John Mohmood Jawad

Today I should be wishing my father Happy Father's Day, but his life was cut too short and for no reason. This week was rather difficult seeing the ads for Father's Day. Every year, Deb and I would struggle to figure out what to get the man who had everything. Though he had everything, he appreciated anything we got for him or did for him. Since Debbie lived in Las Vegas, she often took him to breakfast. She enjoyed being with my father, but she resented being required to spend money to pay for Bonnie, so the Father's Day breakfast was something she came to dread, as Connie had also felt in years past, simply because Bonnie ruined any pleasant experience we tried to spend with my father.
This past week, some random thoughts came to mind that I shared with my daughter and granddaughters.

1. When we lived in Walnut Creek, Pop spent a lot of money buying two Cattle dog puppies--a male and female; I am not sure, but I think my father brought them from a breeder in Montana (he did a lot of business with ranchers in that state). Due to their young age, my father did not take them to the Elko ranch right away since they were not ready to do the job they were bought to do.
One day when Shelly and I were playing outside, we did not close the gate correctly, and both puppies got out. Within a minute or two, the milkman was traveling his route on Second Avenue, and he hit and killed one of the puppies. It was horribly sad experience for everyone involved.
Naturally everyone was afraid of how my father would handle our lack of responsibility when my he came home. When he did, he never said a word. A year or so ago, I asked him about it. I asked him why he did not get mad at Shelly and I especially since we had lived on a farm and we all grew up understanding the responsibility of all of the animals. When my dad and I talked about it, and I questioned why he did not get mad, and he simply replied that it was an accident and there was nothing that could be done, so getting mad would not undo what had occurred.
In reflection, I can only imagine that my father knew there had to be a balance between having five children, a farm, a ranch, and the fact that he was gone so much. Since he was accustom to losing cattle while giving birth and/or new born calves, he must have accepted that things like this happen given the business he was in. Nonetheless, Michelle and I learned a lesson from the experience, and my father acted kindly with two little girls, and let the sadness of the puppy's death be the lesson that we needed to learn.

2. When I was young, I was very close with my father. My very first memories of our relationship were in the Oakland house. We lived there just before I started kindergarten. My father and mother worked at night. When my father would get ready for work, I would sit on the bed while he got ready. It was at that time he recreated a theme song from a TV series, and changed the words to Wacky Wicky queen of the whole wide world--or something to that affect. Wacky Wicky stuck my entire life until it just became "Wack," his nickname for me until life support was withheld from him on 1/17/2011.
When we moved to Walnut Creek, my father and I continued our ritual. When he would get ready for work, my mom would call me in. No matter what I was doing, I would come inside, and my mom would make cups of coffee for my dad and I. (My coffee was mostly milk and sugar.) In those days, men use a saving mug and face brush to shave. I would sit in the bathroom with him, and we would talk and drink our coffee while he shaved. I stayed with him until he was completely ready for work. When he was finally in his suit and tie, he would say goodbye to everyone, and I would walk him to the car and watch him drive away to work.
I do not know what we talked about during those hours, but I know that I enjoyed it since I did not mind leaving my friends to spend this time with my father. All I know is that it started when I was four or younger and continued for years.
While we lived in Walnut Creek, when my father had to run an errand, I would go with him. As early as five years old, I knew that I wanted to be a cocktail waitress just like my mom. I liked all of the money I saw on the dresser after she came home from work. When we were young, my father and mother were adamant that they did not want their children to go into the restaurant business, so I did not dare tell my father my dreams of growing up to be a cocktail waitress.
When my father and I were driving somewhere one day, I finally got up the nerve to ask my father why he did not want any of kids to be in the restaurant business. He say, "Wack, you have seen men digging ditches, and you have seen how hard that work is. Then he told me that being a waitress was has hard as digging ditches and that he did not want that for this children." It was not until he bought the Pioneer Inn was I able to start learning the business. My father made me start by washing pots--I could not even run the dishwasher. When I complained about the job he gave me, he said that if I wanted to run a restaurant, I had to learn every job. Here are his exact words to me: "Wack, you cannot ask anyone to do anything that you do not do yourself" Then he went on to say, "If you need to fire someone, you need to be able to step in and be able to do the job."

