It is my sincere belief that if John F. Kennedy, Jr. were with us in 2008, he would share in the spirit of HOPE for our country under the brave, new leadership of Barack Obama. An argument might be made that John John’s Father and Uncle Bobby shared the dreams and aspirations of this new President, but a generation ago. I know they would be proud to see what is happening at the dawn of this new era in America‘s future.

One of life’s most vivid memories for me was when I watched little John F. Kennedy, Jr. salute his Dad’s horse drawn coffin, some 35 years ago this month. I was in fifth grade.

Sadly, on July 16, 1999 the universe took back John John, a man I had always hoped would regain his Father’s office on Pennsylvania Avenue. The Kennedy’s always cared about the little guy. I write in his memory with the hope that we, as Americans, can come together in these difficult times and support our new President with our words and our deeds.

Peace be unto you, Michael H. White, Past Chairman, TriCreek Republican Party

Mom And Dad were high school sweethearts who married very young. To support his beautiful wife, Dad joined the United States Navy right out of high school. His first duty station was Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, shortly after World War II. Two years later, I came along as their eldest child. I might look Caucasian, but I am truly a native born South Pacific Islander!Though he served in the Navy, my father’s most deep seated dream was to fly. Somehow, on his starting base pay of $29.00 a month, he saved $500.00 to buy a part interest in a small airplane. My earliest memory of life is sitting with my mother in Hawaii, watching my father fly back and forth above us in a little yellow airplane. I still smile when I reminisce of those very special and very innocent times.

I start with this, because it’s important to know that my “Navy brat” upbringing inadvertently has brought me my biggest strength for success in the restaurant business. You see, in military life families “pick up sticks” and move every two or three years. It is horribly difficult for the children of these families. They lose all that is familiar to them on a regular basis. However, it forces upon these same children a depth of personality unattainable otherwise. You see, when a child in these circumstances arrives to his/her next home, they are faced with the choice of making new friends or having NO friends! Because of these experiences

I, as an adult, can walk into a room with 500 people and find something in common to talk about with each and every last one of them. Considering that a front of the house restaurant employee meets hundreds of unfamiliar people each month, this has been, perhaps, the single most important element to my success (along with being honest, fast and clean).I remember crying uncontrollably as I said goodbye to friends & neighbors. In particular, I remember my sadness as I said goodbye to neighbors Danny & Barbara Turturro of Bay Shore, Long Island, New York and their children. The Turturro’s were really special people. Danny (er, uh MR. TURTURRO …sorry!) rode a motorcycle and taught me at an early age that you could stop the grass from growing under your fence by drizzling a little oil (he pronounced it “earl” and I always thought that was funny) where you didn’t want the grass to grow. . These were the days of daily milkman deliveries. Anyway, they were the only ones in the neighborhood who also had the milkman deliver soda pop! In the last hour of my last day on Idaho Avenue in Bay Shore, Mr. Turturro broke out the soda pop and told me how much they would miss me. It was a special time that I have always cherished. Minutes later, my best friend Charlie Sacco and his little brother Billy lit off firecrackers as I looked out the back window of the family station wagon and waved goodbye. L

A word about the Sacco family is in order. Mr. Sacco, religiously took his two sons to practice baseball every Sunday. Occasionally, my brother Tommy and I were included. I always admired Mr. Sacco’s dedication to his family and his expertise at baseball. He always knew just what sort of pitch to throw to strike out a batter and how the first baseman should wait until the ball is thrown to gauge his stretch for the ball. The guy was amazing. I also always knew Billy Sacco would be a great success in life because at the age of 6 years old he read the biography of Sammy Davis junior. It’s a thick book with small print, that even as an adult I would think twice before reading!

Victor Rossellinni, in the late 1970’s was perhaps the most respected restaurateur in Seattle. He ran THE restaurant, the crème de la crème, la piece de resistance, the best of the best. Only the very wealthy frequented the 410. We prepared steak tar tare and Caesar salads at tableside and served the very, very best Italian wines. What I couldn’t understand at first was that many of the customers were older gentlemen, mostly dining alone and they would stay all day long, apparently doing nothing, except taking an occasional phone call.

It all came into focus one night when I was called on to serve the private dining room, a task that generally fell to most senior captain.

Apparently, once a month, Mr. Colacurcio (not his real name) held “staff” meetings in the private dining room. In attendance that evening were 15 members of the Seattle Police Department and 15 members of Mr. Colacurcio’s crew. A few things about that evening stand out in my mind. Firstly, the Maitre Di’ instructed me “no entertaining, just professional, aloof service. Don’t talk to anybody except Mr. Colacurcio. Stay out of the room as much as you can. You will receive a huge tip.” I responded “that works for me!”

I polished the tableware immaculately and was well prepared for their arrival. I knew who the boss was because he sat at the head of the table. As the bus staff filled waters and brought bread and butter, Mr. Colacurcio motioned for me. “Pull the corks on 12 bottles of Montalpuciano. Then Bring us 30 tomato and fresh mozzarella salads. Then bring us 30 Filet Mignons, medium rare. We will finish with 30 lemon sorbetto’s and 30 espressos.” All I did was refill the waters, refill the wines, and cracked pepper on the salads and mostly stayed out of the room. Not a single person in that room said one word to me. None of the usual “my steak is too rare…my espresso is cold…can I have more ANYTHING!” They all just listened as the boss spoke. It was a dream party. At the end of the dinner, one of Mr. Colacurcio’s men asked for the bill, scribbled a signature, and pressed 5, 100 dollar bills in my hand and said “well done”. They had all arrived on time, left promptly, and required virtually nothing of me. I longed to serve them again, but alas, the senior captain wasn’t going to give that one up, and the next time I saw them, I just smiled. As a PROFESSIONAL waiter and as someone smart enough to understand his own self interest, I was obliged to maintain the “Godfather’s” confidentiality.

Kaskidian Group Home, a residential facility for mentally retarded children, located in Ellensburg, Washington, was the largest group home in the state of Washington and I was the youngest Director of same.

At 21 years of age, and fresh out of college, I poured all of my energies into making that place a success for it’s residents and staff. At Kaskidian, seven counselors, mostly students from Central Washington State College, provided a familial structure for 20 mentally/developmentally challenged children, ranging in age from 6 to 18 years.

I consider this as part of my food and beverage experience simply because I had to work with budgets and food costs to provide for the nutritional needs of the staff and residents, all of whom were live in. Food safety, cleanliness and preparing nourishment that was appealing to both the eye and palate, all within a budget, are all characteristics of every restaurant in the world.

If you don’t have cleanliness, nothing else matters!!!

The Captain Whidbey, located in the islands north of Seattle will always hold a dear place in my heart. It was my first real job where I got a real live paycheck. At 14 years of age, I started out at $1.05 per hour as a dishwasher and within 6 months I was making $1.35 plus tips and promoted to busboy. I was a really good dishwasher! Because of that, I rose up the ranks. I showed up on time and stayed until the job was done. I remember the Captain Whidbey as the place where I learned to mop floors. I had previously earned money cutting lawns and thought mopping floors was the same concept- back and forth, row after row- NOT! In mopping floors you don’t just go up and down in nice rows, but you must use “elbow grease” and scrub. This was also the place that introduced me to the “employee meal”. I got to choose from a few items, but I always chose the chopped steak. I never did figure out why they called it a chopped steak, since it was more like hamburger…but it was very, very good. I also noticed when I ordered it early in the shift it was better. I understood later that this was because early in the shift, the chef was still sober. He would drink & drink and drink–but he was a nice drunk and always treated me well. Here’s to looking atcha, Steven, CHEERS!

“I never eat sushi. I have trouble eating things that are merely
unconscious.” - George Carlin

My second restaurant job was at the C.U.B. at Washington State University in Pullman, Washington. Mostly I was a table busser, but I was a GOOD table busser and one day when the athletic department was sponsoring a big shin dig for football coaches all over the PAC 8 (now the Pac 10), I was asked to work in the kitchen, because the bosses knew I was dependable, apparently a quality not shared by all of their student employees. I still remember the magical feeling I got when I saw the Chef making watermelon baskets and asked if I could help. That little bit of initiative was rewarded with more hours than I could really handle as a full time student as well. But it taught me an important life lesson. Specifically, take the bull by the horns, go for it. There are people out there who are proud to share their skills and occupations with those of us with a desire to learn. You don’t need to be in a professional apprentice program to become an apprentice. I must have played to the Chef’s ego. He was thrilled that somebody wanted to learn a skill from him. Ever since, I have never shied away from asking people to teach me. Good leaders are honored to share their skills that you are curious about and want to learn.

This curiosity of mine (along with a healthy appetite) also made me a lifelong friend of the mother of one of my college roommates. That summer I visited Forrest Fred Jordan and his family in Tacoma, Washington. Fred-O’s mother was of Japanese descent (and a superb cook) and his father was a World War II army veteran. Anyway she left Japan, came to America and poured her whole essence into her family; but I digress. Though I didn’t know it at the time, Fred-O’s mother was honored that I loved her food. Long after the meal was over, I would sit in the kitchen and Mrs. Jordan would keep cooking for me, teaching me along the way what she was doing and just how to replicate it. These lessons served two functions. Firstly, they filled my bottomless pit. But perhaps more importantly, they taught me a skill that made me a hit with new girlfriends. I could whip up an exotic Japanese dinner like they had never had before–and that ability, in and of itself had rewards… J !!!

                                                                        www.flickr.com

One day, my youngest daughter came to me with a suggestion to build a website based around my life experience in the restaurant business. Bless her heart, she took part of her birthday money and gave it to a family friend who builds sites for a living, to cover the expense of the domain name, hosting, etc. So, as a hobby, here I sit, recounting my 40 years in the business. ALL proceeds generated (if any) will go towards her college education. She wants to attend Notre Dame. YIKES!!!

I have had lots of friends & customers at the restaurant asking when my blog would get going.  Well, I busted my ankle, had surgery, and am now in the recovery mode.  No time like the present to make something good arise from an unfortunate incident.  Here goes, my friends…

On the evening of Thursday, September 25, 2008, as is my custom, I took the dogs out for a walk after work.  It’s pleasant for me, and Caesar Milan, “the Dog Whisperer” claims it’s a must do for dog owners.  It is a simple way to enhance the quality of life for your dogs.  They get to experience new sites, new smells, new sounds, etc.  I try real hard to make it a part of my routine.

To make a long story short, I slipped on wet grass and insted of catching myself on my hands, I maintained control of the leashes and was injured.  But that’s not the whole of it.  Things just got worse.  A passerby, good samaritan type offered to take the dogs home while the ambulance was en route.  I handed him the leashes and voila… the big dog, Buster flipped out and got loose from his halter.  Yikes.  Two squads and an ambulance arrived and Buster was not about to be subdued.  Meanwhile, one of the young officers took it upon himself to begin macing my dog and prevented the ambulance crew from attending to me until that “wild dog” was under control.  A supervisor went to my home and got my wife, Claudia, who was finally able to get Buster into her car for the trip home.  SO depressing.

As the ambulance headed to the hospital, I was just totally freaked out.  I don’t get hurt often and I never go to hospitals!  But from the very start, I accentuated the positive.  I have good insurance.  I have a loving wife and daughter.  And after a while I realized that I knew a good, slash that, GREAT foot surgeon whom I had the good fortune of meeting at the restaurant.  Though the E.R. doctor was recalcitrant, I insisted that he contact Dr. Jim Meade before I would commit to further treatment.

God bless him, Dr. Meade actually answered the phone at 4:00 a.m. and to the astonishment of the E.R. doc knew exactly who Mike “the waiter” was.   i was sent home with new crutches and a make shift half cast with instructions to call Dr. Meade’s office that day.

Fast forward 7 weeks.  Recovery proceeding well.  Now that I don’t hurt 24 hours a day, i need to make lemonade from these lemons that life threw at me.  You see, EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON!