Albany Park (10 page)

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said.

Standing alone and feeling self-conscious, Molly was looking to see who else she knew when a smiling man she didn’t recognize walked up to her. He was broad-shouldered, with a square jaw, dark hair and wearing a good-looking, sporty grey suit, belted in the back.

“Hi, I’ve been looking for you,” he said in a soft, sort of confidential tone. “I’m Ben Siegal and you are the most beautiful girl in this room.”

“Do I know you?” she giggled, noticing his light blue eyes.

“No, but when I saw you walk in, I knew you were special and I wanted to know you. Look, I really think you’re gorgeous. “

Then he hesitated, putting up his hands, as if to let her know he was harmless. “Don’t worry, I’m not a nut. I didn’t mean to be so forward. I’m just an ambitious guy from Jackson and Crawford who’s impressed with someone as sharp as you.”

Tilting her head to one side, she raised her eyebrows. “Really, I don’t even know you,” she replied, gripping her purse tightly in both hands.

He nodded.

“So you’re a JC boy, I went to school with a bunch of kids from around there. They all love that corner, like it’s the best place on the west side. They used to tease me and my girlfriends, claiming we thought we were classy living on 16
th
Street.

Still smiling and backing away a little, Ben shrugged. “They were probably jealous and you are classy. Can we dance? I’d like to convince you I’m a nice guy. “

Relaxing, she pursed her lips, letting him know she was thinking, while a smile slowly formed, showing a small dimple.

“Well….sure. Everybody deserted me but you, so let’s dance. I’m Molly.”

He held out his arm and she took it, moving onto the floor as the band started playing a slow dance. “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows,” crooned the singer, holding onto his trombone and waving his other hand, prodding the dancers to sing along.

“Anyone ever tell you, you’re a good dancer?” she said, beginning to hum the familiar song.

“No, but I’m glad you think so, because I could go on like this forever.”

They danced the next three numbers, barely hearing the music; as they carried on a running conversation. When the band went into a rousing rendition of “Swannee,” she looked up and dropped her arm from his shoulder, but held onto his other hand, saying, “C’mon let’s sit down, you’re gonna’ wear me out.”

By that time she knew he was working as a restaurant supply salesman and had ambitions of someday opening his own restaurant. He also told her that he had quit school when he was sixteen to help support his mother and two younger brothers.

Holding her arm lightly, he guided her to a small table away from the crowd. “Enough about me, how about you? Wait, can I get you some punch or something else?”

She liked his quick smile and expressive face. He wasn’t handsome or tall, only a few inches taller than her. And he had a ruddy complexion and the start of a double chin, which made him look older than his 22 years. But that big-toothed smile, along with his pleasant confident manner, made him attractive. He also was careful about his appearance. Little things, like his stylish haircut, shined shoes and clean, well-tailored clothes, which she quickly noticed, appeared important to him.

Handing her some punch and a napkin, he reached into his breast pocket for a small flask and offered to add some of its contents to her glass. She quickly refused with a shake of her head. “But don’t let me stop you,” she replied as he helped himself to a generous portion.

Capping the bottle, he returned it to his pocket, explaining “I like a little pick-me-up once in awhile, hope you don’t mind. Now tell me about Molly.”

Sipping the punch, she smiled and cocked her head to one side as if thinking where to start.

He remained silent, momentarily breaking his gaze for a fast glance at a tall blonde who blew him a kiss as she walked off the dance floor. But he quickly returned to looking directly into Molly’s eyes.

Ignoring his distraction, she paused to take a deep breath saying, “Okay here goes.”

She talked non- stop for the next half hour, about her family and friends. He listened, smiling, nodding and even rolling his eyes, but not talking, when she became particularly animated as she
went on
.

“Oh, my God,” she finally laughed. “I’ve never talked about myself so much; you must think I’m a real blabbermouth.”

Smiling broadly, he replied, “I think you’re wonderful, although you sure do talk.”

That night, they became a couple. Two years later, they were married.

With Ben’s encouragement, Molly increased her wardrobe, adding stylish frocks and some suits for work.

“Don’t worry, Baby, I love when I see you with a pretty hairdo or in your new outfits and looking great. I want everyone to know we are successful,” he would say.

