By Roberta (Bobbie) Johnson

Jack was a really nice guy. I don’t remember where or how we met. In addition to my regular job as a clerical worker at General Electric, I was working one night a week as a cocktail waitress on Rush Street.  I probably met him there. We dated for about a year.

Jack was the day bartender at a popular restaurant in the Chicago Loop. His customers mainly consisted of high-flying businessmen working in the area. They would come in for lunch and seemed to appreciate his quiet, unassuming nature, and rewarded him well with tips. He would leave at the end of his shift with a pocket full of money that, in those days, he did not have to account for with the IRS. Hence, we could go out on the town in style.

Our favorite spot was the London House. One night we were there for dinner when the Ramsey Lewis Trio was playing. After dinner, we went to the bar to have another drink and listen to the music. And of course, one drink led to another. Now, as nice a guy as Jack was, he had one major flaw.  He spent the day serving drinks, but when the drinks were being served to him, that nice guy turned into a sloppy drunk. I don’t remember what he did or what he said that night, but I remember being quite embarrassed by his behavior. When I noticed that we were getting a lot attention from other customers, I asked him for a dollar to tip the attendant and sought a brief respite in the restroom.

I spent a short time there visiting with the attendant.  I was curious about her job and how she dealt with spending so much time in a little windowless room. She was quite friendly and interesting, but in time, the confined space became uncomfortable for me. I knew I would eventually have to go back to the bar, if for nothing else, to get cab fare from Jack to go home.

When I got back to the bar, Jack was gone. I panicked for a moment. I didn’t have enough money with me for cab fare, but the bartender told me Jack had just gone to the restroom.  As I was sitting there waiting for him to return and hoping he was sobering up a bit, two men who had been sitting next to us approached me.

Now I was about 21 at the time and had recently moved to Chicago from a little redneck village in Wisconsin with a population of 540. Until my recent move to Chicago, I recall having had only very brief contact with just 3 or 4 people of color in my entire life.

I felt no racial prejudice or fear, but rather a fascination with a culture I had never been exposed to.  But still being rather naïve, I was a bit uncomfortable when these two big, burly black men approached me.  I soon learned that they were a part of Ramsey Lewis’s entourage. If I recall correctly, they were his bodyguards. They were very pleasant and expressed displeasure over the behavior I was being subject to by Jack.  They indicated there was going to be an after-hours party at a private home and invited me to attend.  I was quite hesitant of course, but they assured me it would be a safe and pleasant time.  After all Ramsey Lewis would be there and he had a reputation and career to protect.  He wouldn’t allow anything to occur that would jeopardize my safety or his career.

By the time Jack stumbled back to the bar, they had given me the address.  The set was over, Lewis had come off the stage and was speaking to the men.  It was obvious they were telling the truth about their relationship with him.  I turned to Jack, told him I wanted to go home and to give me cab fare. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. I took the money, left him at the bar and went outside and hailed a cab. But I didn’t go home.  I decided I wasn’t going to pass up the chance to party with a big celebrity like Ramsey Lewis, so I gave the driver the address the men had given me.

The cab took me to a house somewhere on the south side.  I don’t recall where.  When we got there, the cab driver said he was going to wait to make sure I got into the house safely as it was about midnight.  I went to the door and knocked.  A very attractive young woman, about my age, answered the door.  She wasn’t terribly friendly, but I felt comfortable enough to wave to the cab driver signaling to him I was okay. 

I walked into the house and was directed to the kitchen.  I was quite surprised and taken aback when there at the kitchen table sat the London House restroom attendant. I don’t think I ever learned her name, so I will just call her Sadie. Sadie explained that this was her house.  She introduced me to four young and very attractive women that lived with her. We sat and chatted for a while and soon Lewis and his entourage arrived. I sat there in awe, but also uncomfortable. I was so naïve, so unsophisticated, I simply did not know how to behave. Once Jack had referred to me as a “diamond in the rough.” Now isn’t that a left-handed compliment! Of course, it didn’t help that I was the only white person there. I didn’t know how accepting they were of my joining the party.

I soon noticed that the young women were getting very friendly with the men. Nothing terribly inappropriate, but a bit too intimate too quickly for my comfort. They had essentially paired off into couples. I must say that Mr. Lewis was not engaging in the intimate behavior.  I sat there and just observed and followed the lead of others in smiling and laughing.  I remained at the table with Sadie where she began to tell me how nice it was living in her home. How everyone got along well and had fun together. She offered an invitation for me to move in with them.  And then it hit me. Another even bigger surprise.  This was a brothel, and she was a madam trying to recruit me into her stable.

I held my cool and didn’t disclose that I had caught on to her plan. I don’t recall feeling unsafe, but I certainly was extremely uncomfortable. I thanked her for the invitation but explained I had a three-year-old son at home, which I did.  And that I needed to stay where I was living as I had excellent childcare available there, which I did.  I politely indicated it was getting very late and my babysitter would be worried. I really needed to get home to my son.  I asked Sadie to call me a cab, and thankfully it arrived quite quickly.  I said goodbye, thanked everyone for a nice time and got the heck out of there as fast as I could. But darn, I didn’t get Ramsey Lewis’s autograph.

(The song “Hit the Road, Jack” was written by singer Percy Mayfield and recorded by Ray Charles.)

© 2023 Roberta Johnson

Roberta (better known as Bobbie) Johnson had a difficult childhood lasting through her teens. Each month she would take some of her lunch money, buy a True Story magazine and devour every story. While not the best reading material for a teenager, it gave her comfort knowing her experiences were not unique and life would get better. Through her working years, she discovered she had a bit of a knack for writing. Now Bobbie writes her own true stories. Not about the pain but about the people in her life that gave her cherished memories. Memories to remind her that through it all, life was and still is good.