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There was a song during the eighties by the Scottish rock band, Simple Minds, called “Promised You a Miracle.” But I always heard it as “Promised You America.”
As a teenager growing up in the Netherlands, I used to watch numerous American TV shows. The one I really liked was Miami Vice, starring Don Johnson. At that time in there were only two television channels, which didn’t commence until 3 p.m. in the afternoon and ended slightly past 11 p.m.
Another show I really liked was Magnum, P.I., starring Tom Selleck. Though Magnum, P.I. was featured only once a week, it provided me with enough inspiration to enter a world of palm trees, white beaches, beautiful women, and a red Ferrari. But if not a red Ferrari, I would have gladly settled for the convertible Rolls-Royce Corniche, as occasionally featured in my other favorite TV show, Hart to Hart, starring Robert Wagner and Stefanie Powers. For me, Don Johnson, Tom Selleck, and Robert Wagner, as portrayed on television, were the ideal men living in an ideal world.
So, in 1983, after graduating from high school in Holland, I stepped aboard a KLM Boeing 747 to the USA. It was a one-way ticket to paradise, or so I thought at the age of eighteen. It was to be my long-awaited escape from the Dutch rain to a land of sunshine and opportunity, from grey skies to blue skies.
A couple of hours after checking in, I was high up in the sky and realized what an achievement it was for mankind to have the ability to fly above the clouds, next to the sun, in such comfort and ease.
I was reminded of seeing black-and-white pictures of well-dressed men and women flying on the first transatlantic passenger planes, the ones with propellers. Only a couple of decades later, jet engines replaced the propellers, and the planes became even more comfortable and much faster. I realized that the earlier generation had it right: the best way to honor the ability for mankind to fly was to dress up for the occasion.
When I arrived in the US and walked outside the airport doors, I saw an attractive woman in a convertible Mercedes parked at the curbside. I smiled and gently waved at her. To my delight, she smiled back. Though I wasn’t the one she was picking up, her smile was confirmation that my American dream was on its way to becoming reality. After all, I was in Los Angeles, and she could have been a movie star.
One of my first jobs after arriving in America in 1983 was that of a busboy at the Bankers Club. Nowadays, they call that job an "assistant waiter," but back then, it was called a busboy, and "Human Resources" was called "Personnel Office."
The restaurant was on the 52nd floor of the Bank of America building. At the time, this was the highest floor in San Francisco. The restaurant, called the Bankers Club, occupied two floors. The 51st floor comprised private game rooms and a very large banquet room. Every day at noon, the Bankers Club was packed for lunch. It was a place where its members could have a five-star lunch on top of the world.
At night, the restaurant became the Carnelian Room and opened to the public for fine dining and romance. The view at night was even more spectacular, as the surrounding skyscrapers were all lit up. In the far distance, one could see the Golden Gate Bridge, glowing in neon orange, holding up all the small cars struggling to and fro. The Carnelian Room was always busy, as people from all over the world came to visit.
From a certain angle in the room where I worked, I could see a swimming pool right below me, on top of the Hilton Hotel in Chinatown. Seeing this pool always cheered me up. There was something refreshing and reviving about it. This pool was made famous in the Dirty Harry movie, where, in its opening scene, Scorpio shoots a pretty girl as she dives into the pool. In the subsequent scene, Dirty Harry walks up to the rooftop of the Bank of America building, right above my workstation, and finds the slug from Scorpio’s sniper rifle.
Frequently, before the bankers arrived for lunch, I would stand by this window and look down at the pool, wondering what the reverse view would look like: swimming in the pool and looking up at the top of the Bank of America building. I would always ask myself: Would I be able to see a person behind the tinted glass where I was standing?
Another show I really liked was Magnum, P.I., starring Tom Selleck. Though Magnum, P.I. was featured only once a week, it provided me with enough inspiration to enter a world of palm trees, white beaches, beautiful women, and a red Ferrari. But if not a red Ferrari, I would have gladly settled for the convertible Rolls-Royce Corniche, as occasionally featured in my other favorite TV show, Hart to Hart, starring Robert Wagner and Stefanie Powers. For me, Don Johnson, Tom Selleck, and Robert Wagner, as portrayed on television, were the ideal men living in an ideal world.
