Larry has asked that I begin this week’s Gossip Column by thanking our journalist friends and their respective publications. He and his wife, Diane, would like to thank our supporters at The Detroit News, The Metro Times, Real Detroit, Model D and anyone who has ever written about Cafe D’Mongo. Without you, we would be seven people sitting in a room.
Likewise, I would like to point out some of the many publications who have failed to mention our quaint speakeasy. This list includes, but is not limited to, The New York Times, The Financial Times, Cat Fancy, Slate, Cigar Aficionado, Women’s Wear Daily, Good Housekeeping, Town and Country, Field and Stream, Soldier of Fortune and Time –especially Time. With all your infinite wisdom of Detroit, I am surprised you have failed to tap into its creative spring. Even Dutch television and radio has spent a wild and drunken night with us and survived to report the experience. If anyone from any of the aforementioned publications visits Cafe D’Mongo’s, DRINKS ON LARRY! And Time, for you, we will set aside a sloppy-larry followed by, if you’re lucky, a shot of Patron and a lap-dance at Eros Lounge.
Film Shoot
Sunday Larry and his old friend, Chico, are sitting at the bar listening to the Super Fly soundtrack and reminiscing about the old days. Beside them Christine is reading a book on organized crime, perking her ears every so often at an exceptionally titillating detail or whenever Larry seeks approval. Right, Christine? Yes, Larry. Tonight Geoff George is shooting a film in the cafe.
The actors are waiting in the synagogue next door, but men with tool belts and serious faces move about setting up cameras, lights. One of them asks me to fill out a waiver before appearing as an extra. I am impressed by my friend’s professionalism–so too is Larry who keeps referring to this as real work. Man, what have you got me into, Geoff? I’ve never worked a day in my life! All this movement has put Larry in a talkative mood.
He talks about his outfits. Everything from the early period is either handmade or customized with his initials–or often times, both. Larry once let me try on his mink coat featuring his initials monogrammed in the silk lining. Another time he let me wear his signature ring: an enormous hunk of gold with the LM in diamonds. In his own words, that was a different time. A time when he had sneakers made of crocodile skins. Tonight he remembers a red and white checked pair. I had them weaved. Back then, you could have anything made in Detroit.
The old days. For Larry, this means his older brother, Benji, who died tragically at an early age. Larry picks up the records sleeve and points to Ron O’Neal in a bathtub. I used to ask Benji all the time: why don’t you get a real job. He said ‘I have a real job. I make $160 an hour. Every hour. I make money when I sleep. I have a TV and a phone in the bathroom.’ Back then, Larry points out, that was something. To have a TV in the bathroom. Chico nods. Those were some times.
Not knowing what to say, I make a comment: At least no one ever dropped the television in the bathtub . . .
Silence. Christine sets aside her book.
Well, Larry begins, there was that one guy. Remember him, Chico? Actually, a few went that way.
This piece goes out to all the men and women who left this world while watching bathroom televisions in the 1970s.
And to Geoff for giving Larry and Chico their acting debut.
The room fills out with people, young and overly attractive. They drink and chain smoke and the smoke is beautiful in a romantic, cliché sort of way. Christine and I serve them—whiskey, vodka, beer. Geoff shoots an outdoor scene. We watch through the window: John Notarianni’s marching band takes down the center of the street followed by Geoff on his director’s throne followed by, at some distance, a hobo.
This last actor earns his ducats by applying teeth paint and donning smelly rags. He is enthusiastic about this role and tells a lively story about fooling the bartenders, and then Jerry’s friend, at the Park Bar. Truth be told, he is somewhat self righteous, using his disguise to take liberties with ladies–hey baby, that’s just the hobo in me. It is quite the splash when Christine pulls one over on him. Excuse me sir, I think someone stole your cart.
Nearly everyone in the cafe is wearing an Astro button provided by Dai Hughes, whose coffee shop by that name is set to open in Corktown this fall. If you see Dai, ask him to do that thing with his hands. He draws a face between his index finger and thumb and performs a little dance. It is part Charlie Chaplin, part terrifying. Afterwards, give him all your cash. Astro cannot open until he raises enough capital.
Who pinned Jeremy? Jeremy Freer of The Juliets[1]: the star of this short. He describes his character as an urban farmer/aspiring rock n’roll-jazz musician who spends the duration of the film trying to get a gig at Mr Mongo’s bar. What a plot! True, it is somewhat ridiculous but more so brilliant, considering George’s impressive body of photographic work. The man has an eye like no other and can get away with anything—ANYTHING! Besides, Geoff has Larry tell Jeremy that he’s sick of collard greens. Next time his musician/farmer better bring him some colored greens. Who thought of those lines?
Jack, aka the Singing Bicycle Man, also shows up. Then he mysteriously disappears, in typical Jack fashion, to return just in time to appear on-screen as a bartender—never offering an explanation. Our own Sheila takes her on-screen roll as the lovely hostess. Mid-way through the shoot Last-Man-On-Alcatraz walks through the door wearing a bright red suit and matching leather hat. He declines to appear on film.
At the end of the night Geoff and his Film Men buy pizzas and peppers and everyone is happy to eat and be in their friend’s film. I feel honored to be part of such a perfect scene with so many amazing people. I love everyone in my D’Mongo family and Geoff and Dai and Ben-Who-Gives-Me-Chocolate, and now Jeremy and Tiffany and Hobo and Hobo’s friend.
This isn’t my film, but I love everyone. I love you so much and cannot wait to see you Friday night!
[1] “And four wax candles in the darkened room/ Four rings of light upon the ceiling/ Overhead/ An atmosphere of Juliet’s tomb/ Prepared for all things to be said/ Or left unsaid” From TS Eliot’s poem, Portrait of a Lady
For all the attention D’Mongo’s has received, I am still nostalgic for those days when it was just ten kids from the neighborhood sitting around the bar. That’s how I met many friends. That’s why I fell in love with Detroit.