O'Malley's Had a Family to Protect and One to Serve

Nat Needleman was an easygoing, likable guy -- just a bar owner on the riverfront, whose business was surprisingly good, despite the fact that the city had long ago abandoned the riverfront.

In fact, the riverfront looked like a battlefield, just after the fighting was finished; there was smoke coming from barrels as people huddled around them, trying to find some warmth.

Nat had, in fact, been letting some of these folks use his front doorway and hall for protection from the harsh early winter weather.

Nat was, like his dad Max, a nice man -- his family considered him a sucker and pushover and was constantly trying to walk all over him -- but today something was different. You had to know Nat, but if you did, you could see that he was not just aggravated, he was just this side of ballistic!

"What am I doing listening to this idiot?" he asked himself, as he looked at the lawyer seated nervously at the edge of the chair opposite him. Nat was irritated as the shyster constantly fiddled with his $8,000 solid gold Rolex.

"Will you please stop looking at the time, it's only two minutes since you last checked, so stop it or you're out of here!!" Nat hissed and he slowly began rising from his chair.

That move gave the lawyer pause, so he stopped and began to drone again on with facts, figures and charts that Nat really didn't give a fiddler's fart about. He'd already made up his mind, but he decided to let the drama play out.

How did he let this happen? he asked himself. He kicked himself mentally for even letting this attorney, predictably, but impeccably, dressed in $450 loafers, $2,500 suit, $150 silk tie and $175 shirt, sit in his office.

He had little use for lawyers, considering them useless parasites; little more than toadies to big business.

Nat's dad Max told him more than once: "Nattie watch out for the suits and their computers because they can use their figures to prove your underwear is on fire when you know it isn't."

Nat joked back, saying, "Look at it this way, if our undies were on fire, we could use the seltzer to spritz the fire out and that would feel sooooooo good...."

Max shot Nat a look that would melt glass and then, thinking about it, began to laugh so hard tears were running down his face. Nat was laughing just as hard and even reached for the seltzer, but Max put up a finger and waggled it, telling his son to "put that thing down, it might just go off." He also reminded his son that a tavern owner "never should pick up a seltzer spritzer unless he intended to use it." Of course, Max grabbed the spritzer and let Nat have it, and they both roared with laughter as a dripping Nat wiped seltzer from his face. But that's the way they were; Max and Nat were tight, not only were they father and son, but they were friends -- best friends.

Finishing up their cleanup, they went over the books -- it was just over a week ago.

And, as the suit continuing his droning, Nat thought "was it only a week ago that Dad and I were doing that. It seems like it was in another life!" Nat knew it wasn't, the Old Man was gone, and now here he was listening to this suit -- knowing that the beauties in his own family had done this.

He'd deal with them later, right now he had to deal with Mr. "I've Got a Rolex and You Don't!!"

This was one of those attitudes that really set Nat off; he felt as if someone was trying to extract his teeth through his backside without Novocaine (R)!! Even though he felt this way, Nat was always polite.

So he sat in the tiny upstairs room that he called "the office," vaguely stirring his very cold coffee, looking vacantly out the crud-caked window, trying to find an opening to escape the suit in front of him, who was nattering on about something or other.

Whatever he was saying, it really wasn't all that important to Nat and the tavern owner only half-heard the words.

His mind was a million miles away again, this time thinking about the way his family had ambushed him for "discussions" about the future of THEIR tavern.

He was amazed that he suddenly had "concerned partners." He was also amused when they told him he didn't know how to run a business -- one that he and his Dad had run successfully and which had shown a nice net profit for nearly 30 years and that suddenly he needed their help to keep it all afloat.

So, they decided they were going to take charge of the business -- and do what Nat should have done months ago -- sell out.

Nat was facing his own "palace coup," run by a bunch of bozos who had never seen the inside of O'Malley's, nor had they even worked there.

And now they were taking charge of the business -- it was quite a team: his ex-wives, kids, and current wife. They had planned this little "coup" during an "emergency family meeting" three nights before at Timmy's apartment -- which Nat found odd and he found odder still the fact that he was uninvited in no uncertain terms. At the meeting, they put together a detailed strategy that spelled out who was taking each issue and how long the issue would be discussed.

