it was time to Z out the machine and change over to tomorrow's business.
Mr. McKinley called me from his home one night, shortly after my shift had started. I did not expect a call from the General Manager. In fact, he had never called before. Nervously, I heard him say succinctly, "David, I want you to wait for me after you get off tomorrow morning." "Just go over to the restaurant and have a coffee until I get there at eight." The night went by slowly. I went over to the restaurant and waited. I was relieved when Mr. McKinley finally came in, smiled and sat across the table from me. Seems Mr. McKinley's Assistant Manager had dove into a swimming pool the day before and broke his neck! Would I like a shot at the job? Yes sir! Well, that was how I got into hotel management. What a great manager to learn from. Charles, (no one ever would dare call him Charles), was well into his sixties. He had started his career at the Albert Pick in Chicago fifty years ago "hopping bell" as he called it. There was nothing about hotels he didn't know. Everyone in town knew him or at least who he was. Sometimes a friend of his would drop by for lunch or just a visit. "Tell Mack that Walter is here." he'd say.
One day, after I had my new job under control and was feeling real comfortable, I tried the "Mack stuff" with him. Our desks faced each other and we had become close in a short time but I had always addressed him as Mr. McKinley. He lept to his feet and stuck his finger straight out about six inches from my nose, "Don't you ever Mack me young man!" I promised that I never again would.
When I was offered a chance to relocate to learn the Food and Beverage part of the Hotel business, (we leased ours out to an operator), he told me not to go. "There isn't that much to know", he said. He had taught me everything about the rooms and now gave me the wisdom of Food and Beverage in one little poem.
"Cold food cold,
Hot food hot.
Front door open,
Back door locked!"
Truer words were never spoken.
Monday, April 26, 2010
A Golden Night
It was Friday afternoon, a little after 5:00 and guests were arriving for the extravaganza. One of the obligations of the host hotel for the Air Show, (full house, rack rate, all week), was tonight's party. And what a party it was to be!
The bars were set, the food was prepped, servers and staff were all present and the Hotel's courtyard had never looked better. The stage and dance floor were in place under the biggest white tent money could rent. Tables and chairs lined up like soldiers and the decorations and centerpieces added to the majesty of the grandest event of the year.
The Glenn Miller Orchestra, 35 piece big band had arrived, set up and were now taking their sound checks. Car jockeys greeted each guest as they pulled under the porte cochere, opened car doors and gave claim checks. That was one of the best parts, watching the faces of the guests, decked out in pastels for a summer party, as they walked from the lobby into this amazing space we had prepared for them.
The advance sales were almost 600 tickets, thank God. I had really gone out on a limb with this one but the nut was already covered and I could almost relax in a few minutes. The banner ad towed by a bi-wing airplane for the last three days had been a stroke of luck. The guy needed rooms and I needed more people to buy tickets; bingo, trade out.
My wife and I had checked into the Presidential Suite earlier and gotten all gussied up. She looked beautiful as she shared my excitement at having pulled off a huge revenue week for our hotel.
I was standing at the far edge of the tent, showing another couple, (friends of ours), the large red X where at 6:00 The Golden Knights would make their landing. Yes, it certainly did look dangerous, but they do stuff like this all the time.
The one thing I could not control, the weather, was perfect! I was feeling lucky.....
"Mr. Van", came from behind me. It was Annie, the Executive Housekeeper. The look she had on her face killed my reverie. I excused myself and followed her to the entry door of one of the poolside rooms about fifty feet from the edge of the dance floor. Actually, the X for the parachuters was halfway between this room and the open sided tent.
When she opened the guest room with her passkey, I could smell the poor guy. "He had his Do Not Disturb on so we left it until the last" she said. "He checked in last night." I walked over to the bed. He was a big man. A little medicine bottle and its spilled contents lay on his chest. "I bet these little pills are Nitro", I said. "Did you call 911?" I asked. Annie had not. She explained that she had just popped the chain, found him, and came right over to where she saw me standing.
I walked back to the entry door and looked out at a growing crowd. People were streaming in now. "How are you going to do this?" I asked myself.
I walked back to the bed, picked up the phone on the night stand and dialed 911.
I'm sure that the guests who saw the ambulance being waived down by a dishwasher as it turned into the hotel's parking lot from the highway wondered what was happening. By then, most of the folks were already in the courtyard, having a drink, getting aquainted with others at their table, perhaps wondering why all of those busboys and maids were holding the corners of sheets up in the air, along the sidewalk. There were a few curious looks.
I figured what they couldn't see was better than what they would have seen. The fact that my guest left with some dignity did not escape me. I owed him that; he paid his room and tax.
Every single Golden Knight landed upright on the X about ten minutes after the "sheet holders" marched back to the laundry room and the ladies and gents danced under the stars to the tunes of the greatest band leader of all time. What a night!
The bars were set, the food was prepped, servers and staff were all present and the Hotel's courtyard had never looked better. The stage and dance floor were in place under the biggest white tent money could rent. Tables and chairs lined up like soldiers and the decorations and centerpieces added to the majesty of the grandest event of the year.
