f/Silly Sophie/f
THE DUNCAN
AL the BELLMAN
Mario LanzaFLASH! Stop the presses! Enlightenment can wait.
I have to tell you about our latest trip to New Haven and our new lodging fave – The Hotel Duncan on Chapel Street.
Silly Sophie is two months and one week old. We had a fine visit with her and her parents on Saturday. Sophie’s Great Aunt Josephine (Auntie Jo) joins us for the day. About 9 PM Rena, Jo and I drive to the Hotel Duncan where we have a reservation for the night. Christopher has warned us in advance, “It’s not your average hotel, but I think you guys will like it.”
Following a contest for a parking spot with a lithe but buxom six-foot-tall African-American woman in a blond wig, skimpy tank-top and white short-shorts (Rena’s Suzuki eventually loses to the lady’s Camaro), we enter the lobby of the Duncan and register at the desk. The lobby is dark wood with a black and white harlequin floor –1940’s vintage.
“The bellboy will be here shortly to escort you to your room.”
The desk clerk dings his bell.
“Ah,” he says, “and here’s the bellboy now.”
An 85 year old gent wearing a black tie and white shirt ambles up to the desk.
“That’s bellMAN NOT bellBOY!” Al, the bellperson, admonishes the clerk.
I grab the bags as Al escorts us to the elevator.
“Don’t want the old boy to pop a hernia,” I whisper to Rena.
“This is the oldest operating passenger elevator in Connecticut,” says Al proudly.
“And this must be the oldest living elevator operator in Connecticut,” I think to myself.
Al slides back the folding metal door and hops down into the driver’s seat.
“Wait while I adjust it,” says Al.
He deftly raises the elevator about 9 inches so we don’t have to jump down after him.
“This elevator has been in the hotel for 85 years,” says Al brightly.
“And how long have you been working here?” I ask.
“Thirty two years,” answers Al.
“How’s it going so far?” I inquire.
“Not bad. Some nights are better than others.”
“I hear the elevator business has its ups and downs,” I chortle.
Al gives me the stink-eye and mutters to himself.
As we ascend slowly, I try to calculate whether thirty two years in the elevator at the Duncan Hotel is the same vertical distance as a trip to the moon and back. I conclude, it’s a definite maybe.
We exit after two floors and walk down the hall to our room. Al fiddles with the key for a while but the door is stubborn. I try. Still no luck. Then I look at the key.
“This is the wrong room,” I exclaim. Al takes a look. “We’re not even on the right floor,” he groans.
Al leads the way, as our troupe of adventurers nudges and giggles its way back to the elevator cage. We get in and ascend two more floors. As we walk down the 5th floor hallway, Al observes perspicaciously- “So there’s three. You, the Mrs. and her.” He nods toward Josephine.
“Good thing I brought an extra girl for you, Al.” I observe.
Al shakes his head – “No thanks,” he deadpans. “I love my wife more than anything.” He pauses and cogitates for a second. “Except, Mario Lanza. My wife thinks I love Mario Lanza more than I love her.”
I do a double take. How did Mario Lanza get into this?
“You mean Mario Lanza – as in The Student Prince?”
This bellman explodes. “He was robbed! They didn’t let him act. He did the soundtrack but they gave the part to another actor.” Al fumes in righteous indignation.
“Sorry I touched a sore spot.” I apologize.
“Never mind,” says Al dourly. “I’ll get over it . . . . someday.”
He opens the door to room 510.
“Name another Mario Lanza movie,” blurts Al as we enter our room.
“Um, ‘Bells of St. Mary’s’, ” I venture.
“Come on -- that was Bing Crosby,” Al sneers. “Try again.”
“I give up,” I say turning to face our bellman.
“Hah,” he harrumphs. “If I had a dollar for every time I’ve watched ‘The Great Caruso’ I’d be a wealthy man.”
Al pulls out his wallet. “Look at this.”
He opens the wallet to a well-thumbed black & white photo of Mario Lanza singing in front of a group of white-robed choirboys.
“Do you know what movie THIS is?” he demands.
“Can’t say that I do.”
“Neither can I,” says Al regretfully. “It’s been bugging the hell out of me for years. I’ll go and get you more towels.”
Al exits the room.
Room 510 is almost as quirky as the elevator. (Not as quirky as the bellman though!)
I’ve seen hotel rooms with two double beds and I’ve seen rooms in pensions in Europe with two single beds, but never before have I seen a room with a double bed and a single bed. Above each individual bed is a print of an English hunting scene. Only it’s the exact same print over both beds. “I bet there’s another room in the Duncan that has duplicate prints over its beds,” I surmise.
“Hey, look you guys,” I exclaim. “The television is a Philco. Can you believe it?”
There’s a knock on the door. It’s Al with the towels.
“I brought you towels and soap,” he explains. Al comes to a halt and looks puzzled. “And something else but I can’t remember what. But if you need anything just push the buzzer.”
That’s the last we see of Al.
I head for the bathroom while the girls switch on the Philco.
Surprisingly the picture and sound aren’t bad!
Despite its age, the Duncan bathroom is exquisitely clean. There are lots of towels and soap. Oh yeah, and plenty of plastic water glasses too.
“Good old Al,” I think to myself. “He remembered.”
As I brush my teeth for bed, I muse on a change in retirement plans. Maybe I won’t be a Walmart greeter after all. Maybe I can get Al’s job as bellMAN at the Duncan instead! Why not? He’s probably about to drop in his tracks any day now. We’ll be near to Silly Sophie, I can make extra money on tips and I’ll have a captive audience all the way to the 5th floor. I can tell tons of awful jokes to your tired, your poor, and your tempest tossed yearning to be free (of my 90-year-old elevator cage with its gracefully aging elevator operator). Yes indeedy, just think of it!
