The Don is Gone

Don Hill.  Even the name to me says mensch.  The head of a family, with a solid foundation - like a mountain.  


Don was my first employer when I moved to Manhattan from my little suburb.   My roommate and another school friend both got jobs at Cat Club when it opened in 1983.  I didn't think I was cool enough, or had any skills.  I was 18.  I felt so grown up and ready to break out, but looking back, I was such a child.  I went in the afternoon for an interview.  I was nervous.  I was trying to be professional and sell myself.  Don was so relaxed that all my defenses came down.  He liked the job my friends were doing and we connected, so Don decided to take a chance on a friendly teenager who had only worked as a cashier or a babysitter before.


Anytime there was a problem, Don would say, "Don't worry.  I'll take care of it.".  He was so gentle - a gentleman - that he could diffuse the most heated disputes.  A few minutes later, the troublemakers would be laughing with Don and buying him a shot.  He must have been an intuitive psychologist because he knew exactly what to say to any person in any situation and make it okay. Cat Club was such a positive experience because of Don.  I would be near tears from rude customers, getting stiffed or worse, being groped.  Don would comfort me, "Those people are idiots.  Just ignore them."  He helped me cop my "New York" attitude to get through the toughest nights, but not lose my sensitivity or smile.


I lost track of Don and Cat Club when I graduated, got a job, and moved back to the suburbs.  When fate brought me back to Manhattan again, there he was with his own bar, quietly holding court at then end of the bar.  It was nearly a decade after I met him, and he instantly smiled when I said, "I don't know if you remember me, but..."  He offered me a drink and some memories, and the years dissolved away.  I still had a pin that one of Don's friends gave me:  "I'd be famous now if I wasn't such a good waitress".  We laughed about so much stuff and played "whatever happened to..."  From then on, he felt like the uncle that owned the bar.  I was nowhere near the high profile people that surrounded him, but he treated me like a VIP every time I walked through his door.


A few years later, I invested in a bar of my own.  When I would go to Squeezebox, or see a band at his club, he greeted me not only as a friend, but as a colleague and we would talk shop.  I was still in awe  of him as the elder statesman, and he treated me like an equal.  If I would have a problem, he would offer his very subtle advice.  I felt like I could talk to him about anything.  He was so open.  Most other bar owners fronted while he shared his triumphs and his tribulations.  He shared his contacts.  When we were beleaguered with Guiliani's goon squad and targeted by the Task Force on Nightlife, he told me of his issues and how he resolved them.  When I lost the bar, I fell into a deep depression.  I didn't go out for months.  When I did emerge and went to Don Hill's, there he was - the shoulder to cry on with a shot of Cuervo.  But I wasn't crying.  He had me laughing in a matter of minutes and had me convinced that it all didn't matter and everything would be OK.  I would do something else or find something else.  "You're here, aren't you?".  How right he was.


After the bar, I focused on my band.  I would call him up and he would give me nights.  I was writing for a website and he let me do a party for them there.  He let me DJ.  We played John Waters' birthday party.  He always supported what I did.  It didn't matter whether he liked it or not, or if it was his thing, he just let me be me and do my thing and was there with a smile and a compliment.  One time, I did a "Bitch" show and sang a Queen song which was scary for me.  I almost never sang without a guitar or without my band.  Afterward, I met Don at the end of the bar.  I sought his approval.  "That was GREAT!  It was Lindsey UNLEASHED!"  I have no idea how he really felt, but he made me feel GREAT with his kind and effusive words.  We had a Cat Club reunion at Don Hill's, and I reconnected with old friends which was really a gift.  It was great to see so many people that over the years had thrived and grown under Don's auspices.


I loved seeing Don out and about.  Over the years, I had gone to Don Hill's less and less.  Squeezebox was gone, and he had taken on a partner who seemed the polar opposite of Don - unfriendly, unwelcoming, and negative.  I had to get through this Cerberus to get to Don, and I was perfectly willing to endure whatever abuse I got at the door to see Don.  When I moved from New York, I was happy to hear that Don was working with some folks who understood how special he and his place was and breathed some new life into it.  Here's Don again - nine lives.  Reborn again, and ageless.  Comfortable in any scene, with any trend and in any group of people.


I felt like he helped me grow up. He was always there with his quiet advice if I asked for it or he would just offer up tidbits for me to ponder, so I could think about them and come to conclusions of my own.  His subtle guidance, his kindness and enduring friendship will be missed.  I'm sorry I didn't get to see him enjoy the latest iteration of his creation, but I can picture him with the scenery changed, the crowd ever-flowing, but Don the same, and the end of the bar with is invitational smile.


I honestly would be surprised if anyone had anything negative to say about him. The worst you could say was that he was too nice to be a bar owner!  He was a man whom I thought might live forever.  It seems through the outpouring of love, memories, gratitude, friendship of people whom he befriended and supported throughout the years, he will have eternal life.