Due to the work ethic my father had, he made me start by washing pots at the restaurant; after a while, I earned the right to run the dishwasher and then moved on to helping make the salads. In those days, there were female who worked as “busboys,” but eventually I moved to that roll. As a busgirl, I made so much money. I do not think anyone of my friends, male or female, made has much money as I did. This helped to cement my belief that this was the business I wanted to be in as my career. It was difficult working for my parents, and I wanted to branch out on my own, so the minute I was 18, I got a job in another restaurant. From there, I learned every aspect of the restaurant business, and I was quite successful at it. I credit this success to my father. Every place I worked, I ultimately became a supervisor of some aspect of the any given bar or restaurant until I achieve my highest, most rewarding position, which to manage a three story restaurant and nightclub. It was built by the J. Paul Getty, Jr. Corporation, so money was no object. It was built to replicate the ship, the HMS Endeavor. It was absolutely beautiful. I started as a waitress, moved as a supervisor of all food servers, and then I acquired the ultimate position, and for seven happy years, I was the general manager of this huge place.

On Monday nights, my dad did not work at his restaurant, so often, he, Dottie, and friends would come in and have dinner. They always enjoyed it. When people knew my father was coming in for dinner, my best food servers wanted to wait on him; they knew they had to do everything exactly right, but they loved the huge tip they received.

Almost every time my dad had dinner at the Endeavor, he was awed by how happy my employees were. Though he had taught me well, we were of different generations; we ran our restaurants with different philosophies. I told my father that I made sure my employees were happy, and because they were happy and made a lot of money, they did anything that was required of them. My father did not understand that there could be a balance between work and fun, which is something I promoted.

The HMS Endeavor was different than anyone had ever experienced in the East Bay. I always had the best bands, which started as the dining rooms were closing. Since the building was three stories, and people could see the bar and dance floor from the upper two floors, it was always crowded. There were many Friday and Saturday nights that it was so busy that it frightened me. Though I had bouncers, it would be so crowded that people filled the stairways, which made it impossible for me to get to the downstairs bar if I needed to. Due to popularity, the Walnut Creek police started coming in all of the time. It got so bad that the Walnut Creek cops would wait out in the street at 2:00 AM, and started ticketing people for DUIs, which ultimately became the downfall of the Endeavor.

When business started to decline, the paychecks started bouncing. It got so bad that the banks would not take my employee’s paychecks, and at that time, I knew I could not stay if my employees were not paid. When I decided it was time to quit, my father said he would take any of my employees who wanted a job. Many of my employees did go to my father’s restaurant. Needless to say, due to the differences in how my father and I ran businesses and treated employees, some who made the move from the Endeavor to the Pioneer Inn to were able to adapt but most could not. My father came to enjoy those who stayed. In fact, some of the waiters, who were also my very good friends, created a new dynamic to the restaurant. One of the waiters, Mike, became the first cocktail waiter that my father ever had, and my father loved it. As a cocktail waiter, Mike turned my dad’s bar around. Not only did my father love Mike in that role, but the customers loved him, too.

When it came to the restaurant business, my father started out as my mentor, but in the end, he also learned a lot from me. The dream of a five year a little girl became to a reality, and those years in that business were some of the happiness of my life. I have father to thank for that.
Throughout my life, I often butted heads with my mother, and my entire life, I heard, "You are just like your father!" I knew this drove her crazy, but in my mind, I took it as a compliment. I adored my father and he adored me.
That ONE fact alone drove served to fuel Bonnie's crazy words and actions. In the end, on January 17, 2011, as my father used all his strentghen and will to call me four times, Bonnie acted on her jealousy and greed, and withheld the life support he needed and brought my father's life to an end.
Daddy, I love you. On this Father's Day, the only thing I can offer is the promise that some how, some way there will be justice for the woman that caused your death.