Do Not Embarrass Father
Phillip, Alabi, Edsel at Lamar Hunt's table at WCT black-tie dinner - © The author
Big Al and Belly Full
In another chapter, Chief Olatunji Ajisomo Alabi, from Nigeria in Africa, was mentioned.
James Bond - The Uninvited Guest - Dad
Chief Olatunji Ajisomo Alabi (Big Al)
Because of the World Championship Tennis (WCT) tournament that billionaire Lamar Hunt owned, my dad was trying to impress Big Al and took him, my brother, and I to a fancy restaurant for lunch in North Dallas in 1975. Lamar and Big Al were friends.
Like the experiences with shopping in a high-end clothing store or playing at an exclusive tennis club, Big Al stood out.
Big Al was a dark-skinned African, maybe 6 foot tall, 300+ pounds, a huge barrel belly, and wore a colorful traditional robe from Nigeria, and along with that an awesome hat that was even more colorful.
He talked loudly and was very expressive with his hands when he talked.
Along with this adventure to the restaurant, Big Al brought one of his wives with him, colorfully dressed in a robe and hat. She was much shorter than him and super quiet and submissive. I do not recall if she ever spoke in public.
So when this whole crew arrived at the restaurant, the front door maitre d’ was so shocked to see us, I swear he just stared for a moment and then promptly seated us at a window table.
Big Al was probably the first African to visit this restaurant in 1975, a lily-white neighborhood.
My dad knew the entire place was watching our every move, we all seemed uncomfortable with the stares. Big Al took it in stride and asked my father for a food recommendation. My dad said the Monte Cristo sandwich was excellent, so Big Al ordered two of them, one for himself and one for his wife.
I do not remember what my father, brother, or I ordered, it was just a blur.
A Monte Cristo sandwich is an egg-dipped or batter-dipped ham and cheese sandwich that is pan or deep-fried, sometimes covered in powdered sugar.
The sandwich was a huge hit with Big Al.
When Big Al was finished eating, he let out a forceful loud belch, patted his belly like it was an oil drum, and pushed away from the table and said loudly, “Belly full, belly full”.
In Africa, when a host feeds you enough to make you satiated, it is polite to make such a huge announcement, with the monster burp being a verbal compliment.
Every head in the restaurant turned in silence to watch this huge black man finishing up the meal. Even the staff was stunned.
You could have heard a pin drop.
If my father could have crawled under the table and hid, he would have.
Dad was a great actor, so he maintained his composure, paid the bill and tip, then ushered all of us out to the car.
I bet those rich white people still tell that story today!
To me the best part was Big Al thumping his belly like a full rain barrel, echoing all the way back to the dishwasher station, thum, thum, thum.
My poor dad had to squirm and endure this emotional torture and move on with his friendship with an honest to goodness Nigerian prince.
This was not a scene from “Coming to America” with Eddie Murphy and Arsenio Hall.
This was much funnier.
Dad, you forgot money on the table
In about 1965, my father took the family out to a nice sit down meal in Frankfurt, Germany, where we were living at the time.
When the meal was over, my dad paid the bill and then discreetly left a tip for the waiter, and we proceeded to leave.
I was the last one to leave the table. Mistake.
I saw the tip money, grabbed it up, waved it in the air, running after him who was about halfway out the door.
In a loud voice, I declared, “Dad, you left money behind!”.
He had to quietly return to the table with me in tow, extracted the money from my hand and left the tip back on the table.
I was confused and alarmed.
Instead of having a long conversation in the middle of the restaurant, he instead drugged me by my arm to the car and proceeded to explain what a tip was. He was NOT nice about his choice of words, and his frustration increased his volume.
This was one of many hard lessons that I never learned, do not embarrass dad in public.
Dad, the ravioli is bad
In about 1970, my father took the family out to a delightful sit down meal in Rome, Italy.
We had just been stationed in Laos, a war zone no less, and now we were living in the beautiful European city of Rome. It was surreal.
At this pleasant Italian restaurant, the first word on the menu that I understood was ravioli, so I ordered it.
When my food was delivered to the table, I chowed down on the ravioli. I snuck a peek on the inside of this pasta and I saw green. I thought the meat filling had spoiled.
Furthermore, I yelled out in a sharp voice, “Dad, the ravioli is bad, it is green!”. His face turned flush with red and anger.
He tried to calmly and quickly explain that much pasta dished served in Italy were NOT meat filled, but in this case it was spinach.
The icy death stare I got said that if I valued my life, never blurt out a declaration in a restaurant again.
How quickly I forgot those lessons from Frankfurt.
I am sure he was thinking, I cannot take this kid anywhere.
The woes of a traveling Agency family.