So, in 1983, after graduating from high school in Holland, I stepped aboard a KLM Boeing 747 to the USA. It was a one-way ticket to paradise, or so I thought at the age of eighteen. It was to be my long-awaited escape from the Dutch rain to a land of sunshine and opportunity, from grey skies to blue skies.
A couple of hours after checking in, I was high up in the sky and realized what an achievement it was for mankind to have the ability to fly above the clouds, next to the sun, in such comfort and ease.
I was reminded of seeing black-and-white pictures of well-dressed men and women flying on the first transatlantic passenger planes, the ones with propellers. Only a couple of decades later, jet engines replaced the propellers, and the planes became even more comfortable and much faster. I realized that the earlier generation had it right: the best way to honor the ability for mankind to fly was to dress up for the occasion.
When I arrived in the US and walked outside the airport doors, I saw an attractive woman in a convertible Mercedes parked at the curbside. I smiled and gently waved at her. To my delight, she smiled back. Though I wasn’t the one she was picking up, her smile was confirmation that my American dream was on its way to becoming reality. After all, I was in Los Angeles, and she could have been a movie star.
One of my first jobs after arriving in America in 1983 was that of a busboy at the Bankers Club. Nowadays, they call that job an "assistant waiter," but back then, it was called a busboy, and "Human Resources" was called "Personnel Office."
The restaurant was on the 52nd floor of the Bank of America building. At the time, this was the highest floor in San Francisco. The restaurant, called the Bankers Club, occupied two floors. The 51st floor comprised private game rooms and a very large banquet room. Every day at noon, the Bankers Club was packed for lunch. It was a place where its members could have a five-star lunch on top of the world.
At night, the restaurant became the Carnelian Room and opened to the public for fine dining and romance. The view at night was even more spectacular, as the surrounding skyscrapers were all lit up. In the far distance, one could see the Golden Gate Bridge, glowing in neon orange, holding up all the small cars struggling to and fro. The Carnelian Room was always busy, as people from all over the world came to visit.
From a certain angle in the room where I worked, I could see a swimming pool right below me, on top of the Hilton Hotel in Chinatown. Seeing this pool always cheered me up. There was something refreshing and reviving about it. This pool was made famous in the Dirty Harry movie, where, in its opening scene, Scorpio shoots a pretty girl as she dives into the pool. In the subsequent scene, Dirty Harry walks up to the rooftop of the Bank of America building, right above my workstation, and finds the slug from Scorpio’s sniper rifle.
Frequently, before the bankers arrived for lunch, I would stand by this window and look down at the pool, wondering what the reverse view would look like: swimming in the pool and looking up at the top of the Bank of America building. I would always ask myself: Would I be able to see a person behind the tinted glass where I was standing?
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| Clint Eastwood as Dirty Harry in San Francisco |
I always felt fortunate to be standing behind the glass of the highest floor in San Francisco, to have this luxury that few men had generations before me. At times, I viewed the Bankers Club restaurant as a giant merry-go-round. Though I didn’t have a seat myself, I was on board for the ride.
Moreover, the food was incredible. It was orchestrated by a French chef, and the presentation seemed no less spectacular than its taste, especially to me. In Holland, I had never seen an avocado before, let alone tasted one with crab meat topped with a creamy vinaigrette house dressing or spooned chilled papaya soup out of a papaya buried in a large silver bowl with crushed ice. Now, at the age of nineteen, I was eating some of the best foods in the world and had the horizon of the world at my feet.
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| Bankers Club / Carnelian Room in San Francisco |
SUBSEQUENTLY: The Bankers Club Carnelian Room closed its doors after serving its last dinner on New Year’s Eve in 2009.
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| Theo Bruinsma, San Francisco SFO 2019 |