“But I worry that we’re not saving more of my salary,” she would answer.

“Look, I worry sometimes too, but when I see how beautiful and happy you are, that’s more important. I’ll let you know when it starts to hurt.”

In September 1926, Molly had their first child, a girl named Doris. Two weeks later, Ben opened a restaurant named Molly’s, near downtown, on Ohio close to State Street. It was a moderately priced spot featuring a twelve-stool counter and a dining area with six high-backed booths along the walls and seven tables for four. Red-and-white-checked cloths covered the tables at lunchtime. Monday through Saturday, breakfast was served starting at six-thirty and lunch from eleven until three. Ben hoped to attract people living in the surrounding area or working close by.

A week before opening, he posted, at eye level, a menu and a large sign announcing free coffee the first week. Opening day, he stood just inside the door waiting for the first customer.

At six forty five a thin man with a dark moustache, in a suit and tie, wearing a Derby squarely on his head, entered.

Ben in his shirt sleeves and a red paisley tie, with a menu tucked under his arm, greeted him.

“How da ya do, I’m Ben Siegal, would ya like a table or the counter,” he asked sticking his hand out.

In a gravely voice the man answered. “Hi, I’m Tim O’Hara,” he smiled grasping Ben’s hand and looking around. “This place looks great. Everything is clean and the new paint job is terrific.”

“Wait till ya try the food,” Ben answered leading him in, motioning to the end of the counter, Tim sat down.

Ben put a cup of coffee in front of him.

A white-shirted waiter wearing a short white apron over black pants took the order as Ben went back to the door to usher in three men in suits and ties. Shaking hands, he introduced himself and led them to a booth. All of them lived in the area and worked in the Loop.

Back at the counter, he stopped to talk to O’Hara. “You work around here, Tim?” he asked.

“Yeah, and l live down the street.”

“Whadda ya do?”

“I sell insurance and work with my brother on some investments.”

“Your eggs okay?”

“Yeah, just the way I like ‘em. You know Ben, I like what you did with this place. The guy who was here before, let it run down and the food wasn’t too good.”

Ben held up his hand to stop Tim, as he seated another two men at the counter. After quick introductions, he returned.

“Sure glad you like the way the place looks. Ya know, I used the same furnishings the old guy had, but I sanded down and refinished the tables and chairs. Then I washed the ceiling and painted the walls above the wood paneling that nice creamy color. Do ya remember how black the ceiling was from the grease?”

Tim smiled, lighting a cigarette, “It looks good, Ben.”

“I splurged on the kitchen though; most of the equipment
is new
.”

“Well keep it up,” Tim complimented, looking around, “We can use a good joint around here.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that, especially from someone like you, that’s from the neighborhood.”

Tim smiled and answered in husky growl, “Yeah, I know just about everybody around here.”

The husky man wearing a cap sitting next to Tim laughed, “Yeah, Ben, our neighborhood bookie knows everybody. He does more business around here than anyone.”

O’Hara smiled, while Ben and two other men at the counter laughed.

At seven, two women hopped out of a Yellow cab and walked in, Ben’s eyes widened as they approached. Both wore orange-looking heavy makeup that ended abruptly at the tops of their necks, with black eyelashes and eyebrows. They also wore dark red lipstick that was applied slightly higher than their lips. A few men at the counter also turned to stare. The brunette had on a short blue cape over a high-cut wine-colored dress and the blonde sported a half-open tight-fitting gray jacket over a short black skirt with a wide belt. Both wore dark silk hose and very high heels.

“Hi, I’m Ben Siegal. Can I help you ladies?”

“Yeah, how bout a booth in the back,” muttered the brunette, lighting a cigarette.

“Sure, just follow me. By the way, what did you say your
name was
?”

“I didn’t say, but it’s Trixie. My friend is Patsy.”

The blonde, spoke up. “Look mister, or Ben, or whatever your name is, can we get somethin’ like a hamburger or chicken? We just got off work at the Rialto and we’re goin’ home to sleep.”

“Oh,…nice.,” Ben nodded.

“Yeah, we’re dancers and we live at the hotel two doors down. Now can we get somethin’ to eat?”

