Part III - This is Your Captain Speaking - Camelot, Richard Burton and...

Part III

 Conclusion of: This is Your Captain Speaking

For unexpected behavior nothing rivals people. I have always been an avid observer of animals. I have also read a number of books about animal behavior. Desmond Morris wrote a fascinating book called The Human Zoo. In the book he describes characteristics of chimps in a social grouping. It presents a very convincing case for their behavior mirroring our own or more likely the other way round.

I could scarcely believe what had just happened between the Australian woman and her friends.  I could find no reason why she would start an altercation among her friends without provocation. However, there was a chapter in Morris’s book that did just that. Whatever the reason, it had no bearing on my plans for the evening. I certainly couldn’t do anything about it and as it turned out I had just enough time to grab a bite to eat and get ready for the theater.

There is a great little restaurant downstairs from the lobby of the hotel called Vienna Coffee House. It’s a great place for any meal but I found myself there for breakfast and dinner on a pretty regular schedule. The wait staff was very well schooled in the service ethic. They made you feel at home and were quick without hurrying.  There was a predictable clientele that frequented the rooms and we all showed up about the same time for our evening meal. It was one of those natural harmonies that formed without being planned.

When I arrived on most occasions there was a man with snow white hair and a navy blue uniform of some kind that implied sailing. I later learned that his wife lived in Hong Kong and he resided here as the Executive Director of the Pacific-Union Club. At the time of the event I am recalling I did not know his name or his calling. That would come later. Another man, quite elderly would also be present and seated along with his Scottish terrier. I had met him and his companion. He lived at the hotel in a penthouse apartment, the only apartment. His name was I. Magnin. Yep, that’s the one.

If the schedule was in its natural flow the next arrival would be a woman with long dark hair and the bluest eyes I have ever seen. She was then and has remained a complete mystery even though we nodded to each other many times over the course of my stays at the hotel. She only attended for dinner.

Finally, always in quick step with perfect posture, impeccable dress and a courteous yet clipped pattern of speech Mr. David Thorn, General Manager of the hotel would arrive. He would sit at the very end of the coffee counter and order claret in a bulbous stemmed glass. That would be followed with his order for a New York Strip Steak, medium rare and baked potato. The salad required no comment from him. That must have been memorized.

Not this particular evening but once while in that harmonic pattern I had been waiting without the usual quick and courteous service from the wait staff. When Mr. Thorn made his entrance and sat down, but before he ordered, I interrupted the silence with, “Now that Mr. Thorn has arrived perhaps we can begin.” The comment was followed by a remarkably loud silence that seemed to extend beyond reason. Everyone was looking straight at me with a look of utter despair except Mr. Thorn. His eyes were trained upon mine but he was completely unruffled. Then, he broke easily into an unrestrained belly laugh. “My apologies for being tardy,” he said and the entire room joined in a chorus of laughter. From that moment on we all had a connection that was quite unique.

But, I digress, back to the night of the story at hand. I had a quick and simple meal, returned to my room and dressed for the theater. It would be the Orpheum tonight, a beautiful venue for one of my favorite plays, Camelot. I asked the doorman to order a cab and went to the theater.

The theater was clearly sold out. The magic of a gifted concierge is not to be trifled with. I looked at my tickets for the first time. I had not been in the theater before so I ask for assistance. My seat was in the orchestra section, fourth row and dead center, beautiful. This was Burton's last performance in Camelot. And, for my money, he was the only actor who could do justice to the role. It was time for things to change for the better. I was a bit early so people were still finding their seats but my location caused no impedance to anyone. I simply sat back and enjoyed a little people watching. I had the best seat in town.

It took only a short while to fill the seats. It was nearly time for the curtains to open when I noticed the empty seat on my right. That’s odd, I thought. That must be the only empty seat in the house, one seat?  Oh well, doesn’t matter. The lights began to dim when I heard a disturbance. From back by the doorways to the auditorium a latecomer was making a fuss about something. They were coming down toward the Orchestra section. I turned to see what was happening and there at the intersection of the aisle and the fourth row, just as the lights went down and the curtain was drawing open stood the woman from Australia. I was reduced to a state of complete emptiness and utter consternation.

