Sex! Drugs!...And Ronald Reagan?

By Michael Jay

This book is a tell-all, no-holds-barred, in-depth exploration of my experiences in the hotel and restaurant industry. Some stories detail the lack of scruples while others with the lack of morals, not all bad though. You will read about some celebrities at their best and others at their worst. When you are finished with this book, you will never look at your waiter/waitress the same again, you will bring your own sheets to the hotel, and you will have your attorney double-check any contracts you sign. By the end, you will definitely laugh, possibly cry, and most certainly recommend this book to a friend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781641386326

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Sex! Drugs!...And Ronald Reagan?

Michael Jay

Copyright © 2018 Michael Jay

All rights reserved

First Edition

Page Publishing, Inc

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc 2018

ISBN 978-1-64138-631-9 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64138-632-6 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Shadows of Life

A dark hallway with keys to the city

VIP in short skirts spiked heels in you’re pretty

Shaking hands with the man whispered of indignities

Celebrities murderers cops realities

Two-faced double life from my mistress to my wife

Negotiating lies lined up on the side

Revived by my faith on my knees as a cry

A sign from the heart that was hiding all this time

Honesty as a conscious guide

Breathed into me the resurrection of life

Clasped hands opened mind

Send a message to design

This image as a privilege

Redirected refined

(Annette Marie)

Prologue

I’ve been in the hospitality business for decades. I worked as a pastry chef, a head chef, then went from a manager, to a food and beverage director, and finally, the GM of multimillion-dollar hotels. During that time, I’ve had as little as twenty employees as many as couple of hundred. I’ve had to have several eyes in the back of my head in order to survive and still made it. I always looked at every employee with kindness, understanding, and an open-door policy. Anyone who wanted to talk to me about anything knew that as long as they were honest with me, I’d be fair with them. Despite my open-door policy, I still felt compelled to look at every employee as though they were stealing from my family . . . like they were literally taking food off my kids’ plate. That was unacceptable to me. So despite my gravest warnings, my example setting, and my firings, people still thought that they could beat the system. What they didn’t realize is that I was unwilling to let that happen.

Here are some tales from the dark side that you may find unbelievable, but they are true. Now’s the time that my secrets will be revealed, and you will be enlightened to the dark underbelly of the hotel and hospitality business. They have convinced the public that everything’s fine . . . that hotels are safe, that they are getting the best deal possible. Regardless of the truths inside this book, the abuse will continue, people will still regret the decisions they’ve made. Sex, Drugs, and Ronald Reagan will delve into the shadier side of hospitality, the darker side of dining, and will reveal what lurks behind the shadows in most places people go to to enjoy some of the finer things in life.

The stars you may see in the multitude of ranking systems out there are typically the result of smoke and mirrors, facades, and all too often, they are only a snapshot from a single experience. The irony of that system is that we almost always knew when any significant individual was going to enter the establishment, and only an idiot wouldn’t go above and beyond if the New York Times Food Critic entered their establishment. It’s amazing what an extra bottle of wine, a free room for their family, or even an occasional piece of ass will do for your ratings.

After over forty years in the restaurant and hospitality industry, I have realized something about people. Some are destined to be the proverbial ostriches of life, head buried in the sand, oblivious to all the dangers lurking around them. There’s nothing wrong with that lifestyle for those who choose it. You know what they say, ignorance is bliss!

Others who, as Neo in the Matrix did, choose to swallow the blue pill will learn the truths that occur in the kitchens that charge you forty dollars for a petite fillet, or the $1,500 a night hotel room you’ve saved all year to vacation in. So if you’re willing, turn the page and find out what the owners and managers of these facilities would rather you didn’t know, then do so and enjoy this exposé of what’s happening behind the doors of most places Expedia recommends. So if you are prepared for the truth, then read on; if not, close the book and continue to live oblivious to the circumstances that surround you.

