more about "Neil Diamond - Girl, You'll Be a Woma...", posted with vodpod

The Pittsburgh Phantom and Me by, Shawn M. Cohen

What did I want? That question reeled in my head, as if it was the very first time I ever heard it. I asked myself as Dr. Rivers looked at me, waiting for my answer. I did not know...well... I knew what I didn't want. I didn't want this responsibility. I wanted to be my age, and to be able to live like my friends. I wanted to be in L.A. and in my apartment with the little bits of furniture Reva and I had, and finish my finals so that term was not completely lost to my college credits. I wanted safety, security, and a chance at life like anyone else..and I wanted my parents to GROW UP, and handle their own problems instead of dumping them on me! That is what I wanted. But as I relayed this to the teary eyed Dr. Rivers, he announced that unfortunately, "Our time is up now." and I was cast off to announce my revelation in next week's time slot. I left there dazed. Was this what therapy was? Someone who listened and actually heard what you said? Then offered advice? In the end, as I left, and heard myself say, "yes, same time next week." I wondered what I was getting myself into. Yet, it seemed this was always the way. I had gotten myself in too deep with Glen, who had gotten himself in too deep with me. I was working underage at this Jazz nightclub in Shadyside, and although it was working out, I knew I was lying to them about my age. Now maybe that was incidental, maybe this was just a "who cares?" technicality but I didn't like lying, nor being lied to. In the meantime, while my little world was collapsing, America was celebrating its Bicentenial, 200 years old as of July 4, 1976. Celebrations were planned all over the USA, including Pittsburgh, Shadyside and The Encore. I walked into work, with banners displayed all over in red, white and blue, saying, "Happy Birthday, USA!" People came in with tall hats on like "Uncle Sam" wears in those old WWII posters imitating America, saying, "I WANT YOU" and there was general all around excitement building for the coming evening's celebration. Every bar, disco and restaurant on Walnut Street and in Shadyside has their own celebrations. I worked upstairs again in the restaurant and that was less noisy and crazy as the crowd downstairs got more into the night, fun, and the drinks. Art came upstairs to check everyone was stocked and ready for a busy night ahead early on and then I didn't see him the whole night until we were done, and the restaurant closed about 12:30am. The bar downstairs and the band were still going strong. I cashed out, making out pretty good tip wise and Art stopped me as I was ready to leave. In a raised voice he asked, "Did you do ok tonight, Shawn?" I nodded my head, "yes," as the band was playing loudly, a jazz standard I had come to recognize as "Around Midnight". The place was packed, 4 deep at the bar, people everywhere. "You in tomorrow?" he asked again. "Yes" again I said it but you could not hear my voice, nodding. "Ok, see ya then, come in early, I want to talk to you, ok?" he was surveying the crowd with quick glances and then back at me as I stood by the front door, ready to leave. "Ok, why, what's up?" I asked, loudly,thinking maybe I did something wrong. "Nothing, just want to talk, not bad, now, don't worry!" and he winked at me and smiled with that grin. A grin that told me he could be up to something. Next thing I knew the bartender was shouting, "Art, I am out of Barcardi, Glenfiditch and Zambuka!" Art signaled to him, and he was off to go to the liquor storage cabinet which only he had a key to. I walked out into the July night air to the huge display of fireworks blasting off from everywhere. BOOM! I walked over to my mother's car, parked in the parking lot in the back, and got into the front seat. I was wondering, as I drove home watching the sky light up here and there with brilliant displays of color and screething sounds, big booms, and crackles, what on earth Art wanted? Tomorrow is, as only Scarlett O'Hara would know, another day!
I was scheduled downstairs for my next shift, but I showed up at 4:15pm, and asked Gilbert if Art was in. He said, "Yeah, he is upstairs, I think he is waiting for you." Now I was worried, what could he want? I went upstairs, with a bit of tightening in my chest. Art was sitting in the empty restaurant, at the bar reading his newspaper, as if nothing was happening at all. I approached him by his left side and he spun towards me on the bar stool, as I stood there, facing him. "Hi Art, I am in early, like you wanted." smiling at him. I had worn a tuxedo jacket I had found at "Yesterday's News" with a man's tuxedo shirt and a black clip on tux bow tie, black trousers with a tuxedo strip down them, even a red cumberbun. He must have liked what he saw, as his eyes lit up. "Wow, you look very nice in that, Shawn." The 70's had the greatest liberation of fashion, and I loved mixing different styles, wearing various "outfits", like a look, a costume, an old style from the '40's, '50's, '60's brought forward, even mixing men's clothes with womens as a fashion statement. All done for a song, at Yesterday's News, which was my little secret. I blushed, as usual but was glad he got the look, and I said, "Thanks, Art, you wanted to see me?" He put down his paper, and asked me this, "How do you think you are doing at The Encore? I