BYRON DE ARAKAL -- Between the Lines

Kevin Finegold’s a businessman. And like all good capitalists

responsible for keeping the sales up and the bottom line black, he’s had

to make some pretty big decisions lately.

Some of you will recognize Finegold as the owner of Newport Beach’s

venerable Josh Slocums Restaurant, the once-preferred haunt of sea-tested

mariners and a place that’s held special residency in my heart for 20

years. More on that part of the story in a moment.

In the meantime, one could say Slocums -- as my wife and I have always

affectionately called it -- has been languishing in the doldrums lately.

Business has been less than brisk. So as it was in Melville’s classic

“Moby Dick” -- when Captain Ahab orders his swabbies to the boats to row

the Pequod out of the doldrums -- Finegold has whistled all hands on deck

in a bid to steer Slocums into the nearest zephyr.

Now, when a captain’s intent on saving his ship, you don’t ask

questions. But in Finegold’s case, you have to wonder. In his bid to turn

the tide in Slocums’ favor, Finegold has enlisted former

NBA-rebound-god-turned-freak-boy Dennis Rodman. By the way, I find it

oddly coincidental that Rodman bears a striking resemblance to Quequeg,

the tattoo-plastered, bone-wearing harpooner whose self-predicted death

in “Moby Dick” foreshadowed the ultimate demise of the Pequod. I’m not

sure what that means, but I don’t think it’s good.

Anyway, it seems that in exchange for a few bills from Rodman’s hefty

money clip, Finegold has agreed to let Rodman use Josh Slocums as a

canvas for his budding career in interior design. That’s probably not the

best idea he could hatch. It’s nothing against Rodman, mind you. Only

that my sentimentality for Slocums’ rustic, romantic, nautical theme is

colliding headlong with Rodman’s loud and eclectic tastes.

I have harder evidence for worry. The Daily Pilot reports that velvet

and leopard skin sofas will be central elements of Rodman’s new motif for

Slocums. Knowing Rodman’s penchant for the bawdy, I’m thinking patrons

might find a few ceiling swings as well. But I have no proof.

Even Slocums’ traditional surf-and-turf menu is getting a high-end

make-over, with Finegold and partner bringing in a culinary movement

known as “nouveau Latino cuisine.” What’s that? Tofu chimichangas?

OK, so I’m having some fun with this. But it’s the only way I know to

mask a breaking heart.

That’s because back in October of 1981, the young executive editor of

Orange Coast magazine was introduced to a gaggle of new account

executives by then-publisher and owner Toni Tuso. One of these young

women had long and flowing tresses with magnificent curls, a smile that

brightened the room and eyes that danced with a happy sparkle in them.

The editor was particularly taken with her.

About a month later, that same young editor happened in to Josh

Slocums -- owned then by Joe, Owen and Ernie Minney -- to attend an event

hosted by Orange Coast. From his seat, he could see across the dining

room to a few tables on an elevated platform, where a waitress was

dutifully serving her patrons. The waitress was, to his great surprise,

the same girl he had met as one of the new sales reps at Orange Coast.

Only on this evening, she was dressed in a rather snug, dark blue leotard

and miniskirt, which revealed the most magnificent pair of legs he had

ever seen. These were gams you’d walk -- no, crawl -- over hot coals to

get to. He knew then that he was gazing upon the woman he would marry.

After this particular evening, that editor -- me -- and that girl --

my wife -- came to love Josh Slocums in so many ways. Whenever we went

there for a cocktail or dinner, we could always count on finding good old

Captain Shabby -- one of Slocums’ legendary regulars -- sitting at the

corner of the bar closest to the front door. My wife would receive a warm

and welcoming hug from Byron, Slocums’ amiable and astute manager. You’d

find Ricky behind the bar, a dazzlingly talented bartender who could spin

and twirl bottles like six-shooters long before Tom Cruise tried it in

the movie “Cocktail.”

As it was then with its grizzled seamen, its ever-playing tapes of

America’s Cup action, its parking lot cookouts after the

Newport-To-Ensenada race, Josh Slocums was as ideal an ambassador for

Newport Beach as the Chamber of Commerce could hope for. And for me,

personally, it was the place where I fell in love with my wife. But it is

no more.

I’ve never been big on people who are eager to tell me how to run my

business, particularly those folks who aren’t willing to back their

advice with their wallet. So I can’t fault Finegold in his bid to save

his restaurant. But I can’t help lamenting that the Josh Slocums I knew

has now fallen into the hands of Rodman, and that the place will probably

end up looking like a drug parlor from the ‘60s instead of the scruffy

seaside shanty it should be.

Probably I’ll duck my head in one more time to see what Rodman’s done

to the place, then abandon ship. And I’ll be remembering the fate of the

Pequod.

* BYRON DE ARAKAL is a writer and communications consultant. He lives

in Costa Mesa. His column runs Wednesdays. Readers may reach him with

news tips and comments via e-mail at [email protected].