Lost and Found

Boy, you never knew what might show up in the "Lost and Found"department. Lost and Found is an intricate part of any hotel's operation.What an interesting collage of junk! Of course, as the old saying goes,"one man's junk is another man's treasure".There were the usual assortments of shampoos,toothpastes,some very unique underwear,robes,shoes,shirts, blouses,pants, jogging outfits,deodorants,condoms,combs,cell phone chargers,pornographic magazines, razors by the dozens,family pictures, newspapers,jewelry,sometimes there was money, and of course,breasts.Yes,you heard me right. I will get back to that item in a few minutes.

Those of you who read my earliest,clumsy attempts at blogging know that I don't like to use a dictionary, but I prefer to decipher a meaning of a word or phrase by common sense. I like to relate the word to life experience and find a meaning that makes literal sense to me. The operative word here is "Cross-Dresser"Come on, I am a Wallace kid, what would I know about such things.So, what is a cross-dresser?Obviously, it must be some type of religious person,right?I mean,taking the two components of this word,cross, and dresser, I could only think of a priest, or perhaps a nun.Or maybe a Christian who wears a cross on their lapel, or maybe a nice piece of jewelry, or maybe a professional baseball player who wears those three hundred pound chains while pitching. Or maybe it was the guy who strode up and down Aurora Avenue day after day with a huge wooden cross strapped to his back yelling that the end is near.I don't know, maybe there was one other definition. Let's see.

It was a regular kind of guy who checked in that April night.Regular meaning he wasn't dressed in gang clothes, wasn't carrying a pager,and had proper ID and the mandatory credit card.All seemed okay. I was working th long day, meaning about sixteedn hours that day. I soon forgot this particular guy, and went about business as usual.The night wore on, the hours tickd slowly by.

My back was turned to the door, and I was occupied doing some reservations on the computer when I heard a ladies voice say"Hi, remember me?" I turned around, expecting to see some lady that I had either checked in before, or least someone I knew from the past.No, I did not recognize the person standing in front of me. She was tall, and kind of broad shouldered. She was smiling at me , her eyes hinting some sort of mischief was afoot. I again scanned her face, and that was when I realized that there was something different about this"lady". She had a five o'clock shadow!She spoke again and said"remember, I checked into room 112 this afternoon?" Yes,I remember checking a man into Room 112 this afternoon, but this person looked nothing like him. She, He, was laughing by now.

Noting the look on my face, she then proceeded to tell me that every few months a group form Portland came to Seattle for a convention of men that like to dress up like women. OK, I don't care, whatever floats their boat is fine with me. My girls,housekeepers, loved cleaning those rooms after these "conventions' I heard all kinds of stories about dresses, garters,etc. left behind in the rooms.You never knew what they would find. I mean, you ,REALLY,never knew what they would leave behind.! next

The next afternoon after my guest had left,I was down in the back office when one of my housekeepers,Vanessa came into the office with a the biggest grin on her face.",Hey Boss,close your eyes and hold out your hands." Now, Vanessa was known for her pranks, so I was a little reluctant to comply.She insisted again, so I with trepidation, closed my eyes and held out my hands.I was sorry that I did, for in my hands were two perfectly formed breasts. They were so life like that it was spooky. Vanessa was laughing her head off at the incredulous look on my face.

"What room did these come from?"I managed to croak out. Room 112 was her answer. Well, there was only one thing to do, so, I dutifully logged them in the lost and found book, and placed them in the closet. I figured that was the end of the matter.After all, who would call for them, and what would they ask for if they did call.The answer came about one week later."Hi, this is----------, I was in room 112 last week, and I left something in the room." Struggling to keep from choking , I asked in my professional voice"and what item did you leave, sir?"You guessed it."I left my two breasts in the room."Now, I ask you, how do you reply to this?"They are very expensive",he volunteered."Could you send them to me?"

Well, that was our usual custom, so I said we would. I boxed them up, went to Mail Box Etc,and said I wanted to send a package. The clerk went through the usual anything breakable, or explosives, or anything made of glass? I answered no to each question and then blurted out"Just a couple of breasts."

