Tales of A Pizzaman- The Big Bust

I used to be the co-manager of the Domino's Pizza store at 111 North Belvedere in Richmond, VA. That was where I insulted Wynton Marsalis.

We were one of the busiest stores in the Dominos Pizza Chain. Word got around the street that because we were so busy, there was a lot of money in the store. Then somebody heard that some persons unknown were planning to rob us. So we hired off-duty Richmond cops to stay in the store during the night shift to act as security. They got $15 an hour under the table, which was great money for that time and place.

My favorite hired gun was Arnold. I knew it was going to be a good night if he was there.

He was a big black guy, and ex-Vietnam veteran, who used to work with the K-9 unit. He had a great sense of humor, and liked to tell stories. Still, he could be a no nonsense all business type if he had to. He and his wife were separated at the time, and he was living alone in a studio apartment. His daughters adored him, and came around to cook for him and make sure their daddy was OK. Still, he liked to be out of that apartment and out among people. Making extra money was just a bonus.

Nothing ever happened that I couldn't handle while Arnold was there, but he was always ready to back me up. If someone was getting a little too loud or too frisky, Arnold would shoot them a nasty look and they would calm down quick. Usually, though, he just stood around on the other side of the counter and cracked jokes and talked with people. It was like having your favorite Uncle as your store security.

One night, it was late, and business was slow. Almost everyone had gone home, and I was getting ready to close up. Arnold said he was going outside to have a cigarette.

He stood on the corner looking uptown. A guy came around the corner. He was a tall, almost skeletal white guy with stringy hair, wearing torn jeans, a light plaid shirt, sneakers, and nothing else except a cast on his wrist and scratches on his face. There was nothing unusual about that, not in that neighborhood, except that it was the dead of winter, and the temperature was somewhere in the teens.

The guy obviously asked for a cigarette, and Arnold gave him one, and lit it for him. They talked for maybe five minutes, then they came inside, Arnold opening the door and walking in behind him.

The guy stood in the corner by the window, and Arnold stood calmly over him.

"You wait there", he says, and you know he means it.
The guy says something to him, that I don't understand.
"Hey John, you got some water? He has to take some medication."
I get a 16 ounce bottle of Coke from the cooler.
"You don't have anything else?"
"Don't worry, it's OK"
Arnold gives the guy the Coke.
"Tell the man thank you."
He says thanks like an chastised and obedient little boy, and takes his medicine. Then his nose remains pointed at the floor, but his eyes look look around.
He seems confused, or bewildered.
"Hey John, I got a call I have to make. Can I use your phone?"
"Sure, go right ahead."
I bring the phone closer to him, and he dials his number. I go back to cleaning up. Arnold says something short, no more than a few sentences. He hangs up, looks over at the guy, and says thanks for letting me use the phone.

Five minutes later, our parking lot is suddenly filled with Virginia State Trooper patrol cars, their tires screaming, lights going, and sirens blasting. Arnold says to the guy "let's go", the guy says, "I can't believe he's a cop", and shuffles out.

The troopers are obviously agitated, and cuff the guy and throw him into a car. After a few minutes, the car with the guy inside leaves. Arnold comes in with a couple of troopers, they go in a corner and talk, and they trooper take a statement. Meanwhile, my drivers are coming in, totally clueless to what was going on. They probably would have thought we had been robbed, if I hadn't been acting so nonchalant about the whole thing.

Sokhom, the little ex-Cambodian Army jungle fighter, was worried and asked me what was going on. Festus, the crazy Cameroonian, came in with his usual aplomb in his crazy yellow Fiat, (this was before his wife firebombed it), and for once, he actually looked concerned about something other than who his date would be for the night. I assured them that things were OK, and once I found out what happened, I would let them know. They went out on the last couple of Pizza runs, leaving me, Arnold, and half of the Virginia State Police in the store.

After about fifteen minutes, the parking lot was empty. Arnold came back inside after seeing the last of the officers off.

"OK Arnold, tell me. What just happened?"
"Well, you saw that I went outside to have a cigarette. I wanted to take a look around to see if there was anything going on, and see what was happening out on the street. There's nobody out on a night like tonight, so I lit up."

"Then that guy comes around the corner, and asks me for a cigarette. I know right away something is wrong, because a normal person wouldn't be dressed like that if everything was OK. So I give him a cigarette to make him stick around so I can see what's going on."

"So I decided to start a conversation. I see the cast on his arm, so I asked him if he had an accident. He said, yeah, that he had crashed his brand new Camaro on I-95. "

"So I asked him, 'how does a guy like you afford a brand new Camaro?' You know what he told me?"

"I deal drugs!!!"

"What? You're kidding me!"

"Nope! I said, 'Oh, really?' "

"He said yeah, he was coming up from Florida with a whole trunk load of pot when he lost it on a curve on I-95 doing 90 miles per hour, and scrambled the car. The State Police came and took him to the hospital. When they turned their backs, he just walked away. I'll tell you, this guy was reeeeeally stupid! I couldn't get him to shut up. He told me everything-where he picked the stuff up, where he was going, everything. And this to some guy he just met on the street!"

"So finally, I said 'I hate to tell you this, but I'm a cop. If you make one move to run away, I'm going to catch you and drop kick your ass across the bridge.' So he made no move, and came in nice and quiet. I called up the State Police, and they said they'd been looking all over for this guy. You know the rest."

""So it looks like you had a good night tonight, Arnold. Not only do make some extra cash, but you make a big bust, too. Congratulations."

"Thanks John. You know, sometimes you just get lucky. Man, I still can't believe he just walked up to me and opened up like that. How stupid can you be?"