He also found it odd that he was invited to Timmy's only last night for an "important family discussion" -- meaning they were telling him what to do -- about "that dirty old bar" Nat was running. Those four words were a tipoff to Nat as to who was leading the coup -- his now soon-to-be-third ex-wife Helene -- so when he arrived he wasn't surprised to find everyone -- the whole "mishpocha (family)" -- even his ex's -- kids, and wife waiting for him.

None of the clowns he faced knew their carefully planned meeting was doomed before it started because of four little words: "that dirty old bar." Helene hated the bar and its patrons and didn't even particularly like Nat, but his credit cards bought nice things and she put up with him. After this, though, she wouldn't have to put up with him much longer. Nat just smiled at the thought, putting his feet up, staring at the ceiling and ignoring the droning suit. He was remembering the way he was tag-teamed in Timmy's game room. But, he held his ground and shut everyone up when he said:

"It was my Dad's and now it's mine. It's not yours, so just drop it. I'll decide what I decide! When I decide it, not you! So please just buzz off!"

He really regretted having bellowed those words at his youngest, Jeremy, but the kid just wouldn't let it go; he sounded so desperate!

"Dad, I need my share of the bar money! I really do!" he pleaded, as he kept trying to push.

It was at that time Nat said 21 words that chilled everyone in the room: "There's no 'my share' for you or anyone else...unless I'm gone...it's all mine and that's the way it is!!"

Nat knew why Jeremy was desperate, the kid had a secret; he loved the ponies. And, Nat, who counted among his acquaintances the people Jeremy owed, was warned about what might happen if Jeremy tried to stiff them.

They had asked him to cover the kid's losses, thinking he would do it for his son. They were very surprised when Nat replied:

"He's a big boy and he knows that if you owe your bookie and you stiff him, there are consequences, so I guess he'll just have to learn the hard way!"

That he answered this way shocked the bookies because they knew Nat had covered the kid all through high school and college. But Nat was fed up with paying Jeremy's never-ending tab, so it was time for someone to be schooled if he didn't pay up. Nat was out of it.

Just then, a freak gust of wind rattled the office window and pulled Nat back to the reality that his family was responsible for the suit droning in front of him. His family believed it was their responsibility to make sure that Nat saw the "error of his ways," in depriving them of their "justly deserved rewards," so they contacted the developer and told him the corporation was ready to talk. Helene was very emphatic in telling Bolt, Slide, Cohen and Folsom that Nat was their "front man, only a spokesman."

"You'll be dealing with me and me alone because I was elected CEO by the board at our meeting this week," she said.

And, Nat paused, "the fools believed her...well they'll be in for a surprise when I show them my business papers that show I'm just a simple d/b/a (doing business as O'Malley's)

Believing they actually had a chance of getting the property they valued, the developers sent a senior person - "with great people skills" -- to talk Nat. He talked and talked and babbled and even sputtered, but at this point all that Nat Needleman wanted to do was grab Mr. Suit by the throat and throw him the hell out.

That would have been impolite and Nat wasn't raised that way so he continued to let the suit drone on, thinking "I guess they (the developers) think this idiot will work me over until they've won."

Nat shrugged and looked outside again, staring at the once proud, but now beaten-down neighborhood that O'Malley's continued to anchor, an aging dowager, anchoring a forgotten corner of the city.

Meantime, the droning continued, as Mr. Leonard J. Pardu, JD, a senior partner of Bold, Slide, Cohen, and Folsom, showed Nat projections of how much he'd make if he invested the money he received for the buildings and land he owned. However, Nat's mind was far away again.

He was thinking about his father, Max; his mother, Allison; his brother, Neal, the war hero, who returned from three tours overseas with a box full of medals, and a guest suite at the VA, and the rest of his family.

He tossed everything around in his mind and finally asked himself: "Why am I listening to this guy?" he thought, his mind wandering again, as snatches of phrases like "cash-flow" floated into his consciousness, as the suit droned on.

Occasionally, other phrases floated up -- the suit really did think he was winning by wearing Nat down, so he cranked up the pressure in the area where he thought he would win, mentioning the condition of the neighborhood and calling the buildings "eyesores" and the whole area a "money pit."

He told Nat to think of his "family's future."

The attorney actually believed he was getting through to Nat because the tavern owner was smiling. Pardu didn't know, however, that Nat was elsewhere.

Nat was thinking of the day Max handed him the keys to O'Malley's. He was thinking of their very last conversation that occurred one day about a week back just before two coked-up gang-bangers used each other -- and anyone else handy -- for target practice.