Sorry, I don't have any pictures to post this time like I did with the Chicken Man or the Little People.Just another day on Aurora Avenue.

With a chick chick here and a chick chick there

Yep this hotel was never lacking for excitement because of the location on Aurora Avenue.Sure, there were some normal people out there, and my hotel had very nice guests as a whole, but one never knew who or what might come wondering in off of the street.It might be a gang member, once we were invaded by the Crips from Los Angeles, or it might be one of the many dealers, or it might be a hooker, or it might be just someone down on their luck looking for a handout. It might even be an NBA player for the Sonics,I won't name names, but that did happen once,He was the center for the Sonics and stood at 7ft 2inches tall. Wow, you should have seen him trying to get though the door!Or it might be a human chicken,you just never knew.

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon, and I was back relaxing in my small apartment, just off from the front desk, It was very rare here to catch a break, and I was really enjoying my down time. Linda, my wonderful assistant manager was on the desk. Usually,Sunday afternoons were very quiet, a time for the desk to catch up on paper work, read the Times, or just relax. This Sunday afternoon appeared to be no different. Linda was reading a book, and was engrossed with it when the door opened, sending the greeting bell off.

Linda casually put down her book, and was ready to go into her greeting, when she glanced up. What she saw made her mouth drop down to the floor,probably her heart,too. For there in the doorway stood a human chicken.Yes, a human chicken, at least she thought it was human. It was either a human or Colonel Sanders had been sent back to this earth as a giant bird. As Linda gasped for something to say, I mean, what do you say to a six foot tall bird?,the creature sank down on one of the lobby chairs.It spread out it's wings, and seemed to pass out. Struggling to find her voice, Linda finally managed to croak out"You can't stay here, you will have to leave,NOW!"The Bird Man rose to his feet(or whatever they were), and stumbled back towards the doorway. Opening the door, he(it)fell down to the sidewalk in front of the hotel. By this time ,Linda was on the phone calling 911.This was where the real fun began.

Imagine if you will for a minute trying to explain to the dispatcher this particular situation."Yes, this is the Emerald Inn, and I need an officer to our hotel".Dispatcher"what is the problem, Miss".
Linda"there is a six foot tall chicken man who has fallen down in front of the hotel"By this time the dispatcher was laughing so hard that she could hardly talk.Linda heard her talking to an officer in the background saying"some crazy person is on the line saying there is a human with chicken feathers on him ". More laughter erupted on the other end of the phone. A police officer came on the line and asked Linda if she had been drinking.Linda indignantly retorted that she was indeed not drunk.They finally agreed to send officers to the hotel.Then Linda called me to alert me to this rather unusual happening.

Finally, three police cars arrived at the scene. We found out later that they had sent extra officers because they thought that they had a mental case on their hands.Only they thought it was Linda that they would be hauling to to the funny house.Soon, they found out that Linda had been telling the truth,for there,spread out on the sidewalk was a human figure totally decked out in chicken feathers,complete with wings.By this time the officers were laughing so hard that they were doubled over in glee. One of the officers approached the Bird Man, and delicately tapped him with his boot. Suddenly, Bird Man rose to his feet, and started flapping his wings. I wish that I had a camera to capture the stunned look on the officer's face. He jumped back like he had just been bitten by a rattlesnake.Bird Man then bolted for the sidewalk, northbound on Aurora Avenue.

Now, the officers did not know what to do.They quickly discussed if it was against the law to walk around with bird feather glued to your body. Nope, they concluded, it was not. No laws had been broken, One of the lady officers on the scene decided that she would tail behind him for a bit, just to observe.

We never knew the fate of the Bird Man,nor did we ever see him again. Maybe the Little People got him. Who knows. Just another day on Aurora Avenue.

