"Manny, Pearls" of wisdom gleaned from time at The Yankee

By Sandy Dawes

No names have been changed, altered or disguised in the course of this narrative. Deal with it.

I started working at the Yankee on Boundary Street in, I think, 1974 (age 23.) It might have been ’73, I don’t know. After leaving for a bit, I came back in, oh, mid-1975(?), and was there I don’t know how long. Went back to school part-time (University of South Carolina Beaufort), then moved to Columbia for, as it turned out, one full-time semester, returned to Beaufort, came back to work once again in ... 1978 or ’79 ... left to do other work, moved to Austin for a little over a year, and came back in 1981 or ’82, after Manny had died. Pearl hired me to work in the kitchen in, oh, ’83, then eventually I was back behind the bar, ’83 or ’84, leaving again in, uh, late ’84?

Anyway, despite my chronological confusion, one fact remains locked and loaded, and 100 percent indisputable: That place was a huge part of my life for over 10 years, and, speaking with Jim Gibson when he called about the reunion, I sighed, “Ahhhhh - GLORY DAYS — yeah.” Majorly. Big-time. I don’t think we know we’re smack in the middle of our Glory Days until much later in our lives (because we’re too busy working, doing “stuff” — you know, “living,”) and I told him I had just read a quote that seemed so appropriate when thinking of those Yankee Days:

“Happiness is not something we experience; it’s something we remember”
— Oscar Levant

I’m honestly sorry for people who never had that Yankee experience — how dull their lives must have been! Forget the great food, forget the cold brewskies for a moment — it was the people who steadfastly chiseled and sculpted the Yankee Tavern into its rightful place in history. We start with Manny and Pearl and Billy and “Shorty” — and that’s a helluva start — but the customers, the clientele, the regulars — they were, 99 percent of them, the most interesting, hilarious, kind-hearted, brilliant, diversified and gloriously fabulous amalgamation of characters who ever gathered together in one place at one time. (The other “1 percent”? Well, they were mean or uncouth or maybe potentially dangerous, and Pearl just ran ’em off. “No big deal,” she’d say, firing up another cigarette — and that was the end of those folks!)

By the time I arrived on the scene, the Yankee was the swingingest place in town. The question was not “Who was their clientele?” Rather, it was “Who wasn’t their clientele?” Everyone in Beaufort with a lick of sense and a taste for good grub (and foosball and “Pong” and pinball machines and shootin’ pool on some pretty warped tables with pool cues that were crooked, dented, sway-backed or otherwise misshapen) - they were there. Shrimpers, construction workers, secretaries, bank tellers, lawyers, insurance agents, car salesmen, USCB professors/administrators and their students, “regular” school teachers, paralegals, hardware/furniture/clothing/jewelry salespeople, newspaper writers, welders, funeral home personnel, domestic goddesses, workers from sign shops, Voc Rehab, and motels, doctors, dock builders, dentists, painters, automobile mechanics ... even one state senator every other Saturday morning!

So here’s a little of what I experienced and what I remember, sent with so much gratitude to you all for being such a marvelous, irreplaceable and memorable collection of people!

ON PEARL:

Ah, the obsequious “dangling cigarette.” If you were eating, drinking — no matter, Pearl’s got a cig dangling from her lips. To my knowledge, no ashes ever actually landed in anyone’s food, and, uh, not to make an issue of it, but there’s really nothing more “sterile” and “germ-free” than ashes!

As a fellow smoker, I tried a couple times to do that dangle thing, but, invariably, the smoke wafted directly into my eyes or up my nose, causing drippage, drooling, hacking, and otherwise unsightly behaviors, so I eventually had to accept the fact I totally lacked that je ne sais quoi flair Pearl had when it came to dangling.

There were a few people who were Pearl’s favorite customers, and when she saw them coming through the door, she’d pop up and greet them so warmly and happily! I can name a few, but in particular, there was this gal named Barbara Tedder. I knew Barbara had been one of the crew who had been instrumental in helping change the Yankee from what was (I believe?) a low-key, mostly Marine hangout into a swingin’, happenin’ joint! Anyway, here’s what I’m wondering: When Pearl saw Barbara hit the door, did she 1.) take the time to put her cigarette in her ashtray, or 2.) did she greet Barbara with that ever-dangling cigarette? Only Barbara can tell us for sure!