“Hey, brown eyes, it’ll be a pleasure to take care of you. I’m gonna send over a waiter. No, on a second thought, I’ll take care of you myself.” Ben smiled, striking a match and helping the blonde light her cigarette. “From now on, anytime you come here, I’ll take care of you personally.”

“I like that, big boy.” Trixie now smiled for the first time. “Think you can handle us?”

“Don’t know, but it should be fun trying,” he said nodding.

As Ben walked back to the kitchen with their order, O’Hara laughed, “I see you met our local strippers. Everybody around here knows ‘em. The blonde is real good, but expensive, if you know what I mean,” he said.

Ben smiled. “A customer is a customer.”

Looking toward the entrance, Ben greeted a few more men, two couples on their way to work downtown and three storekeepers from State Street. Each time someone entered, he got their names and followed up to make sure they liked the food. By eight o’clock, he had over twenty customers.

At lunch time, he put on his jacket and again greeted each customer the same way, being sure to mention specials on the menu. When he closed the door at three, he’d had a total of forty nine customers. He had also bet fifty cents on two numbers with Tim O’Hara’s policy wheel.

From then on, Ben arrived each day at six a.m., took off his jacket, checked on his cook, waiters, busboy and dishwasher and began greeting customers by six-thirty. By seven every morning, he had already placed a fifty cent wager for two numbers with Tim O’Hara. If he hit his number the previous day, he would up the ante and place a two dollar wager on a horse race or ball game. O’Hara, finding it convenient, began using Molly’s as his morning office and thanked Ben for allowing him to use one of the booths. He also repaid the favor by bringing in several new customers, including Jake Guzik, long time friend and advisor to Al Capone. Guzik took a liking to Ben, returning frequently for business lunches with free-spending acquaintances.

Within weeks, Ben had made friends with and was calling most customers by name; always inquiring about their families and jobs, as well checking that all orders were prepared to their satisfaction. He also worked with the employees, getting them to remember names and likes and dislikes of each patron.

Closing time was three p.m., but Ben didn’t leave until five, after checking that everything was ready for the next day and seeing that each employee had left with a package of leftover food to take home. In six weeks, after handing out hundreds of business cards and encouraging comments on service and calls for lunch reservations, he was attracting crowds from the Loop. Molly’s was not only showing a profit but bringing in a substantial amount of cash that wasn’t entered on the books.

In the fall of 1927 the Siegals moved to Albany Park. They immediately fell in love with the neighborhood’s wide, clean streets, paved alleys and green parkways planted with young trees.

The new apartment was quite a change from the cramped quarters of their apartment in the same building as her folks on 16
th
and Hamlin. It was a large, third-floor in the front of a recently constructed six-flat at Central Park and Ainslie. The three bedrooms and two baths were not large, but spacious compared to the old flat. The other tenants of the building were young couples with toddlers or grade-school children and almost all were Jewish. Their building mates included a lawyer, a salesman for a Chrysler Plymouth dealer on Irving Park, a Logan Square hardware dealer and the owner of a shoe store on Lawrence Avenue. The husbands all worked long hours while their wives had their hands full taking care of the house and raising kids. Molly quickly became acquainted with the women.

Their first two weeks in the building were hectic. The painters were still working in the apartment and Molly had difficulty unpacking and taking care of Doris while they were around. Finally, on Friday of the second week, the painters finished. Ben had just come home.

He and Molly were looking over the work while Sol, the painter, who always looked as if he needed a shave, followed them around and touched up a few spots. Back in the kitchen, Ben reached in his pocket and peeled off two hundred and thirty five dollars and handed it to Sol.

Tipping his cap and bowing, the painter smiled, showing a missing tooth.

“Tank you mister and you too, missus,” he said in a heavy accent, quickly stuffing the money in the pocket of his white paint spattered overalls. Picking up the last of his brushes and empty paint cans, he and his helper left through the back door, still bowing as they walked out carefully but noisily clanking the cans, down the three flights of stairs.

Closing the door behind them, Molly turned to Ben with raised eyebrows. “How come you gave him cash? Don’t we want a bill and a cancelled check or something for our records?”