“The Bear” on Business

(Continued from Friday’s post…)

I was having dinner with George Nazi. He was trying to impress me with his shots of Don Julio; I was trying to impress him with my Sambuca with flames. The conversation took a turn for the worse. He was probing into my claim to have grown up on the South Side of Chicago. George had just met Marty, my buddy from 4th grade and, incidently, still a Level 3 ops guy.

“Yeah, Marty’s Italian too,” cleverly I tried to change the topic. “How is that WDM upgrade between LA and San Fran going?”

George ignored the shop talk, “He said both of you are part Polish.” 

“He’s half. I’m only a quarter.” I felt it necessary to explain.

“He introduced me to your friends Mark and Michelle.”

Not good, I thought. ”High school friends of mine. Did you see that new router that Cisco just rolled out?”

“Did they know Al Capone too?” George chuckled.  

“I never said I met Big Al. I only said he drove through Chicago Heights, the town my parents grew up in.” 

“Drove through?” George sarcastically clarified. ”I thought he vacationed with your parents.” I looked over my shoulder, hoping to see the waitress with the bill. No luck. 

George continued his inquisition: “Michelle said she grew up in Flossmoor. She said she lived across the street from a country club.”

“Yeah. I caddied there. Often I schlepped four bags at a time.” This was true—though I only carried the four bags between the carport and the clubhouse. I switched gears, “How big did you say those rocks were that you threw at tanks?”

George ignored my question. ”Marty said you guys walked together to your 5th grade school. Was it dangerous?”

“It got better as we got older,” I replied, proud of the mis-direction.

“South Side of Chicago?” George yelped triumphly. “The Baddest Part of Town?”

“Well, technically it was the south suburbs of Chicago.” I muttered.

“Marty described your neighborhood as a nice middle-class suburb. He said the only thing you guys did in the street was play kick-the-can.” Now George was practically shouting. ”Marty said you had a two car garage.”

“The garage was unattached,” I defended myself. “We didn’t even have an automatic garage door opener until I was in college.”

I lit my Sambuca. He swallowed his worm.

Congratulations George on the success you are having in your career.

(continued from yesterday’s post…)

I tried to avoid George in the Level 3 hallways. At meetings we both attended, I made sure to scoot out as soon as they ended. Give it some time, I thought, and he’ll forget the conversation.

Months passed. It was feeling safe. We were traveling together and went out to dinner. George ordered a Coors Light. I ordered a Guinness. George switched to a gin and tonic. I changed mine to a gin martini, dry with olives. He revised his to scotch, straight up, no rocks. I countered with a shot of Sambuca: “Bring matches, I might want to light it before I gulp it down.” George sneered: ”Change mine to tequila. Bring the bottle and leave it at the table. Make sure there is a least one worm in the bottom.” 

We talked telecom for a while. 

The drinks came and I quickly downed my Sambuca. ”Bring me three more.”   

More work talk. George was pouring his third shot of Don Julio while complaining, “They make these shot glasses so small.”

I put two more Sambucas down. ”Keep them coming.”

“Dan, I ran into a friend of yours,” George muttered. Immediately I sensed trouble. I decided not to reply but George continued: “Marty was his name. He is in operations. Nice guy.” I never saw George speak so slowly—he paused between every word and arched his eyebrow after each sentence. I could tell he planned this out for weeks.

“I think I know him. What’s his last name?” I tried to look unconcerned.   

“Panega. He says he grew up across the street from you,” said George, his smirk as big as ever. Now I was nervous.

(To be continued on Monday…) 

(Continued from yesterday…)

George told me he ran around in gangs and threw rocks at tanks. I responded: “I know exactly what you mean.” The words slipped through my lips before I could stop them. George Nazi’s eyebrow rose and his smirk got even smirk-ier. 

“You do?” he asked, sounding both genuine and curious.

“Damn right I do?” I blurted again and, once again, instantly regretted it. Now there was no going back. “I grew up on the South Side of Chicago.” I nodded with pride, knowing Jim Croce’s song was replayed at every wedding that took place in the 1970’s and 1980’s, even in Lebanon (or was it Palestine?). 