There is a feeling that goes with realizing you are inextricably conjoined to your fate and it is not a good one. I didn’t want to leave, I wanted her to evaporate and leave me alone. Then I started thinking of disguises. Logic disappears in the face of abject terror. Short of putting my overcoat on my head I could come up with nothing. Ignore her. Yes, I would ignore her.

She did not display even the tiniest amount of grace as she stumbled into the center of the fourth row. The overture was playing and the stage was set for the opening scene. She nudged me. I ignored her. She pushed me and began to apologize loudly. With as much distance as I could muster I assured her that her apology was unnecessary. I remained fixed on the stage. She remained fixed on me and her apology. I finally turned to her and looked directly into her eyes. I told her that I accepted her apology, thanked her and reminded her of the play that had begun. I explained that I wanted to focus on the stage and urged her to do the same. She continued to talk to me. I turned the temperature of my right shoulder down to its lowest setting and refused to allow her to see that I was disturbed. She began to cry. She didn’t just whimper and sniffle, she cried out loud with large gasps, snorts and moans. I remained in a state of frozen stoicism. I tried desperately to ignore the woman and engage with the play. It wasn’t working. The assault on my mind, my spirit and my body continued until intermission.

When the lights came up I turned away from the woman and headed in the opposite direction I expected her to travel. When I got to the lobby I discovered that she had either stayed in her seat or gone the other way. She was no where to be seen. I went outside and smoked four cigarettes all at once. OK, that’s not quite true but you get my meaning. As the nicotine began to calm my body and mind I was able to relax a bit and gather myself. That was not good because then I started worrying about the second half of the program. Should I just bag the whole thing and go back to the hotel? Why should I be the one punished? No, I would go back but if she so much as looked at me I would report her to security. So, it was settled. The lobby lights flashed signaling us to return to our seats. I took a deep breath and began walking toward my seat.

My heart was beating slightly faster than normal as I contemplated my fate. When I got to my row the Australian woman was no where in sight. There was still a little time before opening curtain so I settled into my seat. There was an unnatural interest in me by the patrons surrounding my seat. At first I nodded and smiled. Then, realizing they were not acknowledging me because of my wit and charm, but because they too were worried about the remainder of the play, I pulled within myself and pretended to be very interested in my program. The lights dimmed, the curtain opened and the music began. It was time to lose myself in the play and so I did.

She didn’t return to her seat. And while I did suffer some angst waiting for her to show up, I gradually forgot about her. And that’s what simple folks do, so they say.

By the time the play ended and Richard Burton made his multiple curtain calls I had all but forgotten about the strange woman from Australia. I walked back to the Hotel. I needed it. It had been a very long day. I was very, very tired. When I placed my head on the down pillow all my troubles went away and I fell asleep like a new born baby. I had no idea this ridiculous vaudeville act was anything but over.

What’s left of the story can be told in just a few words. There was one more encounter with the woman from Australia and it happened in the Lobby Bar at the Mark Hopkins. It was essentially a replay of the first encounter. I was sitting at the bar after work a couple of days later. She came over when she saw me to apologize for the previous encounters. She began with apologies, they turned into tears, her friends came to rescue her, she fought with them and they took her away. And that was it! I never saw her again.

There was however one more piece that tied it all together. The last day I was there, after I checked out, I stopped by the concierge, Dan Sotelo’s desk to thank him for the ticket for Camelot.  He wasn’t busy and I wasn’t in a hurry so I asked him if he had a minute to hear about the crazy tale of the Australian woman. He said he did.

When I finished telling him he actually blushed. It seems the woman had been to see him before me and ordered two tickets for the play. When I came and picked up my ticket he gave me one of those seats. That, of course, explained why we were sitting together. He thought we were together surreptitiously. The reason he thought we were together is because we had adjoining rooms with a common door.

I had no idea. I had never seen her on the floor. As a matter of fact I had never seen her other than the times I mentioned in my recollection. And I have never seen her since.

What is kind of strange is that for as much as I remember the events of that day I wouldn’t recognize her if she stood next to me at the registration desk at the Mark Hopkins. But, I’d be willing to bet Dan Sotelo would, he’s still the concierge there.