85Th and Aurora-The Leprechauns

I loved hotel management. It was my life, my passion, and oh, was it ever funny sometimes.The year was 1997, and I accepted a management job at a small, but very nice property in Seattle, I was jacked because it was a perfect situation for me. I would be doubling my income, and would have total control of the property,something most owners are not willing to do. Yes, it was a perfect job, except for one thing.This property was located at one of the most notorious intersections in Seattle,85Th and Aurora. The place that drew druggies,hookers,the mentally challenged, and gangs.Why the owner had built here, I don't know, but the property stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the other tiny motels that catered to the dealers,hookers, and other assorted folks.



It was here that I had some of the funniest things happen in my entire hotel career, and believe you me, I thought I had seen it all in 25 plus years.Not!Aurora Avenue educated me like no other place since The Bronx.Where to begin?So many stories, so many characters, so --well, here we go.



My first guest that I will introduce to you was the "Leprechaun".So, you say you don't believe in Leprechauns, well you will when I get through.He appeared to be normal,normal being a relative term on Aurora Avenue.I checked him in myself, and found out he was a construction workers from Chicago looking for work in Seattle, This was very normal for the time because Seattle was booming. I assigned a nice room to him, and basically forgot about him for the time being.He was going to stay for a week, and I didn't' see him again for several days. One night he stopped by the desk when I was working, settled in a chair in the lobby, and began talking. I really enjoyed talking to my guests, it was the best part of the job. I had met thousands of interesting people in my career like Ray Charles,Ricky Nelson,Crosby,Stills, and Nash,senators, etc to miners,loggers,ladies of the evening, and on and on. I loved it all. So this guest whom I will call Bob began a casual conversation about the state of world affairs.



Everything was going fine, and I volunteered that I had read a fascinating book about how the banks, governments, politicians, etc were all controlled worldwide by a small group of enormously wealthy families like the Rothschild's,etc. And basically,they controlled when wars were fought, between whom wars were fought, what countries got what goods, and that the whole world were just pawns in their hands. It was a great conspiracy theory. I said to Bob that I kind of believed in this conspiracy. All of a sudden, Bob was no longer a normal guest, His eyes became tiny in his head, his face became red, his breathing rapid, his fists clenching at his side.

He looked me straight in my eyes and said"so, you know about the conspiracy?"I nodded in agreement, thinking he was referring to the book I had told him about.Yes, I answered, I know.

He stood to his feet, and said that not many people knew about the"conspiracy", and how did I know about it? By now alarm bells were going off like crazy in my head. What did I have here? What had triggered this sudden change in this what I had thought was a normal guy?



"So, you know about it?", he once again asked me. By this time I was moving slowly backwards , inching towards something I could use for a weapon should that become necessary.Taking another step towards me Bob asked again"so, you know about the little people?"WTF was he talking about?The Little People?What little people, I asked, now fully realizing that I was not talking to someone whose elevator went to the top floor.'The little people who are controlling the world". Bob said. Of course, the little people, how could I have been so ignorant to not know about the little people who were taking over the world?



Speaking in as calm voice as I could, I asked Bob how the little people were taking over the world.His answer made a lot sense."They look for people who are tall, cut off their legs and put them on themselves"Of course, now it was clear as sparkling crystal to me.Bob then said that the Little People had been chasing him all over the country because he knew about them.Trying to keep him at bay, I asked if he had gone to the authorities.Of course he had. He had gone to the FBI in Chicago, but he found out that they were all Little People, and now the entire FBI was after him.Looking me straight in the eyes, Bob then said"maybe you are one, too."Now, I am not a giant, but I was six feet tall and weighed at that time 210 pounds, so I didn't think that I was a a little people. "No", I quickly assured him. I was not one of them.Bob then said I had better be careful because I was in danger of losing my legs if "they"found out that I now knew about them.



Well, I had had about enough for tonight, so I told Bob that I had some accounting to do . Bob take that gracefully, and told me that we would talk more later.Sounded good to me.I went in and called a a lady friend of mine and told her the story. I asked her, she was an internationally known psychic, if she had ever heard of such a thing. She said of course she had, and that Bob was talking about Leprechauns. I then asked the obvious question"don't tell me you believe in Leprechauns?"Of course they are real she assured me. Now, I felt totally crazy. Maybe there were things I didn't know about how the world was run, Maybe the Little People were real. Maybe I was in real danger.Or, maybe the whole world had gone insane and I was the only sane person left.