mean, do you like working here?" Uh-oh, now I was going to get fired, I was sure. "Yes, Art, I like working here, and the people are nice, too." That was all I could think to say. I held my breath. "Listen, Shawn, how would you like to be a bartender here?" the sound of those words were like he, the ex heavyweight boxer, hit me with his best shot. For a moment, I was stunned...what, a bartender?? I just looked at him like what he just said didn't get absorbed by my ears. " I, I, I don't know.." was all I could offer, but relieved I wasn't about to be fired. "Look, we need a bartender for upstairs and I want you to have the job, what do you think of that?" His face beamed with excitement offering me this postition. "But Art, I have never tended bar before, I mean, I don't know how..." I wanted to be honest with him. "Honey, I know, that is why I am going to make sure you are trained by the best in the business, Gilbert, downstairs. You'll come in for a week, work with him behind the bar, watch him during the day, learn all you need to learn from him, and he is the best this city has! Then start upstairs here, on a regular shift of 4 nights a week, you can still waitress, too, other nights, what do you say??" I could feel my cheeks burning with the redness of embarrassment, yet again. He seemed to have notice it, (how could you not!?) and asked, "What's wrong, don't you want to be a bartender?" How could I tell him? It was bad enough some of the men downstairs thought YOU were on the menu with the drinks. I put up with this night after night men looking at my chest, instead of my face, or pinching my rear, while the whole table laughed. I saw them stare at me, as if I was on display just for them, and it all gave me the creeps. But now, as I saw it, I would be on permanant display. Bars were like this, I told myself, just ignore it, I told myself, the other girls go through this, too, I told myself, and I convinced myself it was the way it was, and it didn't matter. But the truth was, it did upset me and I didn't like it. Art asked me again, "What is it? You can tell me, now, come on..." his voice was sweet, caring. Still I couldn't tell him that, so I said, and it was true, too, "How can I become a bartender, when there are so many other waitresses who have been here so much longer than me? It wouldn't be fair, and then they might not be happy and blame me, you know?" Art stood up. "You let ME worry about that, ok? Now, what else is bugging you?" he sat back down, lit his cigar and took a puff while I thought again. I couldn't tell him, what would he think of me? "No, Art, I don't want to, thank you but I am happy as I am now, please give it to someone else, ok?" He pushed his thick black curly hair out of his eyes, and he said, in Marlon Brandon voice, "Listen,Kid, I am making you an offer you can't refuse! I laughed out loud, and that seemed to calm my fears a bit. "You are helping your mother, right?" He asked me. "Yes" I said. "So, you need money, right?" I nodded again. "Bartenders get paid more, Shawn, so take the job." I thought about this, and it hit me that that would be a good reason to do it. I never saw any women bartenders here. I knew it was uncommon and maybe, if I could get over this sense of being on "display" maybe this could be something that would help me and the remnants of my family. "Ok, now, one more time, are you going to do this?" He was smiling, waiting with baited breath for me to say, Yes.He looked straight in to my eyes, staring, waiting. And I stood there,frozen. "Say it now, right now, what is it you are afraid of??" He could see I was holding back. His black eyebrows raised, waiting for my real answer. I took a deep breath and out came the truth, "Ok, this is what I am afraid of... I don't like being on display, ok? I know it kind of goes with the job but if I was a bartender it would be even more so, and I just won't feel comfortable." He stood up and said, "Is that it? That's what you are afraid of??" He laughed a bit and offered me this, "You take this job, Shawn, take it, and don't be afraid of nothing, ya hear me! I am gonna sit at this bar every single night you work, and if any asshole, any jag off says something off color to you, or even looks at you the wrong way, he'll have ME to answer to! Now, that's it, take the job, please." I thought about just how busy we get, how much running around he does from the upstairs to the downstairs but mostly he is downstairs and I had to ask, "How can you sit there every night when you have a whole bar downstairs to run as well?" He stood up, faced me and leaned into me, with assurity and a smile he said, " You trust me, don't you? I haven't steered you wrong yet, have I? You leave that to me!" I had to surrender now, he had conquered my every fear, and now all I had to do was say what he was waiting for..."Ok, Art, I'll take the job!" He shook my hand as if we had made a business deal and said, "Whew,(wiping his brow) You drive a hard bargain! Welcome aboard, Champ!" I had to laugh. Me, a female bartender...go figure?
(see video by Neil Diamond...Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon)

The Pittsburgh Phantom and Me, by Shawn M. Cohen. Copyright 2010. All events are true but some names have been changed for privacy. All video content is the copyright of the respected artists, musicians, composers and performers. No copyright infringement intended.

