“Don’t worry about it; he gave the waiter five bucks too and the whole check would only have amounted to eleven bucks.”
Grinning she said, “he told me that next time I should wait on them. Is that okay?”
With a shrug and a smile he shook his head, “Yeah, it’s okay, but be careful, especially with that guy that always wears his hat.”
“Thanks Ben, I really appreciate that. I can use a new pair of shoes and some hose. And don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself,” she said, showing a toothy grin.
After that, Mike and some of his friends came back every few weeks. Phyllis always took care of them.
“Hey baby, what’s good here besides you?” the noisy one would say, while the others laughed.
“For you, big guy, everything’s good, except the hired help,” she would reply. “And don’t get any ideas; I’m sure my boyfriend wouldn’t like it.”
“You sure? C’mon, gimme a break Phyllis. I’ll pick you up after work for a night on the town.”
“Yeah I’m sure, I’ll bet you tell that to all the girls. How bout giving me a break and gimme your order so I can get back to work and make some money.”
They would tease her or try to get her to laugh and she would play hard to get, while taking the orders and slapping away a stray hand or two that would reach out to grab her leg or rear end.
When Ben noticed them giving her a hard time, he asked her about it,
She smiled and shrugged. “Don’t worry about me, I can handle myself. I’ll take their table anytime. They tip better than any customer and I can use the dough.”
He smiled, scratching his head. “Okay, just wanted you to know, I’m lookin’ out for you.”
With the addition of the liquor, business from the Loop had picked up and Ben managed to keep the restaurant going, but each week it was getting harder to meet the liquor bill and stay ahead of the other bills too.
He also began “working late” some nights. He would leave the restaurant at four and meet Phyllis at a speakeasy around the corner. They would return to the restaurant a little after five and make love in his small office in the back. Afterward, he would drive her to the apartment on Noble Street where she rented a room from an older couple. They never discussed the arrangement, but both knew that it was more than sex. From the first day, she had been a hit at the restaurant. The customers loved her. Most of the men treated her with respect and she quickly knew their names and all about their families and jobs. For the few that teased her or made smart remarks, she had quick and spicy answers that usually got laughs. Several regulars mentioned to Ben that she was fun, sort of like having an older sister around.
Personally, he worried that he was in love with her. The more he was around her he found himself thinking of being alone with her. He knew she felt the same, even though she never mentioned being in love with him. The closest she came was telling him she loved how he treated her when they were together. From the stories she told, he knew that things had not been easy for this poor girl from a small city of factory workers like Rockford. He also knew that she had been deserted by a drunk of a husband who used her for a punching bag.
When Franklin D. Roosevelt was elected president in November 1932, Ben—along with the rest of America had high hopes that he would turn the economy around and prosperity would return.
A few months later, Prohibition was repealed. That same week, Mike O’Hara showed up and told him he owed a thousand dollars for liquor and unless he paid up in twenty-four hours, he was taking over. The following day, he returned with his brother Tim and three of the guys who had been part of the group that had been coming since he had sent them in almost three years before.
“C’mon, Mike, you know I’m good for it. I just need a little more time,” he pleaded.
O’Hara shook his head. “Look Benny, this is business, now whyn’t you just pack up and leave. I’m doin’ you a favor letting you off the hook for the G.”
Ben’s jaw clenched as Mike turned away from him. He started to say something, but Tim intervened, grabbing him by the arm.
“Easy Ben, you don’t wanta make him mad. Believe me, he likes you and he’s taking it easy on ya,” Tim whispered in his gruff voice.
The biggest of the three goons emptied the cash register and gave a handful of bills to Mike. Then he came over to Ben.
“Gimme the keys,” he said with his hand out.
Ben stood, shaking his head from side to side with his arms folded across his chest.
The goon nudged him. “Let’s go,” he said. “You don’t want me to have to take ‘em away from you, do you?”
Ben reached into his pocket and handed over the keys.
“Hey Ben,” Tim said softly, “I got a guy who rents a warehouse from me that’s lookin’ for a liquor salesman. Go see him. I bet it’s good job now that Prohibition is over.”
Retreating to the kitchen, Ben started to fill a small carton with papers and pictures from his small desk. As he grabbed his jacket and started for the door, Tim stopped him and stuffed a business card in his hand.
“Call Stan Weiss; tell him I gave you the card.”
Slowly approaching the door, Ben stopped and turned, giving the place, which by this time was run down, a last look. Tears welled up in his eyes as he rubbed his chin and walked out.
Phyllis rushed after him. “Ben, meet me later, at our usual place, before you go home,” she whispered. Then she rushed inside, saying, “I gotta go back. I need the dough.”
“Be careful honey; these guys are rough.”
“Don’t worry about me, Ben. I been in tougher spots before.”
He nodded and waved, turning away. An hour later, she joined him for a drink and then he drove her home. He double parked as she slid over to kiss him and hold him tight, whispering, “don’t worry, something will turn up. Now go home and please call me when you can.”
He didn’t answer, but nodded as she got out and he waited as he always did until she was safe inside.
