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Your Bubbie Would Follow Me...

Of Mudslides and Men

7/4/2012

7 Comments

 
I had my first mudslide when I was 22 years old.

At least that's what I tell my parents.  

Back home in Florida, we had this neighbor - Gregg "Mud" Lewis - and every time I returned from college for the holidays, he would invite me to have a drink with him at his favorite bar, J. Alexander's.  

Gregg was a regular at J's.  On almost any given night, you could walk through the door, hang a right, and there he was at his table; the last round booth on the left.  Surrounded by his loving girlfriend, neighborhood friends, or the staff smiling at his presence, Gregg recognized essentially every face in the place.  If he didn't, he must have made it a point to change that as quickly as he could, because he had the uncanny ability to converse with just about anyone within the establishment walls. 

The table was "his" for a plethora of reasons, not the least of which was that he tipped more than a gang of bored country derelicts in a pasture at dusk.  More likely was the fact that he treated every single server at that bar as though he or she were royalty.  At times, I was hard-pressed to distinguish the patron from the employee.  Always a please and thank you, and sure, sometimes a 'sweetheart' or 'my man' thrown in there for good measure, but never in a derogatory manner.  There was constant playful banter - Gregg could take it as well as he dished it, and each party partook in plenty of both. 

It's pretty easy to become a regular anywhere.  Step one: show up.  

Repeat. 

But Gregg wasn't just any 'regular.'  Instead of calling a cab for him after one (or five) too many, bartenders offered to drive him home themselves to make sure he arrived home safely - four minutes away.

This went well beyond "Cheers" where everyone knew his name - everyone knew as much about him as anyone possibly could.  Even more impressive, Gregg knew just as much about each and every one of them. 

He even has is own drink - and not just in theory or in the way that people generally know what he's talking about when he orders, but an actual, programmed in the electronic register drink that, when the bill arrives, reads "Gregg Mudslide."  Which is where this story begins...

My first "of age" experience with Gregg began like any other - I drank whatever he ordered, and first up was his signature "Gregg Mudslide."  Instead of the traditional one part Bailey's, one part Kahlua, one part vodka and a splash of cream, this was closer to half top-shelf vodka and half Bailey's in an old fashioned glass with some ice cubes.  As the sweet liquor hit my lips and went down as smooth as silk, I figured this would be a piece of cake.  

"This is what he's drinking? This tastes like chocolate milk!  I can do this all night!"

And then came another.  

And another.

And another.

And then Patrón. 

Needless to say, his "experience" certainly outlasted mine.  

Back from college a year later, with my proverbial alcohol training wheels removed, we sat in for another round.  Eerily similar to the last, I was able to hold my own this time, though certainly a little worse for wear.  I did, however, bring him to a point where he let me pay for one drink, and that is something to which I will hold on dearly for the rest of my life.

Tuesday morning, Gregg lost his battle with a cancer that should have put him away almost a decade ago.  We often joked that he was able to survive for so many quality years for two reasons: first, because he possessed the most incredibly positive attitude toward life and living, and even during the most uncertain times, he projected a confidence that good things lie ahead - no matter how far.  

Second - all the booze.  

And sure, both of those probably had a little to do with it.  But if you ask me, it was the people with whom he surrounded himself that truly gave him the will, the drive, and the desire not only to live, but to live happily.  Each chemotherapy session seemed to be worse than the last, putting him out of commission for longer stretches of time.  Yet as soon as he felt up to it, he was walking his dog about block, chatting with the neighbors and inviting them to J's that very same evening.  

He even got my mother, who gets tipsy from smelling a wine cork, to take a few shots with him: that's how much admiration we had for this man. 

When I heard the news, 3,089 miles across the country from J. Alexander's, the only thing I could think to do was make myself a Gregg Mudslide; and I wasn't the only one.  

My parents each ordered one that night.   

My sister texted a picture from a bar in Boston - she ordered one that night.

His girlfriend, who hadn't had one in ten years - ordered one that night. 

