El Chico and My Transformative Year: 1978–1979

My mom and dad had no misgivings buying me a car before I had a regular source of income; both knew I needed a car with which to search for gainful employment and then get there after I found it. Happily, I landed my first job fairly quickly at El Chico Restaurant in the Northglenn Mall Annex, just west of the mall at 106th Avenue and Melody Drive. High-school pal Robert already worked there and encouraged me to apply; I did and soon began working beside him as a busboy in January of 1978, the same month I began driving my Cuda to school. Although my time at El Chico was short, I worked, interacted, and formed friendships with a memorable array of individuals — my preparatory training for a lifetime of laboring and coexisting alongside a diverse and inconstant cast of characters:

There were the waiters and waitresses, all of whom seemed so much older than I. I went on my first date with one of the older girls, Cathy, who was an ancient 19. It was an awkward evening at the movies and equally awkward at her front door.

There were my Mexican coworkers who were deep into disco and dancing and frequented the Disconnection on 88th Avenue in Thornton. These Travolta admirers would often stop by the restaurant on their way to the discotheque on weekend evenings — humming Earth, Wind & Fire tunes, strutting around in their fine threads, and showing off their bad selves. [1]

There were the stoners in the kitchen who worked as cooks. Holdovers from the restaurant’s previous regime, they were bossy and a bit intimidating. All were probably younger than they looked, but with their long dirty hair and pimply faces it was impossible to know for sure. [2]

There were bosses Gabe, Alan, and Ross. Gabe, the resident manager at our location, was a big, loud, bombastic man but an effective, no-nonsense leader (who always reminded me of Duke Ellington). Assistant manager Alan, in contrast to Gabe, was a quiet, laid-back fellow who seemed uncomfortable with power and exercising authority. [3] And Ross, the assistant manager at El Chico’s Villa Italia Mall location, was the top managerial stand-in at our restaurant when needed. Ross, who had an extremely attractive wife, liked me, recognizing that I was a hard worker.

And there were Robert and Victor, coworkers who became two of my closest friends during and after high school.

My time at El Chico — a mere 16 months — was instructive and even transformative in many respects. Perhaps the most important and long-lasting lessons learned were how to work for an ever-shifting staff of supervisors and with and around an ever-changing crowd of colleagues. What I remember most about El Chico, though, are the warm feelings of belonging that came from being part of a common endeavor and the tight bonds formed through shared experience. And yet when I left El Chico in May of 1979 to look for full-time work after graduating from high school, I did not miss it. I was ready to move along and did not look back.

Above piece excerpted from the forthcoming It’s Only Music: A Musical and Historical Memoir.

[1] One of these Travolta wannabes was my friend and Northglenn High School classmate Roger, who was shot and killed on March 16, 1990, in an argument in a bar at 45th Avenue and Washington Street in Denver. Completely out of character, I went to the mortuary, alone, to view Roger. All I remember is seeing the guest book’s empty pages (I was the first viewer) and Roger’s unnatural-looking lips and mouth. Horrified, I turned on my heel and exited the room and building tout de suite, cursing myself for days afterward for allowing morbid curiosity to take me to such an upsetting place.

[2] Five or six years after our time at El Chico, in the mid-eighties, Victor and I bumped into chief stoner Kirk inside the 7-Eleven store on Melody Drive, just south of where El Chico once operated. Friendly and congenial, Kirk looked and acted exactly the same.

[3] In 2018, 40 years after my time at El Chico, I ran into Alan at King Soopers on Highway 287 and Miramonte Blvd. in Broomfield, where he was managing the store’s deli department. We recognized each other immediately, even remembering one another’s surnames. Alan retired shortly after our reunion.