Lake Geneva memoir

In my early forties I used to really try to get off work in time for an earlier train to allow for a drive up to Lake Geneva for dinner with a small group of friends.  We generally would meet at either the venerable Shore Club on the Lake for fish fry or Fazio’s downtown where a former mob captain held court in a elaborate rococo Italian steak and pasta house. Dinner usually involved catching up on gossip or a discussion of what we would do later.

If we were at Shore Club one of the options involved going across the building to the lounge where a lesbian ( back then a masculine appearing lesbian was tagged a “bull dyke” or a “butch lezzie,” terms that are politically incorrect now, but then were always  used , even by lesbians themselves, with affection) presided at a piano bar. This lady had a extensive and bawdy repertoire masterful in double entendre that grew a substantial gay crowd. Her last performance every night would end with “God Save The Queens(s)” which caused a boisterous uproar amongst our group but was clueless to the straights in the audience.

Another option was Christopher’s.   Chris Brown and his Mom owned a large opulent home near downtown Lake Geneva.  Indulgent Mom allowed Chris to turn part into a gay watering hole.  He only could get a beer license meaning beer was all that could be sold. So Chris served Miller High Life, “The Champagne of bottled beer” as it was called.  And he did it in a very attractive setting.  His former parlor he transformed into a period French salon with velvet settees, potted Areca Palms, and a parquet floor he installed himself, as a replica of the one at Versailles Palace . Outside there was an expansive deck bar with tables and beautiful plantings under old maples surrounded by a trellised fence. It was every so elegant and a sure magnet for the community gay population especially since he installed Kyle, a “find” from one of his eastern seaboard excursions.  Kyle got a bed to share, a Jaguar, and the duties of bartender every weekend. He was very personable and very good looking, making the evenings there fun to watch as Kyle got hit on and Chris fumed and fussed over his infidelities.  A guaranteed “
hoot” we used to say.

Another of our regular choices was the Abbey Resort on the lake.  It attained popularity as a high-line tryst hotel for wealthy Chicagoans and the Lake Geneva yachters clan. But they had one waterside bar where one of our own played piano. Unlike the boisterous Shore Club lounge, The Abbey bar was quiet and romantic. If we wanted a “wind-down” evening, we went there.  In the Abbey the gift shop was owned and run by a friend, Roger Morbeck.  Roger would often come over to join us after he closed his store. 

On evening Roger brought along a friend, a fellow heir to one of the many Chicago potentates of commerce having summer mansions on the lake. Families like Wrigley of chewing gum fame or Swift of meat packing fortune renown.  His name forgotten, I do remember he was a personable fellow. He had a launch on the lake and invited us to his home for  a nightcap.  His parents were away in Germany on some business so he was left stateside in this humungous home. 

Off the pier into the home what stood out to me was a baronial great room with two stone fireplaces and a vaulted beamed ceiling. But more so, in this cavernous space there was a herd of about twenty sheep, so realistic, I was taken aback.  I thought they were a whimsical slant in so traditional a place. I later found they were limited edition 1986 Francois-Xavier Lalanne-designed model sheep. One of these sheep made in the early 80’s sold recently at Sotheby’s for $341,000 and a herd of ten auctioned out at Christies’s for $7.5 million dollars.  I never knew I was looking at such a frivolous fortune.

This is just an appetizer of the adventures in Lake Geneva.

Next up. Dana Montana, her downtown restaurant, the  notorius Sugar shack and her hunky gay son.

Then, the escapades of Robert Quinn, ex fire commissioner of Chicago, and a man with a penchant for S & M and bondage coupled with elegant dinner parties at his Wisconsin getaway. Notably an account of my  attendance one of his famous “yacht races” in the swimming pool

Oh , and I can't forget the saga of Delavan pal Dewey Long who sued and won his suit to work at Milwaukee's Ambrosia Candy Factory as the first male employee on the line. The story there is about the famous , or , rather,infamous, person who was the second male hired there. That is a chilling story, but you'll just have to wait.