MY FIRST DECADE of six (1958-1968)
The confusion, the uncertainty, the fascination, the friends, the huge opportunities, the travel.
ENGLAND
I am 15 years old, sitting in the family dentist chair with both of his hands in my mouth, he asks 'Well what are you going to do when you leave school?" Without any opportunity to respond coherently, he continued. 'I have a young patient just like you who went into the hotel industry. He started at the Grand Hotel in Eastbourne and he absolutely loves his job'. On my return home, my parents asked how did it go? What did Dr Evans talk about today. I told them and so my story began.
I knew that my schooling was coming to an end since I was not able to attend University because there was not sufficient space. The military draft had been eliminated and all those kids leaving high school were joining those soldiers who were decommissioned and all together were far too many for the few spaces in the universities in the UK in 1958.
The Grand Hotel in Eastbourne sounded like a great idea and an interview with Richard Beattie, the General Manager was set up. My Dad accompanied me on the drive down there from Walton on Thames in Surrey but was stopped at the door to Mr Beattie's office because the interview was to be .......with me alone!!
My sports accomplishments were impressive. My academic accomplishments were not. Neither mattered.
"Do you like people" Mr Beattie asked. "Yes I do, sir" I replied. 'Well that will change in this business', Beattie retorted.
"Do you like sports" Mr Beattie asked, " "Yes I do, sir" I replied. 'Well there's no time for that in this business, Beattie continued, trying to dissuade me from the industry.
"Do you like weekends?" "Yes sir" I replied. "Well that will change because we work seven days a week" Beattie retorted.
After a few more similar type questions and conclusions, I was offered the job as a Trainee Manager, living-in in a shared room with a young chap, Charles who became a lifelong friend. My Dad and I returned home, I packed a few days later and I left home for Eastbourne.
My first job was in the cellar making ice cubes by hand for the bar with an ice-pick from a large ice block three feet long, eighteen inches wide and twelve inches thick. Only once did the ice pick pass through the ice so easily that it continued into my leg bone and stuck. No blood because the pick was ice cold! It didn't happen again.
My second job was as a busboy in the huge dining room of this gracious seafront property for which I was taken to the uniform room to get my white cotton jacket. Buttons came separately with hairpin like clips. It took me an hour to figure those out and an hour to find my way back through the endless Back of House corridors to find the Dining Room with what seemed like dozens of employees running in all directions.
My third job was as vegetable peeler in the kitchen where the Irish Sous Chef took great pleasure in screaming at me for whatever he needed referring to me as a 'bloody Tory' because of my private school education and clipped English accent.
A month later he promoted me to my fourth job as 'Aboyeur' where I acted as the 'caller' of all food orders presented by the waiters to the different prep stations in the kitchen, testing the dishes for presentation and temperature before releasing them to the waiters. I had gained my confidence, become hooked on the business and obtained dozens of new friends, including one from Ireland!
My fifth job was in the reception where I learned the processes for registration, cashiers, night audit and how to manage sleep when shifts changed from morning to night to evenings and split shifts.
After about eighteen months of induction into the industry, I was encouraged to travel to Europe, expand my outlook and advance my skills in French. I was sent to visit Miss Jackson in London who was in charge of exchange at the BHA (British Hotel Association) that arranged for British boys and girls to work in European hotels and restaurants and Europeans to work in British hotels and restaurants while learning English. She was a wizard! She moved young hoteliers-to-be around the world. She was to become a friend. One of the oldest people I knew.
SWITZERLAND
A week later I boarded the train for Villars-sur-Ollon in Switzerland with my passport, my introdu
ctory letter from Miss Jackson and the address of the Villars Palace Hotel at the foot of the massive Ski Resort on the slopes of the Swiss Alps, my first experience of real snow and the great sport of skiing, ready for my job as a Stagiaire in this famous Swiss Hostelry. On arrival in Villars, I was instructed to report to the police station where I showed my introduction letter to the hotel and surrendered my passport that I would only get back on completing my commitment to the hotel at the end of the season.
Ready to absorb everything I could in French, I joined the exuberant crowd of waiters.........all of whom were Italian. Thirty five Italians and one Englishman.
My bed was in a dormitory within the red roof rafters of this hotel with about a dozen other chaps, none of whom had much knowledge of English, but we got by handsomely. Meals were an experience that would forever effect my ability to eat spaghetti with nothing but a fork. It was essential for my survival because spaghetti lunches and dinners were served to us daily in one dish per table of eight with eight forks. If one knew how to use it, one could eat. If not, you went hungry. Everyone ate from the same dish. By the third day I was starting to understand Italian and twirl spaghetti.
My first job in the Villars Palace dining room was not in the Dining Room, it was in the pantry. The pantry was just outside the dining room on the way to the kitchen where dirty glasses were dropped off, washed, dried and polished. I started as the polisher. It started in the morning at 6.30AM. It ended after dinner at about 11.000PM. That's when we went out to party!
The break came after lunch when everybody took off for the ski slopes where I learned the hard way with newly bought second hand or third hand, lace-up leather ski boots and a second or third hand set of wooden skis and bamboo poles, the skis so long that I could not reach the tips even though I was over 6 feet tall. My Swiss-born friend and teacher was a great skier. I would ride up with him, see him momentarily at the top of the ski lift as he shot off into the distance.
My second job in the dining room was as a Commis Waiter (Busboy), responsible for setting the tables, clearing the tables and fetching the food and drinks from the kitchen and service bar. All the serving and guest interaction was done by the Waiters and the Captains, usually one of whom spoke English or French, Italian not a problem except from the one English Stagiaire whose Italian was improving........ but only in the Cafeteria.
My third job there was as a Room Service Waiter where I learned to carry a full tray of everything over my shoulder and deliver it (eventually) accident-free to its destination. My school French was sufficient for most customers, although all knew that I was struggling heroically, and humoured me. One such client and I were enthusiastically exchanging pleasantries about ski conditions, the weather etc in French when I realised she was English. We changed to English and I realised that I was talking with and serving the very famous and lovely Debbie Reynolds.
FRANCE
My next job at the end of the winter season, thanks to Miss Jackson in London, was to be in Paris at the prestigious Hotel Meurice starting in April 1961, living out. The train ride to Paris was uneventful and rewarding. We had celebrated the end of the season in true Italian style with lots of wine and song. The bars and dance halls of Villars-sur-Ollon were crowded with boys and girls who had toiled hard and long for the season and were now celebrating the end of the season in style.
I found a room in Paris on the Rue St Roch, a ten-minute walk from the Meurice, on the fourth floor of a rooming house with a sink, a window and a huge double bed. It is now, 60 years later, a luxury Boutique Hotel!! The stairwell was lit with a switch that shone for twelve seconds before reverting to full darkness, sufficient to get up four floors at a full sprint but not on arrival with a full suitcase...... and a hangover.
My first job in Paris at the Meurice was as a Stagiaire (Busboy) in the Dining Room, now known as 'Le Meurice Alain Ducasse'. Under the stern direction of my Captain, Guy. My job was to fetch the food from the kitchen with the hot empty plates to be served by him and his Waiter and to clear the dirty dishes from the 'gueridan' (sideboard), both of which were down a very long staircase into the kitchen. We all did it two at a time.
The system for pick up involved first picking up the hot plates from the heater cabinet and taking them to the kitchen where the food was assembled by the 'explosive' Chef de Cuisine. He had one famous move for each order. Without looking, he would reach across the hot plate counter and touch the plates you had selected. If they were not hot enough, he would, in a flash, pick up the top plate and break it over your head. This would only happen once!! Everyone had to learn that one!
My French skills improved!
The biggest setback to this assignment was that there were no free employee meals at the Meurice. This lead to an oft-told story about my first month in Paris. Running short of money having overspent my final payment in Switzerland on wine, I stooped to the local delicious habit of buying a baguette and some cheeses that often went unfinished and remained in my room, more specifically on the windowsill where it was cooler. When my money ran out, I reverted to the stale baguettes.
My second job in Paris was on loan from the Meurice to their associates at Maxims where I was assigned a job as a Waiter. The major challenge at this historic location was the circular service staircase between the kitchen and the four floors of the restaurant. Not only were the floors worn into a 45 degree slant but the width of the circle was so tight that the tray over the shoulder was not a feasible option, it had to be 
carried over the head. In addition the ovens were all coal fired and our coal-carrying Algerian co-workers were using the stair also to bring coal sacks to the stoves, over their heads.
My jobs at Maxims came frequently and I enjoyed the change in scenery. I do not remember being paid by Maxims but I suspect that my Meurice salary did not change and the book-keeping was handled between the two. My day started at 7.00AM and finished at 11.00PM, when we all went out to party, every night!
My efforts to move into the Reception were thwarted. I am not sure why but I have no regrets. My French was sufficiently good to be asked by the General Manager to translate some French promotional text from French to English involving the hotel's sister relationship with two other legendary Paris hotels. All that I remember from those days was the palatial design of the General Manager's Office where the results of my translations were reviewed.
ENGLAND
My return to England came 'out of the blue' perhaps through the influence of Miss Jackson.
It lead to my first job in management as Assistant Manager at the Mitre Hotel in Oxford, a 45 room Inn with a famous Dining Room, a huge reputation for afternoon teas and three bars in a special section that resembled an old, rambling British Pub. