I am Mike the Waiter

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, 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