The gunfight lasted less than a minute and 20 shots, but when it was over, five people were on the ground: the bangers got each other and took out Max, too, plus they hit two little girls who were just walking home from the store.

Nat was lost in his thoughts: "...Never even told the Old Man, how much I loved him because of those dirtbags ... the only good thing is that they took out each other!"

He smiled as this thought passed through his mind, but a now-patronizing Pardu misinterpreted the sign; he thought he was really getting somewhere with "the spokesman," he knew they had the "real corporation in their pocket." He just had to convince the "spokesman," and he was really beginning to believe that he didn't even have to do that.

Pardu was wrong on all counts, as we shall see, because Nat was not only thinking about his Dad lying on the sidewalk, his life quickly oozing away, and the two little girls who were also hit, as well as the snakepit he called his family.

Thankfully, a grieving Nat thought, the girls would be all right. He had called each one's folks to make sure and then told them that O'Malley's would be hosting a party for them when they were out of the hospital. He wanted to make sure the girls had all they needed and told their parents not to worry about a thing because he would cover any expenses they couldn't -- that was the kind of man Nat was and it drove his family bananas because there was less for them.

Fortunately, he didn't have to tell his Mom, Dad's beloved Allison, and she didn't have to see the coup, either, because she had passed on three years earlier.

In fact, the day Max handed Nat the "keys to the kingdom," as the Old Man called them, Dad seemed strangely relieved; it was as if he'd passed the torch, made his peace and was just waiting to join his Allison.

"I think he welcomed the 9mm slug in the temple," Nat thought sourly. His Dad was smiling as they closed his eyes. Nat thought that his Dad "must have known his number was up with this one."

"Here was a guy -- a former paratrooper -- who survived D-Day with the 82nd Airborne; he jumped into trouble with "Market Garden" and he was rushed to plug the lines when the Germans surprised everyone with the "Battle of the Bulge," who gets popped by a couple of "bangers."

Max never talked much about his World War II experiences, but Nat did see the citations for his Dad's many medals -- two Distinguished Service Crosses, two Silver Star Medals, two Bronze Stars and five Purple Hearts with each writeup showing his Dad to thought more of others than himself.

And, Max went back in for Korea, this time fighting alongside the "Chosen Few" who survived that desperately cold winter fight for survival and he received still more medals. Nat had meant to ask his Dad about the citations and such but the gang-bangers stole that chance forever, so Nat could only guess at just how much of a hero he was to his buddies in battle.

He did know the hero he'd become to a neighborhood that was slowly being beaten down by an uncaring city.

He and Allison bought O'Malley's from the McSweeney family and they had to fight to keep the liquor license because Dad wouldn't give a nickel to the Ward Councilor or his lackeys "to keep things smooth as silk."

He fought and won (Nat still didn't know how, either), but he also knew that Dad kept a 20-gauge shotgun (suitably adjusted, of course) with wad cutters loaded behind the bar, and that his old service .45 was kept well-oiled, cleaned and loaded just behind the cash register.

"You never know what'll happen Nattie," Dad said, one day, as he showed him the arsenal (there was something about an M-16, too and an ammo supply), plus the axe handles.

There was no doubt in Nat's mind that his Dad could wage a major war and win.

Still, O'Malley's was all Max's, it was something he could give his son and that could be passed along.

Nat was deep in this reverie only vaguely acknowledging the developer's toady talking numbers in front of him. Suddenly the front door slammed open and shut with a rush of cold air and this brought Nat back to reality as he heard Pardu saying:

"And we expect an answer right away...we already have your corporation's okay, we just need your signoff and we want to get started right away." Only O'Malley's and the block of buildings around it stood in the way of this "vital" city project, the lawyer emphasized.

"What did you just say?" a now-infuriated Nat hissed even more loudly."What corporation are you talking about? Look mister, I don't know what you've been told, but this is a simple d/b/a. I'm the only owner," Nat bellowed.

"What are you saying? We talked with your CEO just this morning and we were assured they were on-board," the attorney stammered.

"I don't know who you talked to but the only 'corporation' is me, no one else. This is my bar. It was given to me by my Dad, who was killed last week by a couple of gang-bangers, so there's no one else to deal with," a clearly infuriated Nat was now screaming.

"Wait, Mr. Needleman, your CEO Helene told us you were ready to sell. Isn't that right?"