Here are a few of Pearl’s sayings I remember so well:

“HOEboy” (ie, “Oh, boy” ... when it was quiet and the TV was boring her, she’d just turn around and throw this out to break the monotony of the evening.)

“How should I know?!”

“So what’s new?”

“That’s unGODly”

Every now and again, you might say something Pearl agreed with (hey, you know, it happened!) and she’d reply, “BINgo!” and you felt as if you’d really accomplished something!

I particularly remember her telling me one quiet evening (and have carried it with me all these years): “Lemme tell you something, kid. A ‘successful’ person is one who gets up every morning and goes to a job he/she enjoys and makes a little salary at the same time. MONEY’S not important — doing what you love, THAT’S important.”

Pearl’s favorite TV shows that I can recall were “Maude” and “Wheel of Fortune.” I’d be perched on the bar stool behind the bar, not paying too much attention, but a great source of merriment was listening to her trying to solve those puzzles.

For instance, let’s say the phrase was obviously

A STITCH IN TIME

Right? Well, the wheels in Pearl’s mind would kick into overdrive and she’d yell, like,

“I SHOULD GO FINE!!!”

(Yes, there’s a time-worn saying we all know so well!)

Or, the phrase was (obviously)

BY LAND AND SEA

and she’d holler (seriously, holler):

“MY DOGS ARE MAD!!!”

(You get the picture. But no matter, right or wrong, it was always great to see Pearl having fun!)

Pearl made a deal with the head of the “migrant workers,” who came in yearly to harvest the vast tomato crops in Beaufort. Her basic deal with him was: You bring your workers in, make sure they “behave”, and I will protect you all from any and all problems my patrons may try to present you.

There was, in my time there, never any trouble. She was always so glad to see that head man, and, in a short time, he knew that Pearl’s “protection” was for real.

Manny and Pearl were deeply involved with the VFW for many years. The VFW hall ran Bingo games on, I believe, Saturday nights, and Manny suggested I come play, which I finally did one evening.

So I’m sipping on (okay, most likely “slugging down”) a few shots of Southern Comfort as I’m playing the big jackpot game. Well good-God-guess-what. The caller hollered “B -11”, and I had just won $575. Cash, baby. Manny said I stood up, my face turned bright red, I screamed “BINGO!” and sat back down before I fell over altogether.

After collecting this massive haul of loot, I drove straight to the Yankee and proceeded to share the wealth. I “set up the house” (“:Drinks are on me, my friends!”) twice before Pearl said, “Okay, this is ridiculous, give me the rest of your money — NOW.”

Did I resist? Probably. But she took the remainder of my cash-stash, locked it up in the safe in the back, and sent me packin’. She could have (via booze sales) gotten every cent of that windfall, eh? But she did the right thing, and I sure was grateful the next morning when, through a hangover the size of New Jersey, I realized I had something more than, oh, 12 bucks left from my newly acquired fortune!

ON MANNY:

Manny’s name was David Meyer Palmer. He told the story of how he became “Manny.” It came from his grandfather. Apparently, Manny, as a baby, was ... well ... apparently, he pooped a lot. Or maybe at the wrong times, I’m not sure. But his grandfather, taking note of Manny’s prodigious, er, biological abilities, gave him a Yiddish nickname, which there’s no way I’ll remember, but let’s just say it was “Manichicewize”, which was then shortened to “Manny”. Loosely translated, “Manichicewize” means, “One who craps in his pants.”

Manny told of his teenage years, when he would smuggle Big Band albums into his home and listen to them on the sly. His father allowed only classical music in their house, and if he found an album by Glenn Miller or Bunny Berrigan, out the window it went. This led me to a truly earth-shaking realization: Benny Goodman was the Mick Jagger of his day! I mean - who freakin’ knew!??

Manny signed up to join the Army (World War II, for you youngsters!) He rode a train from New Jersey to Texas to report for training. He was so sure that, once they crossed the Texas border, he would see cowboys and Indians riding about on their horses trying to shoot each other with bows and arrows and Winchesters. I mean — he was pumped at the thought of seeing this remnant of American history, live and in person! He was truly, utterly disappointed to look out on that endless landscape and see miles and miles of hills, flatlands, houses, ranches, trees ... everything but “cowboys and Indians” having a dust-up there in the Wild, Wild West. Bummer.

One thing I did right: Manny tried to cut costs by switching to “parts is parts” roast beef, but the stuff had a sponge-like texture and was virtually tasteless. Though I totally understood his desire to cut costs, I says, no way, Mr. Palmer. Ain’t gonna happen on my watch. I’m sure the outcry from his loyal patrons would have eventually forced his hand here, but ... well, maybe I made that happen a little quicker? He cooked one batch, may or may not have even served it, and that was the end of that.

Manny’s favorite movies? “Yankee Doodle Dandy” and, number 1, “Alexander’s Ragtime Band.”

Manny’s 3 greatest people who ever lived — 1. Jesus Christ ; 2. Johannes Gutenberg and 3. Albert Einstein.

Manny’s favorite word: “Obstreperous.”

Every now and then, a fussy newcomer would get on our nerves and send something back — usually during the lunch crush (it was always a newcomer - our beloved regulars would never send something back, ever! We had them trained to love whatever they were served and be damn glad to have it!) On days when someone returned something, Manny would invoke the Yankee adage, “The customer is never right!” If his mood wasn’t too dour, he’d go with “The customer is rarely right!”

One day, a woman ordered a “hot corned beef on rye ... with mayo.” It about killed Manny to put mayo on a corned beef sandwich.- “Aren’t there Federal laws prohibiting this?” But, he aimed to please and did as the lady asked. He spent the rest of the afternoon shaking his head in wonderment over this blatant, nauseating aberration of the Natural Laws of the (Deli) Universe. Frankly, I don’t think he ever got over it.

Two historical events I remember sharing with Manny: We got word that Elvis had died. We said, “Long live Elvis.” We also watched Secretariat win that Triple Crown and we thought that was pretty cool.

Manny’s favorite songs on the jukebox were “Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road” and the “Jingle Bells” song as “sung” by a bunch of dogs (“woof woof woof - woof woof woof - woof woof woof woof WOOF!”) He didn’t listen to them that much, but just the idea that they existed tickled him no end! (More later on his favorite jukebox songs.)

ON BIG BILL BOWDEN:

Bill rarely stopped moving, except for a little lunch after the rush. He mopped, scrubbed, scraped, took out the trash, unloaded delivery trucks with Manny, then unpacked them into their proper place, drained and cleaned the deep fat fryers as needed (not not not a fun job!), ran the dishwasher, bussed tables, hauled food from the walk-in to the kitchen as needed, etc., etc. — and all without a complaint. I never, ever heard him whining about how his day was going or how hard he was working, and considered him to be my personal guru/spiritual adviser. (Me? I can piss and moan with the best of ’em, baby! You see, I found something I could do well, and I stuck to it!) I would look to him for advice on how to improve my attitude, and the one thing I remember him telling me was, “Put your best on the outside!” Wise words, indeed, and Bill managed to do that every single day he worked. I must repeat: Every single day.

Bill often sang while he worked, and my favorite was his rendition of a hit by Gerry & the Pacemakers from the ’60’s. He put his own spin on it, of course, and he would sing

“Don’t let the sun catch you shinin’”

(“Cryin’” is apparently okay, but “shinin’? ”. Don’t do it!)

As we all know, it gets kinda “HOT” in Beaufort during the summer. Bill — who lived behind the Yankee, not too far down the street — didn’t have air conditioning. I’d beg him to at least get himself a little window unit for, if nothing else, his bedroom. No, he said, no way. “I had one years ago, and that thang draw too much current! I couldn’t afford all that!” Instead, if he really needed to catch a break from the heat, “I go down to the Piggly Wiggly and hang out around the meat department for a little while. Works fine for me!”

Now, as we’ve established, Bill was one gung-ho worker. He was relentless and very focused when it came to busing the tables during the lunch crunch, which could be an issue sometimes. For instance, if you 1.) got up to use the restroom, 2.) put a quarter in the jukebox, or 3.) even looked at the friend you were having lunch with for just a little too long — well, next time you proceeded to have another bite off your plate of grub, it might already be gone. The best way around this was to keep one hand on your plate and eat with the other, or take your plate to the juke box with you, and I guess if you were really serious about your lunch, you’d take it with you to the restroom, although ... (oy vey!)

