Where Can He Be???

On this date in 1975, Jimmy Hoffa disappeared from the parking lot of the Machus Red Fox restaurant in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, a suburb of Detroit. He has never been seen or heard from again, and was declared legally dead on this date in 1982. Isis has taken responsibility.


The disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa has long been a mystery of sorts. I think we all know that the mob wacked him along with Danny DeVito, or whomever he was hanging out with on that day.


Hoffa was about as bright as as a flashlight with dead batteries. Seriously, if you’re supposed to meet with mobsters at a certain time, and they’re late, it’s time to hit the airport and fly to Gillgian’s Island. Maybe Fantasy Island, but somewhere.


You don’t mess around with the mob. Once, I was performing at a Comedy Club Laguna Hills, California, where I always had exceptional shows. I don’t know why, some clubs are like that. After the show, a waitress told me a gentleman wanted to buy me a beer.


I sat down at his table where there were six other guys, three on each side of the older gentleman. He immediately got to the point. He said, “Kid, you’ve got talent. You have what it takes to be a star and I’m going to make sure it happens.”


He went on to say that he had discovered some very big names and claimed he made them all rich and famous. And said that I didn’t think I had that much talent. He yelled, listen to me, kid. You’ve got more talent in your pinky finger than Jerry Lewis has. His choice in showbiz personalities was weird.


Just as he said it, my video guy asked me a question. Who is he? The son of Jerry Lewis! I couldn’t resist. I said, “There’s someone I’d like you to meet. This is Anthony Lewis, Jerry’s son. Things were awkward for a moment and then the man stood up, slapped his hand very hard on the table and yelled, “I don’t care who he is! I would say it to his father’s face”!


Anthony was pretty ticked off and walked away to put his equipment away. The man continued, albeit quieter now. “I want you to come to Las Vegas, to MGM Grand Hotel. Go to the high stakes poker room and ask for the Italian Stallion. That’s me. We’re going to get your name on the marquee”.


First of all, I thought what he did to Anthony, who is still like a brother to me, wasextremely rude. Secondly, I was not going to become an entertainer for the mob. This guy was certainly in with one “family” or other and I didn’t care if he could make me rich and famous, I would not be owned by the mob, which is what happens.


I politely told him I would see him in Vegas that next week, but of course I never went. Looking back, I’m positive I made the right decision. I don’t love money. As a matter of fact, I would much rather perform for a crowd at the VFW than work in the nicest clubs in the country. I wonder if Jimmy Hoffa could have been a good comedian. It might have saved his life.

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