Ronald Reagan

Ronald Reagan

Mr. Reagan was supposed to stay at my hotel, but we didn’t know when. His staff was going to contact us. The next day I was notified Mr. Reagan was going to be arriving in about three or four weeks. Secret Service had already secured rooms and were in the hotel already. In a couple of days, they came to my office and told me what room they wanted Mr. Reagan staying in. Secret Service would be staying in a room across the hall from him. They also had a room on each side of his and one below his room one above.

Next thing they did was to interview my employees, but they started with me first. Once I was cleared, they proceeded to do the same to the front desk staff and systems, the kitchen crew, and the wait staff, including waitresses and waiters. Once all that was done, we anxiously awaited word from the staff as to the exact day and time he would be arriving. For the next three days, I spent checking and rejecting each department over and over again and emphasizing the importance of everyone being on time for work.

On the morning of the third day, I received a call that Mr. Reagan would be arriving that day and that it would be at 2:00 p.m. That same morning, a friend of mine named Chuck called me and asked me if I wanted to go running on Saturday. I told him I didn’t have time to think about that right now, because Mr. Reagan was on his way.

He said, Oh, cool, you want me to take pictures? I’m a professional photographer.

I said, Sure, come on over.

He showed up in twenty minutes. I took one look at him and said, Oh no, I’m not going to have some longhaired pot-smoking hippie with raggedy ass clothes on taking pictures of our next president of the United States while he’s campaigning and staying in my hotel. I laughed said, Joan, just kidding, but I want you to go down to the locker room, get a white shirt and pair of black pants, then get some breakfast and come right back here.

At 11:30 a.m., the entire lobby was packed with reporters, photographers, Secret Service agents, and my staff. I told Chuck where to stand and to start taking pictures the minute he saw me start to shake Mr. Reagan's hand.

Well, I know.

The moment he said that, the front door was opened for Mr. Reagan, who burst in and started being greeted by myself and several others. I extended my hand, told him I was the GM and that we were proud to have him as our guest. He was then quickly escorted to his room, and lunch was ordered for seven to be sent to the room.

I remember shaking his hand and hearing lots of cameras clicking. I asked Chuck if he got a good shot.

He said, Yeah, but the flash didn’t go off.

My mouth dropped open and I said, You’ve got to be kidding me.

He added that he thought he had enough light.

I said, We’ll see, professional my ass.

Mr. Reagan was leaving late the following afternoon, and we had an opportunity to thank him for staying with us and that myself and a lot of my employees said how much we enjoyed his movies and that we would all be voting for him in the coming election.

He said, I want to tell you what a pleasant and wonderful stay myself, my staff, and the Secret Service had.

I shook his hand and said, I was pleased to hear that, and if he swings through this way again, I’ll leave the light on for him.

He laughed and said, Oh, we will.

As they loaded into a caravan of limos, I notified all my employees via memos and in person to each department, thanking them for doing such a fantastic job.

And unlike the title Mr. Reagan had nothing to do with sex, drugs, or rock and roll.

A few days later, Chuck brought in an eight-by-ten picture. I looked at it and couldn’t make out that it was Mr. Reagan and myself, but it was like a silhouette. I looked at him and said, Well, anything is better than nothing, I guess.

I fell back to my chair with my feet up on my desk, with my hands behind my head, looked at Chuck, and said, Do you realize that we had this kind and gentle good-looking movie star turned politician who graced our hotel, and I got to shake the hand of a man who is going to become one of this nation’s greatest Presidents? (He did, and he was.) May God rest his sole.

Credits and Thanks

Lorraine Burns—God rest her soul.

Michael II—Chief editor.

Brittany T.—Contributing editor.

Justin and Kim—Proofreaders.

Father J.—Proofreader.

Father B.—Proofreader.

Nathan G.—Best grandson.

Annette—Opening poem.

Ken A.—HPL’s best VP ever.

Al and Val—For pushing me to finish.

Joan S.—For her prayers.

Elizabeth—For her encouragement.

Cynthia and Allen—For doing the final readings.