One day, Manny asked Bill to go out back and clean up the area a bit. No problem. Bill picks up every piece of trash and Lord knows how many beer bottles and cans. Then, wielding his trusty swing-blade, he finesses the grass down to, oh, a quarter inch high. Moving right along, he gets his little saw and takes out a few unsightly bushes and some saplings. Manny, at this moment, goes out the back door to check on Bill’s progress, just as Bill is about to eliminate a large and beautiful shade tree with his ax. All I heard from my perch behind the bar was “Ahhhrrrgghhhh!!! Billlllllll!!!” from Manny. Bill was, and probably still is, the next best thing to Agent Orange when it comes to complete and utter deforestation.

Note: As of this writing, 2/25/2010, we all just learned that Bill passed away two years ago (with no “Yankee Tavern” to serve as a prime clearing house/information center, it was hard for us all to keep up with one another.) We sadly wish him the fondest of belated farewells. We will never forget him as long as we live, and we’re all gonna see him again up there in Yankee Heaven.

MISCELLANEOUS STUFF

One of my favorite bumper stickers says

HAVING FUN at others’ expense

Which, as it turns out, was an unspoken creed at the Yankee:

One morning, when I was a cook, Bill Arrants stopped in for breakfast. He ordered an “Egg McManny” (Manny’s version of the then-popular McDonald’s “Egg McMuffin”). I fixed it right up for him, except for one small detail: I didn’t cook the egg “over hard,” which was standard procedure, but rather, “over easy.”

Nonchalantly delivering it to him, I stood by chatting him up, patiently waiting ... to my delight, on his second bite, the uncooked yolk virtually exploded, uh, everywhere, and covered his prodigious beard, top to bottom, left to right, then dribbled all over his shirt and his plate and onto the bar. Yeah, I pretty well wrecked his day, right off the bat, and, as a worker at The Yankee, we’d consider this “A job well done!”

Somehow, I acquired a rubber french fry — a “steak fry,” actually. A big, ole, fat fry, just like the kind we served. I was reminded of this by a gal named “Jessica” (on the Yankee reunion Facebook site) who says I used to jokingly give it to her when, as a kid, she used to visit the Yankee. (She referred to me as a “lady” — ha ha!). Thanks, Jessica, I’d forgotten all about that! I’d slip it to unsuspecting “regulars” now and then because — well, I had to, y’ know? Looking back, I see that this could have caused some major dental destruction, resulting in a flurry of lawsuits upon the Yankee and/or myself, but “God looks out for children, drunks, and barcreeps without a lick of sense” (apparently). In particular, I remember Hubble getting his evening meal, sitting down at a table, enthusiastically chowing down, then stomping up and smacking that rubber fry down on the bar, with a growl that more or less said, “Never screw with a man’s dinner. Ever.”

Manny had an ear problem — nothing major, but he would have to periodically go to the doc to have his ears “blown out,” as he would slowly go pretty much deaf without this procedure. So I’d be talking to him and slowly fade out my voice until I was totally just moving my lips without actually saying anything. Meanwhile, he’d be leaning in towards me, closer and closer, trying to understand what I was saying. Then he’d figure out what I was up to, pretend to smack me in the face and holler, “Aw, knock it off!”

The mens’ bathroom was pretty ... interesting.

Mike (“I’d like a cheeseburger with cheese”) Macloskie walked up to the bar one night laughing so hard he could barely stand up. Regaining his composure momentarily, he said, “You know, this place has the only men’s bathroom I’ve ever been in where you can stand on the floor and pee in the urinal or stand in the urinal and pee on the floor and it just don’t make a damn!”

Now and again, Manny would visit the men’s room and come out shaking his head in dismay. Occasionally, some young fella, eager to prove his manliness and fueled by a few pitchers of beer, would rip the hand-towel dispenser off the wall, place it lovingly/proudly on the floor, and split. Subsequently, Manny and Big Bill would spend an hour trying to re-afix it to the wall, a job that was never fun.

