On Saturday, I did something I don’t usually do. I went to the beach with Chris and our friends. I think we were there for 23 hours. OK, it was only 6 hours but it felt like considerably more than that for me. Truth be told…I had a great time. At one point during the day, we got into a discussion about music and concerts. I couldn’t resist telling my favorite story about Christine, her persistence and how it paid off.

Years ago, I often travelled to San Francisco for business. There was a conference there that was sponsored by the investment firm, Montgomery Securities (now Bank of America Securities). I almost always attended the seminar. It was one of the year’s best and most fun. One year, before we married, I brought Chris. During the day, while I was tied up in meetings, she went out to explore the city’s finest shops. At night, we attended Montgomery’s events. At one seminar, they sponsored a speech by Colin Powell on one night and then on the next night, a concert by Boz Scaggs. Invariably, there were equal parts fun and work.

On this trip to San Francisco, I decided to swing by to see a friend of mine, Johnny Love. Johnny owned and operated one of the city’s best known bars/restaurants on the corner of Polk and Broadway in Pacific Heights. It seemed natural that Johnny’s place had to be called Johnny Love’s.  I never told Johnny when I was coming to San Francisco. I just showed up at his bar. This time I had Chris with me. Johnny had never met Christine and didn’t know I was going to marry her. As I walked into the bar I spotted Johnny with his back turned to the customers. I started out by barking:

Barkeep, give me your biggest vodka drink.

Without turning around, one finger went into the air and a blender pitcher was grabbed in one motion. Within seconds a vodka bottle was upside down filling the pitcher. After a splash of OJ was administered, likely for color more than taste, Johnny flipped around, slammed the pitcher on the bar sloshing vodka all over the place and barked right back:

Is that big enough for you?

He jumped onto the bar and then over to man-hug me. When I introduced him to Chris, Johnny was dumbfounded. He didn’t know where to turn.

“You’re getting married,” he asked “to her?”
“Yes Johnny,” I laughed.
“Holy shit. You gotta meet some of my friends.”

Chris was laughing hysterically at Johnny’s reaction. I had prepared her for him. I told her that Johnny was like a miniature hurricane and his “rap” like a tornado. It’s one of the reason’s that he was such a great bartender and notorious ladies man.

“Chris, Mike, I want you to meet a good friend of mine, Ricky Waters.”

Ricky was, at the time, the San Francisco 49ers star running back. Before that he was on the 1988 Notre Dame team that won the National Championship.

Chris could have cared less that Ricky was a card carrying NFL player. What mattered to her was that Waters played his college ball at Notre Dame. Immediately, she called her best friend who conferenced them with her dad, a big Notre Dame booster. Ricky cheerfully got on the phone and said hello. I was laughing and shaking my head thinking…is this the life I am about to have?

After hanging with Waters for awhile, Johnny retreived us and brought us to meet another friend, another 49er, Roger Craig. Johnny was being the consummate host, making sure his old friend and new friend were enjoying themselves. And it was insane inside the restaurant that was now making the transition from restaurant to nightclub as the live music came on. I will never forget the band. They were a R&B show-band with a lead singer, two female backup singers, lots of horns and a great stage presence. Their name; Napata & the Chocolate Kisses.

Johnny was back to retrieve us again. “I want to introduce you to a really good friend,” Johnny said. When I looked in the direction we were heading in, there in the corner was Greg Allman in a narcotic haze sitting between four women. “Greg, these are my good friends, Mike and Christine from Boston.”

Allman looked at us and squeaked out a hello. Christine, on the other hand, was shot out of a cannon. “Mr Allman, I love Midnight Rider. It’s one of my favorite songs. Can you play Midnight Rider with the band.”

“No man. No.  Can’t do it. Not tonight.”
“Please Mr. Allman, I love that song. Mr Allman, Mr Allman, please sing that song.”
“No I just can’t…not now, not tonight.”
“Mr Allman, Mr Allman, I don’t think you know just how much I love that song.”
“Alright,” he mumbled.

And with that exchange, Allman slid off of the banquette and wandered over to the stage. After a couple of words with Napata, Allman jumped up on stage and sat down behind the Hammond B-3 organ. I found myself repeating the same thing over and over again…holy shit, holy shit. And then, the organ led in the entire band with the opening refrains of Mustang Sally. Johnny Love’s was nuclear. After opening with Mustang Sally, Allman played another old chestnut and then unleashed….Midnight Rider. The crowd was convulsive. The smile on Christine’s face was something I will never forget. I knew she was thinking, “I got him to do this. Me.”

And she did. It was a night we both will never forget. And neither will the 300 or so patrons at Johnny Love’s that night.

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