My brothers Tommy and Franklin, my sister Dr. Virginia Upton may they rest in peace.

To my brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, and uncles - much love and kisses.

And to all my 137 nieces and nephews - in addition to love and kisses...pinches.

Most of all God bless my mother and father...may they rest in peace.

Be sure keep your eyes peeled for the sequel to Sex! Drugs! And . . . Ronald Reagan?

The stories you’ll find are equally unbelievable and also completely true.

But you will not believe what Mr. Jay did next. We interviewed over three hundred men and women and they all said that they definitely would not have done what he did, Never. Most of them said that they can’t believe he did what he did.

Chapter 1

Crooks, Thieves, and Bartenders

Thou shall not steal.

—The Ten Commandments

I’ve spent more of my life in the hospitality industry for longer than I’d like to admit, and over those many years, I have held practically every position necessary to make a restaurant or hotel work. I’ve been a pastry chef, sous chef, executive chef, front of the house manager, bar manager, food and beverage director, sales representative for a food distribution company, and general manager of a multi-million dollar hotel spread out on twenty acres. I have owned a wedding consulting business, a small restaurant, and a catering company. I’ve had as few as three and as many as three hundred employees working under me. I always kept an open-door policy for anyone who felt the need to talk and treated everyone with respect and fairness. In the beginning, I was probably too fair. I took people at their word and learned the hard way how important it is to have eyes in the back of your head. I still maintained an environment of respect and fairness but looked at everyone as a potential thief until they proved themselves otherwise. Usually the ones who went above and beyond to endear themselves were also the ones who would steal gold teeth from a corpse if no one was looking.

One of the most important management lessons I learned (and perhaps the hardest to affect changed within) is that people have their own agendas, needs, and wants. In some cases I worked with people who’s agendas, needs, and wants were congruent with mine and with the direction the company was moving. Those people became my trusted inner circle, those are the people who were promoted and very often were permitted and were able to attain height of success. I really don’t want to sound like I’m bashing low level employees within the restaurant/hospitality industry, but there is a common thread between a lot of the entry-level people you hire. They are typically young, un(under) educated, and on the lower rungs of the socioeconomic ladder. They often had nothing to lose by taking shortcuts, dipping into the register or taking an occasional five-finger-discount.

Those factors made me become consistently random. That’s where I needed to become EVERYONE’S friend and began setting traps for rats. As a rule I would never let anyone know when I was leaving, where was going, or when I was coming back. I wouldn’t tell the cashiers, bartenders, or even the front desk personnel. No one would know my day-to-day schedule, the only one I’d occasionally clue in (once trusted) was my personal assistant.

I made it a habit of just showing up, sometimes midday to check the actual register drawer against the register tape. I would randomly pull a register drawers (putting another one in with a new bank) just to see how much money it was over . . . that would show me what’s the amount the thieves would be taking home that night, the amount that they thought they’d be taking from me. There were times I would even borrow a friend’s car and would park behind the kitchen to watch employees come and go as they loaded the trunks with stolen food from the kitchen, the whole time they would all do this with the belief that I had left for the night, or had a meeting to attend . . . minimally they believed that the coast was clear. Occasionally I’d invite a friend to have dinner and drinks (on the house, of course) just to sit and observe how things ran while the proverbial cat was away.

Thievery doesn’t always mean taking a dollar from the register and putting it in your pocket . . . in the highly competitive world of hospitality any loss of clientele is unacceptable, especially if it’s avoidable. I would often have people call the hotel to book a banquet. A lot of times the receptionist would say I’m sorry the sales office is closed you have to call back tomorrow between nine and five. Most people would see nothing wrong with that. The receptionist was polite; they did convey accurate information but should have not lost that lead by just hanging up. If my friend was actually a potential customer, who knows if they would really take the time to call back the next day. This would be especially unlikely if a competitor took the time to record the pertinent information. We would try to address this in meetings: Always answer the phone before the third ring, get all the relevant information from anyone who calls this facility: party date, size, special requests, phone number to reach the person at, etc. These guidelines can’t guarantee success, but they can help prevent failure. Depending on your profit margins even the smallest loss can be significant. Below I will stand on the shoulders of people who have done the research to prove my point . . .

