THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Thursday, December 29, 1994 TAG: 9412230241
SECTION: NORFOLK COMPASS PAGE: 02 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: ON THE TOWN
SOURCE: SAM MARTINETTE
LENGTH: Medium: 74 lines
I consider myself fortunate that my biggest worry this New Year's Eve is getting a baby sitter, for back during the years I worked in the restaurant trade, I spent many a New Year's Eve working.
One of those evenings that stands out in memory is the night the restaurant wouldn't let me go home.
During the mid-'70s, I was night manager of a neighborhood tavern called Sir Buddy's, on Granby Street, across from City Park. It was an odd little spot but friendly and warm in its own way, one of those places where heavy draperies covered the windows and made it so dark that when you walked in during the day you couldn't see anything and had to stand still at the door until you got your night vision.
It was already showing its age when I started to work there. I was editor of a literary magazine at the time - no way to get rich - so I was thankful for any job that provided a paycheck and free food. Sir Buddy's did both while introducing me to an assortment of characters who would later people the pages of my short stories, and in some cases, become lifelong friends.
Over the years the clientele had changed from one crowd to another but always retaining a bit of the old, so many times that it seemed to be in layers like the skin of an onion. It had become a very cosmopolitan group.
At one end of the bar the regulars might be arguing about the symbolism of Edward Albee's plays while a few seats away the news crew from a local TV station would be having dinner between broadcasts. There were professors and school teachers, cops and lawyers, radio deejays, actors, sports writers, military types, young couples, people looking for mates, in short, a kind of small town between velvet walls.
The room had a long bar along one wall, booths along the other, and a scattering of tables in the back before a gas fireplace. We served only beer and wine in the way of alcohol. Regulars kept aluminum mugs behind the bar and woe to the bartender who couldn't match the mug to the customer without asking. The food was simple but good: steamed shrimp and baked potatoes, thick steaks and good sandwiches - nothing fancy, but right enough in its own way - and the crew I worked with was friendly, so we mostly had a good time.
It wasn't a place to dress up on New Year's Eve, more like a small party with a few noisemakers and some finger food. Many of the people would have been there anyway, New Year's Eve or not. Some had nowhere else to go. We were the only family they had.
I was single and looking forward to getting off and going to a party for restaurant workers that would be going late. When you work nights, 2 a.m. doesn't seem late at all, more like everyone else's 5 o'clock quitting time.
After I finally ushered out all of the merrymakers and we cleaned the place and stocked up for the next day of business, I put on my coat and saw the waitresses to their cars. When I turned the key to lock the door a loud shrieking wail erupted, and I nearly jumped out of my wits. The burglar alarm had gone off.
I turned the key, and the alarm went silent. Each time I tried to lock the door the alarm went off, indicating a short circuit, so I went back inside to consider the situation in safety and silence. I could lock the door from within and there was no sound, but each time I tried to leave a piercing noise broke the peace. I called the owner, but he wasn't home. I knew I couldn't get a locksmith out at 3 a.m. on New Year's morning, and even if I could the cost would be frightful.
I hated to miss a party, but I knew there was only one thing to do. Or two or three.
First, I lit the gas fireplace, then turned on the grill and plopped on a big steak. I grabbed a bottle of cold champagne and a glass, then dropped a few red quarters into the juke box. (We painted them red so the vending company would know we used them to play records and give them back to us.) I selected Lionel Hampton, Edith Piaf and Dave Brubeck, and sat back for a very solitary New Year's Eve as host of a party for one, with an entire restaurant all to myself, all night long. by CNB