"No," he roared, "it's not right, but I'll play the game, I'll make some sort of decision. I'll think about it. Call me in a couple of days and I'll let you know -- what did you say your name was?"

"It's Pardu, sir! Leonard J. Pardu, JD. I'm a senior partner in ..."

"That's fine Mr. Bardo and, on second thought, don't bother calling me, I'll call you tomorrow, just leave your card and your papers, and get your ass out of that chair, unless your are drinking something. I've got bills to pay and I can't pay them wasting my time any further with some suit-for-brains who wouldn't know which was east, even at sunrise.

"Well," Pardu sputtered, "I never...."

And before he could finish, Nat said, "the way you look you're probably right, you never...unless you were waving $50s at her and then you...Oh, just beat it and I'll call you!!"

With that, Mr. L. Pardu, JD, drew himself up to his full 5-foot-6, coughed, and promptly fell over a chair as he tried to put on his coat.

This drew gales of laughter from some of the characters that were listening to the "negotiations" with all the seriousness of a tight Yankees-Boston ballgame.

Nat brushed off Pardu's coat, handed him his briefcase and walked him to the door, just as Molly Lelyveld, sauntered in. Well, it was her version of sauntering.

At one time, a beauty - and some say actress, including herself - the years hadn't been kind and neither had her three husbands. They'd taken her to the cleaner more times than some of Nat's shirts, but she was a cheerful soul.

It was always the same with her.

"Hey Mr. Barkeep, what's it take for a real lady to get some refreshment here; do I have to do anything?" she asked with a lilt and wink and giggle.

And Nat would reply, "Nah, wouldn't work Molly, the wife has radar so I'll just get you your usual."

The usual was champagne cocktail. Nat couldn't really afford to stock the stuff for her, but it was her only solace...even her daughter stopped talking to her years earlier, and O'Malley's was her home.

And, "What'll you have Sam?" Nat finally asked the guy who had slammed in a few minutes before.

"I'd like a 50-year-old single malt Scots whiskey. Now that would be smooth, but since I know that you wouldn't know that from a seven-year-old Ballantine's, I'll settle for a Dewar's straight up."

Sam and Nat had been at this same game, hammer and tongs, for years.

"Well, since you've slammed the fine quality of my libations Samuel," Nat teased, "that's going to cost you."

"I know, I know you skinflint, don't get your knickers in a twist, here's your $2.50!"

"Okay, now hold out your hands and you can have your Dewar's, Samuel!!" And Nat got ready to pour!

Sam looked genuinely shocked and he asked, "Where's the glass?"

"Oh, you wanted a glass, too? The glass will cost you another $3, so shell out the $5.50 and you can have your drink," Nat said laughing deeply.

"Why, I have half-a-mind..." snapped Sam!

"That's about right," Nat laughed, pouring the drink and taking the $5 and $1 that were proffered.

"So, where's my change, you tightwad," Sam demanded?

"The widows and orphans, my lad, the widows and orphans," Nat explained (actually his tips).

A few minutes later, the cold poured in as a party of four came in. They were a quartet of uptown merrymakers out looking for "some action" down by the riverfront.

Well, they were in for some disappointment, but not before they left a big chunk of cash in the till, as there was really nothing around O'Malley's anymore, except empty lots and a few derelict buildings.
After about an hour or so, our merrymaking crowd got bored and tried to liven things up by throwing things around and muscling up some folks in O'Malley's.

That was the biggest mistake our drunken heroes could have made because they came face-to-face with a human wall -- part of Nat's "real" family: the denizens of O'Malley's.

They might kid around or even spar, but let someone from the outside be a threat and you faced a wall of Nat, who, like his Dad before him, was fearless and 6-foot-7 with arms that could bench press close to 400 pounds; Sam, not exactly the tallest guy in the room, but a wiry 5-foot-10, who just happened to have his black belt in Tae-Kwan-Do.

There was also a 35-year-old African-American named Dave who was a regular because it was on his way home from work and he stopped in every night about 8 for a small one to unwind before taking the Number 9 bus that passed the front door, and headed on home.

Today, was different, though, because Dave had taken the day off to find out if something was going on, there had been rumors that Nat was being pressured to sell out. So, Dave, and the rest of the regulars listened intently via the intercom that Nat had conveniently left open and heard Mr. L. Pardu, JD, spout and sputter. Dave and Sam were worried sick, as were he rest of the regulars.