Toward the end of his second week on his new job, the young office girl told Ben that Mr. Weiss wanted to see him. He walked in to the small private office off to the side of the warehouse with a big smile, expecting a pep talk.
Holding the telephone receiver to his ear in the same hand as a cigarette and gripping the speaker in his other, Weiss motioned him to sit.
“Yeah, I got it under control,” he bellowed into the phone. “Just give me a few more days.” Listening, he nodded his head while whoever was on the other end was talking.
“I know I’m late, but you know, I always come through,” he sighed in a quieter voice.
Papers were strewn all over the chipped desk that had seen better days. The place looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. The windows were filthy and a few of the panes were replaced with plywood. Ben listened quietly as the conversation was coming to an end. Putting the receiver on the hook Stan turned to him.
“The fuckers won’t let me live,” Weiss sighed.
Shaking his head, the heavyset, bald man zeroed in on Ben.
“What’s with this expense account? What are you trying to do, bankrupt me?” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his head.
Ben took a deep breath, “you don’t understand,” he said, trying not to look surprised. “I’m gonna make you a lot of money. Look at this place, everything is rundown, the furniture and equipment are falling apart. I see a lotta the orders and they’re for a case here and a case there. And look where they’re coming from, just a bunch of small joints. I’m calling on the best restaurants and bars in the city. When they buy, you’ll see real orders.”
Stan interrupted, crushing his ever-present cigarette in the overflowing ash tray, knocking it into the telephone. “Look Ben, I don’t give a damn about what you think. An
y more expenses like that you’re outta here. Do you understand?”
Tugging at his collar, Ben loosened his tie. “Yeah, I hear you, but I tell you what, come with me this afternoon and I’ll show you what I’m doing. If you don’t like it, fire me. If not, just let me bring in the business.”
That afternoon, Stan, accompanied his brash new salesman as they called on Zonenblicks. The brightly lit restaurant on Market Street, just west of the loop could seat over eighty and had a bar with twenty stools. Along the wall in the bar were prominently displayed signed photos of show business personalities as well as past and present city, state and county officeholders. It had been a fixture of the city for over thirty years and had built a reputation of serving the best corned beef in town. The place also had served liquor all through Prohibition and was a watering place for politicians and occasionally, Al Capone and his cronies.
Walking in, Ben introduced himself and Stan to Joe Zonenblick, a tall broad man who stood behind the bar, wearing a white apron. The beer glasses he had been washing sat neatly next to the sink. He dried his hands before shaking hands and held up a finger indicating he wanted them to wait, while he drew a beer for a patron.
Looking the other way as Zonenblick took care of the customer, Ben struck up a conversation with three men sitting at the bar.
“Ben is my name and liquor is my game,” he said, shaking hands and throwing two dollars on the bar. “Bartender, buy these men a drink on me.”
Stan looked over his glasses at him, hoping to caution him about the money, but said nothing.
Ben launched into a story about a talking dog that had come in for a drink at a bar. The men, including Zonenblick, and Stan all laughed at the punch line and Ben told a few more gags.
Ordering a drink for himself and Stan, Ben turned his attention to Joe Zonenblick. Forty minutes later they walked out with an order for almost ninety dollars. It was the best order the company had that week.
“Thanks, Mr. Zonenblick,” Ben said, shaking hands all around.
“It’s Joe, Ben,” he responded gruffly.
“See ya in two weeks.” Ben smiled. “If you need anything before, just let me know and I’ll take care of it personally,” he added with a wave as he left.
From then on, Ben began to make regular commissions of thirty to fifty dollars a week, which increased as he added new accounts. Within three months, he began paying off the debts that he and Molly had accumulated over the past two years.
He loved calling on the bars and restaurants and spending the hours kibitzing with the customers. To him, it was the easiest money he had ever made and the work didn’t seem like a job. Stan continued to caution him about his high expenses, but spending money in the right places and buying drinks proved to be his best investment. Ben was always among the top producers in the company.
He also worked a lot of nights because that is when the customers were busy and he tried to keep them happy by spending money and entertaining people in their places of business. It also was an opportunity to spend some time with Phyllis, whom he slipped five dollars a month so she could move into a two room furnished apartment on Kenmore near Montrose.
His trademark greeting, “Ben is my name and liquor is my game,” became known throughout the city.
Ben’s territory included Rush Street, where there had been many illegal speakeasys serving liquor during Prohibition. Now, the clubs lining the brightly lighted street just north of the Loop thrived openly with drinks and regular appearances by Joe E. Lewis, Louie Armstrong, Sophie Tucker and a host of other well known entertainers. You could also find heavily made-up hookers wearing slinky dresses and the bartenders were quick to find them customers for five or ten dollars to spend an hour or two at one of the small hotels around the corner on North State Street. Two of Ben’s customers had large gambling rooms secluded behind locked doors in the rear. Admittance was granted only after screening by guards at the entrances that were hidden behind heavy drapes.
“You know, Molly,” he would say as he winked and pinched her cheek, “it’s good business; the customers like to buy from me.”