The Pittsburgh Phantom and Me by, Shawn M. Cohen

The Story thus far...most of which I didn't know upon my arrival at The Encore and meeting Art Swiden.... Just click on the videos on the right, one by one for the music that Art loved. He wore his side burns like Elvis in 1976, and he loved Elvis, Sinatra and Jazz. There are no need for words, as the songs say it all. Scroll up or down as the videos play so you can see the slideshow of newspaper clippings. All newspaper clippings are copyright to their respected newspapers and journalists and authors and the music videos are also copyright to their respected artists, songwriters and performers. No copyright infringement intended.
The Pittsburgh Phantom and Me, by Shawn M. Cohen. Copyright 2010.

Joni Mitchell - All I Want (Live) 1974

The Pittsburgh Phantom and Me by, Shawn M. Cohen

I worked my nights at the Encore, making more money and having a good time with the other waitresses. There was gossip about Art, as usual but I always found him helpful, funny and sweet to me, so I just ignored it and got on with my job. I went upstairs and worked the restaurant of the Encore in Shadyside, discovering that all the food was sent up by a dumbwaiter from the kitchen downstairs. This made for some hilarious episodes by the kitchen staff sending up joints instead of food, and all manor of goofing around! The girls laughed as we witnessed the series of funny things they would send up to us. Funny drawings, food that looked like body parts, you name it they did it in between the real food orders. I was enjoying the fun. People came upstairs to eat as an evening out, enjoying the quiet meals, mostly before the band came in. The upstairs bartender was one from downstairs. The bar was smaller and rectangular like the main one downstairs but half the size. Joni, Terry and I were working a Thursday evening when Art came upstairs to read the paper and smoke his cigar. It was mildly busy and he just seemed to want some space to chill out. I didn't think anything of this as I was busy serving my tables. I went to the service bar and asked John for my order. "2 Rolling Rocks and a Bud", I called to John as he came towards the waitresses' service bar. He nodded his head and went towards the small fridge to get them. Suddenly, the upstairs phone rang. John picked it up, saying, "Encore, Upstairs Bar, can I help you?" He looked over at Art and said in a low voice, "It's for you, Art." The phone cord reached over to where he was sitting at the end of the bar. I was still waiting on my 3 bottled beers for my customers when I heard Art's raised voice, "Leave me alone, I told you, we are divorcing now, don't call me at work!" He gave the phone back to John as if it was a snake and ruffled his paper as he sat down to read the Sports section. I was still waiting for my beers and John turned and said, with his hand on his head, "Oh, yeah, here's your beers, sorry, Shawn." I took them with their frosted glasses and put them on my waitress tray and said lowering my voice so Art couldn't hear me, "Is Art OK, what was all that about?" John said to me in another whisper, although the soft jazz music on the stereo sound system muffled our conversation, "Yeah, that's his wife, she torments him, he is getting a divorce but apparently she's a bit nuts and won't leave him alone." He rolled his eyes when he said this. "Oh, I didn't know that." was all I could say as I turned to serve my thirsty customers. The night went on. Art came back to the waitresses station in the back where the food came up from the dumbwaiter downstairs. Art had a playful grin on his face, seeing the marijuana joint left on the side, he said to Terry. "Where'd this baby come from?" He held it, smelt it as if it was a cigar. "The kitchen, where else?" Terry answered back laughing. Art looked at me, raised his eyebrows with a grin as I was taking off my food for my table. When the dumbwaiter was clear he winked at me and yelled down into the dumbwaiter using his lowered, gruff voice.."I better not find out who has been sending illegal substances up through this dumb waiter cos if I do, their fired!!" He turned to me and Joni, who was now back there and said, "Mmm, don't mind if I do!" and slipped it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. We all laughed and so did he. "I'm coming down there right now, ya here me!!" He was giggling like a naughty boy to us but scaring the begeezus out of the kids in the kitchen. You could just imagine them all scrambling for a story of defence! Meanwhile, it was the mid 1970's, everyone was smoking pot. I mean