Long story short, a young Frank Sinatra entertained along with many others until Las Vegas became the go-to din of iniquity. One huge venue called The Beverly Hills Supper Club in Newport turned into a legitimate business in the 1970’s. Alas residual mobster activity continued and mysterious fires sprouted among various nightclubs. Refusing offers to sell, this business man apparently fell victim.
Unlike normal sabotage operations occurring on a quiet Sunday morning, this devastating event took place on a Saturday night. And those thousands (!) enjoying celebrations such as weddings, or just a simple night out were the ultimate victims. Hundreds died yet authorities prevented investigation by bulldozing the place within days. I’ll let you learn more if interested by checking this out. I’m shocked never to have known about this beforehand as its impact upon the city remains, including litigation over proposed development on what many consider a sacred sight.
I mentioned this tragedy to my older brother-in-law, curious if he’d heard this news during his young adulthood in Northeast Ohio. He had not. On a side note, he volunteers at his house of worship’s security team. What prompted my tell is that he and needed to cut short the brothers’ weekly video chat for a fire drill.
In a true ironic twist we endured our own sort of fire drill that very afternoon. I’d been cooking a blackened chicken recipe but didn’t notice smoke building up until our smoke detector sounded. A representative of the home security called and we promptly assured him no assistance was required. He chuckled at my self-deprecating joke before notifying our local fire department.
However, we were too late and a fire truck pulled up. Zack, leading his emerging responders, asked if he could double check inside our home. I agreed, apologetic while expressing an understanding that we’d receive a bill.
“No, don’t worry,” he replied. “There’s no charge involved.”
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As if we needed more proof of Jezebel
being deaf, she did not react until
the very tall fireman Zack
stood behind me. |
I later surmised the silent young people in uniform might have been on a convenient training mission. At any rate, I again confessed that my chicken was definitely blackened and received more laughter. After ascertaining our safety and making sure we didn’t need anything, Zack took down my name and number for their report. I, in turn, asked their names because they were so professional, polite, and thorough.
Have you ever pulled this type of embarrassing stunt? Isn’t my brother-in-law's volunteer work laudable?
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