One evening, shortly before Shirley’s fifth birthday, he arrived home about midnight to find Molly wrapped in a heavy robe sitting on the couch, listening to the radio. She jumped up when she heard him come in.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Aw you know, business,” he said brushing past her.
“Yeah, sure,” she glowered, her eyes forming little slits. “And what whore did this?’ she hissed, spinning him around and grabbing his collar.
He shook her hand off and turned away. “You know how I do my business, all I did was play some cards with a few customers at the Belmont Hotel.”
”Yeah, and which one of your customers wears lipstick?”
“Aw lay off. I’m tired; it’s been a long day.”
“Goddammit, Ben, I’m tired too,” she shouted, hands on her hips, thrusting her chin out. “All you do is drink and stay out late.”
“You don’t seem to mind when you go shopping!” Knocking over a dining room chair, he pushed past her out the front door, slamming it as he left. She watched at the window as his car pulled away.
She heard him shuffle in at four a.m. and found him asleep, fully clothed, in his easy chair two hours later. By seven, she was making breakfast for the girls and he quietly slipped into the bedroom. After Doris left for school, Molly went shopping with Shirley and when she returned he was gone. A bouquet of two dozen roses arrived later in the day with a card saying, “I love you, signed B”.
Nothing more was said, but Ben was home early every night for the next two weeks.
By the summer of 1939, the Siegals were feeling quite prosperous. Doris was entering her second year at Von Steuben and Shirley was at Volta Elementary. Molly had redecorated the apartment and replaced their bedroom set. Not to be outdone, Ben surprised Molly and the girls by buying a sleek new Oldsmobile.
Sitting in his favorite easy chair after dinner, a week after he bought the car, Ben lit his third cigar of the day and settled in to read the newspaper. With his tie loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows he still looked much like he did when they first moved to Albany Park. The small bald spot, surrounded by graying hair, was now larger and he had gained about fifteen pounds, but the quick smile and hearty laugh of a much younger and vigorous man, remained the same.
The years had been good to Molly, too. Her face remained unlined, except for a few hints of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Her dark hair was a little longer but now was swept up to a pile of curls at the top. She was a trifle heavier, but not so that anyone would notice. And even after a long day, her eyes still sparkled.
Ben was absorbed in the sports section, continuously shifting the cigar around in his mouth. Molly was to the left of him on the maroon patterned couch across from the upright piano, listening to Fibber McGee and Molly on the radio. She turned to him during a commercial.
“Ben, I’ve been thinking. You know I always wanted to go to the University of IIlinois in Champaign,” she started.
Noticing that he was still absorbed in the paper, she continued a little louder, “My folks couldn’t afford it, but I wonder if maybe we could start saving to send the girls there?”
Ben looked up, raising his eyebrows, “Champaign? Isn’t that a little out of our reach?” The open newspaper dropped to his lap. “Besides, you know that Roosevelt is warning us there’s gonna be a war. Who knows what will happen by the time they’re ready for college?”
“Bennie, I know,” she said in the baby-talk voice that always got a rise out of him and reverting back to her normal voice, “But can’t we start saving a little? Just think, wouldn’t it be nice if Doris could get a degree in teaching and Shirley could learn to be an Interior Decorator or maybe design clothes? She’s like
me and really likes pretty things. You know, she’s been picking out her own clothes since she was six years old and always dresses beautifully.”
Cocking his head to the side, he looked at her and then turned back to the newspaper.
Ignoring his attempt to read, she went on, “And maybe they’ll meet some bright young college boys they can marry. Wouldn’t that make you proud?”
Ben laughed, looking at her as he sucked on his cigar, blowing smoke away from her, toward the windows. “I gotta hand it to you; always thinking ahead. Before you know it, you’ll have them married with kids. For cryin’ out loud, I only finished two years at Marshall and then went to work. And come on, you only graduated high school and we’re doing alright.”
“Ben” she countered, “can’t you see them belonging to a nice sorority and going to all those college parties. Just think how much they’ll love it. I got lucky with you. But wouldn’t you want them to meet the boys with the best prospects?”
Ben thought about his girls dating guys like the O’Hara brothers and shuddered. “Yeah, I’ll think about it,” he muttered, turning back to the paper.
A week later he gave her five dollars saying, “For the college fund.” After that, he gave her five dollars a week, which she deposited in a savings account.
Everything in Ben Siegal’s life was good the September evening that Victor Wayne walked Shirley home after she had told Vic she was pregnant. By the time WWII ended, Ben had become a top liquor salesman in the best night clubs, bars and restaurants in the city and was making more money than he ever dreamed possible. His wife and daughters loved him and made him happy. Doris was doing well in Champaign. Shirley, the baby, who was pretty, with a lively personality, and a streak of mischief in her, was the apple of his eye.
He shrugged and walked into the kitchen being careful not to touch the pale yellow walls set off with white woodwork, chair rails and baseboards that had been painted recently.
“You like the new curtains?”
“White polka dots, yeah they look good pulled back like that.” He smiled and nodded, “looks more like a kitchen than it did with the venetian blinds.”
Albany Park Page 10
