McManus Pride
This weekend, and always
I originally published this story last year, but it seems a fitting time to share it again.
Back in 1993, in addition to slinging hash, I worked part time at Housing Works (a non-profit providing housing and services for homeless people living with AIDS and HIV). It was an interesting time to work in two wildly different environments. McManus was a little rougher back then (no female bartenders allowed) and while New York City has always been progressive, there was still homophobia, misinformation, and a tremendous amount of fear surrounding the AIDS epidemic.
Earlier that spring, I’d signed up to do the AIDS Walk New York fundraiser in Central Park, but I hadn’t done much by way of getting sponsors. In fact, I didn’t have a single one. With the deadline for the AIDS Walk rapidly approaching, I turned up for my waitressing shift one afternoon with a plan. In addition to serving customers and not spilling anything, I would try to get people to sign my pledge sheet. As I gazed down at the raucous line of ironworkers, cops, electricians, firefighters and construction guys bellied up to the bar, I started to lose my nerve.
It’s never easy asking for money, and this was a tough crowd, and a tough issue.
My boss Jamo came around the corner as I stood wavering, clutching my blank sheet.
“You got time to lean, you got time to clean!” he barked, “that’s what the Ol’ Man always said…”
I laughed, and told him about the AIDS Walk, and confessed that I needed to find sponsors. I expected him to tell me to get back to work and to do that on my own time—but instead he took the pen from behind his ear and signed my sheet.
“How much are we supposed to give here?”
I looked at him gratefully, and shrugged. “Um, I don’t know… $10.00?”
He nodded, and marked it down. Then he said, “OK, let’s go!” and hustled me down the bar, putting the squeeze on each and every customer. (We had to move fast; these guys were throwing back beer and gulping down burgers on their break—they had to get back to work.)
If anyone hemmed, hawed, or hesitated, Jamo shamed them into coughing up a pledge. He was funny, charming and persuasive. And he owned the bar.
In the end, every single man at the bar that afternoon signed my sheet pledging their support, and the 1993 AIDS Walk raised more than $4m.
It was a shakedown for a good cause, and I now realize Jamo was able to pry open some minds as well as wallets. He was a good man.
Beautiful story. He was clearly a lovely person
RIP, Jamo