©Herb Ratliff, August 27, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Communication

Thought For The Day

Communication in a nutshell:

I can explain it to you, but I cannot understand it for you.

Herb Ratliff, June 13, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Justine's Part 2

Her smile was relaxed and easy like she was greeting an old friend. She waited for an answer.
I was having a little trouble finding my voice.

She was very attractive and still in that ethereal place between the picture and reality. I'd been going since 5:30 AM and it was now past 9:00PM. I managed to utter something.

Then, she said, "I'm Justine."
And, capturing the situation perfectly she quickly took control and began a commentary about the food, what was fresh, a little about home grown vegetables and then how splendid the weather was and wasn't it a pity the Gazebo was full? It's such a fine place to have dinner.

She was so elegant, so charming and so welcome after the long day I had spent criss-crossing the country. I asked her if she would like a glass of wine.

Her reaction was measured but swift. "Yes", she said, so I stood and held her chair.

She asked if I would mind if she had a bottle of her favorite wine brought out and then began a conversation filled with interest and coincidence of remarkable proportions.

Things like that don't happen very often. As a matter of fact, I can say with considerable certainty that nothing like that will ever happen to me again. You never know when you lift your head from the pillow what the day holds for you, so no matter how it goes for the the first few hours, do not despair. What is waiting for you at the next bend in the road may make it all worth while.

I know that you would like to know a bit more about that evening and frankly, I would enjoy spending a bit more time remembering it, but I've shared all I am willing to. She was as much a lady as she appeared and I was as much a gentleman as I ever hoped to be.

The restaurant was closed a few years ago, 1995, I believe. The name and facility was auctioned off but the ambiance was not for sale. So, while you may be able to find a restaurant named Justine's in Memphis and a few other places, you will not find the one mentioned in this remembrance.

©Herb Ratliff, June 12, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Justine's

Thought For The Day

Justine Smith 

owner of Justine's, Memphis, TN

Travel sets the stage for a lot of unusual adventures and encounters. This is one of the more unusual ones.

I had been working with some people in Charlotte, North Carolina when I got a call from a group in Memphis who needed to see me as soon as possible. As soon as I wrapped up for the day in Charlotte I caught a flight to Memphis so that I could prepare for the morning meeting there. Going to Memphis from Charlotte meant going through Atlanta, changing planes and then going to Memphis. It took a lot out of me on days like that but it was part of the job.

As I sat in Hartsfield Airport Atlanta I began to realize that I had not eaten for hours unless you count peanuts and little cookies on the plane. It was then that I remembered a restaurant I had heard about which had been highly recommended by a friend who lived in Tennessee. The prospect of having a good meal in a new restaurant with a good pedigree seemed a nice diversion from a frenetic day. I went back to planning for the next days meeting while I waited for the flight to depart.

It was late when I arrived in Memphis. I got a rental car, found a hotel dropped off my luggage, washed my face and got directions to the restaurant. It was a short trip from the hotel to a place I'd never forget.

Justine's was a french restaurant housed in a plantation house built in 1843. It was light pink stucco with white marble steps. It had wrought iron gates and round iron vents across it's front. It dripped with old south charm and enjoyed a fine reputation for fabulous New Orleans Style French food. My stomach was growling loudly.

There were several old magnolia trees, myriad rhododendrons and in the back was a charming, over-sized gazebo where one could dine al fresco with a well planned reservation. The waiters wore white gloves and waistcoats and dripped with good manners and lots of southern charm. I could not have been happier and I hadn't even had my first cracker.

I was alone, a condition of traveling that was common and many times preferred after a day with business contacts. It was a chance to breath deeply and exhale slowly and deliberately until a modicum of relaxation entered my body. The main dining room was full as well as the gazebo and in my haste I had not called for a reservation. There was another room where I was taken just off the main part of the entry where there seemed to be ample seating with a few empty tables and one setting for two against the wall on the left side of the room where I was seated. Finally, I thought, I can eat.

The waiter gave me a menu and offered the specials of the day, took a drink order and wandered off to get the drink. I looked around at my surroundings and noted a life sized portrait of a woman in a creme chiffon floor length dress walking as if directly toward me out of the portrait. I paused to look at it briefly and thought how elegant it was and how very southern. I looked back down at my menu and began the difficult job of deciding what from this array of mouth watering offerings would be placed in front of me this evening.

