Shake & Bake

Shake & Bake                                      9785  (2995)

Saturday, December 8, 2007-11:00 A.M.

It's funny how much difference a day makes.  On Thursday, I was writing about how upset I was because my friends at WCMF radio in Rochester were getting downsized, and then the next day, I received news that put everything in perspective...one of my good friends had died.

It was one of those deaths that come out of nowhere...the guy wasn't sickly at all, from outside inspection, he wasn't old, there wasn't any terminal disease he was being treated for.  He was my age, 40, about to turn 41 in just a few weeks.  Matter of fact, based on the bag of prescription medication that I tote around with me on a daily basis (I'm on about eight different types of medication for everything from thyroid disease to cholesterol to high blood pressure...I even take a generic Claritin to clear my sinuses so that my sleep apnea constant air machine I wear when I sleep will work), if I had to bet who would go first, me or him, I would've put the money on me.

But it didn't work out that way.

Mike Glosek was a good guy.  He was a comic from Buffalo, and a friend of mine.  If you want to read up on him, there's a small memorial that was written on him in the Buffalo News, and there's a link to it on the front page of my website at www.ralphtetta.com that will take you right to it.  But that memorial tells about the things that Mike accomplished and doesn't really tell you about the man.

After I left the management team at the Comix Cafe in Rochester back in the summer of 2001, a series of managers came in to run the club.  Mike moved from Buffalo at the request of Ed Bebko, the owner, to be one of those managers.  By the time 2004 rolled around, Ed had taken on a partner in the business who would one day buy him out, and during that time of co-ownership, Ed had requested that both Mike and I help out the new guy, show him the ropes of running a comedy club, and keep the ship sailing in the right direction.

For whatever good or ill, that help seemed to be resented and much of our counsel was rejected.  After a time, I became frustrated and gave up, returning to the road and staying there for the sake of peace of mind and just being tired of always being the target of criticism.  Mike suffered quite a bit, too, and even though he was always a good-spirited person with a mind that leaned toward positive thinking, his customer-service and friendly ways always seemed to be in conflict with a management staff who felt he was giving away the store.  At management meetings, Mike and I would sit on one side of a large table and the other managers would sit on the other.  It was like being on trial every week.  I hated it and bailed, but Mike, out of loyalty to Ed, stayed and took his lumps.  He was a better man than I in that respect.

Mike went by the nickname "Shake 'n' Bake," which I never got the full story where the nickname came from, but he was a true throwback to the golden years of standup comedy.  Mike was the guy who spent as much time in front of the bar as he did behind it, glad-handing customers and really making them feel welcome in the club.  Mike was the guy who made sure everyone had a good time, and it frustrated him when his efforts were thwarted.  He ran the bar on karoake night, "Shake 'n' Bake Wednesdays," and he would bartend and then run out and sing, and when I would get up to sing, the shots of whiskey would start coming.  He knew I wasn't much of a drinker, and I think he wanted me to loosen up.  He wouldn't stop until everyone was having as much fun as he was.

As a comic, he was a true variety act, mixing standup, juggling, magic, and a straitjacket escape that was his closer.  At one point, Mike, Joe Fico (another Rochester comic) and I developed a show called "The Fat Pack" and we worked on putting together a true cabaret show containing music, spotlight comedy sets, and any other things we could throw in.  The show was not supported by the club, out of spite would be my guess, and it closed after just four shows.  But I remember fondly sitting in Mike's living room, notepads out, coming up with comedy bits, working on blocking, and throwing our all into the show.

He and I were a lot alike in many ways.  We were the same age, started doing comedy at the same time, and had a background in club management.  His fanatical love of Billy Joel is paralleled by my fanatical love of Bruce Springsteen.  He loved horror films, while I more favored comic books.  And we both lived and died with the Buffalo Bills, although Mike loved the Buffalo Sabres hockey team more, even to the point that he was layed out in his replica Sabres jersey.  We both did magic, although I gave it up at a young age, moving to bass guitar as an outlet for my stage jones.  And we both have young daughters, although Mike also had a son who I was not aware of.

But when we spoke about things spiritual, that's when we really clicked.  Mike enjoyed listening to Joyce Meier, a televangelist who is on TV quite a bit.  He quoted her often, and one of his favorite passages from the Bible was the urging to be "more than a conqueror," and he used that to get him through the difficult times at the club and the conflict with some of the people there.

His door was always open to me, he loved socializing, he loved to be around people who were enjoying themselves, and when he finally succumbed, it was to heart disease.  An autopsy showed that his heart had enlarged and he had a major heart attack while he slept.  That's no way for a 40-year-old man to go, and it has been a real kick in the gut for me.  I've been working with doctors and nurses and nutritionists in an attempt to reverse the many years of neglect I've shown my body, and Mike's death has become a backdrop for my own mortality and while I'm thankful that I now have medical attention that will prevent me from suffering a similar fate, I am angry and upset and conflicted that Mike will never have the same chance, the same opportunity to correct whatever neglect led to his demise.

I wanted to write about this just after I got the news, last Friday, but I was choked up and couldn't focus.  Then after the wake on Tuesday, I wanted to write, but I was overcome with emotion and felt I wouldn't be able to do Mike justice.  Today I guess I'm more lucid and I've had time to properly digest this loss, but I still don't feel properly prepared to fully explain how wonderful Mike was and how lousy I feel that he's gone, and that I didn't spend enough time with him because I felt that he would always be around, a joyful constant in a world that is growing greyer and colder by degrees.

A little less than a week before he died, Mike wrote me a MySpace message that basically said "call me," and I didn't call him right away, waiting for a time when I would be settled, in a hotel room somewhere, and have time to talk.  That time never came, and I have more than my share of guilt about it.  After all the loss I've experienced this year, you'd think that I'd be a little more aware that there is no time better than today to make that call, there is no tomorrow, and the only joy you will have in this life is the joy that you are willing to seize.  But I guess I have to keep getting the buckets of cold water until I finally get it.

Tonight, I will have a drink for my friend, and I will hate myself a little that he's not there to pour it.

Ralph Tetta

Rochester, NY