Between $8 and 10 billion were lost by retailers in the US due to theft in 1996 alone (Hollinger 1996)

1994 British study revealed (Farrington 1999):

43% of theft was a result of customers

30% of theft was a result of staff

10% of theft was a result of suppliers

17% of theft was a result of administrative error

One method of calculating loss (Johnston 2010):

Item cost : .30

Overhead: .20

Cost of goods: .50

Cost to consumer: 1.00

If two people purchase the item:

$2.00 (cost to consumers)

-$1.00 (cost to business)

$1.00 (.50 from each item)

If one of the aforementioned purchases is a theft instead of a purchase the math would be as follows:

Item cost: .30

Overhead: .20

Cost of goods: .50

Cost to consumer: 1.00

If two people purchase the item:

$1.00 (cost to consumer)

-$.50 (cost to business for item bought)

-$.50 (cost of stolen item)

$0.00

To get back the lost .50 for the stolen item, the business must sell 101 items in order to regain the .50 cent profit."

That’s why every penny counts. That’s why I was always hyper-vigilant with regard to controlling loss. That’s why I was able to achieve the successes I experienced and lastly . . . that’s why this chapter is in this book.

Over the years I came in to contact with hundreds of thieves, the ones in this chapter are the standouts. They thought they were the smartest, that their plans were clever or that they’d never get caught. When they tangled with me, they hit a brick wall. I can tell a person is crooked just by talking to them. Most of them are so stupid (or arrogant) they reveal themselves without even knowing it. Throughout this chapter you will read about thieves on every level . . . from government thieves to petty thieves, from people who had millions more and stole millions more to people who threw away their only gainful employment just to fill their pockets with a couple extra dollars. So whatever you do don’t let your sympathies get the best of you and feel sorry for these people . . . they’ve made their beds, and some, to this day, are still lying in them.

Manuel Elizalde Jr.: Secretary to President Marcos of the Philippines

You can fool all the people some of the time and some of the people all of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time.

—Abraham Lincoln

There are not many things that are as abrasive as a blaring alarm clock after too little sleep. That morning’s alarm was not any different. It was 3:35 a.m. when the static infused garble began blasting from the speaker. My wife, who’s only responsibility at the time was to care for our son, rolled over and although still sleeping was awake enough to mutter, Will you get the fuck out of bed and shut that fucking thing off! I blinked, my eyes burned with an ire that’s only created when too many days of too little sleep are strung together. As much as I wanted to hit the snooze button I knew I couldn’t. Even though I was still mostly asleep, after years in the business my body was trained to get going without my brain telling it what to do. It was these kinds of mornings when cold water became your best friend. Whatever parts of my body were still hitting the physiological snooze button were shocked awake when the icy liquid poured from the showerhead all over my body. As the water slowly warmed I began to go over my mental checklist for the day. Manuel Elizalde, the secretary to President Ferdinand Marcos of the Philippines, was set to arrive and everything needed to be flawless. Knowing that if I was going to demand perfection that day it had to begin with me, so freshly showered and shaved I donned my new navy blue suit, gave myself one last look in the full length mirror and was ready to set the tone. It could’ve been the President of the United States arriving and it wouldn’t have mattered. I exited the room, recalled the list created during the frigid baptism that was essential on this kind of morning and began to check things off. It started with the room Mr. Elizalde would be staying in, then Instead of using the elevator I walked each floor and stairwell to make sure that housekeeping didn’t miss a thing. When I arrived at the lobby it was about 5:30. I inspected the area then went outside to dot the remaining i’s and cross the remaining t’s. It was a crisp fall morning, the kind of morning that smelled like football and brought me right back to my New England roots. Lastly I made sure everyone, from bellhops to busboys, were up to speed on who exactly would be arriving and how important it would be that things were perfect on this day. We were now just playing the waiting game. Secretary Elizalde and his entourage came to the United States as emissaries from the Philippines sent to attend President Nixon’s inaugural ball.