I continued, “Al Capone vacationed in the same neighborhood that my parents grew up.” This might have been technically true. Or not. My parents are from Chicago Heights, a very Italian community about 30 minutes south of Chicago. I once heard that Al Capone vacationed there. Maybe he stopped for cigarettes on his way to Peoria. Regardless of the specifics, it was working—George was now very impressed.

“Al Capone vacationed with your parents?” asked George.

I thought for a second. That seemed more or less consistent with what I said. ”He sure did!” I nodded.

“You grew up on the South Side of Chicago?” probed George.

“I prefer not to dwell on it,” I tried to look humble.  

“Wow. Impressive.” George replied and I quickly changed the subject.

(To be continued…) 

(continued from yesterday…)

So George Nazi had me spinning. He threw rocks at tanks. What could I come back with? The first thing that crossed my mind was Bad Bad Leroy Brown. For those unfamiliar with Jim Croce’s famous song, I will reprint the lyrics:

Well the south side of chicago
Is the baddest part of town
And if you go down there
You better just beware
Of a man named leroy brown

Now leroy more than trouble
You see he stand bout six foot four
All the downtown ladies call him treetop lover
All the mens just call him sir

Now leroy he a gambler
And he like his fancy clothes
And he like to wave his diamond rings
In front of everybodys nose
He got a custom continental
He got an eldorado too
He got a 32 gun in his pocket for fun
He got a razor in his shoe

Well friday bout a week ago
Leroy shootin dice
And at the edge of the bar
Sat a girl named doris
And ooh that girl looked nice
Well he cast his eyes upon her
And the trouble soon began
And leroy brown learned a lesson
bout messin with the wife of a jealous man

Well the two men took to fightin
And when they pulled them from the floor
Leroy looked like a jigsaw puzzle
With a couple of pieces gone

And its bad, bad leroy brown
The baddest man in the whole damn town
Badder than old king kong
And meaner than a junkyard dog

That’s right. I grew up on the south side of Chicago. It was the baddest part of town. That would be my retort to George. I grew up in the baddest side of Chicago, the city of gangsters.

(continued from yesterday’s post…)

You see, George loved talking about how tough and mean he was when he was a kid. It was hard to take this seriously as he would always have a silly grin on his face. 

George is Lebanese and grew up in Lebanon. Or was it Palestine? Anyway, he told me he was dirt poor. The closest he came to organized sports was playing soccer in grassless fields using rolled up towels for a ball.  He was 10 years old, he claimed, before he used a toilet that actually flushed.  I never checked into the truth of this. I took him for his word. He sure sounded believable.

I must have looked un-impressed, as he was inclinded to up the ante. ”I spent most of the time hanging out on the streets. We ran around in gangs. I even threw rocks at tanks.” 

At this point, he caught my attention.  Wow.  He threw rocks at tanks.  He is the real deal.  It is what I said next that I regret.

(To be continued…)

“It was unattached,” was the only defense I could think of. 

I’ve known George Nazi for many years. I first met him when he was at the original WilTel and I was at MFS. I think I might have been afraid of him at the time. Can you blame me? His last name is Nazi and he looks like the middle eastern cousin of Max Cady (can you see a resemblance?) 

At the time he worked for Gary Dupler–another reason for me to fear George.

Years later George joined us at Level 3. We became close in the Level 3 years and have stayed in contact since then. I am proud to see how well his career is doing. The following passage provides insight into what he is doing now. (BT is British Telecom.)

George Nazi, who is CTO & VP of BT Global Engineering, said: “BT is the only operator in the world to commit to a planned national and international rollout of a next generation IP network. It will open up a whole new world for our customers to work more flexibly, knowing that the technology will adapt to suit their location and access method”.

”The last 2 years has (sic) seen a significant transformation in the services we can deliver to our customers,” he added. “We have more than doubled our global MPLS country coverage, scaled capacity to just under 200Gb today, and implemented more resilient cables and trunking.  We have also implemented a second technology partner, Juniper, in the core network – and we are the only global provider to do so. This gives our customers an additional layer of resilience and peace of mind that no other global MPLS VPN provider can do today.”

If pressed, I couldn’t tell you what this really means but it sure sounds impressive.

Anyway, back to my garage story…    (tomorrow)