Or, perhaps they were interesting because I was drinking.
With a backward glance through nine years of sobriety, I now realize that many acquaintances required massive rounds of wobble water to make them anything close to interesting let alone fascinating. It's the main reason I don't get out much anymore.
No offense, but most people are a snooze.
Eleven or twelve years ago when I was still in the broadcast dodge, I had a rather predictable ritual that wrapped up the work day.
After a rigorous and grueling four hour morning show in San Diego, I would wend my way homeward via stops at some rather stimulating establishments that dispensed alcoholic beverages. You know...BARS. It was sort of a Cheers experience squared. Instead of hearing "Norm!"upon entering, I was greeted as "K.C!", or if accompanied by one of my degenerate companions, it was.."The Boys!". Whatever the case it was a hearty "glad to see you " kind of thing that made me feel warm and welcome.
For a few years I stopped regularly at the Fish Market Bar in Del Mar, California. It was, and still is, a terrific place to eat oysters and other fruits of the sea as you knock back potent potables. I'm fairly certain that there are still martini molecules holding hands with oyster molecules in my bloodstream today. ( This is where the song "Memories" comes up and under. )
One chilly winter day as I sidled up to the bar for a liquid lunch I noticed a peculiar looking fellow sitting a couple of stools away. He looked to be in his seventies and, hard as this is to believe, was dressed even worse than I was. An FBI cap sat atop his out sized head and he was resplendent in his tattered flannel shirt and worn bluejeans. We smiled at each other as I waited for bartender Dave to wet down my infield with the usual pour of Jack Daniels. When Dave had made me happy the older man summoned his attention with a "David...It's time.". Immediately Dave produced a chilled martini glass from the freezer and lifted a stunningly beautiful bottle from beneath the bar. He then dropped an olive into the glass and proceeded to fill the glass with a deliciously clear liquid from the bottle.
"Perfect David...You've done it again," said the old gentleman.
As he savored his drink, the man turned to me and introduced himself as Sidney Frank of New York and Rancho Santa Fe.
Sidney Frank
Liquor tycoon extrodinair and snappy dresser
Sidney, as he explained to me, was one of the most successful liquor importers in the United States and the delightfully clear liquid he was consuming before me at the Fish Market was the now famous Grey Goose Vodka. It was a brand new beverage he was importing from France and he thrilled as he explained the process of Champagne filtering that produced Grey Goose's wonderfully smooth taste. He invited me to see for myself as he had Dave introduce me to this wonderful cold velvet cloud of a drink. I think we "bonded" after a couple of hours of tasting. Actually, he had me at: "Dave, get a glass for my new friend Ken."
The man was a genius!
Over the next few months I got to know Sidney a little more. I learned that he had married well. "It's easier to marry a million than to make a million my boy." And that he had taken what were several severely low rent brands of booze and made them hugely successful via brilliant marketing schemes. He was truly one of a kind.
Occasionally I would see him at "the Market" with an entourage of young athletes. All of them were professional golfers whom he employed so that he might watch them play a game he loved but could no longer engage in himself. He also had a staff of chefs at his home in Rancho Santa Fe who were "on call" to prepare foods that he craved or thought interesting. They worked in his massive kitchen as he watched from his custom built barber chair.
Here was a guy obviously enjoying his life to the fullest.
After I gave up "touching the stuff" I didn't stop by the Market much and rarely saw Sidney. He died a couple of years ago, but not before selling his beloved Grey Goose label to the Bacardi people for 1.75 Billion dollars. Not bad timing.
He left his staff generous pieces of his estate after making sure that his wife and daughter were set for life. His secretary got a few million dollars for her faithful service. (No, it wasn't what you think! I assume they were both a little too old to tango.) He was just a real decent guy. Brilliant too.
Sidney Frank
Here's to you Sidney! A guy nobody EVER had to drink "interesting".
Next one's on me, Sid...
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