"When it comes down to it.., the only things that are incorruptible are our dreams."
Hey Steemers!
My name is Mack.., actually my name is Mark but I don't remember the last time anybody has called me that -- Even my Mom and Dad who named me Mark, call me Mack.
And yes, Im the NYC bartender like it says in the title of this, introduce yourself post. I have tended bar in the biggest and best nightclubs, bars, lounges all over the world.
HeartBreak -- Palladium -- Limelight -- Tunnel -- Red Zone -- Club USA -- Viper Room
And that's just to name a few...
I was always pretty positive I would start writing, someday...
I mean, I can vividly remember, my Dad (Big Jim) saying; "there's a writer in this family, Im sure of it." All the time!
And every time he uttered those words, no matter how many people were in the room -- he would stare right at ME.
It kinda freaked me out!
I didn't know or understand why he thought there was a writer in our family.., and why, he would think it would be me…
Until a few days after he passed away…
I was in charge of gong through his things -- You see, my parents had been separated for many, many years. Not divorced, you didn't get divorced back then, especially if you were married in the church and were from Scotch/Irish/Italian heritage.
No, my parents, after a long and sometimes scary separation process (My Dad was the youngest cop ever admitted into the Special Investigations Unit In NYC in the 1970's.., and he always carried a gun and drank a lot), actually, became friends.
Heck, I can remember coming home from my grandparents house in the Bronx, after a really good Sunday family dinner. Me and my sister would be passed out cold from all that good italian food by the time my Dad would park the car, right in front of the apartment building we lived in…
My parents would carry us up the stairs, unable to wake us from such a good sleep -- and then, out of nowhere, all hell would break loose!
We would be rushed to a neighbors and told to stay put… But before they could shuffle us away -- I could see my Dad reach down to his ankle and pull out his gun!
He would rush out the front of the building and climb the firescape to our apartment -- Right out of a freakin' movie. Only it wasn't a movie. It was my childhood!
There were cops at, or in front of our apartment, what seemed like, all the time… It was normal, my Dad was a cop. As a rookie, he walked a foot beat in Fort Apache in the Bronx (not a good place to be in uniform). He had his nose broken so many times he had to have it cauterized, so it wouldn't bleed, anymore.
Some of the my friends parents didn't like them coming over to our apartment… They thought it could be dangerous. I NEVER felt like I was in danger. My Dad was a BAD-ASS!!!
I still have a hard time thinking about those times.., and Im even having a hard time writing about it, now.
But before all that, before me and my sister were even a thought in our parents mind… I found out my Dad, when he was in the Navy, on some destroyer -- would write my Mom, every morning, describing the sunrise wherever he was in the world.
I found this out, the night I was going through his things (just a few days after he passed away). I came across a box that was tied up in these special knots (later I would learn, they teach you these knots in the Navy) and in it were photos of my Dad, on his ship, with little love letters written on the back of each of them to my Mom.
on the back...
When I asked my Mom about them she didn't know what to say… I had never seen this look on her face, before…
She was speechless!
When I pushed her on this, she finally came clean and told me about the love letters she would receive almost daily from my Dad while he was deployed over seas. I could see the tears, well up in her eyes and the pain in her face, as she spoke about a time long past and almost completely forgotten.
After my parents split up and I had grown up a bit -- I was the closest person in the world to my Dad. We even lived together in a small apartment for a little while but that didn't turn out to well -- to much alike, I guess...
I was in charge of going through his things that week after his death because we were so close, what I haven't told you is -- I missed his funeral!
I was the closest person in the world to him -- AND I MISSED HIS DAMN FUNERAL!!!
(something that would take me many, many years to get over..)
You see, I've been referred to as, one of the best bartenders in the world (no shit!). You'll notice I said "bartender" not mixologist. Im not even sure what a mixologist is…
But, I can mix you a cocktail (as they like to call a good o'l drink) better than any of them.., and at the same time, chat about whatever you feel like and genuinely enjoy each others company. Heck, there is a pretty good chance we might even become friends.
It's called being a bartender, old sport.
I've tended bar in NYC, Hollywood, Aspen, London, Amsterdam -- and I've jumped behind bars all over the caribbean and mediterranean islands . I didn't plan on being a bartender, it just worked out that way -- sometimes life gets in the way of all the great things you had planned to be…
And the night my Dad passed, all alone in his apartment, I was slinging drinks for the rich, famous and fabulous on the island of St. Barts. And when I say rich and famous, I mean it…
(Jack Nicholson, Robert Evans - old head of Paramount Pictures), Warren Beatty and the like…)
I had received some messages from my Dad, earlier that week, on my answering machine (remember those things), but was just to busy to get back to him. I mean, he wasn't even sick -- there was nothing that would have clued me in, that I would never see him, again!
