Randy S Golland
Randy had a smile that could light up a room and he knew how to use it—that impish look which had him perpetually seeming too young to even buy cigarettes. He came to work for me when I first opened Evangeline’s in 1991, one of the first people my partner Andrew hired. He quickly became a cornerstone of our team, and we both learned from him as he learned with us. Randy was the one who dragged me reluctantly out of the kitchen to talk to our guests, which became one of my favorite activities. He’d whisper their name in my ear and tell me some tidbit about them, making me look better than I was—a skill he manifested in many situations. Over time he became not just my friend and roommate but truly although it sounds cliché, one of my soul mates. We had an intense relationship and we saw each other’s shadow side as well as our better sides. We not only had each other’s backside, we needed each other too. After Andrew and I parted ways, I made Randy my manager.
No night of work was complete without going over service, working to improve ourselves and the guests’ experience. I always considered it a point of pride that after every shift all of the Evangeline’s krewe still wanted to be together and we’d all sit enjoying a shift drink and playing dice. I was glad that even after a hard day and night of working together we all still enjoyed each other’s company and Randy helped set that tone. Not to mention joining me in taking much of the tips from that night into our pockets with our “skill” at ship, captain, crew. That money rarely made it to the next morning for we’d head out into town. People looked out for the Evangeline’s gang rolling into their establishment, it meant things would get lively and that there would be activity—something those of us in the service industry thrive on. There was a point in time when the two of us knew how to do the “z” and close for every bar in Telluride. A decade since working in restaurants I still miss that part of the night after the guests leave, counting money and telling war stories—at our place and then again wherever the night ended. With Randy it never was about the money, it was about doing the job right. He really knew it was “the service industry” and not only took personal pride in his ability to serve but brought it out in others too.
Randy and I always teased each other along that classic front of the house/back of the house divide but we had one of the least divided restaurants. I’d go out and sell an expensive bottle of wine to a table and tell him I could do his job but he couldn’t do mine. One slow night my Sous chef, Suzanne and he changed places. Randy worked at my side on the line without burning me or any of the food, and although many guest didn’t get their bread Suzanne held her own in front too. But anyone who ever saw Randy work a room knew that was his calling. He had an ease and grace working tables the way great athletes are playing their sport. I saw him evolve and become a great manager, hopefully teaching him some skills in that area. He was always more of a natural than I am in dealing with people, guests and staff alike. I think he was born flirting. I’m pretty sure regardless of what Saint Peter’s ledger on his life looks like, he’ll be able not just to sweet talk his way past the Pearly Gates, but will find a choice spot, close to the action.
His ability to flirt also led him to always having beautiful girlfriends. Yet it was with Kate that he finally seemed to find what he been searching for. They made each other better, and I was proud to be able to be at their wedding. Although it startles me to think that Fourth of July five years ago was the last time I saw Randy, and now saddens me to realize it will always be the last time. At least it leaves me with happy memories. Through phone calls and emails we tried to stay in touch. I felt connected with them as they struggled to have a child, and could feel their joy when Cole was born. With Kate, her family and then their son Randy seemed to have found a family.
Although I want to dwell on those good points, I can’t not mention the dark side; it too was a place Randy and I went together. None of us know what goes on in the other’s head, even the head of those we love. There was a hurt and hurting side of Randy. Hopefully he’ll be able to find a place past that pain on the other side. I hope that his tragic death can help me and others learn not to avoid the pain—I think it’s part of the human experience—but find a way to get past it in the here and now. A way that unfortunately Randy seemed to have found but then lost when he needed it most.
It is unclear how he ultimately died, but there were several suicide attempts and a long battle with Jose Cuervo. Alcoholism and suicide are subjects we aren’t supposed to talk about. But I wonder if that taboo was part of what doomed Randy. I don’t think he was ever able to make peace with his own father’s suicide. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in America has a suicide only a degree or two away. Keeping silent about these tragedies hasn’t stopped them from reoccurring. Instead it seems to just eat away at our happiness more trying to suppress their memories and hurt.
The music I love most and which I shared with Randy is music that shines light on the wonderful world and the dark one as well. We all suffer, sharing that load with each other and with a power greater than us individually is the only way I’ve ever found to be free of it. It is through my tears that I’ve found the Lord far more often than when in fits of laughter. The greatest change I’ve experienced since Randy and I were in Telluride together is being willing and better able to shine light on all parts of myself—all those dark corners where my pains hide. They don’t seem to like the light, and they do dissipate when we truly deeply examine them, when I can overcome my fear and really face them. Hopefully Randy’s pain and suffering can help us all find peace and joy.
