fred bentivegna
Verified Member
There is an intersting thread in AZ forums about "Legendary muscle" that I posted on, and because I mentioned one of our own members in the post, I feel it's worth repeating here.
In the 70s there was an all-night bar on Rush St. in Chicago called, Martini's. It had 3 bar tables and good sucker action after 4AM. We all made good money there, but this big tush-hog named Ron Shea would come in drunk, and gorilla all the tables. He was big too, about 6'7 and 300 plus lbs. He would put his quarter up on all the tables, tush-hog the suckers and wouldnt pay off the hustlers, threatening and barking the whole time. My old pal, Johnny Morris, long departed, was a famous "Jar" hustler and bad drink mixologist. After we had all had about enough of Mr. Shea, Morris fixed up 'Ol Ron a sh*t mickey (composed mainly of some sort of rat poison) and doctored his drink. We then waited around for the show to begin, everybody (all the hustlers) were in on it. He was really drunk and obnoxious, and was hooting and bellering, spitting and fuming, when suddenly he stopped everything, and got an incredibly surprised look on his face. He made a mad dash for the bathroom, but Morris had beat him to it and was already in there with the door locked. While pounding on the door, the medicine went into full effect, you see it's not only a sh*t mickey, but also a considerable puke mickey. He flew out of the front door with stuff coming out of both ends. He didn't return for months, and when he did he reverted to form again. But this time, my other pal, Race Track Phil had enough of Ron's shenanagins and ordered Ron to meet him outside on the street. Keep in mind, Phil was only about 5'9 and about 165 lbs. Phil was like a DiLiberto, but without the training. Ron was stunned by Phil's challenge, and the disparity in size, and finally said, "Whatta you got, a gun?" Phil told him he would find everything out when they got outside. Ron didnt say anything else, left the pool area and went and sat up front at the bar, quiet as a mouse.
the Beard
Postscript: Ron started hanging around in Old Town with the same act. The hippies gave him their own version of the "Jar." They doctored his drink this time with a massive dose of LSD. He woke up naked in an alley a couple days later. (That was 30 years ago. I do hope Ron is either dead, or never gets to read this. I figure for a story to have validity you got to use real names.)
In the 70s there was an all-night bar on Rush St. in Chicago called, Martini's. It had 3 bar tables and good sucker action after 4AM. We all made good money there, but this big tush-hog named Ron Shea would come in drunk, and gorilla all the tables. He was big too, about 6'7 and 300 plus lbs. He would put his quarter up on all the tables, tush-hog the suckers and wouldnt pay off the hustlers, threatening and barking the whole time. My old pal, Johnny Morris, long departed, was a famous "Jar" hustler and bad drink mixologist. After we had all had about enough of Mr. Shea, Morris fixed up 'Ol Ron a sh*t mickey (composed mainly of some sort of rat poison) and doctored his drink. We then waited around for the show to begin, everybody (all the hustlers) were in on it. He was really drunk and obnoxious, and was hooting and bellering, spitting and fuming, when suddenly he stopped everything, and got an incredibly surprised look on his face. He made a mad dash for the bathroom, but Morris had beat him to it and was already in there with the door locked. While pounding on the door, the medicine went into full effect, you see it's not only a sh*t mickey, but also a considerable puke mickey. He flew out of the front door with stuff coming out of both ends. He didn't return for months, and when he did he reverted to form again. But this time, my other pal, Race Track Phil had enough of Ron's shenanagins and ordered Ron to meet him outside on the street. Keep in mind, Phil was only about 5'9 and about 165 lbs. Phil was like a DiLiberto, but without the training. Ron was stunned by Phil's challenge, and the disparity in size, and finally said, "Whatta you got, a gun?" Phil told him he would find everything out when they got outside. Ron didnt say anything else, left the pool area and went and sat up front at the bar, quiet as a mouse.
the Beard
Postscript: Ron started hanging around in Old Town with the same act. The hippies gave him their own version of the "Jar." They doctored his drink this time with a massive dose of LSD. He woke up naked in an alley a couple days later. (That was 30 years ago. I do hope Ron is either dead, or never gets to read this. I figure for a story to have validity you got to use real names.)