As I did my best to concoct my own, I toasted to a man whose zeal for life far exceeded that of any person facing a more certain future.  I toasted a man who made me a better person for causing me to realize just how possible it is to live life to the fullest, even when facing the darkest hours.  I toasted a man who made everyone around him feel important, special, happy and loved.

The first sip I took of my very own attempt at a Gregg Mudslide wasn't as sweet as I remembered it being back at his table at J's.  Perhaps I just had the wrong proportions.   Perhaps the cheap vodka I bought was a shock in comparison to that with which I was previously spoiled.  

Or, perhaps a drink simply contains more ingredients than those which are present in the glass.    

Gregg, this mudslide, and every mudslide, is for you.

Nosh on,
Josh
7 Comments
Nancy Brismeur
7/5/2012 02:37:23 am

I am the Mother of the girlfriend who was by Gregg's side for the past 14 or so years. What you have captured in your story of "Mud" was the essence of Gregg who fought a valiant battle for all these years. He was that person you described and perhaps the Mudslides propped him up and all the people at "J's" were his therapy for the positive courage he had. We all celebrated his life July 3rd at J's and people from all walks of life really honored Gregg and it was overwhelming. He left behind a beautiful memory. He would be proud to have known you remembered him this way. Gregg was a one-of-a kind. Another toast to Gregg! Hip Hip Hooray!
Nancy, Plantation, FL

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Jill Allingham
7/5/2012 07:41:15 am

Sounds like a great friendship. What a great way to honor him with your story about his famous Mudslide. I might have to make one for Larry and I this week-end, or maybe tonight. We will toast to Gregg!

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Mark Pakula link
7/5/2012 11:45:11 am

Josh this made me cry when I read it, it is so gregg! I'm Stacey's brother I've had the pleasure of knowing gregg for a long time and you captured gregg right on point I couldn't of said it better!

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Paula Friona
7/5/2012 12:18:18 pm

Great writing and reading! Greg will be missed by many!

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Kevin Yien
7/5/2012 03:18:49 pm

Josh, this post was truly touching. You made me wish I had the pleasure of meeting Gregg. He sounds like an incredible human being.

Although at a very different stage in my life, this reminded me of my connection to my grandfather through oranges. It sounds silly, I know, yet the memories of making fresh squeezed orange juice with him as a child are some of my most treasured.

Your ability to highlight the beauty of a person through words, especially given the context, speaks to the warmth and love that everyone feels from you.

Thank you for this, and a toast to Gregg's loving spirit!

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Julie Fox Meltzer
7/5/2012 09:52:51 pm

I actually made a many of GReggs mudslides back in the Brasserie Max days early 90s. I always enjoyed Greggs cimoany,warmth, and best of all his smile! He will be greatly missed. Julie bartender from Max's <3

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Gail C. Delaney
7/9/2012 04:06:56 am

Cocktails All! I am still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Gregg is no longer amongst us physically. I mean, this wasn’t supposed to happen to him. He was Gregg, Greggie, Gregory D, Mudd after all. Right? We met back in the late 70’s thru a mutual acquaintance at Heublein in Hartford and from the moment we met we formed one of the closest friendships I have ever had in my life. We spent a lot of time together when he was in Connecticut. We never ran out of things to talk about, told each other EVERYTHING, laughed our asses off, and cried to each other too. When I started dating my ex I told him right from the start that my best friend was a guy and that if he could not accept Gregg as such there was no sense in our continuing a relationship. When I got married, Gregg was my Best Man and he also gave me away. One of our favorite places to go was a down and dirty, cool little place called Piggy’s that had a great jukebox which we fought over constantly as to who was gonna play our favorite songs first. The first time I took him there, I introduced him to one of my favorite drinks: The Mudslide. Yes, that’s right; I was the one who got him started on his now famous drink….even named his dog after it! My heart is heavy as I write this but it is also full of the joy and love that knowing him brought. God bless you Stacey for taking such good care of him for so long. He always sang your praises and loved you so much. So, goodnight Sweet Prince until we meet again. I love you (more). Gail

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