I never engaged Bob in conversation again, Every time that he came into the lobby I pretended that I was extremely busy. After a few days, Bob got the hint that he was not really wanted there anymore and check out. He moved to a little shanty of a motel down the street that catered to people who were not playing cards with a full deck. I never saw him again.



But now I am aware. Now I know who really controls the world.You, too beware.The Little People might just be watching you.Stalking you,ready to cut off your legs. You have been warned. Be afraid, be very, very, afraid

The People-Part 2

Yes, the people of the Bronx are hearty people.They have to be to survive.Money is scarce,crime is high, and the living conditions are somewhat below standard. The Bronx section of NYC is very high density, and the people are stacked up like sardines in a fishing vessel.Space is everything,green space is almost non-existent, and every inch is fought over.I met a life long New Yorker that had never even left the confines of the City. When she found out where I was from she told me that her life long dream was to roll around on a green lawn. She then asked me a question that I was asked more than once by New York natives."Why did you leave trees and lawns to move here?"The answer was always the same, I was living a life long dream to live in New York , And, I always received the same incredulous look that if translated would read"you are totally insane"Maybe I was, but oh well, I was living my dream.I was doing it "my way".

Well, the Bronx had nothing on the people of Burke in the old days.Burke had a very dense population, the people were very hearty, they had to be to survive. Money was hard earned,the living conditions were below standard, and you had to be tough because a fight could and would break out at any time in "downtown Burke".The houses set on top of each other, stacked yo the hills, and the space between the homes, well, just like in the Bronx, you could hear everything going on in your neighbour's home.Even the house that we lived in when I was four was so close to the one next door that when one burned down, they all burned down, and that was what happened to ours a few years after we moved to Wallace.An entire neighbourhood was wiped out in one night as fire roared unchecked.This, too was just like the Bronx.Whole blocks could be wiped out with one shot.And wiped out they were.If you walked just a few blocks from where I lived on Gerard Avenue, you see burned out building after burned out buildings.
Sometimes you would thing that you were in the middle of the worst was zone that you could imagine.

Well, take a walk through Burke today. Maybe that is what fascinates me so about Burke, It looks much like the Bronx looked in the Eighties.You see what once was, and you wonder about the lives of the people who called it home. You see numerous foundations with nothing left standing except the ruins of what once was a home. I have told more than one person that if the Burke Canyon was in the Bronx, it would be called the worst ghetto in the area.

Another similarity about the people of the Bronx and the people of Burke is the ethnic about mixtures . The Bronx was about as colorful as you could get.Customs and cultures were very diverse, and you hear every language under the sun. The early settlers of Burke were the sane way, the exception being the lack of African Americans.In the Bronx, which was dominantly Blacks mixed with Haitian,the people proudly displayed their dress, music, and language.I love hearing the boom boxes at night, and seeing the beautiful combination of skin tones. Burke had its own diversity in the early days, as Italians, Irish, Germans, and French blended with one another in one common goal,Survival. They were drawn together in the shared experience of providing for their families in the best way they knew how, mining.Life was hard, and they shed their cultural differences when disaster stuck.

You see, all of us are the same. We want to live, survive, play work, breed,grow, and nurture our spirits. We are all connected. We are one race, the Human Race.When we out aside our differences we find that the similarities far out number the differences.

Next-The Bronx rises from the ashes-a new beginning.

The People

Just to clear up one point that maybe needs clarification, I loved living in the Bronx.Yes, it was scary,it was dangerous, it was dirty, and it was wonderful!The night I left to come back to the Northwest, I vowed that I would soon return and once again live there.I have never been back, and now, with the illness that has incapacitated me, I might very well never get back,for it takes a lot of energy to live, work, and play in NYC.Energy, that was one of the main attractions for me.You run,don't walk, or you risk being run over by the throngs of people,cars, and buses.When the lights in the crosswalks says"Walk". it doesn't mean"walk", it means you had better sprint, for the cars don't stop for red lights.



