Neither a pomp nor a circumstance was in sight yesterday at the lunch hour at Joxer Daly’s Irish pub when the proprietor, Mehaul O’Leary, slid into a front booth to commit an extraordinary act.
Having shlepped along his business-sized checkbook, he opened to page one, and he began writing, expensively.
When Mr. O’Leary, who also is a first-term City Councilman, finished counting his zeroes, the gift for Echoes of Hope (see echoesofhope.org) toted up to a cool $5,000.
Tearing along the dotted line, he reached across the freshly varnished table top and handed the money to a tall, narrow young man in a business suit.
Forty-two-year-old Luc Robitaille’s closely cropped, slightly reddish hair made him look too young to be dealing in retirement, much less be the leading all-time scorer at his position in the history of the National Hockey League. He played 14 seasons with the Los Angeles Kings, spread across three separate gigs. When he ended his playing days a season ago, the Kings retired his number, which is an even higher honor than receiving a commendation from the City Council.
Santa Monica-based Echoes of Hope is a family undertaking, indeed, as Mr. Robitaille’s wife, Stacia, is Executive Director of the foundation that deploys networks of professionals who closely escort foster children out into the wider world, providing a safe, supportive, interested and loving anchor.
In the Beginning
If Mr. Robitaille and Mr. O’Leary are not intimates, neither are they strangers.
Therein lies a tale worthy of a native Irishman who soon plans a return visit to his enchanted isle.
Gather ‘round, storylovers, and you shall hear how the Councilman briefly, and spectacularly, came into a few thousand dollars that he could not resist giving away.
Mehaul O’Leary has been a quietly generous Culver City businessman for years.
Only yesterday did his charitable efforts come out into the bright late autumn sunshine, or at least as much sun as leaks into an otherwise darkened Irish pub at mid-day.
Let the Tale Unfold
Our story begins on a Friday afternoon two months ago.
Mr. O’Leary, who says he is a better Councilman than card player, is on a flight to Las Vegas. His intention is to participate, for the second year in a row, in a one-night poker tournament that will benefit Mr. Robitaille’s ambitious Echoes of Hope foundation.
Months before, he had filed his $600 tournament entry fee.
The Councilman also loves politics, which is why three times he has run for the City Council, even though a technicality aborted his first try shortly after he gained his prized American citizenship.
The first Presidential Debate was to begin in several hours. Hmmm, Mr. O’Leary mused to himself. I really want to see it. I do enjoy the competitiveness of a game of poker, but I really want to see Obama vs. McCain.
A Fortunate Turn
Mr. O’Leary decided it was time to be resourceful. Turning to the young man on his left, he idly inquired whether he was a card player. Poker perhaps?
He was, said the collegian.
I have a dilemma, said Mr. O’Leary. I have entered a poker tournament tonight, but I really want to watch the Obama-McCain debate, and I can’t do both, and I already have paid the entry fee, and would you like to take my place?
Sure, said the former stranger.
Let’s make a deal, said Mr. O’Leary. Any winnings, we split 50-50. Of course, agreed his newest friend.
We could probably skip the part about Mr. O’Leary fading from bar to bar in a certain hotel, hoping to catch a screening of the debate only to be told that politics is too controversial to show to ladies and gentlemen while they are imbibing.
To condense, Mr. O’Leary finally did catch up with the faceoff, and meanwhile his young instant friend was playing his heart out.
The Name of the Winner
While Mr. O’Leary was calmly digesting the results of the debate, he learns, faith ‘n begorrah, that Instant Friend has won the darned Robitaille Poker Tournament, first prize being worth $14,000.
Divided three ways, among Instant Friend, Mr. O’Leary and a relative of both gentlemen, Uncle Sam, Sam took four grand, which left $10,000 for the two poker players to split.
In the Present Time
Nothing would do but for Mr. Robitaille to join Mr. O’Leary and several of his daylight friends at Joxer Daly’s, which turned out to be a bit of a reunion for the likely Hall of Fame hockey player.
In the middle and late 1980s, when many people and a few emporiums were operating under names different from the ones they use today, the Kings trained at the venerable Culver Ice Rink, down the street. The whole hockey team regularly would descend on this address to cool off their minds, souls and occasionally their palates.
Mr. O’Leary was a collegian in those times, and Joxer Daly’s, still unborn in those Roe v. Wade days, was known as Stats.
Nearly everything, but not everyone, looked familiar to the businessman who still is in the employ of the Kings.
Mr. Robitalle, who had not been into Joxer Daly’s since Mr. O’Leary assumed control nine years ago, was surprised and pleased to find out there is live music on weekends. It seems that his 13-year-old son Jesse is a burgeoning songwriter of some, if the pun will be pardoned, note.
Love songs, at that.
When he isn’t polishing his poker or his political skills, perhaps Mr. O’Leary’s venue might serve as a venue for young Jesse’s breakout melodies.
Such talk, however, must wait. Here comes the waitress, bearing w heaping sandwiches of corned beef on rye.