One saying I came up with after a couple of forays into that bathroom was, “Being a woman certainly has its advantages, and one of them is, you never have to go into men’s bathrooms if you really don’t want to!”

HOW “DAMN GOOD CHOWDER” GOT ITS NAME

One day, Manny introduced a new menu item: his now-legendary chowder. We put a sign up to let everyone know of this marvelous new addition to Manny’s already massive culinary repertoire. He had, off the top of his head, named it something like, “Perfect Chowder.” (I’ll never remember the original name, as it lasted less than a day!)

After the lunch rush, Chuck Elias wandered in looking for some grub. Ever the adventurer, he got himself a sandwich and a bowl of this newfangled “perfect” chowder.

When he was done eating, he brought his emptied dishes to the bar and said, “Well, it’s not ‘perfect’, but it’s damn good!”

Manny was in the back, and I told him Chuck’s response to this new chowder business. Perking up, he said words to the effect that, “Okay, then — we’ll call it ‘Damn Good Chowder.’ How about that?!” I was all for it, and thus “DGC” got its name.

Now here’s the worst thing that could happen to us barcreeps in the daytime: it’s the lunch rush, the phone rings, you grab it and say, “Yankee!”

And then — oh, I’m cringing to even write this — a Southern woman (she was always Southern and always a woman; don’t know why) says, “What kind of sandwiches do y’all have?”

OH! The Horror!! Fifty people are waiting for their lunch, Manny and his helper are kickin’ butt in the kitchen, customers are lined up ready to pay for their meal, and then, “What kind of sandwiches do y’all have?”

Now, if you were lucky and the Yankee Gods were smiling upon you that day, a stalwart “regular” customer (Lynn, is that you? Mike? Moonpie? Ted?) would be sitting near the phone (in front of the TV), and you could beg him/her to deal with this poor, ignorant newbie, and you’d ask (beg) him/her to deal with the call, and he/she would say “No problem!” and the lunch rush would proceed as usual. Of course, if the Yankee Gods were ticked off at you that day ... you were on your own. I would always start such a dreaded call with, “Well, what kind of sandwich would you like?” Because, you know, we had it, right? But they usually wanted to have a nice long chat about “Well, what all’s in a steak sub?” or “Is there provolone in the Italian sub?” or “What exactly is a ‘sub’?”

(Arrrggghhhh, just thinking about this scenario is too. too traumatic for moi!!!)

Moving on:

Our evening “regulars” (we really thought of them as “our people”) generally hit the door between 5 and 6 p.m. I’d see them, grab their favorite beer, crack it open: It’s waiting for them on the bar by the time they reached me. I don’t recall one time when the regular said, “Oh no, oh no! I was going to have a refreshing glass of warm milk today.”

Mini-bottles hit the scene in 1974 or so. I could fix, oh, a rum and coke, but that was the extent of my mixology prowess. One quiet Saturday afternoon, a customer asked me to concoct a drink I’d never heard of. Manny was hanging out at a table with a customer, waiting for Pearl to take the night-reins, and I said, “Manny, uh, don’t take this the wrong way, but, uh, I need a ‘slow screw.’” Ha, ha. He apologized, saying, “Sorry, I only have time for a quickie,” and was then kind enough to explain the drink to me (screwdriver + sloe gin = “sloe screw”). Live and learn!

My two favorite lines I ever came up with: Late one night, someone sitting at a table with some friends proposed a toast. “Sorry!” I hollered, “Kitchen’s closed!”

My other favorite was when a newbie would ask, “Do you take credit cards?” “Why yes, we do”, I’d reply, “but we don’t give ’em back. We go shopping!” Well I just thought I was a scream.

(I know, pretty sad ... years working there, hours and days working there, and those were my best two lines. Damn.)

Breakfast: This is where I learned that “men will eat anything”. You know — ham and cheese and green pepper and cream cheese and onion and jelly and jalapeno omelets. Seriously.

Lunch/dinner: This is where I learned, again, that “men will eat anything” as long as it’s 1.) piled high on a plate and 2.) covered with gravy. As the steam wafts off the plate as you set it down in front of the man (no woman would ever order such a thing), he sits up straighter, his eyes glaze over, all conversation comes to a halt and — well, that’s one happy man ... a man in Yankee Heaven.