The messages he left were nothing out or the norm. "Hey, where are you..?" "When you get back in town come spend the night and we'll catch up." "I miss you, kiddo…"
(oh man, this is so hard to write!)
And then, the last message on my phone was from my cousin Tony. My Mom and sister couldn't bring themselves to tell me and Tony didn't want to leave it on my answering machine but nobody knew where I was…
It went something like this --
"Hey Mark, it's your cousin Tony (long pause). I could hear his voice cracking and could tell something was wrong -- "I hate to tell you this but your Dad passed away last night in his sleep…"
Many of us have received a phone call like this -- but until it, actually, happens to you, you have NO IDEA how you will react.
He went on -- "You need to get home, NOW!"
I didn't know what to do -- I had NO IDEA what to freakin' do!!!
I walked out of this little bungalow kinda thing, I had been staying in… It was right above the beautiful beaches of St. Barts. Still in some kind of shock from this news. I hadn't realized that all the people around me were rushing around and in a bit of a panic, themselves.
I was only there for a few days and the whole time the weather was beautiful -- just like you would expect. But this morning, the day right after my Dad died -- the weather was insane.
The wind was blowing everything not tied down, all over the place… And then, the rain started -- massive sheets of rain slammed down on this tropical paradise. The bar I was pouring at, was just a few yards from where I was staying and the owner of the place saw me walking alone, in the middle of what would soon be a full blown hurricane!
Actually, it was a cyclone -- whatever the heck, that
I could see, the owner of the bar, Jack, yelling at me… But I couldn't hear a word he was saying -- "Get off the freakin' beach -- are you crazy, you'll get killed!" But I couldn't hear any of it… I was in my own world.
The wind, rain and sand whipped into my face but I just kept walking -- in a daze!
Finally, after almost being hit by a huge branch or something, Jack told some of the bartenders to go get me off the beach and bring me back to the bar.
Everyone in there was already a little freaked out by the weather and they could see that something was clearly wrong -- All I kept saying was.., I HAVE TO GET HOME MY DAD JUST DIED!!!
(and then, complete silence…)
Well, no matter how hard all those "beautiful, powerful people" tried to get me off that island that day, it was not to be… I mean, the old head of Paramount Pictures (Robert Evans) was on the phone non-stop, trying to get me home. But it was impossible!
When I finally got home, just a few days later, I was too late… I HAD MISSED MY OWN FATHERS FUNERAL.
I have never written, anything, except some journals. I definitely have never written anything like this… But walking home from my latest bar gig on New York's Upper West Side the other night, I realized it was the anniversary of my fathers death…
I was right in front of Lincoln Center.., and it was beautiful. The crowds were gone and just a few lingered around -- just like I liked it. You see, as a bartender, you get to see the city a whole different way…
The streets are usually pretty empty by the time I get out of work -- it was what I was used too. Heck, I could go months at a time and the only time I would see the sun was in the very early morning, coming home from a night at work.
It gives you a whole different perspective on the city.
I decided to sit and chill for a bit. And, I thought about my Dad… The good times and bad. And, how he always said -- "There's a writer in this family, I know it." I sat there probably longer than I thought and the plaza was almost completely empty except for me.
I hadn't thought about my Dad, for awhile.., never mind that phrase!
And I thought -- Im going to write, I don't know about what but IM GOING TO WRITE. I mean, whenever I tell some newbie bartender some of my stories, the look on there faces is priceless. And, people, including Hollywood producers, actors, writers even some Yogi's I know -- have always told me -- "You need to write this stuff down!"
And, when I woke the following morning I had an email in my inbox about, guess what --
STEEMIT!!!
And, I knew, in no uncertain terms, I had to write about this moment in my life. And, in the day and months to come I will write about all these crazy, insane, truly outrageous and some even unbelievable times I've had just because I know what being a bartender really means…
If you got through this rather long post -- thanks for reading, I really do appreciate it.
CHEERS, STEEMERS!!!
P.S., Stay tuned for the story of my first night behind the bar in the Biggest New York City Nightclub -- it'll knock your socks off, I promise!