everyone but no one did it out and about. The hippy days and all it's music, the counter culture and it's Baby Boom in the '50's leading to the "Me Generation" which was now still going strong. I know because I was part of that and grew up in that. When the Doors were playing at the Civic Arena, my friends went when we were in 8th grade. The famous story was that they had older sisters who took them, and they waited for Jim Morrison to come out from the stage door. They waited for an hour, diligently, and they would not be disappointed. He appeared with a brown suede fringe jacket on and one of my friends...was it Reva, Robbie, or Rae-Gayle, I can't remember, grabbed a bit of fringe and yanked till it was firmly in their hand! The many nights we all went to the Civic Arena and saw The Moody Blues, Jethro Tull, Black Sabbath, Yes, The Who, during those years were still fixed memories in my brain. But how when the whole arena was high on pot, was another story! When we were all Usherettes at The Syria Mosque, a smaller venue for concerts ,and got the grand sum of $4.00 to usher in the first act, we could then sit and watch the main act anywhere there was a seat. This was to us, the best job in the world. Judi got me that job, and I got the rest on board. That went on most of High School so in 4 years time, we got to see a heck of a lot of headliners. While the whole arena was filled with the whiff of pot, we saw, Joni Mitchell, Crosby, Stills and Nash, sometimes with Young, Van Morrison, Jim Croche, and Carly Simon and James Taylor, (before they married) and so many wonderful others. It was a music lover's dream. One night Anne and I went to work to see the Bee Gees. Saturday Night Fever hadn't come out yet. We saw two seats in the front row and grabbed them after we had Ushered in our black skirts and white top uniform. We had changed quickly into our jeans and got our pay and were up front watching them. I reached my hand up, like we all did and Robin Gibb shook my hand! Afterwards, we went to eat in a restaurant within the Hilton nearby and guess who walked in to eat themselves? Yep, the Bee Gees. We tried not to stare, but God knows we did. It was a lot of fun. That era was clearly leaving. Soft rock would still have it's day, and here I was now working in a Jazz Club. Afterwards I might go out to the Gaslight, or a Disco with my friend Robbie, or now some of the other waitresses. That was my life, thus far. Reva and I would catch up on the telephone, which was always expensive. And there was little news of Glen. Mike had seen him not long ago, she told me, and he was thinking of leaving L.A and moving to San Diego. That was it, sadly, no mention of me. I was wearing my 1940's suits like an actress playing a part. The part of a grown up, who somehow was leaving behind whatever dreams and childhood I had and one evening my mother came to me again and said, "Please go back and see Dr. Rivers." We had another argument about it. I wanted to say, "Why don't you go and leave me alone!" But children didn't speak to their parents like that then. There was a line to how much you could say and how much you could get away with saying. In fact, it dawned on me that people don't often say what they mean or maybe mean what they say. My older brother finally showed up to mow the lawn. He was out in the hot early July sun and I did feel sorry for him. He said my father was living with this woman now. He couldn't say any more, because I might tell our mother, and she could use it against him in court. I tried to argue that this was all crazy and it had somehow fallen on me to take care of her. "Your Problem!" was all he could say, aloof and not interested, as usual. My sister would also be coming home. Living with her again was not what I wanted to do. I never got along with her and this summer her now coming home was certainly no exception. She must have felt the same way because she told me over the phone she would be moving into her own apartment when she came home. "whew", I thought, although I wondered where the hell she got the money from to do that? Meanwhile, the day came where I was again sitting in front of Dr. Rivers, the Episcopalian Minister turned Psychotherapist. The threat of never being able to use my mother's car again put me there. I was furious when I went. I had worked the evening before, and we were so busy, I hadn't had enough sleep, so I was cranky as hell at 11:30am. Now that I was serving the public at the Encore, I really saw no sense in wasting his time. "I have nothing to say, and I am sorry that my appointment will probably be