The Half-a-Doctor
Memoirs from My "Asylum"
by
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THE BUMBLING ASSASSIN
The dark, narrow alley between the church and the hotel partially shielded him from view. The man looked chilled to the bone as he stood there in the rain. He wore a shabby-looking black London Fog raincoat that had definitely seen better days. The collar of his coat was turned up and both of his hands were buried deep in his pockets. He glanced furtively down East 31st Street with the air of a man on a mission. With each passing vehicle he would quickly retreat into the alley and emerge again only when he thought it was safe.
I left the hotel at 6:30 P.M. and began walking toward my car that was parked three blocks east at the Red Ball Garage. As I reached the alley I felt an arm grab me tightly around the neck. Then I felt a sharp, pointed object pressing against my throat. I could hear heavy breathing but not a word was spoken. The person did not ask for money and did not threaten me in any way. Nevertheless, I definitely felt that I was in imminent danger of a quick thrust that would sever my jugular.
We stayed in this embrace for what seemed like an eternity. I started to wonder--is this person a mugger-in-training who forgot step two, a deaf mute who is locked in silence, or an assassin who is waiting for further direction.
Given the desperateness of the situation I figured that I had nothing to lose. I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out my Berretta, and shot it into the air. The mugger/mute/assassin was so startled that he dropped his knife and fled.
I’m really not sure what I was thinking the day I ordered my .22 Caliber Tear Gas gun from a mail order catalogue. It looked like a Berretta but only fired blanks and/or tear gas pellets. Buying a tear gas gun was probably a foolish compromise because I knew that I could never pull it against a real weapon. I truly believed it would remain in my pocket forever. Forever lasted until this evening! I continued to stand there in the rain until my body stopped shaking and my legs felt sturdy enough to walk. Then I slowly proceeded back into the hotel while thinking ... WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING HERE.
HOW HARD IS IT TO CHANGE A BULB? - ROOM 708
During the World's Fair, we had countless incidents that were extremely funny and sadly, quite a few tragedies as well. At the time, the following occurrence almost traumatized me. Nowadays, when I think about this event, I think it is hysterically funny. An elderly woman (you know, someone about my present age) had checked in from Florida.
It was 5:30 PM when Mrs. Solomon, the guest in room 708, called down that she required assistance. I dispatched Earl, who was at the bell stand that evening, to find out what the problem was. Upon his return, he reported that the bulb in the ceiling fixture had burned out and needed replacement. Since the engineer and the handyman had left for the day, I grabbed a few bulbs and went up to take care of the problem myself.
I guess I didn’t think it through completely. When I got to the room, I realized that there was no way that I, a height-challenged person, could reach the fixture without a ladder. Not wanting to waste time by securing one, I asked Mrs. Solomon to please stand aside while I carried an end table to the center of the room. Then I placed a straight back kitchen chair onto the table and proceeded to climb onto the table and then onto the chair. As I reached up to replace the bulb, so did Mrs. Solomon ...BUT NOT TO CHANGE A BULB.
Just try to picture this scene: I am precariously perched on a chair, which is balanced on a table, my hands are stretched upward, and she is assaulting my genitalia and smiling from ear to ear to boot. She wasn’t letting go. I thought to myself this couldn’t possibly be happening.
As I screamed, “LET GO OF MY BALLS” I started to wobble and the chair and I fell over.
Thank God she let go as I was falling or Annette (my wife) would have been pretty upset. I was more irate than bruised and I started to lambaste her with every profanity I could muster up. My blood pressure must have hit new heights … she just stood there with an innocent smirk.
My departing works were, “Good day, madam, you will just have to survive without this light,” and I escaped as quickly as possible.
When I returned to the front desk the room clerk asked, “Why are you so flustered?”
I simply answered, “When you have an opportunity, try to convince Mrs. Solomon to become a permanent guest. She would fit perfectly in our asylum.”
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About the Book
He was conned, seduced, assaulted, mugged, and held up at gunpoint. In the fifteen years that the author spent as manager of The Roger Williams Hotel, he probably experienced more adventure than most individuals do in a lifetime. The author describes his emotional responses to numerous tragedies, some of which would traumatize most men, yet he manages to interject humor to soften the pain.
The writer becomes philosophical at times, as he accepts a fatalistic explanation for the circumstances that successfully propel him from Pharmacy, to Hotel Management, to Executive Search Consulting … with a little construction management thrown into the mix.
To write the memoir, this “Half-a-Doctor” mentally sorted through thousands of hotel guest stays and has compiled his most memorable encounters. This book chronicles mystery, suspense, and tragedy, as well as sexually provocative incidents.
For the most part, though, the author puts emphasis on the humorous situations. Most occurrences are hilarious--many are truly and utterly unbelievable. YES, EVERYTHING IN THIS MEMOIR DID OCCUR AS THE AUTHOR DESCRIBES THEM.
About the Author
The author does not purport to be an accomplished writer and he willingly admits that he does not have a creative bone in his body. Those that know him, however, readily acknowledge that he is definitely gifted as a raconteur.
After graduating from Fordham College of Pharmacy, the author spent four to five unfulfilled years as a pharmacist and then fortuitously found himself in the hotel business. His fifteen years managing a Manhattan midtown hotel provided him with the venue to meet very interesting characters, at vastly different levels of sanity. For more than thirty years he has been telling stories regarding these individuals to family and friends. At the end of his tales he was almost always urged to write a book.
The encounters and incidents at this hotel have given the author a substantial volume of events and he has finally decided to put them into writing. They required no embellishment to give the reader belly laughs and evenings of fun reading.