The Glenn Miller Orchestra, 35 piece big band had arrived, set up and were now taking their sound checks. Car jockeys greeted each guest as they pulled under the porte cochere, opened car doors and gave claim checks. That was one of the best parts, watching the faces of the guests, decked out in pastels for a summer party, as they walked from the lobby into this amazing space we had prepared for them.
The advance sales were almost 600 tickets, thank God. I had really gone out on a limb with this one but the nut was already covered and I could almost relax in a few minutes. The banner ad towed by a bi-wing airplane for the last three days had been a stroke of luck. The guy needed rooms and I needed more people to buy tickets; bingo, trade out.
My wife and I had checked into the Presidential Suite earlier and gotten all gussied up. She looked beautiful as she shared my excitement at having pulled off a huge revenue week for our hotel.
I was standing at the far edge of the tent, showing another couple, (friends of ours), the large red X where at 6:00 The Golden Knights would make their landing. Yes, it certainly did look dangerous, but they do stuff like this all the time.
The one thing I could not control, the weather, was perfect! I was feeling lucky.....
"Mr. Van", came from behind me. It was Annie, the Executive Housekeeper. The look she had on her face killed my reverie. I excused myself and followed her to the entry door of one of the poolside rooms about fifty feet from the edge of the dance floor. Actually, the X for the parachuters was halfway between this room and the open sided tent.
When she opened the guest room with her passkey, I could smell the poor guy. "He had his Do Not Disturb on so we left it until the last" she said. "He checked in last night." I walked over to the bed. He was a big man. A little medicine bottle and its spilled contents lay on his chest. "I bet these little pills are Nitro", I said. "Did you call 911?" I asked. Annie had not. She explained that she had just popped the chain, found him, and came right over to where she saw me standing.
I walked back to the entry door and looked out at a growing crowd. People were streaming in now. "How are you going to do this?" I asked myself.
I walked back to the bed, picked up the phone on the night stand and dialed 911.
I'm sure that the guests who saw the ambulance being waived down by a dishwasher as it turned into the hotel's parking lot from the highway wondered what was happening. By then, most of the folks were already in the courtyard, having a drink, getting aquainted with others at their table, perhaps wondering why all of those busboys and maids were holding the corners of sheets up in the air, along the sidewalk. There were a few curious looks.
I figured what they couldn't see was better than what they would have seen. The fact that my guest left with some dignity did not escape me. I owed him that; he paid his room and tax.
Every single Golden Knight landed upright on the X about ten minutes after the "sheet holders" marched back to the laundry room and the ladies and gents danced under the stars to the tunes of the greatest band leader of all time. What a night!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
DAY RATES
The first time a guest walked in and asked me for a "day rate', I admit I was stumped. We had more rates in this hotel than we did pillows and "day" wasn't one of them. Seniors, AAA members, government, military, bereavement. The list went on and on. Many of the regular companies who sent business to us had their own special rate worked out with our management which gave them their rooms at various discounts. And our rates were always changing. In-season, off-season, weekend, weekly, long-term, special events. The whole pricing structure would move up and down like the tide depending upon whether we were busy or not. The only group we did not seem to have a discount for was "Red-headed Step-children", however, if a few of them were interested in booking a block of rooms, the Sales Director could work something out in a jiffy.
The other desk clerk inserted himself, "Dave, can I get you to take this reservation?" He handed me the phone. It was a dial tone. As he proceeded to register the guest for a "Day Rate", he said, "Ok sir, our housekeeping leaves at three o'clock this afternoon and you will need to check out before two to get the room for half price." The man looked at his wrist watch, then glanced out the windows at his idling Buick under the canopy, with a hunched down passenger in it. It was a quarter to twelve. "No problem, I have to be back at work by one-thirty."
Ahhhhhh......day rate.
The first time a guest walked in and asked me for a "day rate', I admit I was stumped. We had more rates in this hotel than we did pillows and "day" wasn't one of them. Seniors, AAA members, government, military, bereavement. The list went on and on. Many of the regular companies who sent business to us had their own special rate worked out with our management which gave them their rooms at various discounts. And our rates were always changing. In-season, off-season, weekend, weekly, long-term, special events. The whole pricing structure would move up and down like the tide depending upon whether we were busy or not. The only group we did not seem to have a discount for was "Red-headed Step-children", however, if a few of them were interested in booking a block of rooms, the Sales Director could work something out in a jiffy.
The other desk clerk inserted himself, "Dave, can I get you to take this reservation?" He handed me the phone. It was a dial tone. As he proceeded to register the guest for a "Day Rate", he said, "Ok sir, our housekeeping leaves at three o'clock this afternoon and you will need to check out before two to get the room for half price." The man looked at his wrist watch, then glanced out the windows at his idling Buick under the canopy, with a hunched down passenger in it. It was a quarter to twelve. "No problem, I have to be back at work by one-thirty."
Ahhhhhh......day rate.
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