So, this was just the wrong time for our drunken revelers to pick on anyone at O'Malley's and when they saw the human wall they would face -- any member of which could snap them like a twig -- they left rather quickly, muttering about how they "could take anyone of those guys."

All of the folks in the bar were waiting on tenterhooks, wondering what Nat Needleman was going to do with O'Malley's. It was their home; their beacon; a haven from the loneliness they felt.

They were pulling him one way. And then there was his other family, his first two wives, his third and current, and his kids Jeremy, Timmy, Saul, Sonnie and Kitty.

They were all over him to sell. Their argument was "Dad, it's inevitable, they're going to either force you out, or someone will burn you out or worse...the city's going to have your block, so why not take the money and run."

Nat knew what they meant, he'd sell and they'd take the money and run; his ex-wives to Vegas or Barbados; Jeremy to pay off his bookies and get involved in losing more; Timmy to his lousy investments (Nat never did go in on them even though they were "sure bets.") And, then there were all the others who, he knew, would just take the money and blow it. He'd end up with nothing and his "kingdom" would be gone.

Nat not only felt the pull from his regulars and his family, but there was also the city to think about, too. This was his land and he kept it up. He was proud of that.

Even as the city had let the neighborhood rot around O'Malley's and its block -- Nat's dad invested wisely so that they owned the block from Kennedy to 5th on the front and Broad to Pine at the side.

It was a nice piece of land that Nat actually did keep up. And he did have real tenants in his retail stores.

So everyone was worried, everyone but Nat, that is. His regulars didn't want to lose their home; his ex-wives wanted him to pay their way to botox and other youthful stuff as they hunted new victims.

His current wife just wanted to live a lifestyle to which she'd like to become accustomed -- she'd find out a few facts of life after this little incident, too. It was a funny thing, too, because O'Malley's -- the bar she hated but which her husband ran -- had provided her with a nice home and good living, but the greedy witch wanted more -- a new Jaguar and fur coat, for starters -- and the only way to get it was to force Nat to sell.

She figured she could charm him; the way she did when she let him catch her and they got married. Brother, was she in for a surprise, but that would wait.

So everyone was waiting on Nat's decision.

Sam, one of Nat's regulars gave Nat his first indication that the plan he had in mind was right.

Sam knew how much this was troubling Nat so he walked over to the tavern owner and quietly whispered: "Nat, don't worry, we've got your back, and, not for nothing, you're the best friend I've got and I know the others feel the same way. They'd do anything for you, just like they would have done anything for your Dad. We're all just worried we're going to lose our 'home.'"

Well, Nat thought a minute, and said:

"Listen everyone, be sure you're here at 11 tomorrow morning -- and please be sober and dress nicely and for God's sake keep quiet because I have a call to make...Everyone will find out what's going to happen then!!"

By now it was "last call" and Nat was shooing everyone out. He put the day's receipts into the safe, pocketed his tips, pulled the grate shut and took his 1998 Honda Civic home where his family was waiting to smack him down once and for all. They tried to get his answer to the city and he calmly told them to be sure they were at the bar at 11 a.m. tomorrow and they'd find out.

With that he turned on his heel and went into the kitchen for a snack and he went to bed, where he slept soundly and restfully for the first time in weeks.

At the appointed hour, with O'Malley's bursting with regulars - all sober, of course - and family, all snotty, of course, Nat picked up the card that Pardu left and he dialed the phone. It rang and a pretty voice answered: "Bold, Slide, Cohen and Folsom, where may I direct your call?"

"Mr. Leonard Pardu, please," Nat said.

"Pardu, here, who is it?"

"It's Nat Needleman, Mr. Berdu!"

"That's Pardu, Needleman, have you made your decision?"

"Yup," Nat said and asked the attorney "Can you hear me well?"

"Yes, would you please hurry up I'm a busy man!"

"Great, now listen this:" and with that he tore each page that Pardu had carefully left in a file folder in front of Nat before he left. He even tore the file folder up too.

"I'm sorry Mr. Bardot but I had to clear up some junk someone left on my office disk yesterday, was it yours?"

A shaken Pardu and a more shaken family shouted, almost in unison, "Needleman/Dad, what did you do?"

"Just what you heard!!!"

"Now if all of you folks will let me, I have a business to run."

"Anyone for bourbon? Today it's on the house?"