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| Pair of Seals - bronze sculpture by Trader Vic (Victor Jules Bergeron, Jr.) |
Positive Energy
memoir
Gregory E. Larson
Preface: My entire career
as an architect was an educational experience. I was a somewhat naïve kid from
Kansas, and once I was thrust into the business world, it seemed every day was
an adventure in meeting new and different people and ideas. It definitely was
not boring. Working for over 30 years for Hallmark and Crown Center, the
variety of people and projects made life interesting. This memoir is a vignette
that gives a peek into those fascinating times.
Do you remember the Trader Vic’s restaurants? I’m sure
that some of you do. They had fancy drinks and an interior atmosphere that I’d
call “funky tiki-hut a la South Pacific.” Kansas City had one for many years in
the Westin Hotel. Very popular, especially at lunch time, it was an oasis
during the workday for three-martini lunches, with an odd mix of politicians,
power brokers in business suits, rendezvous couples and tourists. The
management cultivated the repeat clients and had their booths waiting for their
appointed arrival.
At the height of their success, there were 25
restaurants, including ones in London, Munich, Singapore and Tokyo. I also
remember the lines in the strange rock song, titled “Werewolves of London,” by
Warren Zevon:
I saw a werewolf drinkin’ a piña colada at
Trader Vic’s
His hair was perfect. Nah!
Ah-ooooo, werewolves of London
The founder of Trader Vic’s, Victor Jules Bergeron,
Jr. (1902-1984), was a self-made man. In 1934, he spent $500 and opened a small
restaurant near his parents’ grocery store in Oakland, California. The little
restaurant, named Hinky Dinks became a hit and at some point the name was
changed to Trader Vic’s.
Nothing seemed to curb Victor’s drive and energy. As a
six-year-old boy he had tuberculosis. Complications required amputation of one of his legs, but he never complained. He was a writer and self-taught artist who
painted and created sculpture and jewelry. His passion was the South Pacific
and the drinks and cuisine that came from there. He claimed to have invented
the Mai Tai cocktail in 1944 (rum with lime and orange juice).
I never met Victor, but my path crossed with the
restaurant during a two-year project of renovating the entire Westin Hotel at
Crown Center (1986-1988). I was responsible for meeting with the design
consultants, and then coordinated an in-house team to transform the concepts
into construction drawings for the contractors. Crown Center had hired a
west-coast hotel design firm, but Trader Vic’s had their own designer from San
Francisco that they used for their renovations. During the initial meetings
with representatives from Trader Vic’s, we learned that the “tiki look” was
getting worn out, and they were changing the interior design of the restaurants
to have a “marine antique” look with giant ship models, marine lights, nautical
accoutrements and paintings. Of course, most of the meetings took place during
lunch at Trader Vic’s. I acquired a taste for their grilled mahi-mahi. I’d
never had anything like it, nor have I found anything as good since. The
mahi-mahi was cut in thin pieces and grilled with a light coating of something
a bit crunchy. The herbs and spices melded with the lemon and butter.
This was in the ’80s before Autocad computer drawings
and electronic sharing of information. During the coordination effort, it was
necessary for me to go to San Francisco with a marked-up a set of their
drawings along with comments and questions. I also took a set of the beginnings
of the construction documents.
Upon arrival at the downtown hotel, a near-disaster
was averted. After I paid the fare and tip to the cabbie, the bellhop greeted
me at the cab and grabbed my luggage. All of a sudden the cab driver started to
pull away from the curb. In a split second, I realized the blueprints were in
the back seat. I slammed my palm on the trunk of the cab and yelled, “Stop!” and let out a sigh of relief when the brake
lights came on. All of the notes for the meeting would have disappeared in the
night if I hadn’t slapped the trunk.
The next day I met with the design firm in downtown
San Francisco. I was so happy to have the marked-up blueprints and the meeting
went smoothly. In the afternoon, the Trader Vic’s representative came and we
updated him on the progress of the plans. He then suggested we go over to
Oakland with him to see their warehouse where the decorations and antiques were
stored. After the warehouse visit, he planned to take us to the flagship (no
pun intended) Trader Vic restaurant in Emeryville. Oh boy, more grilled
mahi-mahi!
Across the Bay Bridge we went, and arrived at the
warehouse full of interesting items, and met an unforgettable warehouse manager
with a vintage hippie-look: blue jeans, Hawaiian shirt loosely buttoned with
gray chest hairs poking out, puka-shell necklace, long hair and wire-rim
glasses. He was proud to give us a tour. The warehouse was like a candy store
full of interior decorations: unique chandeliers, brass ship barometers,
harpoons, giant ship models. I could have poked around for hours.
When it was time to leave for dinner, the
representative whispered something in the warehouse manager’s ear. He
disappeared and quickly returned with a small box, which he opened and pulled
out a small bronze sculpture of two seals.
“This is a memento for you, and a token of our
appreciation for your work on the space in Kansas City. It is one of Trader Vic's sculptures.” He handed it to me and
I almost dropped it. The weight of the cast bronze sculpture was about three
times what I expected for such a small item.” I was truly moved by their
friendship. Moments like those made all the hard work worthwhile.
Being the observing architect, I looked up and noticed
something a bit odd. Over each truck dock was a large steel-frame pyramid
hanging from a chain. Each pyramid was about eight feet wide and the pyramid
point was about four feet high.
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| Pyramid frame hanging above the dock |
I turned to the warehouse manager and asked, “What are
the pyramids for?”
Our eyes locked and the old hippie gave me a deadly
serious response, “Those are what give us positive energy.”
Okay, I thought. I guess I’m not in Kansas anymore. I
responded, “Hey, whatever works,” and we all chuckled. I wondered if they were
something requested by Victor Bergeron or something the manager decided to
install. I never asked.
While having dinner by the bay that evening, I thought
about how fascinating the business trips were, but it was always good to get
back home to Kansas.
