Philosophical thought for the day – Way back before I became a king of industry, I was a cook at the Hungry Horse in Johnstown NY, my home town. At the end of each night, I’d wander out to the bar and get an ice cold beer and watch some black guitar player named Marcus playing jazz standards in the bar. Even though I was 17 and probably drinking illegally, it is still one of my fondest memories. I still remember the taste and feel of that first ice cold bottle of Genesee Beer. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
The chef was a big black guy named Bobby Thomas who also had a private club he owned in Schenectady. Mother fucker could smoke an ounce of weed with one inhale. I was second cook there. The first cook was a huge bald headed white guy named Charlie. Charlie was a cook in the army, and I am sure that he was the finest cook to ever flip a shovel full of grits for the old US of A. He had previously worked with Bobby when Bobby was the chef at the Van Dyke Jazz Bar in Schenectady New York. Bobby called him “The Bald Eagle”, and occasionally, “The Mother Fucking Bald Eagle”.
I have lots of stories about the interactions between the two and the antics that they would regularly participate in whilst in the kitchen. One particular event comes to mind in which Charlie chased one of the hostesses around the kitchen whilst sporting a hard on. Her name was Regina. So Charlie sang some bawdy song about wanting the vagina of Regina. I don’t remember the verses, but the chorus was something like “Regina, Regina, I want your vagina”
Oh the memories!
Apparently, the sexual harassment laws were a little bit different back then.