Why, you ask, do I love it there, with all of the blight, the crowds, the crime?Because with the possible exception of the Silver Valley, you will never meet more genuine people.What?Yes, you heard me right, the people in the Bronx are some of the most real people that I have met, and I learned to respect them for what they are. Manhattan, with all of it's spender, is not like that.LA is not like that. Seattle is not like that.The Bronx is special because the people know who they are, what they are, and they never pretend otherwise.It is the underbelly of a great city like NYC that makes it what it is. It is not the magnificent high rises, the parks, the financial institutions, the concert halls, the ball parks, the theaters, it is the people who live in the underbelly that make a city.



One very rainy day I was on my way to an interview in Times Square, and I was on Tenth Avenue.My ankle suddenly did a 360, and I found myself sprawled face down on the sidewalk. My ankle was swollen twice it's normal size, and my suit was soaked.Not one well dressed suit offered to help me, but instead they stepped over me like I was dog-poop in Central Park.I needed help in getting up, and there was no one to help.Out of the alley a young lady came running out to me. She was very slight of figure,her clothes like rags,her face and hair caked with dirt.She was the perfect caricature from a Charles Dickens novel.Oh God, I thought, I was about to get mugged.Her dirty face peering down at me, she said"I saw you fall,Mister, and I can't believe that no one helped you."Her skinny hand then reached down, enfolded itself into my hand, and gently, and lovingly helped me to my feet. I at least expected her to ask for money, a practice all too common in the City, but instead, her face beamed with the look of an angel, and she ran off back to her alley as quickly as she had appeared.She didn't even wait for a thank you.



She, too, lives in my heart and mind, and I will never forget her.I have more stories about people like her that I will relate later, but I will close for now with this thought.One finds the love of God in the most unexpected people and places.NYC has some of the most elegant churches in the world.I am sure some of the members of those churches were the ones stepping over me. But, the face of God was found in that ragged little girl.God bless her wherever she is today.

Burke Versus The Bronx-Planes,Trains, and Automobiles

The first thing that you so when you move to NYC is to get the subway or train schedule.This is your Bible, and you must learn how to read it and memorize it. If you do not take this lesson to heart, you are in very deep do-do.Why? you ask. Because if you don't, you might just take the wrong train and end up in the Bedford-Styvesant section of Brooklyn. Believe me, you do not want to end up there as I did one night.This is the mean section whose streets produced such people as Mike Tyson.

In the South Bronx, you want to know the "D" train, for it is the one in front of Yankee Stadium that gets you from the Bronx to mid-town Manhattan.Riding the D train can be a great adventure, and it is not for the weak of heart.Just waiting for it in the station is not for those who scare easily.Many commuters have been the victims of a fun game they play there. It is called"push the innocents down to the tracks in front of an incoming train"Great fun,isn't it?
I will write more later about riding the trains in the Bronx,but for now I will return to something more familiar to you, Burke.

Yes, Burke, where trains were once as important there as they are in the Bronx today.Bronx has a history of violence on their trains, and so does Burke, but Burke had something that the Bronx does not have, and that was a train that ran right though the lobby of a hotel.Yes, the famous Tiger Hotel,comes complete with dining,rooms,a bakery, and its own train.And New York thinks it is sophisticated!New York has the Waldorf, but Burke had the Tiger, or as it was fondly called by the locals"The Beanery"

Imagine this, if you can,and is hard for those of us who never saw it, a three story hotel with 150 sleeping rooms in Burke,Idaho. I have spent most of my adult working years managing or working in all capacities in hotels from Seattle to LasVegas. I have seen many room patterns, numerous lobbies geared for the soothing of the guest's weary bones and spirits, by I never worked a property that had these wonderful amenities. For through the lobby of the Tiger Hotel flowed a creek, a road, and a railroad track for the Northern Pacific Railroad!My, how I would loved to have written the brochure for that hotel!

So, you see, the Bronx and Burke not that all different.The trains of Burke were the sites of some of the most violent days in Western lore, and the trains in the Bronx were the scenes of some of the most disgusting murders.NYC has some of the most renowned hotels in the world, but none can match the history of the Tiger Hotel in Burke.