as before, my mother made me come here, and said if I don't I won't be able to use her car. I need it for work." He commented this way, "This is your space to say what you feel, what you want to say, or just say nothing, either way, I am here for you." I didn't know where to put my eyes so I just looked down at my shoes most of the time. The time went slow but eventually I noticed there was about 10 minutes left as I was also watching my wristwatch. He asked me where I was working and I answered, "The Encore, waitressing." He asked me if that was a job I enjoyed, and I answered "yes, for now." He asked me if I had gone to college or were thinking about it because I was so young. Something in me when he asked me that question snapped, my face felt like it would explode in tears but I fought them back. I don't cry easily and when I did I certainly wasn't going to do it in front of him! But I thought I would just give him the low down of my life, and then I could just get out of there, there were 5 minutes left. "Look," I began, "I was dragged back to Pittsburgh kicking and screaming, ok? My father ran off with his secretary, a real piece of work, too, he is, always a bully, never nice to us but I told my mother you are better off without him and yet my mother is paralysed by it and by the way he left my mother with nothing, no money, took it all. Now she is on food stamps. She has never worked, only as an actress in local playhouses, which pay zilch! And get this, the secretary isn't even much younger, and she is ugly, too. My mother at least is beautiful! But I was 19 years old, had a great apartment in West Hollywood with my best friend from here, she and I went to Santa Monica City College, I get a call from my mother in mid March, as I was approaching finals, that I had to stop everything and come home! And home to what??! My parents hate each other, my older brother is a head case who beat us all up when we were kids, spoiled by my father but crazy because he has some fucked up problem! He has to touch things, anything, all the time, back and forth, could be a 100 times, but if you tell him not to do it, he hits you, see? And my sister who is about to come home now, oh what joy! She is a year younger then me, dresses like a man, talks non stop about a load of bull shit, non stop, can't stop. Even when I walk out of the room, she is still blabbing away...another nut case, so you see, why I am here, is a fucking joke! And my younger brother, the only one who I think is normal, he is 17, trying to finish high school, what hope does he have now?!!" Dr. Rivers did something after my rant that I never saw before...never saw a man do...he bursts into tears! He whiped them off his face and blew his nose with the box of Kleenex nearby but he could not stop crying. I was so shocked by this all I could ask was, "Why are you crying?" He cleared his throat and tried to speak, still crying, "Because your story is so sad, so upsetting. I could not help myself." Now I did not know where to put myself, was this my fault? "I am sorry I made you cry." I hopelessly offered. "No, Shawn, you didn't make me cry, your story touched me deeply and it is I who wonders why when you tell such a sad and painful story, that you don't cry." he blew his nose again. "I guess because I have heard it a million times, and because I am so used to it, it doesn't affect me like that, I don't know why." I was wondering why now. "Your brother who "touches" things, this is a form of mental illness, and your sister who can't stop talking, this is another form of mental illness. I know you see this, and now I am going to tell you something." I listened with intent, because here was someone who actually realized what I had been screaming to my parents for years but to no avail. "You must be an awfully strong person to have got through all that. And now, with the responsibility of what's left of your family falling on such young shoulders, how will you go on?" I didn't know, I didn't like it but I didn't know, so I just said, "I don't know, working and giving my mother what I can?" I offered quietly. "Shawn, it is not your responsibility to take care of your family. You are a young woman, a woman who should be in college, not picking up the pieces from your parent's divorce and your siblings lives." I sighed. I guess it was relief, because he seemed to be on my side. He was the only one who ever said this to me. Everyone else seemed to think this was what I was suppose to do. My mother, my father, my siblings and my Aunt. As if he read my mind, he added, "What about what you want?"

