More recollections about wining and dining in the past.
It will come as no surprise to older Americans that many counties in the South are still dry, nor that many more were in that same state years ago. Neither should it be a surprise that hotels in those counties do not have bartenders on the payroll – not even hotels attempting to circumvent the law. I discovered the significance of this in 1966 on a trip from New Jersey to South Carolina.
This was a sales trip. Dan Zibello, Southeastern sales engineer for Exxon Chemical Rubber Division was taking me, his regional manager, to visit some important customers in and around Charleston. Ron Kyle, a newly hired engineer, was coming along to observe. We had appointments at several companies, including General Asbestos and Rubber Company (GARCO).
The technical director of GARCO was Bob Peterson, a former Exxon Chemical employee. I had known Bob when he worked at the synthetic rubber applications laboratory in Linden, New Jersey. On several occasions he had solved some very tricky technical problems for customers of mine. It was going to be good to see him.
“Dan,” I said when we first started to plan this trip, “one thing you need to make sure of is that I get to buy Bob Peterson a martini when we take him to lunch. I know Charleston is dry, but you ought to be able to work something out.”
Our itinerary included Kingsport, Tennessee before Charleston. Dan had been there before, so he knew how to solve that city’s “buy the customer a drink” problem. He had scheduled dinner for our Tennessee Eastman customers at Kozel’s, a popular steak house on the outskirts of town, and one of their favorite places to eat. Ron Kyle would help Dan with the drink arrangements.
When you ordered a sirloin steak at Kozel’s it arrived on your personal 15 inch oval platter, probably extending past the edges. French fries and onion rings came in voluminous baskets, accompanied by wooden cutting boards each holding an entire loaf of garlic bread. Red tablecloths. Three kinds of steak sauce, plus Tabasco and jalapeno. Lots of napkins. And setups – ginger ale, club soda, coke – into which you poured the liquor you had brought with you in brown bags.
That morning, when we flew into the Kingsport-Bristol-Johnson City Airport, Dan gave Ron the assignment of picking up the liquor we would take to Kozel’s. The easiest way was to drive a couple of miles north into Virginia, and pick it up in a state liquor store. After we checked into our motel, Ron took the rental car and went after the booze.
Dinner was a great success. As we were toasting each other with our Virginia-procured highballs, one of the customers asked “Have you told Ron yet?” “I haven’t,” Dan answered. “Would you like to?” The customer proceeded to do so. “Ron,” he grinned, “you’re the latest in a long line of rookie salesmen who’ve been sent across the state line for booze. And we appreciate the risk you took.” Ron looked at him with a puzzled frown. “You see, it’s against the law to bring liquor into the state, and every now and then the State Troopers stop cars at the state line and open their trunks. The fine is $500, and they can impound the car if they feel like it.” Ron smiled weakly. “No real need to worry, though,” the customer went on. “They haven’t caught an Exxon salesman yet.”
That was Tennessee. But Charleston – and Bob Peterson’s martini – was another matter. As it turned out, Dan had been pretty resourceful. He had called Bob and told him I wanted to buy him a martini, and asked how that could be accomplished. Bob said it was about time Dave bought a drink and told Dan he’d make sure we went to the right place for lunch.
The right place was a Holiday Inn. Bob knew the people there, and he knew they kept a liquor cabinet in the dining room for special guests. That’s where Dan took us for lunch.
A tall blonde hostess in a royal blue woolen dress greeted us. She seemed pleased to see Bob, and was very cordial to the rest of us, too. “We’re going to count on you for a few drinks,” Bob said. She nodded her head as she led us into the dining room and seated us.
When the waitress came she apparently knew we were to be given access to the special liquor cabinet. “We don’t serve too many drinks here,” she said, “but we’ll surely try to take good care of you.” Dan ordered a Loewenbrau and Ron said he’d have a bourbon and soda. Bob, as I expected, asked for an extra dry martini straight up with an olive. I looked up at the waitress. “Make mine a Gibson, but I’d like it on the rocks.”
She went away and we continued our conversation. A few minutes she came back carrying a bourbon and soda, which she put down in front of Ron. “Bourbon and soda,” she announced. Then she faced Dan. “We have Heineken’s. Is that a Loewenbrau?” Dan said Heineken’s would be fine. “Your two drinks will take a little longer,” she told Bob and me. “They’re being looked up in a book.” We winced a bit, but didn’t say anything.
Eventually the waitress reappeared with a bottle of Heineken’s for Dan and the two mixed drinks for Bob and me. The martini straight up looked okay: you could see through it, it was in a stem glass, and there was an olive in it. I wasn’t so sure about the Gibson, though. It was a bit cloudy and had a light green cast to it. I kept looking at it. A gimlet! “Just a minute,” I called out. “I can tell this drink isn’t right without even tasting it.” The waitress looked disappointed. “What should it be?” she wanted to know. I pointed at Bob’s glass. “Just the same as his, except with an onion.”
She picked up my glass and started out of the dining room. “Just the same, except with an onion,” she muttered to herself. By the time it dawned on me it was too late to catch her. Sure enough, back she came with the gimlet, which now contained an onion.
The tall blonde hostess in the blue dress was right behind her. She looked at Bob, the only one with a familiar face. “How are the drinks?” she asked. “Almost okay,” Bob said, “but your bartender needs to learn how to make a Gibson.”
“I know!” she wailed. “I’m the bartender!”
Posted on January 10, 2012
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