The Doorman’s Diary: 11.6-7.10

Ethnic culture saturated the night. As the band was setting up, I was warned to expect a large group. “I didn’t know the Hell’s Angels liked jazz.” “No, silly,” I was told, “don’t worry.” A half hour later, a dozen gentle-spirit Asians were seated at reserved tables. The jazz singer was belting out Nat King Cole’s “Straighten Up and Fly Right,” when the man dressed in full West African garb told me the educational system needs to be fixed. He’s a pedagogical researcher with 20 years spent on a new learning model that could straighten up the school system. We were discussing the pros and cons of the Whole Learning Model when the bartender gave me the look that I should get back to tending the door. We were on the cusp of figuring it all out too. The club continued to fill up with the whole rainbow  of humanity. As I was folding up the sidewalk for the night, I met a young couple. The woman was born in France and, as of last week, she became an official U.S. citizen. She had correctly answered the 100 questions required to pass go and collect her citizen papers. With her husband fondly rolling his eyes, she said “Do you know who wrote the United States Constitution?” I smiled, “Easy—a bunch of angry rebels, like me. A couple of them have their mug shots on the currency you probably have in your purse.”

The Doorman’s Diary: 11.5-6.10

The night was for the dark haired—deep walnut, ash brown, espresso black. The few blondes, rather than being striking as exceptions, looked out of place. One dark-auburn woman, named Gabriela, was a wet-faced beauty who had earlier learned that a 42-year-old neighbor had died in his sleep. As doorman, I try to assume a you-lookin’-at-me toughness. Gabby saw me for the empathic mark I am—friend to the downtrodden, depressed, and dispossessed. In a 30-second therapy session, I learned more than I need. Her cost: five bucks cover charge. The jazz quartet was well into an exceedingly complex blues-in-F-sharp improvisation—the keyboard guy played like Devi, the Hindu goddess with four arms—when the Gabster returned from a frigid-cold smoke break all tearful. Sounding like Carl Rogers, I said, “It’s gotta be rough…” She blubbered, “I just talked to my son for the first time in five months—these are happy tears!” Remember—I tell myself—you’re just the doorman.

Instinct for Illustration

I worked with Michael Waraksa many, many years ago. He created an illustration for a marketing piece that I had written for a client of mine. I don’t remember the piece or the client, but I do remember Michael… and thinking “this guy’s insanely creative and will go places—where, I have no clue, but he’s going there.” And go he has. His freelance illustration has appeared in the Los Angeles Times, Nickelodeon Magazine, Time Magazine, The Progressive, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, Golf Digest, Psychology Today, AARP, Washington City Paper, Information Week, Las Vegas Life, Reason, Management Review, Kyoto Journal, Astronomy, Cincinnati Magazine, Milwaukee Magazine, Business 2.0, Boating Magazine, The Washingtonian, The Milken Institute Review, Grist, Governing Magazine, Treasury & Risk, American Society for Quality magazine… to name a few. Over the years, Michael has won a trunk load of awards for his exquisite work. No surprise. What is a surprise—and I might be wrong—is that Michael appears to be living in the same East Side Milwaukee flat where I mailed his payment check some 20 years ago. In the maelstrom of life, there may just be stability.

The Doorman’s Diary: 10.30-31.10

Escorted by the horned devil himself, a female Frankenstein giggled and declared: “This isn’t it,” before pivoting and not setting one cloven toe or box foot into the club. A feather boa draped tipsy fairy wearing vintage white go-go boots and a black-habit priest, who tried to dodge the cover, did enter. Halloween weekend. Best experience of the night was a young couple that wavered at the door and left. They were hovering outside where I caught them and with embarrassment they said, “Music sounds great…” I motioned them to the door and said, “Sounds better inside… the cover’s on me.” Best comp admission in the club’s 10-year history. They walked into Mercy, Mercy, Mercy, a Cannonball Adderly song and were mesmerized by the driving beat and the soaring alto sax. Relaxing onto stools next to Fr. Cheapskate at the bar, they had found a place for that hallowed night where they truly belonged. Nice to see honest smiles of enjoyment. 

The Doorman’s Diary: 10.29-30.10

Halloween weekend, so ghouls, ghosts, and goblins are out. The jazz club is a safe haven. Jazz-folk don’t dress up, although I’m in my doorman get-up—wearing a dark suit and patterned tie haunted by my corporate past with remnants of demons, demands, and dick-head bosses lurking in pockets and creases. Through the night we had three very tall guys—taller than Frankenstein (no neck-bolts, though)—with lineman girth come in. They weren’t together, which made them frightening. To counter the fear, I imagined them linking pinky fingers and dancing over the earth-green floral carpet and through the candle-lit tables in front of the one-step-up-stage where the trio sustained us with Monk, Brubeck, and Dizzy. Speaking of dizzy, our waitress looked deadly tonight—all leggy and smoky eyed. Someone teased her, asking what costume she’s wearing and she said she’s not in Halloween form, yet. “No,” I said, “tell ‘em you’re dressed to kill.” She liked that. 

Cool Idea

It requires passion and raw energy to start up a music recording label. Enter Jacob Schoberg who created and runs Keep It Together, an independent / DIY record label based in Elkhorn, WI. The music is produced in retro formats – vinyl or cassette – as well as digital downloads for those without a turntable or deck (fortunate for me, both of our 2004 autos are equipped with radio/CD/cassette). The releases all appear to be low quantity runs, which add value and uniqueness. Clearly, the label is a labor of love since the releases are $3 or $4 for cassettes and $5 or $7 for vinyl. Suggestion: Instead of buying a Hallmark (annual sales in 2007: $4.4 billion) card for your friend’s or relative’s next birthday, buy an equivalently-priced album from Keep It Together (annual sales considerably less than Hallmark). It would support an independent / DIY record label and the bands it records – plus, you’ll be giving a very cool gift. 

The Doorman’s Diary: 10.23-24.10

As jazz club doorman I am the gatekeeper, controlling who enters. Basically five bucks will get you in. But I’m learning. Our bartender knows how to read people. He’s part therapist, part PI, part psychic. Drunks are generally not appreciated. He is more accurate than a police breathalyzer at reading a customer’s BAL (blood alcohol level). I’ve let people in who just don’t belong in our crowd of music-loving, mature, but generally quirky patrons. I love the idiosyncratic, thus I let in the occasional happy drunk, weirdo, outcast, and life-is-a-stage performer. So, when the 50-something guy, with the greasy cap covering his greasy thin gray hair and a couple of soft bags carabiner clipped to his belt loop, came to the door I let him in. I suppose the wild look in his eyes coupled with his repeat-cycle tirade about being honorably discharged from the Navy Seals, and that he had to dig into one of his bags for a waterproof, aluminum stash can from which he retrieved five moist, crumpled singles should have triggered a red flag or two. As the night wore on, this guy was wearing thin. His special op mission at the club was to find others to speak to. He had bounced from two groups of customers to a couple of guys who had recently arrived and were sitting at the bar facing out to the band. Emboldened by the trumpet players flutter tonguing on a Miles tune, I transformed into Bouncer Man and waved him to me. With my arm firmly around his shoulder, I said “Listen man you really need to sit down and enjoy the music OR I gotta ask you to leave.” He complained that one of the musicians was playing off key and demanded his cover back. Like a bad parent I said: “I’ll give you five bucks, but then you have to leave.” It worked.