see Joni Mitchell's Video, "ALL I WANT" taken from her 1974 album above. It is also on the link on the right of this excerpt. All copyright of music to the musicians, singers and performers.
The Pittsburgh Phantom and Me, by Shawn M. Cohen. Copyright 2010. Excerpts taken from a book of the same name I am currently writing, a non-fiction memoir. All events are true but some names have been changed for privacy.

Boz Scaggs, "What Can I Say?" from his 1976 hit album, "Silk Degrees"

From his 1976 hit album:

more about "Boz Scaggs ~ What can I say", posted with vodpod

The Pittsburgh Phantom and Me by, Shawn M. Cohen

I walked into the Encore in Shadyside with a renewed feeling of hope. It was the end of June, I was ready for something better to happen. I was greeted by Gilbert who asked me why I wasn't at work for the lunch shift. "I'm now working nights, Gilbert." "Ok, Shawn, just glad you didn't leave, you hang in there, and I am sure it will all work out." Gilbert was a nice older gentleman, Jewish as well, with a family at home. He was like a rock to the other younger bartenders and waitresses working under him. A master bartender with a heart of gold. His shift would soon be over and the night time crew would be in. I was in at 4:30pm as Beatrice, the secretary had asked me. She called me and told me my new schedule at the Encore I. I would work 3 nights downstairs for the evening shift, 2 would be 4:30pm to start and one night I would come in at 7pm, after the cocktail hour. Then for 2 other nights I would work upstairs serving dinner, and that shift was 5pm to 11pm, with last call for food at 10pm but on the Saturday it would stay open to 11pm, and the upstairs restaurant closed by 12 midnight but the downstairs bar was always opened until 2:00am. So, I had a shorter shift when I was working serving food upstairs. It all seemed great to me. I knew it was better financially, and that was the reason to continue working there. I put my purse away, as tonight I was on the downstairs, serving cocktails and our live Jazz was by Harold Betters and his Quartet. He was a staple to the Encore and the people loved his band. I got my waitress tray, filled it with fresh cocktail napkins and clean ashtrays and took over from Fran who was leaving now. "The guy on table 3 is a cheap bastard, never tips,so don't worry about saving me a tip!" Fran said as she untied her black apron, grabbed her bag and raced to the door. "See ya, Gilbert!" she waved her hand and was off before Gilbert could reply, "yeah, see ya Fran!" I was the only waitress on for an hour, or two. I lit a cigarette and kept it by the service bar, which we all did. Gilbert made me a Diet Coke and I sipped it waiting for a customer to come in. I made fresh coffee, put away the lunch time salt and pepper shakers and made sure all my tables were ready for the cocktail hour. Gilbert was restocking the bar for the night time bartenders as a few of the daytime regulars slowly sipped their beers, watching the end of a baseball game on the TV. The TV was small and hung up by the far right of the bar, as you came in the door. Apparently, the Pirates were losing this game. I heard the announcer scream, "It's all over for the Pittsburgh Pirates today!" and the regulars that lingered to the end, slapped down some money and left. Gilbert cleaned his bar as usual, and rang the big cow bell behind it every time he got a tip. It made me laugh. "You gotta celebrate it, Shawn, when it comes in!" Gilbert leaned over the bar and whispered to me. He turned off the TV, put the music on from the radio which was an FM station with no adds. In walked the night time bartender, John, then right behind him Art. I looked at my watch and sure enough, it was 5:00pm, on the dot. There were no customers on my tables yet, and I stood by the waitress service area, wiping down the waitress trays for the other waitresses who would be in. Art slammed down his keys, a huge array of keys on a big key chain and handed them to Gilbert. "How ya doing, Gilbert? Give me a cigar." Art didn't look my way, he was watching Gilbert. "Here ya go, Boss." Gilbert handed him the box and let him choose. "Where's my night time waitress, Gilbert?" I smiled at Art, as I was watching him. "She's over there, Art, it's Shawn." Art stood there, lighting his cigar with a massive flame from his flick lighter, puffing on it to get it lit. Once he had it lit, he walked over to me. "I didn't let you down, now, did I?" he said with a big smile on his face. "Gilbert, give me a coke, will ya?" he turned to ask Gilbert. "No, Art, and I am very happy, thank you again." He turned back and looked at me, offering. "Tonight, if we are busy, you are gonna make some real money!" he said in his normal voice, then he changed his voice to a lower, deeper register and said, "I'm not here to hurt you, I'm here to help you!" This made me laugh. It was true that he could look threatening because he was so big, and with that reputation that always seems to precede him, but he had conquered that with a sort of "catch phrase", and that was it. He seemed to like me laughing at him, because he giggled himself. A couple came in and asked for a table, the hostess sat them at mine. They were all mine until Terry came in. "Now, go get 'em Tiger!" Art shooed me away towards them with his hands. "Ok, Here I go!" I went over and as charming as I could be, I welcomed them to the Encore, suggesting that it was indeed Happy Hour, and the drinks were 2 for the