As a senior in high school, I worked nearly 40 hours a week at Marie Calendar’s, a restaurant near my house. I had worked there since I was 16, first as a hostess, then the cashier and at 18 I could legally serve alcohol, so I became a server. It was good money and I needed it, as I had received the gift of a bill of my portion of the rent and utilities under my door for my 18th birthday.
I didn’t have a car so I walked, took the bus or hitched a ride at the beginning of my shift but after, it was dark. Many nights, my coworker Mario was getting off his shift at the same time, so I would hitch a ride with him. We were often both wired after waiting tables and didn’t necessarily want to go home. I’d climb into the cab of Mario’s truck, still smelling of fettuccine Alfredo, burgers and pie, he’d slide a CD into the stereo, and we’d take a long drive into the hills. Mario drove along the winding roads of Turnball Canyon and for the next hour, give me an education in Jazz.
Mario was just a few years older than me. But he knew jazz music. Musicians from the 30s-50’s were his expertise. We might listen to Benny Goodman at Carnegie Hall one night and then Miles Davis, Kind of Blue album the next. Mario told me stories about each of the musicians, not just the band leaders but maybe a little ditty about Duke Ellington’s trumpeter Cat Anderson or that time Frank Sinatra did or did not sic the mob on Tommy Dorsey. But it was drummer Gene Krupa Mario just couldn’t get enough of. He’d tell stories of Krupa’s womanizing ways and we’d listen to various versions of Krupa drumming on the same song but years apart or in different arrangements. Mario pantomimed playing the drums on his steering wheel, dashboard and his parking tag hanging from the review mirror was always the crash cymbal.
I learned so much during the rides. Mario instilled in me my own love for jazz music, one which I sustain to this day, although I wish I still had a buddy like Mario to listen with.
Mario and I live miles apart now. We are both married with children. We try to remember to reach out on each other’s birthdays but November 13 is our holiday. Each year one of us will send a text reminding each other of the importance of the day: Odd Couple Day. "On November 13th, Felix Unger was asked to remove himself from his place of residence. That request came from his wife."
This week I published a few pieces:
At Ignatian Spirituality I wrote about this enchanting depiction of the Annunciation I saw in Italy
Best Reads of 2023 : I read over 50 books a year. I compiled a list of my favorite reads this year. Check it out. Perhaps you will find a new read too.