Unfortunately, I was born after the Tiger Hotel was torn down, but my Dad stayed there as a young man, and from him I can live those days just as if I had been there. The rate? A whopping $30.00 per month,meals included!-

Next-the people who rode the trains in Burke versus the people on the D train in the Bronx.

Burke Versus The Bronx-Part 4-continued

As I turned to meet my fate,expecting the worst,I was greeted by a smiling Latino face. He pointed to my Kool, and I realized that he just wanted to bum a smoke.Hands shaking,pulse pacing 100 beats per second,I reached into my pack and offered him a smoke.He smiled, shook the pack, and gratefully lit up what later would become my personal slow death sentence.

We sat silently for a few moments, the acrid smoke rising slowly in the dark,stale,Bronx night.The cigarette oddly became the "peace pipe" bridging the polarity of culture and language.He could not speak one word of English, and I could speak no Spanish.The gulf would have normally been too wide to bridge,but not this night.

An understanding began to slowly and delicately unfurl. He seemd to sense my fear, and I began to sense more to this young man than that of just being another Bronx gang banger.He pointed to a step and said the word in Spanish. He then pointed to me indicating that I should repeat what he had said. I did so. He then ponted to something and asked"English?"And on and on and on we went.He seemed to never grow weary of our mutual vocabulary lesson.

Then the laughter started. Laughter,the human bond that needs no translation,knows no cultutural boundaries, and weaves a common thread that paves a road leading to shared,spiritual healing.

I had a new friend. No,I never saw him again ,but he lives in my mind and heart. I wonder if I do in his.

The kid from Wallace, and the kid from the Bronx,bound together with the gift of laughter.

Burke Versus The Bronx-Part 4-Two Acts of Kindness

There is nothing like the calm following a hard rain in New York City.The rain had followed thirty plus days of torrid heat and unbearable humidity.Yes, my timing was right on as usual for I had arrived in the Big Apple in the midst of one of the hottest summers in NYC history.Lucky me.





If you have never spent a summer on the East Coast or the deep South, well, you don't know what you are missing.So. I will tell you in one word.'SWEAT" I lost twenty pounds that summer.


We Northwest folks are just not cut out for the avalanche of moisture that cascades down your back,forehead,legs, everywhere and anywhere.In another chapter I will tell you about my interview at one of the leading hotels in the world and what I looked like that afternoon after my first subway trip and walk through muggy Manhattan.





The night of the refreshing rain, I ran outside my Bronx apartment to cool down after a one hundred degree day.The sound of the rain came like the sound of the dinner bell calling the workers of a farm field to eat after a day of plowing under the midwest sun. It was like the joyful ,melodious ditty of the ice cream truck coming to your neighbourhood.It was even better than the bell sounding at Wallace Junior High after sitting through Mrs. Stocks home room.


Well, you get the picture.It was a welcome sound.





Of course, going outside at night in the Bronx is not for the faint of heart and neither is it for anybody with a brain that works.I fell somewhere in between these two criterias.I didn't care.I just wanted some relief from the torrential downpour of sweat.



As I joyfully bounded down the five flights of stairs like a kid on Christmas morning, I knew where I was heading.The Stoop.The place where all NewYorkers congregate to socialize,smoke,drink java,and contemplate their navels.



I decided on a place about half way down the stairs.Not being totally brain dead(see criteria above)I could get the relief I craved as well as a position that left me free to run like crazy if one of the South Bronx gangs were patrolling Gerard Avenue looking for an easy mark.(see definition of a kid from Wallace,Idaho sitting alone in the South Bronx at night)



Lighting up my Kool King ,I inhaled,breathed in the semi fresh air. I closed my eyes for a moment and reflected on the fact that life was okay.I didn't see him or hear him coming, but suddenly there he was,sitting down beside me,my worst fear come true,a Bronx street punk.

It was too late to run. My heart pounding,my legs shaking, and the proverbial galaxy of pictures of my entire life flashing before my eyes,I turned to meet whatever fate destiny had assigned me.

To be continued.