price of 1. "We'll have two Vodka Martini's please." said my customers. I asked, as a good waitress should, "Straight up or on the Rocks?" "Straight up for both, please." replied the male with an eager smile. "Olive or Twist?" I said while writing the order on my pad, which read, in bar shorthand," 2 VODMART ^, O" "Olives, please, and some nuts, too." "Thank you, Sir, very well, I shall be right back with your cocktails." And I put the slip down on the service bar for John to make. Gilbert was done, wished me ,"Good Luck", and as he left, crawling under the service bar to get out. Terry came sauntering in. "Hey, look who it is??! You finally got here!" she came over with a big grin on her face. Terry had long straight light brown hair, like me, only she wore hers down and I had mine pulled back in a pony tail. "Yep! I made it, at last!" I told her as I was putting the cocktail sticks in the olives, and then placed them in the 2 Martinis. "Be right back." She cracked a few jokes to John the bartender as she put on her waitress apron, and got her tray together. I delivered my customer's drinks and came back over. Art had disappeared, "probably upstairs having his dinner before the crowd comes in", Terry explained when I asked. Terry and I worked really well together. The night got busy and we were cracking jokes at the service bar, talking about our lives when we could and basically watching each other's back. When John or Daniel, the other bartender who came in at 7:00pm needed anything like appetizers or some more ice, we could relay it to the kitchen or the bus boys. Art sat at the bar, reading the newspaper with one eye peeled for any nonsense or problem. By 9:00pm when Harold's band came and had set up on stage for their first set, the place was packed. Now Art, like the rest of us were running on our toes. I heard him yell at a bus boy for not clearing a table fast enough. But he was always cracking jokes with the customers. Lenny Litman came in. Lenny was a writer for the Pittsburgh Press and their entertainment section. Art had mentioned this earlier and seemed nervous about it. But when Mr. Litman came in, Art made sure he had a free drink at the bar. He was an older gentleman. I remembered the name because my mother also knew him, I had guessed by the plays she had acted in and he must have written the reviews for. His name was more then familiar as a writer for a newspaper. "Lenny, how you doing?" I heard Art approach him with a big hand out to shake. I was serving a table nearby, and when I was done, Art signalled for me to come over to him and Mr. Litman. I walked over holding my empty tray smiling. "Lenny, this is our new girl here, Shawn, Shawn Cohen, the Irish Jew, this is Mr. Litman, please see to it he has anything he wants, ok? On the House!" Art was smiling and had put his arm around me when he said it. "Hello, nice to me you, Mr. Litman." I said, and turned to Art and said, "Yes, Art. I got it, whatever he wants, on the house." Art whispered right in front of Lenny, "Got to keep the press sweet!" and chuckled as he walked away. Mr. Litman looked at me and said, "Aren't you Peg Cohen's daughter?" I was shocked. How did he know? I just shook my head, "yes." "Oh, geez, I know your mother and your aunt for years! They worked at my Copa Club downtown, in the 50's before she married your father! I've seen many of her plays, wrote about them, too. She is a fine actress, please tell her I said,' Hello'." And with that, I just said, "Yes, Mr. Litman, I will." The red was hitting my cheeks again. That is where I had heard his name before. "Is there anything you would like from the kitchen, a nice appetizer?" I braved asking him. "No, sweetheart, just the drink is fine, thanks." He took out a $5.00 bill and handed it to me. "I won't be here long, just wanted to see the band for a moment so I won't need anything else, but take this anyway, and how is your mother?" I took his very generous tip and mustered a huge thank you and said, "Oh, she is just fine, I will tell her I saw you, and you said, Hello." "Good Girl, thanks." he replied and then turned to his left to watch the band. Art had gone off to do what managers do, see to the customers, help the staff who need it or just schmooze with the customers. He was always doing something like the rest of us. I went on to my tables and served them, thinking how weird that some of these people here know my parents. Terry asked me if I wanted to get a drink after work tonight. I was rushed off my feet and knew I had to get my mother's car home in one piece so told her I would definitely take up her offer another night. More local celebrities came in. Stood at the bar was a friend of Art's. I was busy with my tables and again, Art called me over. "Honey, I would like you to meet the one and only Billy Conn, he is a Heavyweight Boxer, like me...but I'm better!" Art was kidding with his friend. I had never heard of him but there he was, a tall man like Art. "Hello, young lady, nice to meet you." said Mr. Conn. Art had his arm around his neck and was pretending to hit him in the midriff, which Billy just stood there as if he was non plussed. The bartender came over and Art said, "Give Billy a whiskey on me, the good stuff now, top shelf!" Billy smiled at his old friend, "Thanks, Art." is all he said. "Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Conn." and I raced off to take care of my tables. I met Terry at the service bar and asked her who he was. "That's Art's