This was a big deal for the hotel as he would be the first political dignitary to stay in our Presidential Suite. The room was ahead of its time and cost my company over a quarter of a million dollars to design, build, decorate and furnish. It was impressive even before you even entered it. For starters it was the only guest room on that floor. When you turned to walk toward the room even the most cultured of guest would have been impressed by the huge oak door that acted as the silent sentry to all the treasures held inside. Once the door was opened you entered the hallway. It wasn’t an ordinary hallway. The walls were covered with almond tinted wall paper, several commissioned paintings adorned the walls, and two crystal chandeliers hung down from the ceiling. While your eyes couldn’t help being drawn to what was set before them your feet were not forgotten. Lining the hall was a plush burgundy carpet that almost immediately relieved stress. There were times when the room was empty that I would go up, take my shoes off and just let the pile massage the problems of the day away. Lastly the hall hinted at even greater pleasures with the 5 closed doors, two to the left, three to the right. All but one of the rooms was for the guests, the last door on the right was where the maid would stay. Entering the first door to the right would bring you into the executive office. People who could afford this kind of room definitely had business to handle and this space was made for that purpose. The massive hand carved mahogany desk dominated the room and could’ve made even the lowest level employee believe they were the boss when sitting at its helm in a leather high-back chair. The room had a deep burgandy wainscoting encircling it with 24 karat gold stencils of leaves above it. The upper half of the wall was painted forest green. That room had a master bathroom attached to it as well as an additional conference room. Bookshelves lined one of the walls and held a standard number of classic books but were also customizable to suit the taste of its tenant. Directly across the hallway from the office was where you’d find the Great Room. This room was the penultimate room of the suite. It served as the library, dining area, and sitting room. Despite the multipurpose nature of the room no magnificence was lost. There were exquisite Persian rugs placed atop the hardwood floors and pieces of artwork equally as impressive adorned the walls.

Both the dining room and library were decorated Chippendale furniture.

The master bedroom had white shag CARPETING, A WOOD BURING FIREPLACE, AND A $20,000 custom-made round bed. The bed went around in circles both ways and vibrated. It had a half moon headboard with a stereo that had dual speakers, a bar that dispensed all kinds of liquor, a sink, with hot and cold running water, a coffee maker, and an intercom system was linked to the other rooms within the suite. Although the master bathroom was dominated by the 8 foot by 8 foot sunken bath, there was also white shag carpeting, a sauna, and remote-controlled (which was cutting edge for the time) TV, and curtains. In addition to those features, there was also a bidet.

It had a maid’s room, with a twenty-four-hour maid, a butler, a chauffeur and limo, and all the food, drinks, cigars, and cigarettes. It also had a guest room with a waterbed, TV, etc. And executive office with a desk that was trimmed in gold. It also had a conference room with an oval shaped table twelve feet long and all one piece. It seated 1- with white leather armchairs, and the room also had a bar. Also included with the suite was, breakfast, lunch and dinner, French style at the table side.

With everything in place we just had to wait. One of the many lessons CIA had taught me is that important people had their own schedules. Regardless of the time they were scheduled to arrive the truth was whenever they arrived at their destination was the actual time they were supposed to be there. So I instructed my staff to be ready for Mr. Elizalde to arrive from this point forward. As we all waited I began to review his file to make sure that I knew everything about his wants and needs and that I was prepared to meet them. I began to thumb through his file it dawned on me that his dossier could have been written by a modern day Mark Twain. He was building a legend for himself that extended beyond that of most dignitaries.

