CHEESEBURGER AND CHANGE

Many years ago I moved into a residential hotel on the North Beach and Chinatown border.
I was broke, single, and marginally employed (temp agencies promise freedom, but deliver poverty), and, on a daily basis, esurient. When not eating in Chinatown or experimenting with pickled vegetables and instant noodles, I went to Sam's on Broadway, where Monzer ('Mike') El Shawa held up the grill. Cheeseburgers, corndogs, fried chicken, fries, and inexpensive red wine. Retired Uncle would be asleep at his table with his beer, occasionally waking up to impart wisdom -- "Mongolian beef, hot!" "How about 'Hooked On Phonics'?" -- then he'd have another beer and fall asleep again. Ah Choy would be waiting for 'Louisiana T' to come in drunk after his shift at a nearby Italian restaurant so he could lose all of his tips playing cards with the stone cold sober and good natured Toishanese fellow, and every stripper, druggie, layabout, and ne-er-do-well in the neighborhood would drop by for sustenance and mental support.


"Do you remember 'Dancing Dave'?"


Of course I do. A likeable addict who overdosed, whom I didn't really miss, because any conversation with him was in Hippie-speak. Similarly I remembered 'Paints', who hid his kit behind the mirror and over time became increasingly erratic. As well as 'Kangol', who had issues when he was released the first time, and was worse every next time. Plus doormen or bouncers from the clubs, some of whom were unique individuals with rich inner lives.

I moved out of that neighborhood after nine years, but in a sense I never left. Every week I'd go back for some cheap red wine with a friend, after which we'd head out to explore the more educational side of North Beach and Chinatown nightlife.

There's an article in SF Gate you should read: SF TREASURE

Monzer stopped smoking after a heart attack in 1998. And by that time, smoking in dining establishments was largely a thing of the past, so the rest of us had to give up tobacco inside too, the ashtrays attached to walls disappeared, as did the pin ball machine (a "no armed bandit"), which probably paid for the education of his kids, all of whom are adults now.

[I had "tutored" one of his kids in math and grammar for a while. He ended up crying several times, because I'm an asshole. And he wanted to play basketball instead.]

Sam's on Broadway is a home-away-from-home.

Monzer was the shit-disturbing uncle every one should have. But he was a very decent man, and quietly fed the destitute who were hungry and couldn't pay, treated everyone except the mofos with courtesy, extended credit when needed, and didn't pry into his customers' affairs. Some of those affairs were played out loud and in public. The woman who in a drug-induced fit stripped outside was a customer. Her drug-dealing lover was too. The crazy old lady across the street, the sleazy chiropractor who'd order two pizzas to go while trying to put the make on a stripper, the druggie who fell from three stories high one evening, the paranoid woman who snapped at everyone ... all customers again after their worst episodes.

He never held it against me that I supported what to him was the wrong side in the Middle East conflict. When I came in with a comrade in arms after a particularly loud protest and counter demonstration in front of the consulate that had ended late, both of us wearing kippot, he had a warm conversation with the chap about Israeli food. Then served him a cheeseburger.

A gentleman. Gallant, chivalrous, and absolutely top-notch.


There was the time he sent me out to get change. While I was gone, Ted came in. He told Ted that I had gotten married, then sent him out for change. When Freddie came in, he sent him out for change, after informing him that Ted had gotten married. Larry came in, was given similar staggering news, and sent out for change. When I came back with change, I was told amazing news about Ted ....... then he sent me out again, would I be so kind as to get more change?
At one point he had five of us wandering the neighborhood with what must have been several hundred dollars of his money. When we got back there were misplaced congratulations all round, and he had enough change for two weeks.




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