old buddy, he was more famous than Art as a boxer, he made a title." I just said, "oh..." not knowing what that meant. "He comes in every once in a while." Terry continued as she dressed her drinks with fruit and straws." Harold told me a story once about him, and it goes like this, "Harold said, between sets one night, as he stood next to him at the bar, 'Hey Mr. Conn, was Art really as good as a boxer as they say he was?' and Mr. Conn just turned around slowly and answered,'You don't see me making any trouble in here, now do ya?!" I laughed and so did Terry. I got it, two boxing buddies. The night moved on. Art was always watching our backs, making sure we got our tips, knew when a new customer sat down, the night went by fast and furious and when it was last call, I had to admit, I was tired. It was nearly 2:30 am when the last person left. I was seated at the bar, taking a load off my feet, counting my tips. A whopping $75.00! Terry had cashed out and so had the bartender. Art was behind the bar, taking off the register. I was counting my tips out by putting a percentage to the bus boys (10%)and the bartender(15%) in their envelopes. Terry said her good-byes and said it was great working with me, and I agreed, we had fun. The register was done and Art counted up all the money. I went upstairs to use the ladies room before I was going to leave. I came down, purse in hand and said my good-byes to the bartender who was the only one there. I walked outside to the dark night. A big, black car pulled up right in front of the Encore and me. For a moment I was scared, then I saw it was Art! He opened the window and said, "How are you getting home, Shawn?" I was a bit startled but then said, "I have my mother's car tonight." He asked me where it was parked." Oh, it's just around the corner, in the parking lot." The outside light of the Encore had just gone out. All that was on was the street lights. "Get in and I'll drive you there." Art motioned with his hand. "No, its ok, it is only around the corner." I replied politely. Art looked away for a second and then said, "Listen, do you know where the bank is at the corner of Walnut Street, you know the Equibank?" "Yes..I do." I wondered why he asked me, surely he must know. "Well, I have to go there now and make a deposit, and it is late at night, and I am a bit scared, will you drive there with me?" His big brown eyes looked at me forlornly. I laughed and said, "How could YOU be scared to drive down there by yourself??!" He laughed back and said, "Em mes! I am!" (em mes was Yiddish for, "it's true" and I laughed at him, to my knowledge he wasn't Jewish, and he knew that Yiddish word.) He put on this act as if he was frightened. I did not know what this was about, but I gave in. He opened my door and I sat next to him. He put on the radio to a well timed Frank Sinatra song. He turned the radio up slightly and asked me, "Do you like Frank Sinatra?" I didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable and say the truth, that it was what my parent's listened to, so I said, "Yes." The song was "You Go to My Head". Art slowly drove up the empty street, and when we arrived at the bank, he said, "wait here." and I listened to Frank sing, "You go to my head and linger there like a haunting refrain, and I find you spinning round in my brain, " Art made the deposit, in the night box, with the Encore's takings for the night. He jumped back into the car and put the gear in reverse and backed out of the bank's driveway. "You can never be too sure, robbers out late at night!" I was sure he must be kidding, but just in case, I said, "oh, ok, true." The music and Frank continued, "The thrill of the thought that you might give a thought to my plea, casts a spell over me, Still I say to myself, get a hold of yourself, can't you see it never can be." Art drove behind the buildings into the Shadyside parking lot where my mother's Pontiac was sitting waiting for me. He didn't say anything else, just the music was on, and as he parked next to her car, the lyrics came in again, "You go to my head with a smile that makes my temperature rise, Like a summer with a thousand Julys, You intoxicate my soul with your eyes. Though I am certain that this crazy heart of mine hasn't a ghost of a chance in this crazy romance..." I thanked Art for the ride to my car. "You are welcome, " he looked at me, smiled right into my eyes, looked right into them and then said, "You did good tonight, Shawn, now get home safe, I will wait till your car is moving, ok? See you tomorrow night." as the last words of the song came back into my ears as I got out of his big black Chevy Impala..." You go to my head...you go to my head." True to his word he watched me as I started the car, and then I waved him "bye". When I left the parking lot I was still trying to figure out what that was just all about. Is Art so caring about his waitresses that he makes sure they all get home ok? It must be that, I reckoned, then turned on my own radio, finally listening to my own music. My favorite singer was on, Boz Scaggs, from his new album, "Silk Degrees" with his new song, "What Can I Say?" I was singing along to it all the way home.
(See Video above..."What Can I Say?" By Boz Scaggs.)

The Pittsburgh Phantom and Me, by Shawn M. Cohen. Copyright 2010. These are excerpts from my non-fiction memoirs of a book by the same name I am currently writing. All events are true only some names have been changed to protect people's privacy.