Crab Justine seemed the obvious choice. If it bore the name of the owner, it must be the best. Having made the choice I lifted my head to consider my selection and as if I were in some surreal magical world the woman in the portrait was walking toward me. At first it startled me, then I was mesmerized as she fairly glided toward me and came to a stop at my table.

"Welcome to Justine's." she said.

To be continued....

©Herb Ratliff, June 11, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Paying Attention, Really

Thought For The Day

Sometimes what is really amazing is how little attention we pay to things that are truly amazing.

When I worked in the financial field of computer technology and development there were many things that were done by both hardware and software engineers which were literally changing the world. It was sometimes hard to comprehend how these ideas could be conceived, let alone produced and made available for use in the home and office.

Consider how it would have sounded to Thomas Edison if you had suggested that you had created a language which if used properly would allow you to talk to a machine. Further, you would be able to tell the machine to follow a variety of different instructions if and only if you could create a machine which could read instructions which were essentially a series of electrical impulses which did nothing more than say open or close.

That would be amazing, right?  OK, it's a little difficult to compare yesterday's world with today's. But that is, in a nutshell what the early computers did. They read one's and zero's as yes and no, or open and close. What made it all work was the exceptional speed at which the processor was able to read these instructions. By the way, those speeds today are snail like.

I am fairly certain that people who don't even care about computers would be willing to agree that they are exceptional tools. So let me get to the point of this thought, paying attention to amazing things which came to me as I was thinking about all the flying I did when I was working in that field.

One day I was sitting on a plane bound for California from from Michigan. The early instruction sets had been offered by the flight attendants, preparations were being made for beverage service and I was settling in with a book when the captain in a smooth, confident voice began to give us a bit of a trip tic for our journey. He began by saying that we would be cruising at an altitude of     35,000 feet. (That's a little over six and a half miles above the ground, I thought.)

Hmm, I murmured, that's about how far it was from my childhood home to the High School I graduated from. He then said, "We'll be traveling at about 550 miles per hour." That's when I pulled out my calculator. After a bit of figuring, eye brow raising and reconfirmation I discovered that in understandable terms that meant that we were moving in a straight line at the rate of  807 feet or a little over two and a half football fields a second.

That, is amazing, wouldn't you agree?

©Herb Ratliff, June 1, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Victoria's Secret

 Thought For The Day

Once upon a time there was a chubby, black, white, orange and yellow, striped, caterpillar, named Victoria. Victoria had a very pleasing smile and walked very gracefully for someone who had twenty-eight legs. She climbed in and about the milkweed bushes of her neighborhood every day, careful not to wander too far from home. Although she lived in a beautiful, open field, Victoria was not very happy. She was not happy because all of the other creatures in the garden called her pudgy and said she looked like a neon sign with legs.

Now, it is true that Victoria had a pleasant roundness of features, but that seemed only natural for a caterpillar with such an enormous appetite. She simply felt hungry all the time. No matter what she ate the next leaf she came across looked even more tantalizing than the one she had just finished eating.

So Victoria began to hide from the others in the garden. She would carefully look around to find a place to munch on leaves all by herself, until one day when she began to feel very, very tired. Victoria needed sleep. She began to look around for a quiet spot that would be safe and snug for a nap. Her curiously huge appetite had gone away. She began to feel groggy and disoriented. It became a great problem to figure out which foot she should start with. That had never been a problem before.

 It was early in the morning when she began her hunt for the quiet place and now it was growing dark. She felt like she could not take another step when suddenly, she tripped on a new leaf shoot and would have fallen to the ground but caught herself with her twenty-seventh foot. "Whew !", she gasped, not even being able to imagine what might have happened if she had missed the stalk. Carefully and slowly she worked her twenty-eighth foot into position to hold on to the branch. "Gotcha", she whispered, and fell fast asleep.

She awoke a few hours later with a feeling unlike any she had felt before. A little voice inside her was saying, "Look like a leaf." Victoria was very confused by this little voice. But, she heard it again. "Look like a leaf." Now Victoria was a pretty smart caterpillar, as caterpillars go and she was more than a little put off by this curious little voice telling her to look like a leaf. She felt even more ridiculous when she heard her voice saying, "Why should I look like a leaf?", and her chubby little cheeks began to glow red with embarrassment for talking back to an imaginary voice.