I Didn't Insult or Piss Off Every Member of the Marsalis Family

The meeting with Wynton was not the only time I visted the Marsalis household. I made a couple other trips there during my pizza delivery career. During one of the trips, I had the pleasure of meeting jazz saxophonist, and ex Tonight Show bandleader Branford Marsalis.

He sure was different than his brother. He was a tall and gangly guy, and very friendly. He came out to talk to me, and smiled a lot and cracked jokes. Definitely a cool guy to hang with. When I went to give him his pizza, he asked how much it was. It was the same type I had brought to Wyton, the same price.
This time, though, Branford gave me $20, and told me to keep the change.

Like I said, definitely a cool guy. Especially if you're a pizza guy who makes a living off of tips.

Famous People I Have Insulted Off or Pissed Off. Part 1 of a Series- Wynton Marsalis

Welcome to part one of a continuing series- "Famous People I Have Insulted or Pissed Off". My first victim in the series is one of America's foremost Jazz musicians, Wynton Marsalis.

How did I meet him, and insult him?

Well, it was 1986. I had graduated from Rutgers, and I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, and no direction. I had a degree in English, but no idea what to do with it.

I was getting a lot of pressure from my family, my mom in particular, to do something with my life. They expected me to find a cure for cancer, or become a multi-billionaire, or something else reasonably easy to attain. As for me, I could care less. I was happy enough washing dishes at Red Lobster, working on the loading dock at the local home improvement store, or doing other "menial" work.

I got fired from my job on the loading dock. The official reason was that I didn't wear my safety helmet. The real reason was because the general manager of the store hated me. I got along great with everyone else, but that seemed to bother him. He always looked pissed off whenever I got within ten feet of him.

So I was out of work, and I still didn't know what to do with my life. I couldn't get unemployment, because I had been fired. And you know what? I still didn't care.

I took a trip down to Virginia with my mom and grandmother, to visit our relatives there. Not exactly anyones idea of a good time. Our relations lived around the Richmond area, in New Kent and Chesterfield counties. They were doing pretty well.

My cousin Sharon never went to college, but had her own temp agency. She turned down an offer to be vice president in charge of construction for Hilton Hotels (or so I was told by my aunt, never the most reliable source of information), because she didn't want to take a pay cut. She married a guy who owned his own mortgage bank.

Cousin Susie and her husband Carl owned the Domino Pizza franchise for the Richmond area. They had a bunch of stores, and were doing very well for themselves. She went to school to become a nurse, but ended up driving a school bus before they got into the pizza business.

I liked the area. It was quieter and more relaxed than New Jersey. It was away from my mom and grandmother, two harpies who seemed intent on making my life a total misery. I felt like I had enough of New Jersey, and it was time to make a change. Plus, I had no idea what else to do with my life.

So I went down to Richmond to learn the pizza business. Cousin Sharons' son, Travis, had tried it, and almost ran one of the stores into the ground. He didn't have the best reputation. There was no way I was going to let anyone know I was related to them. Still, after a couple weeks people found out anyway, and acted like I had leprosy. They thought I was some sort of spy, which believe me, I wasn't. After a while, they decided I was cool.

I started off as a driver, delivering pizzas in an area I had never been before- downtown Richmond, which included Church Hill, and the hillbilly section, and the state prison. Beautiful Belvedere Avenue. I spent a few weeks learning the area, until I had an accident. Then I moved inside as a management trainee.

Some times we were short of drivers, and had a big rush of orders. At that time, Dominos still had their 45 minutes or less guarantee. If your pizza wasn't there in 45 minutes, it was free. In order not to spend the rest of the night giving out free pizzas, I would grab a bankroll, a hotbox, and a bag, and go on the road.

I got one order to go to one of our usual customers in the area around VCU. Things were slowing down, so it was going to be my last run. The pizza was a bit late. I looked at the name, but it meant nothing to me - Marsalis. So I was off to make sure Mr. Marsalis, whoever it was, didn't get a free pizza. Being the competitor that I am, if he wanted a free pizza, he was going to have to kill me for it. I didn't like giving anything away for free.

For those of you not in the know, Wyntons' (and saxophonist and ex Tonight Show bandleader Branfords') dad Ellis Marsalis, was a professor of Jazz Studies at VCU. That was his house I was going to.

So I pull up in front of the nice brick house, and ring the bell. A haughty looking neatly dressed black guy opens the door, and looks down his nose at me.

No "hi", or "hello", just "It's late."
"Not by my watch it isn't, and it's my watch that counts."
"How much is it?"
I can't remember exactly how much it was, but it was something like $9.87, or some odd number like that.

The customer hands me $10, which I pocket. Then he asks for change.
"What? You want change? You must be kidding me!"
"No, I'm not. I want my change."
The only thing I had that jingled in my pocket was my keys.
"I don't have any coins."
The customer complains, so I grumble back at him. He looks at me.
"Do you know who I am?", he says, pulling himself up and looking rather self-important.
"I don't know, and I don't care. All I know is that you're a too cheap to give a guy a few cents for a tip. That doesn't say too much for you in my book."
That stops him, so I give him the pizza and walk back to my car and drive away.

A couple years later, I am back in New Jersey, trying to start my acting career. I pick up the Sunday Newark Star-Ledger. It has Parade Magazine as a supplement. In it is an interview with - well, you guessed it, the high and mighty cheapskate. He talks about his music, and blah blah blah. Near the end of the interview, he talked about how you have to not get too full of yourself, and try to keep things in perspective, etc. He talked about the "surly pizza man who came to his door, and took him down a few notches.

Yup, that surly pizza man was me.

Next up: Bob Seger