Elroy Stiglitz

-A big reason for this thing even being fucking created, is Elroy Stiglitz. Again, I hope I am right with the last name spelling. Elroy is one of my favorite people of all time. For some people who know me, they would be confused by my adoration of him, if they were somehow able to meet him. This will easily be the longest post on this blog. And as long as I can continue to remember things about Elroy, I will append them here.
-Elroy was an "old dishwasher", literally. He was an old, smelly, disgusting guy that washed the pots and the pans at the Hillcrest. He had severe epilepsy, and endured (literally) daily grand mal seizures. He passed away around 1992, and very little was known about him. Obviously, even less is known now. To call him a character is a disservice to the word character. Elroy was.....well, Elroy. In retrospect, I wish I would have written down everything the guy said, or tape recorded it, or even....just taken one fucking picture. My brother, who worked a stint at the restaurant, may have a cassette with some 'Roy' on it. We used to crank tapes in the kitchen all the time, and we both (hazily) recall recording Elroy. I believe my brother still has a box of cassettes that he vowed he would not throw away until he made sure the 'Roy' tape wasn't in there.
-Roy worked during the day. If memory serves, the Hillcrest was open everyday, with varying hours. Roy lived on 13th and Lapham, on the south side. That's all we ever knew, 13th and Lapham. His landlord, or caretaker (I never fully understood the relationship), was a guy named Gene. Roy would bitch about Gene all the time. Gene had three dogs, which Roy didn't care for. Roy took two Milwaukee city buses to get to the Hillcrest. I can recall several times where I would see an MCTS bus rolling up Watertown Plank in a total whiteout blizzard. It would stop across the street, and one person would hobble off, in an over-sized plaid winter coat (think Elmer Fudd), carrying an old timey luggage bag, and sporting a matching plaid muff hat, complete with huge furry ear flaps. Classic Elroy. Going to work.
-Dick, the owner, in retrospect, had a huge heart for Elroy. As I get older, I can really understand why. He always made sure Roy was fed, and on occassion, would give him a ride home, or to a social service office.
-So, what was so charming about this rotten old coot? Why do I still routinely think of him 20 years later, when I have completely forgotten about people I met last week? Well, I will do my best to explain, but it won't be easy.
-I started as a dishwasher. This meant I was running the actual dishwasher. Nothing tricky. Servers and busboys bring back the dirty dishes, and dump them on the dishtable. They sort out the silverware, and chuck that in a separate bin, but that is about it. It was my job to scrape em off, rack em up, send them through. And then, obviously, unrack, stack, and take the clean dishes back to their appropriate station. For about a six month window in 1989, I thought this was the greatest job in the world. Honest to god, I was higher than a kite, cranking classic rock, and busting some serious suds. They pay me for this? Wow. I didn't know it at the time, but this was probably the only time in my life where I can truly say "I didn't have a care in the world". I'm sure a lot of people can relate to this in retrospect, looking over some early job they had...
-On the other side of this dish room, was the pots and pans sink. Roy's station. The entire room was 12 x 20, maybe. Pretty close quarters and poorly vented. Hotter than hell in summer.
-Roy basically put four things in his body. Cigarette smoke, coffee, and cheese sandwiches. The fourth, literally, was anything else he could find. The taboo practice of 'Eating off the plates' was fine dining for Roy. I saw Roy eat things off the floor. I saw Roy eat things out of the garbage can. Roy would drain one of the pot sinks, and eat what was ever in the drain catch after the water drained out.
-He smoked Pall Mall straights. Probably three packs a day. But, just like his eating, we wasn't discerning about his brand, or even the origin of the cigarette. He would smoke cigs off the ground, or out of ashtrays from the cleared tables.
-He drank, what had to be, gallons of coffee. It had to be black, but didn't have to be hot, or fresh.....or even from that day. I witnessed him coming in one day. He walked in and picked up his coffee cup, which was sitting right next to his tin ashtray (which I took on the last day of the restaurant, and I still have in my possession. I absolutely cherish it, and consider it to be one of my most valuable items). Instead of walking over to the sink and dumping out the two-day old coffee in the cup, it was simply bottoms up.
-His daily meal while working was simple. Two cheese sandwiches, and a huge pile of whips with gravy. The cheese sandwiches were simply two pieces of untoasted white bread, with two slices of American cheese. That's it. I remember one time when we were out of cheese. I had to break the news to Roy:
"Hey Roy, we are out of cheese slices. What else do you want?"
"Just put some other cheese on there" (I won't even try and type his annunciation)
"We're out, Roy"
"You don't have any cheese?"
"Well, we have crumbled blue cheese, but.."
"Oh that's fine. I like the blue cheese"
And so, we made him two crumbled blue cheese sandwiches. I walked in a few minutes later while he was eating and asked them how they were (while trying not to bust a gut). He replied, and in the process, spit a few meteors of blue cheese at me.
-Roy's hygiene was horrendous. This was partially due to his means, but also his standards. He wore cheap, rough jeans, a tucked in long sleeve worker's shirt, belt, and boots. It was a noticeable event when he got new jeans. I think his jeans were washed about weekly. It sounds so clinical when I say it now, but Roy had serious bowel issues. He shit his pants basically everyday, and had ridiculous gas that would clear the whole kitchen. It wasn't uncommon to see crap fall out of the bottom cuff of his pants, or even step and slide in some of his shit on the dish room floor. Obviously, now I would be much more sensitive to encounter this type of situation, but at the time as an immature and fried teenager, I handled it quite differently. Still, I remember feeling bad for the old guy, and ultimately helping him out anyway I could.
-Another thing that really made an impression, and scared the shit out of me, was the seizures. I didn't have any experience with seizures prior to working there, so this was new to me. Also, I had no way to gauge that his were so bad.
-Dick gave me the unofficial 'Roy Seizure' training. I was warned. You need to have three things on hand: a rag, a hot cup of coffee, and a lit cigarette. Put the rag in his mouth, and as soon as he comes to, show him the cup of coffee, and hand him the lit Pall Mall.
-Well, nothing could have prepared me for the first time. I was manning the dishwasher, when I was startled by a huge BA-BOOM! I turned around, to see Elroy flat on his back, quivering. The guy's dead weight sounded like one of the convection ovens falling over. I sheepishly approached. His coke-bottle glasses had flown off, which made him facially barely recognizable. Luckily, Dick came running to start the drill, so I just played gopher. I ran and got a hot cup of coffee (in his cup, "The Big Cheese"), and fired up a Pall Mall for the old guy. I'll never forget the blank stare of someones eyes coming into focus as they come out of a seizure. He eventually lumbered up and sat in his chair for a minute or two, powered down a couple of squares, and went back to work. This would happen many more times in the future. A couple of times I even caught him on the way down.
-Who wouldn't be charmed by all of this? I know, but to me, this is all part of the package. Well, here is a stunner. Roy played guitar. To look at his hands, you wouldn't think the guy could play a railing. Huge meaty paws, and total sausage fingers. Dick was the first one to tell me about this. At the time, I was a drummer, but was already well into my lifelong fascination/addiction with the world of music. He even brought his guitar in one day and played a few tunes, but I missed the "performance", and he wouldn't bust it out for me. Apparently, he played "I'm an old Cowhand, from the Rio Grande", and "The Wabash Cannonball". I asked Roy where he learned those songs, and he told me "Ahh, those are songs from the trains". The guy had ridden the rails back in the 40's, as what I can only call the closest thing I know to a hobo lifestyle. Also, his guitar was an excellent Martin acoustic. Yup, the guy who eats garbage has a Martin guitar.