Today I got a call from Lee Lobianco, the Chef from the Inn at Longshore. She told me that Steve Chocas passed away last week.
Now that I live in Stamford, I barely see anything in the Norwalk Hour, least of all the obits. So the news caught me completely unaware.
I have lost a friend…
Steve and I worked together for about seven years tending bar on weekends for the Inn at Longshore. In that time we never had one cross word with each other. But our laughs could have filled the Coliseum. The mayhem that we had behind the bar was marvelous. Steve was like a messenger from God for me. At a time that my personal and business life was crashing and burning, Steve was there to lift my spirits and make me feel good about myself. Man, did we have fun. We could have been beat to shit at the end of a shift…and during the summer a double shift, but we always took the time to re-play the evening’s highlights.
Our favorite gig was “Singles Night” for this group that would split their monthly functions between Longshore, Three Bears in Westport & the Yale Club in NYC. Over the years the age level drifted up to 40s/50s… it was supposed to be over 30… well it got well over 30 when I stopped. Steve and I loved to check out the various maneuverings and posturing’s. It was like a middle school dance for 45 year olds. Sad in a way. Although the awkwardness of the participants, and some of the sad tales that we became privy to, did not change the fact that we had major laughs at their expense.
When Julia was manager (she of substantial bust), she would always treat Steve and I to unbuttoning her blouse so we could correctly assess her lingerie selection as well as her cleavage… on one happy occasion she lifted her skirt (when Steve told her that we were tired of looking at her tits).
Sometimes Steve and I would go out for a nightcap after a gig… particularly if the tipping Gods had smiled.
And even after I got cashiered by Longshore, Steve would drop into Arturo’s when I was tending bar and visit… and the laughs just kept on rolling.
If we spent everyday together, there wouldn’t be one that would not include one of us breaking up uncontrollably. He was a delightful man. And on the occasion that I became serious, as I am apt to do from time to time, the conversation would slip seamlessly to discussing “life issues”… and just as rewarding.
I haven’t seen him since I left Arturo’s last December. I bumped into Robert about 6 weeks ago at my gym… and we caught up a bit on what was what at the Inn. I knew that Steve had cut back his schedule… and I thought that I should give him a call and meet him for a drink.
I never did make that call… I never had one more chance to share a laugh… to re-tell the tales of Lindy and the assorted folks who we worked with. I didn’t get to tell him one more time what a great guy he was, and what pleasure he had given me all those years we worked side by side… how special those times were.
No… I missed my chance.
My father told me years ago don’t save telling people how much they mean to you… don’t wait for them to be in the grave; because then it’s too late.
My Father’s advice rings true: make that extra call. Tell folks how much they mean to you… how much you love them.