Samaritans ………………………. Emergence/Ascension


Upon my return the following night, I was informed of the incident involving the former-bus boy on his first as Door-Security. Those fellows were subsequently banned, and things returned to business as usual, or so I thought. The following week, there were the odd skirmishes, most with the exception of a few were taken outside. One occasion took all but a minute, a student who ‘called-out’ a biker hadn’t noticed him carrying his helmet with him and the conflict was over tout-suite. The house, which had emptied out for this occurrence, returned after their brief exodus.

One odd occurrence took place when I came upon a scuffle, and was requested to let run its course, contrary to establishment policy. There was also the fact that my intended motion to put a stop to it was blocked. Upon inquiry, I was informed the former-MC of a friendly gang was defending my honour. The losing biker had made a racial comment about my person and this MC took exception. The remark was demanded retracted, which was refused, and so physical confrontation was the result. The matter was settled and I’d made an unexpected enemy, not that the remark was not an indicator as it was. There were a couple of other such utterances, which I overheard but chose to let it go considering the sources.

Things were getting overwhelming, and the popularity of the establishment grew,, so a second doorman was hired. This time, an ex-police officer, or so I was told, and he appeared genuine enough. Physically and characteristically, he fit the bill and we began a trusting relationship. As this was a requirement for working in such an establishment if one was to feel as secure as the patrons, considering the incident with the bus-boy who was still in recovery.

The establishment was running smoothly, taking turns on the door and touring the premises was the routine since it was quite a large place now that I think of it. The front was a ‘Steak and Burger’, with a Gentlemen-and-Escorts room where older gents would imbibe, an upstairs lounge, and the larger downstairs drinking drinking hall with background music provided by a jukebox. How I had done it on my own for all those months, with only a few incidents, was most likely due to the co-operation of our clientele, what may have been my easy-going nature, and the lack-of-abuse that was a staple prior to my hiring.

As luck would have it, there were interests of the fairer sex, which included a young lass I was beginning to favour, and whom I believed favoured me. She wasn’t altogether forthcoming with being monogamous, but we were in the early stages of getting to know each other. Such was my naive thinking. I was invited to an after-work visit where I had hope to be spending the night. That wash not to be the case, and after a quick turn on the couch I was out the door. Instead of taking the elevator, I elected to take the stairs down to the lobby, to reflect on what had just occurred. To my chagrin, what was I to see but a fellow exiting the building whom I recognized, and whom she’d told me was no longer in her favour.

I wasn’t one to leave matters incomplete, so spoke with her about the subject on a later occasion. It was during that conversation I overheard the voice of one of the ‘fired/banned-fellows’ in the background. He asked who she was talking to, and when she told him, responded with a racial expletive which surprised me. I had always considered him a friend, but it appeared my sentiments were one-sided. The conversation ended, and I continued my job as doorman, alongside my trusted partner who appeared a competent and friendly fellow. Things progressed smoothly, with a few minor incidents but nothing too serious. After all, with five bike-gangs, a combination of university students and citizens rounding out the mix, all seemed in harmony.

One night after closing, I made my last rounds downstairs and proceeded to lock up. As I climbed the stairs, approaching the first landing, a darkness overcame me and I stumbled on the stairs. I caught myself from falling, took a breath and proceeded to close up. I was to be given a ride home on the back of my new colleague’s motorcycle, and although I noticed a gathering crowd I paid no attention. My ex-police partner showed no concern, so neither did I. As we rode off, he on his motorcycle, I was pulled from the back by a bystander who turned out to be one of the brothers.

He, the younger of the two, then proceeded to hit me amidst my requests for him to stop. After his fifth punch to my face, I agreed to his intention to mix-it-up in a fight. As I was getting the better of him the older brother joined in from behind and we began to mix-it-up. A blow came from behind as I was turning to add him to the conflict and I slipped, due to the momentum from one of his punches and I struck my head on the curb, lights out!

A later account of what followed was that they proceeded to ‘put the boots to me’. The ‘observing service-staff’ intervened so as not to have to attend a funeral, and experience a probable crime investigation, on the event of my death as one had exclaimed. It also came to light, that these brothers had acquired two other fellows as back-up, just in case I was a ‘street-fighter’, because no one could figure out how I was so successful in keeping-the-peace at this establishment on my own. Incidentally, a passer-by had tried to intervene on my behalf during my assault and received a crushed cheek-bone for which charges were laid.

The last thing I remembered, was falling backwards before unconsciousness. I regained consciousness while being lifted onto the backseat of a car by two passers-by. The street appeared dark, possibly from being on the shadow-side of the automobile, accompanied by a numbness. These unknown fellows drove me to the Emergency at the Mount Sinai Hospital on University Avenue, waited with me until my sister and mother arrived to retrieve me after I was checked out by the hospital and police.

In my bewildered state, I asked my mother how it is that those I considered friends could turn on me thus? Her response has stayed with me to this day. “Well”, she said, “not everyone goes to the same Sunday school.”

I was two-months in recovering and received periodic visits from these total strangers, enamoured by my concerned lovely sister and my kindly mother.

It appeared I had experienced yet another unrecognized/unacknowledged bigoted/racial incident amidst a kindness acting as counterbalance. What I considered fortunate in remembering this incident was, I wasn’t run over while lying unconscious in the middle of this darkened street, at 2:00 am in the morning.


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