The Doorman's Diary 7.22.17

For a Saturday night, we're starting out slow and easy. We're expecting to Tina-Turner-Proud-Mary it into a full-club frenzy, but right now the goal is to reach the pivot, and beyond. The pivot point is when the number of jazz patrons in the club matches the number of staff and musicians. Here is where my experience and trained understanding of human behavior as a professional doorman come into play.

A group of young customers appear at the door so I say: "Great, get in here quick...we just opened the door and since you're the first ones here you get in free. Grab stools at the bar or a couple of tables on the floor, because the place will fill up quick. And one of you definitely needs to try our Tropical Jazz Zombie cocktail -- it's one of our signature drinks!" With a sense of urgency, making them feel like special insiders, and suggesting that one of them be brave enough to try something different, we've got a mini-crowd of six seated in view of the entrance so when others arrive they don't feel like they're entering a dead club. Now I just need to answer the stare of my bartender when he is asked to make a Tropical Jazz Zombie cocktail.

 

The jazz club is filling and the band is deep into their version of Dexter Gordon's 1962 zinger "Cheese Cake." The crowd is in sync with the tenor's retro mood as he swings through the tune. An older man with a gray fedora tilts his head back, eyes closed, and smiles broadly. The waitress deftly tucks a fresh whisky old fashioned into the relaxed grip of his hand resting on the table and gently squeezes his fingers tight around the tub glass, completing the transaction without resting him from his music stupor.

The music glides the crowd through the delightful moody night. Well into the second set, an East Indian couple appear at the door. The man is wearing a full-length plain maroon gown and she is dressed in a traditional saree. As striking as their appearance is they easily melt into the crowd -- jazz is the ultimate melting pot and at the jazz club no one is judged.

  

The Doorman's Diary 9.1.12

A slide trombone fills in for the tenor giving the jazz quintet a different texture. Their version of Eddie Palmieri’s Listen Here is delightful with the trumpet and trombone. The evening gets better and more interesting. A young lady, who manages the tasting room bar of a local boutique distillery, and her boyfriend, rush in breathless saying, “I’m playing hooky from my job, but have been dying to come here—can’t stay long.” I wave them in. “I’ll be leaving in about 30 minutes—can I come back later after I close our place and I’ll pay you then.” I say jokingly, “Yes, but the price of re-admission will be a bottle of your gin.” The distillery’s gin is exceptional and has literally won awards for small batch gin. An old singer in the audience was invited on stage to sing a few songs. In a strong, clear voice he belts out a couple of Sinatra tunes and finishes with Hello Dolly, sung at times in a Louie Armstrong voice. The night was nearing its end and the tenor showed up from his previous gig and jumps in with the trumpet and trombone to create a terrific horn blending. I'm outside folding up the tables and chairs for the smokers when two bicyclists whiz into the scene and start locking up their bikes. “I’m back…and here’s your gin.” You knew I was joking, right? “Yeah, but you ARE The Doorman, so I figure you deserve this.” Amazing, I thought, someone who accords me the respect I deserve. I thank them profusely and urge them inside to enjoy the last 30 minutes of music. After folding up the sidewalk I sit at the bar and enjoy a drink. A couple I haven’t seen in awhile arrives and sits at the opposite end. They catch my attention and I nod my greeting. When leaving for the night, I chide them for showing up late. We talk and I learn that she lives about 200 miles away. I say, “It’s clear… you need to move here.” She says, “I would… but I’m a traditionalist and he hasn’t proposed yet.” I ask them my 10 questions of compatibility to confirm the obvious… they are a perfect-match pair. “I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be married, so as The Doorman I plan to invoke my authority as The Doorman of the Jazz Club to officially wed you right here and now—are you both willing to do what is obvious and predestined?” With their agreement, I join their hands, which I hold tight in mine, and have them exchange vows. In the sacred hall of Miles, Ornette, Dexter, Grover, Monk,and Sonny I had officiated... and a union is consecrated! 

The Doorman's Diary 6.30.12

Two lone wolfettes became fast friends tonight. It was happenstance that they ended up seated next to each other at the bar. Two stools. Two women. By the end of the night they were chatting away and falling into each other with laughter. Nice to see. The jazz group was without its sax tonight. The trumpet guy took over and superbly played songs that ordinarily would have been dominated by the tenor. It was actually refreshing to hear Coltrane, Sonny Rollins and Dexter Gordon songs played totally sax-less -- with the trumpet being the sole horn. We had a respectable size crowd. Someone celebrated a birthday. How old she is was not divulged, although once you get beyond milestone ages like 16, 21, and 30 does it really matter? The night disappeared quickly, just like another year in that ultimate race to reach 100 before death nabs you.