Silly Sophie is two months and one week old. We had a fine visit with her and her parents on Saturday. Sophie’s Great Aunt Josephine (Auntie Jo) joins us for the day. About 9 PM Rena, Jo and I drive to the Hotel Duncan where we have a reservation for the night. Christopher has warned us in advance, “It’s not your average hotel, but I think you guys will like it.”
Following a contest for a parking spot with a lithe but buxom six-foot-tall African-American woman in a blond wig, skimpy tank-top and white short-shorts (Rena’s Suzuki eventually loses to the lady’s Camaro), we enter the lobby of the Duncan and register at the desk. The lobby is dark wood with a black and white harlequin floor –1940’s vintage.
“The bellboy will be here shortly to escort you to your room.”
The desk clerk dings his bell.
“Ah,” he says, “and here’s the bellboy now.”
An 85 year old gent wearing a black tie and white shirt ambles up to the desk.
“That’s bellMAN NOT bellBOY!” Al, the bellperson, admonishes the clerk.
I grab the bags as Al escorts us to the elevator.
“Don’t want the old boy to pop a hernia,” I whisper to Rena.
“This is the oldest operating passenger elevator in Connecticut,” says Al proudly.
“And this must be the oldest living elevator operator in Connecticut,” I think to myself.
Al slides back the folding metal door and hops down into the driver’s seat.
“Wait while I adjust it,” says Al.
He deftly raises the elevator about 9 inches so we don’t have to jump down after him.
“This elevator has been in the hotel for 85 years,” says Al brightly.
“And how long have you been working here?” I ask.
“Thirty two years,” answers Al.
“How’s it going so far?” I inquire.
“Not bad. Some nights are better than others.”
“I hear the elevator business has its ups and downs,” I chortle.
Al gives me the stink-eye and mutters to himself.
As we ascend slowly, I try to calculate whether thirty two years in the elevator at the Duncan Hotel is the same vertical distance as a trip to the moon and back. I conclude, it’s a definite maybe.
We exit after two floors and walk down the hall to our room. Al fiddles with the key for a while but the door is stubborn. I try. Still no luck. Then I look at the key.
“This is the wrong room,” I exclaim. Al takes a look. “We’re not even on the right floor,” he groans.
Al leads the way, as our troupe of adventurers nudges and giggles its way back to the elevator cage. We get in and ascend two more floors. As we walk down the 5th floor hallway, Al observes perspicaciously- “So there’s three. You, the Mrs. and her.” He nods toward Josephine.
“Good thing I brought an extra girl for you, Al.” I observe.
Al shakes his head – “No thanks,” he deadpans. “I love my wife more than anything.” He pauses and cogitates for a second. “Except, Mario Lanza. My wife thinks I love Mario Lanza more than I love her.”
I do a double take. How did Mario Lanza get into this?
“You mean Mario Lanza – as in The Student Prince?”
This bellman explodes. “He was robbed! They didn’t let him act. He did the soundtrack but they gave the part to another actor.” Al fumes in righteous indignation.
“Sorry I touched a sore spot.” I apologize.
“Never mind,” says Al dourly. “I’ll get over it . . . . someday.”
He opens the door to room 510.
“Name another Mario Lanza movie,” blurts Al as we enter our room.
“Um, ‘Bells of St. Mary’s’, ” I venture.
“Come on -- that was Bing Crosby,” Al sneers. “Try again.”
“I give up,” I say turning to face our bellman.
“Hah,” he harrumphs. “If I had a dollar for every time I’ve watched ‘The Great Caruso’ I’d be a wealthy man.”
Al pulls out his wallet. “Look at this.”
He opens the wallet to a well-thumbed black & white photo of Mario Lanza singing in front of a group of white-robed choirboys.
“Do you know what movie THIS is?” he demands.
“Can’t say that I do.”
“Neither can I,” says Al regretfully. “It’s been bugging the hell out of me for years. I’ll go and get you more towels.”
Al exits the room.
Room 510 is almost as quirky as the elevator. (Not as quirky as the bellman though!)
I’ve seen hotel rooms with two double beds and I’ve seen rooms in pensions in Europe with two single beds, but never before have I seen a room with a double bed and a single bed. Above each individual bed is a print of an English hunting scene. Only it’s the exact same print over both beds. “I bet there’s another room in the Duncan that has duplicate prints over its beds,” I surmise.
“Hey, look you guys,” I exclaim. “The television is a Philco. Can you believe it?”
There’s a knock on the door. It’s Al with the towels.
“I brought you towels and soap,” he explains. Al comes to a halt and looks puzzled. “And something else but I can’t remember what. But if you need anything just push the buzzer.”
That’s the last we see of Al.
I head for the bathroom while the girls switch on the Philco.
Surprisingly the picture and sound aren’t bad!
Despite its age, the Duncan bathroom is exquisitely clean. There are lots of towels and soap. Oh yeah, and plenty of plastic water glasses too.
“Good old Al,” I think to myself. “He remembered.”
As I brush my teeth for bed, I muse on a change in retirement plans. Maybe I won’t be a Walmart greeter after all. Maybe I can get Al’s job as bellMAN at the Duncan instead! Why not? He’s probably about to drop in his tracks any day now. We’ll be near to Silly Sophie, I can make extra money on tips and I’ll have a captive audience all the way to the 5th floor. I can tell tons of awful jokes to your tired, your poor, and your tempest tossed yearning to be free (of my 90-year-old elevator cage with its gracefully aging elevator operator). Yes indeedy, just think of it!
Daktari
P.S. To see the great American tenor Mario Lanza singing Ave Maria in front of choir boys go to:
