As I noted a couple of days ago one of the best things about working at the Pizza Wagon was how late it closed on Saturday nights. However, one Saturday night stands out among the rest, New Years Eve.
From my earliest memories New Years Eve was always a special time because it was one of the few holidays shared by people of different religions, there was no school the following day, and it symbolized a chance to start anew. I always liked the caricatures of old man time wearing a sash indicating the past year and baby with a sash emblazoned with the new year. More important than the sharing, lack of school or symbolism is the fact this was the one night my parents starting when we were very small let my sister, brother and myself stay up until midnight.
During the previous couple New Years Eves I had worked as a babysitter for friends of my parents while they went out together, and as a coat and boot checker at the synagogue where my parents and friends went to dance the night away. Still, working at The Wagon was different despite the fact I probably made more in tips as a checker than my hourly wage of one dollar and ten cents. Yes, Mr. P had raised my salary by a nickel with a caution not to tell anyone, which didn’t make sense to me since M told me about his nickel raise a month earlier and cousin Jim told me about his nickel raise on Friday night.
Since New Years Eve always attracted a large crowd to the restaurant even when it fell during the week Mr. P decided to have the entire staff work the whole night. It was a decision he would never regret, because as soon as we opened the doors at 4:00 pm until the last patron was escorted out the door at 3:30 am New Years Day every seat was taken, and their was a crowd waiting from the reception counter to the front door, and sometimes out into the street.
Some people came in multiple times through the night. It was not unusual to see a friend come in with his family for dinner, and just hours after clearing away the basket from the garlic bread and plate for his meatball sandwich see him return with friends for pizza. A few even returned around midnight or after to have a soda or coffee.
We were in constant motion. If we weren’t clearing tables, hustling dishes back to the kitchen to be cleaned and returned, or filling sodas for the waitresses, we were slicing cheese, chopping cabbage and onions, or running to the storage room for mushrooms or coffee. Friends kept coming by, making their way through the crowd filling the reception area so they could report on the latest development at one of the many parties. But, we were having our own party as Mr. P decided there would be no breaks but we could grab food on the run as we kept working. Every imaginable song poured out of the juke box, but mostly what I heard that night were the driving sounds of Jim Morrison and the Doors wailing out Light My Fire, and Eric Clapton and Cream cranking out Sunshine of Your Love and Grace Slick flying high with Jefferson Airplane with Somebody to Love. Of course, Mr. P made sure Guy Lombardo had his turn doing Auld Lang Syne at the appointed hour.
The bar crowd was just as friendly as usual, but maybe a little more inebriated. I still have a clear picture of helping one celebrant whose face lay in his own vomit find the door. After closing, a number of us went to an all night diner on Capitol Drive and finished the celebration over breakfast.
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