I had been up for three hours and still no Elizalde and was now sitting at my desk making sure the other 249 rooms were all in order. It was then that the desk clerk ran in and said he’s here, it’s gotta be him with all the escorts. I jumped up and with one last peek in the mirror was striding toward the main entryway of the hotel. With his background I expected a much bigger man. It wasn’t long before I realized his physical stature was dwarfed by his person. He took over a room just by being in it. I shook his hand Mr. Elizalde . . . Michael Jay, a pleasure to meet you. He looked me in the eye and said "Manny is fine." His personal assistant then demanded my attention. Elizalde began to move through the lobby toward the elevators and I was read a list of expectations Mr. Elizalde had for his stay. One of which was that Mr. Elizalde requested to have all meals served on at odd times in order to try and maintain his normal eating schedule. He hired a local camera operator so that James Bond movies could be shown on a whim. He also, allegedly, had a private jet that flew around the country picking up debutantes to come and party when he was stateside. There were already about 10 gorgeous beauty queens walking around the suite. Everyone had a perfect body, perfect teeth, and smiles that never seemed to leave their faces.

Despite the cacophony of accents, demands, and people, my mind was sharp and I was on top of my game . . . the elevator doors slowly spread apart and I led Mr. Elizalde and his staff to the suite that would be his home for the next seven days. I opened the door and welcomed him to my hotel. After a brief tour I and introductions to the staff I gave him the direct line to my room and said if he needed anything, regardless of time, to call me and he’d have it. Late that night Mr. Elizalde called my room and asked me to come up. Quickly, I made myself perfect and headed to his suite. When he opened the door he requested that I would go into the master bedroom and light the fireplace, dim the lights and light candles around the room. A half-hour later I saw him cavorting around from woman to woman trying to sweet talk the debutants into retiring to the master bedroom. He would take one of them by the hand and lead her into the bedroom and 10 minutes later the door swung open with such force the movement of air is what drew my attention. The woman who so eagerly entered a mere 600 seconds earlier came storming out. Her face was flushed with color and she averted her eyes from everyone in the room. She headed straight toward the bathroom without saying a word. The same scenario replayed itself with girl after girl happily entering only to storm out clearly shaken by the events that had been occurring behind closed doors. Finally he hit pay dirt. He led one of the few untainted women left into his room. While all the women were stunning, this one had stood out from the beginning. She was tall a tall blonde (made even taller by her come fuck me pumps) I’ll never forget her face as she entered his room. She glanced back and made eye contact with me. The look she gave me had a clear message attached . . . that she not only knew what she was getting herself into but it was exactly the opportunity she had been waiting for. I was exhausted, wanted to go back to bed, but my curiosity wouldn’t let me. It hadn’t been longer than fifteen minutes before any of the earlier choices had stormed out, so I thought, What’s another fifteen minutes? Well, forty-five minutes later, I became tired of waiting and left. She not only didn’t leave that night, she ended up staying in the suite for the rest of the week. After the initial din created by his arrival we felt confident that the rest of his time with us would be Business as usual.

Business as usual but that ended two days before his scheduled departure. Mr. Elizalde left the hotel early that afternoon and when he came back he was no longer being chauffeured. Instead he was behind the wheel of a brand new sports car with the engine still purring, only the way a KDFJSDJ: LDJ engine can, he exited the vehicle. There was a young man standing near the entrance, mouth agape, ogling this rare gem of a car. Elizalde glanced over and asked if the man liked the SDJKDJLSJ colored vehicle without waiting for an answer he reached into the vehicle, turned off the engine and then threw the keys to this clearly overwhelmed young man. Not missing a step as he entered the hotel, Elizalde looked over and said I don’t like the car . . . you could have it. He then turned to his assistant, said Handle it. His assistant turned and signed the papers over to Mr. Right-Place-Right-Time.

There was only a day left and Mr. Elizalde asked me to join him for lunch without pause I said absolutely and coordinated a time. We sat down and he said that he wanted to talk to me about the hotel business. He told me things were not going so well in his country, and that he was looking for investments. He said I may have to grab as much money as I can get my hands on, and flee the country. This admission made for a slightly awkward pause but before it became too long I told him to "Build a hotel, I’ll run it