…and my last autograph, ever

this one, unlike the first one, wasn’t planned.

i met Bill Simon when i tended bar on the upper east side of manhattan, in NYC. i was working in one of those “power-restaurants” where table seating was determined by either celebrity and star-power or political/economic clout. i had gotten the job because i used to be a patron there, when scrap bar was in business. that was over and goodbye blue monday was still a concept without form. but that’s another story.

a number of times, between 1995 and 1999, mister simon and his wife came to this restaurant to dine.
their first time here, they sat at the bar and waited for a table.
i looked at him, leaned toward him and said in a low tone, “you’re william simon, ex-secretary of the treasury during the nixon administration.”
he was impressed.
he leaned toward me and replied, “then i guess you also know what i like to drink.”
“no. i haven’t the faintest idea,” i replied.
“i like sweet manhattans, straight-up…and when i say “sweet manhattan”, i mean half-sweet vermouth and half-whisky. also, i love maraschino cherries.”
what he was telling me was that he liked really-sweet, sweet-manhattans.
as he described what he wanted and how he wanted it, i already had the cocktail glass buried in ice and set up the shaker-glass, tossing the noilly-prat vermouth and canadian club, adding a dash of angostura bitters as well as some of the bright-red juice from the maraschino-cherry tub under the bar. this cocktail was a alcoholic candy-store.

about three-quarters (or ten minutes) through this cocktail his table was ready, so the host picked up his glass and led he and his wife to their table.
a moment later, mr. simon returned to thank me and ordered another one, “exactly like the first,” he said and at the same time, drew a wallet from his suit jacket-pocket, gently peeling out a fresh, crisp 1976 william simon-era two dollar bill and a second later, a sharpee-like pen, saying, “sorry. i didn’t get your name.”
“my name is steve,” i answered. and for the next few seconds, he went to work on this two-dollar bill.
to this day, i don’t know what he wrote between “to steve” and “best of luck, william simon” directly above his historic printed-signature on the bill itself.
he smiled brightly through his dark-framed glasses as he handed it to me, making me break out into a likewise-grin.
looking at the two dollar bill, i said, “wow! this is great, thank you so much!”
as he headed to his table to dine, the host and owner of the restaurant came over, asking me who this man was that i gave such deference to.
the owner, who was european, took this information and filed it in his memory. mister simon would never have to wait at the bar for a table again. giuliano, the owner and my boss, was really good this way. whether it’s scrap bar and a room full of rockers or primola restaurant and a room full of celebrities, it’s the same game. i worked in this place while i began the warehouse business that eventually became goodbye blue monday in bushwick, brooklyn, which is another story.

the bill simon, autographed two-dollar bill is for sale on etsy. i’m done.