THE ONLY REASON, THE best reason, to have money is so you can leave big tips. Sure, it’s great when you can pony up that mortgage payment, and buying food for your children is an admirable undertaking. But ultimately, I believe the good Lord blesses us with cash so we can all leave big tips. Now, I could bang out a whole book on how important — nay, crucial — it is to tip often and tip well, but ... I won’t. Oh, but let me say this: Now and then — not often, but now and then — either Manny or Pearl would take over the bar for you for a little bit. And their policy was, if someone left them a tip, they’d pass it along to you. Pretty cool!

And I must throw this in: Manny and Pearl were seriously, truly, honestly easy to work for. They were so patient (yeah, even Pearlie Mae!) as they showed you the ropes, and once you got in the groove, all was well. In spite of Pearl’s prickly reputation, she never once hollered at me for screwing something up, never tried to make me feel bad and never power-tripped on you the way oh-so-many “bosses” do when they’re trying to look smarter and better than you.

At one point in the early 1980’s, after Manny had passed, Pearl hired me to work in the kitchen. I was honored that she trusted me with the keys to this most holy of holy places! I’d come in at, oh, 6:30 a.m. or so to cook the grits and bacon and just do general prep work for the day.

To help me stay awake, I’d slide a couple of quarters into the jukebox and crank the volume to the max. This worked great, until one morning, about 7:30, an old geezer (you know, a man about 50 years old) came in for coffee and breakfast. A short time later, a younger fella came in as well, and, even though it was still “early morning,” headed straight for the juke box. Need I elaborate on just how well things went when “Let’s Go Crazy” exploded at mega-volume as the old (you know, 50, for God’s sake) guy attempted to drink a sip of his coffee at that exact same moment?

For you movie buffs:

Manny’s mother, Ada (a total sweetheart), was from somewhere in Eastern Europe. She saw “Fiddler on the Roof,” and told Manny that the film was a PERFECT re-creation of the times and the town she lived in before emigrating to America. Well, except for the singin’ and dancin’ parts.

Once or twice a year, I dream I’m back working at the Yankee. I always wake up exhausted because I’ve just spent the past several hours doing that Yankee thang. It’s Friday night, about 8:30 p.m., and as “Back on the Chain Gang” ignites the juke box, I’m 1.) starting a pitcher 2.) grabbing a BCB x tom (bacon cheeseburger, no tomatoes) and FF (French fries) and a Hot RB Sub w/O and PS (hot roast beef sub with onion and potato skins) from the kitchen 3.) sliding the plates onto the bar and yelling “Mo, here’s your grub!”, 4.) eying the pitcher, it’s only 2/3 full, so there’s time to 5.) snatch 2 long-neck Buds and a PBR from the coolers, crack them open, clunk ‘em on the bar, 6.) run to the pitcher, grab it with my right hand and collect 3 pilsner glasses with my left, 7.) deliver that to a stalwart customer, 8.) run to the other end of the bar and toss a fresh cube of chalk to some folks shootin’ some stick, 9.) collect cash for the pitcher/make change, 10.) phone rings, 11.) Pearl’s right there at the TV and says, “I’ll take it!” and I 12.) hand her the phone and order pad and pen, 13.) inwardly say a deep prayer of gratitude to her!, 14.) spin around and zip to the kitchen to fetch a knife and fork for the woman eating the PS’s, 15.) you get the picture. Or the pitcher. Or both.

There was a verrrrrrry special song on the juke box, and it had been there since The Yankee opened: “Chances Are,” by Johnny Mathis (located on the lower left side.) The little label the title/artist was typed on was yellow/gray with nicotine and age, but it was the one song that never got switched out for newer tunes. That was “Manny and Pearl’s Song” (hands off!) It was rarely played by a clientele more prone to “Smoke on the Water” and “Born to Run” than that old stuff, but my dim recollection tells me they played it twice in my time there (as Manny took his leave from the day shift and Pearl was gearing up for her nighttime duties.) Dimmer still: Did they ever dance to it? Once, one time, Manny and Pearl dancing together?? Oh, I hope so! I truly hope I got to see those two slow-dancing at least one time in my life!

Well, it’s nice to think that maybe, right now, Manny and Pearl are up there slow-dancin’ in Yankee Heaven.