His joy will always reside with me. To invert and paraphrase Shakespeare, I offer the prayer that:
No night of work was complete without going over service, working to improve ourselves and the guests’ experience. I always considered it a point of pride that after every shift all of the Evangeline’s krewe still wanted to be together and we’d all sit enjoying a shift drink and playing dice. I was glad that even after a hard day and night of working together we all still enjoyed each other’s company and Randy helped set that tone. Not to mention joining me in taking much of the tips from that night into our pockets with our “skill” at ship, captain, crew. That money rarely made it to the next morning for we’d head out into town. People looked out for the Evangeline’s gang rolling into their establishment, it meant things would get lively and that there would be activity—something those of us in the service industry thrive on. There was a point in time when the two of us knew how to do the “z” and close for every bar in Telluride. A decade since working in restaurants I still miss that part of the night after the guests leave, counting money and telling war stories—at our place and then again wherever the night ended. With Randy it never was about the money, it was about doing the job right. He really knew it was “the service industry” and not only took personal pride in his ability to serve but brought it out in others too.
Randy and I always teased each other along that classic front of the house/back of the house divide but we had one of the least divided restaurants. I’d go out and sell an expensive bottle of wine to a table and tell him I could do his job but he couldn’t do mine. One slow night my Sous chef, Suzanne and he changed places. Randy worked at my side on the line without burning me or any of the food, and although many guest didn’t get their bread Suzanne held her own in front too. But anyone who ever saw Randy work a room knew that was his calling. He had an ease and grace working tables the way great athletes are playing their sport. I saw him evolve and become a great manager, hopefully teaching him some skills in that area. He was always more of a natural than I am in dealing with people, guests and staff alike. I think he was born flirting. I’m pretty sure regardless of what Saint Peter’s ledger on his life looks like, he’ll be able not just to sweet talk his way past the Pearly Gates, but will find a choice spot, close to the action.
His ability to flirt also led him to always having beautiful girlfriends. Yet it was with Kate that he finally seemed to find what he been searching for. They made each other better, and I was proud to be able to be at their wedding. Although it startles me to think that Fourth of July five years ago was the last time I saw Randy, and now saddens me to realize it will always be the last time. At least it leaves me with happy memories. Through phone calls and emails we tried to stay in touch. I felt connected with them as they struggled to have a child, and could feel their joy when Cole was born. With Kate, her family and then their son Randy seemed to have found a family.
Although I want to dwell on those good points, I can’t not mention the dark side; it too was a place Randy and I went together. None of us know what goes on in the other’s head, even the head of those we love. There was a hurt and hurting side of Randy. Hopefully he’ll be able to find a place past that pain on the other side. I hope that his tragic death can help me and others learn not to avoid the pain—I think it’s part of the human experience—but find a way to get past it in the here and now. A way that unfortunately Randy seemed to have found but then lost when he needed it most.
It is unclear how he ultimately died, but there were several suicide attempts and a long battle with Jose Cuervo. Alcoholism and suicide are subjects we aren’t supposed to talk about. But I wonder if that taboo was part of what doomed Randy. I don’t think he was ever able to make peace with his own father’s suicide. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in America has a suicide only a degree or two away. Keeping silent about these tragedies hasn’t stopped them from reoccurring. Instead it seems to just eat away at our happiness more trying to suppress their memories and hurt.
The music I love most and which I shared with Randy is music that shines light on the wonderful world and the dark one as well. We all suffer, sharing that load with each other and with a power greater than us individually is the only way I’ve ever found to be free of it. It is through my tears that I’ve found the Lord far more often than when in fits of laughter. The greatest change I’ve experienced since Randy and I were in Telluride together is being willing and better able to shine light on all parts of myself—all those dark corners where my pains hide. They don’t seem to like the light, and they do dissipate when we truly deeply examine them, when I can overcome my fear and really face them. Hopefully Randy’s pain and suffering can help us all find peace and joy.
His joy will always reside with me. To invert and paraphrase Shakespeare, I offer the prayer that:
“The good (and beauty) of Randy lives after him,
The pain will be interred with his bones.”
Amen
The pain will be interred with his bones.”
Amen
Labels: Evangeline's, friends, simply the best staff
posted by Chas Moore at
6:59 PM
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