A Legend at Sixty: Larry Mongo’s Birthday Party
Especially since the arrival of The Marching Band!
Oh! The Marching band! Strange soldiers, grinning cheshire cats clad in vintage uniforms–blue and gold. I peek my head outside the window to see them coming down the sidewalk. Step. One. Two. Two! Two! Two! John Notarianni. What an eccentric leader! So much more the bohemian than public radio producer. Soon, he will stand inside a group of two or three people, cigarette dangling from mouth, eyes still marching in place. Now he leads his troupe through the door, grabs a seat, and in one leap hoists himself onto the bar, nearly knocking over a PP’s gin and tonic in the process. He is so tall. I am afraid his head will hit the ceiling
His men disperse throughout the crowd. The band begins to play.
When Jack takes the stage to sing Old Danny Boy, no one in the audience dare move. But never has there been a silence like this. Starry eyed–everyone of us. A man tries to order a drink. The other patrons give him a dirty look, and he backs down. Someone should be clapping or singing. No space to dance. What to do with a trombone pointed at your head? Cymbals to your left. It is the most perfect thing to be in a room full of close friends and acquaintances surrounded by live music. The circus has arrived! And we are inside the performance–a feeling all the more exhilarating because this isn’t staged. The band stops, and the crowd implores them to begin again. And again.
They play Happy Birthday. Our man blushes. Man.
Earlier in the evening I receive a phone call from John asking if the band can use our synagogue to change. He is thinking of making a surprise birthday appearance. He enters the bar at 10pm, and I hand him my keys.
Moments earlier Larry frightens the crowd with a trick of his own: He makes an arrangement with his new actor friend to stop in the bar as his one man hobo show (see Film Shoot). Hobo stumbles in click clacking with a trail of hobo junk and a brown-bag-bottle-of-something. Larry! Larry! Where’s Larry? I want my money. A crowd gathers. Larry approaches the intruder.
Larry: What’s going on here.
Hobo: I just got outta jail and I want my money.
Hobo: What d’you mean, you don’t know what I’m talkin’ ’bout? I want my money! (To a rooster) Move over!
Christine is restraining the slighted rooster. Trust me, Sir, we have it under control. Silence. The scene is tense. Hobo falls. Larry helps him up. Man, are you alright? You have to leave. Hobo, recovered from his fall, breaks Larry’s grip and rushes to the first booth. The roosters go wild. Poor Christine–Sirs! Stay back! Hobo is on fire! I want my money! I’m gonna get my damn money. Triumphantly, he lifts an orange cushion and throws it aside. A customer walks through the door. Seeing this scene, she turns around and heads back onto the street. I was in jail for years . . . I want my money! With that, Hobo draws a white treasure sack from the booth. Finally!
Before the the roosters have time to act, Larry and Hobo break into laughter and then hug. How could anyone imagine that Larry would be fooled on his birthday? It’s alright. This is my friend. The joke is on everyone else
The Marching Band arrives and even the roosters forget that they are angry and wounded. Larry, like everyone else in the room, is touched by the band’s magic–perhaps more so because this is his big day and this music is in homage to him. Inspired, he takes the mic and begins a long speech that ends with the lines: All of you in this room, you’re my new gang. The next day I congratulate Larry on his touching speech. Regina Pruss tells me that she and her girls, driving around in search of a parking space, pull over to listen. I share this with Larry. You mean all of Capitol Park heard that? Man, I always forget about that speaker outside.
The next night is my birthday, and I am thrilled because it is Cabaret Night and this means Robert Nelson is hosting. Pete, of Pete’s Gourmet Chocolates, brings me special birthday fudge and d’Mongo’s gives me flowers which I use to decorate drinks. It is the best birthday ever because so many amazing people are in the room. The Beekeepers’ Jeremy, Patrick and Pete are here. Of course Nancy and Robert are here with Robert’s entourage (Mr Posch, Mr Mistor, Mr Hurtienne, and a handful of attractive youths). Tonight I meet Eric Moss, just back from LA, who says there’s nothing on the coast like this. I also meet the famous Roland Legget–whose tie is something in print, but far more charming in person. Ryan Schimang shows up with a beautiful lady-Ryan always shows up with beautiful ladies–and Larry and I are pleased to show him our copy of Under the Influence: Detroit Issue. (Look for Ryan’s name in the magazine’s credits.)
Then Robert has had too much Jegermeister and feels me up in front of the first booth–steps away from where Hobo finds his money-sack. Robert tells the musicians they are being debbie-downers and makes them stop playing. But no one, not even me, cares because it is Robert and he gives such great advice!
I did not tell the musicians to stop playing, I merely informed them that since we are all here to have a good time, they should lay off the Debbie Downer-type music.
For the record-I think they are fine, fairly good looking and wonderful musicians. But at 2am we need a little pep or our booze buzzed brains will slow to a stop.