It was just at that moment that a very curious thing indeed happened to Victoria. A lovely silken thread appeared before her that shined with all of the colors of the rainbow through the light of the very full moon. And without knowing why, Victoria began to wrap herself in between the folds of a leaf with this wonderful silken thread until she did indeed look like a leaf.

Things in the garden continued to bloom and grow. Days turned to weeks and  finally one sun-streaked day Victoria woke up. "Oh my, she yawned. "Where am I?" She felt very cramped and crowded in this dark place. So She began to struggle to get out. She wiggled and she wriggled. She bent and stretched. She oohed and she ahhhhed until she saw a tiny splinter of light. That encouraged her to try even harder until she saw the full light of the sun.

 It was so beautiful. The sun, the flowers and the leaves on the trees were full and rich in colors. But Victoria felt wet and weak. She felt like she needed to stretch and stretch and stretch and so she did. It was then that another strange and wonderful thing began to unfold, her wings. She stretched and straightened and stretched and straightened until every part was straight and flat. The cool breeze felt terrific and then she noticed something incredible. Her wings were large and graceful with swirls of orange and black and white. They were beautiful, she was beautiful and she wasn't fat any more she was light and graceful.

Without any warning her foot lost hold on the limb to which she had so carefully attached herself and she began to fall. She began to struggle and in her struggle waved her wings frantically only to find that she could fly. What a happy day. She was beautiful and she could fly. And so, she did, because you see, Victoria had become a Monarch Butterfly.

Her heart was full and she was excited about her new wings and the lightness of being that she felt. She wanted to fly and fly and fly, but that is another story.


Herb Ratliff, December 29, 2011, All Rights Reserved

Chemistry

When you consider the length and breadth of a relationship, a marriage for example, say twenty years that's a goodly sum. Now, it would seem that you would know that partner inside and out but every now and then they will surprise you or maybe you just pay more attention one day and when you observe their behavior they seem like a completely different person, as in, "Who are you and how did you get in my wife's/husband's body?" Crazy, right but why not? If you were a chemist maybe you would be less surprised. For example, one day Sodium, the chemical element of atomic number 11, a soft silver-white reactive metal of the alkali metal group meets up with Chlorine, the chemical element of atomic number 17, a toxic, irritant, pale green gas. They sit down for a cup of coffee, discuss world events and find there is an attraction. They spend more time together and finally in a moment of ecstasy they bond together and form, you guessed it, Sodium Chloride, Salt. So from this soft silver white alkali metal and green gas you end up with something that tastes good on mashed potatoes. Really? You wouldn't put sodium on your potatoes nor would you put Chlorine on your potatoes but salt, that's a different thing.

OK, let's go on with this. So, for the sake of argument lets call you Sodium and your partner Chlorine, together you are salt. Everybody knows that salt can be a delightful addition to a meal but all by itself it's very unsettling. In order to make salt have its highest and best value it should be used sparingly and in good taste. (Sorry, I couldn't stop myself.) A decision was made in the interest of the partnership for Sodium and Chloride to have other interests in their lives that would include a variety of activities. In pursuing new interests they met new individuals who were essentially doing the same thing they were, trying not to be locked in sameness all the time.

Sodium and Chlorine were both very social. They attracted a variety of different types.

I could go on and perhaps I will but just wanted to make a point. People are not static and yet that's what we seem to want in relationships. We want people to be the same as they were when we met them and then they change and do stuff differently. This always seems to end up in a discussion of "Why can't you just be like you were......."  or "Why is it every time you get together with that ammonia bunch you cause so much trouble?"

People are like that too. You think you know someone. You have been friends for twenty years and then, without a bit of warning they do something that was unpredictable to you. You only know people in terms that that fit your experiences together. So, in short, you don't really know anyone all that well. For that matter, you don't know what you are capable of either. 

So before you judge someone else give some thought to the relationship you have with them and judge that because that is all you can really speak to with any kind of truth.

Herb Ratliff, November 30, 2011, All Rights Reserved.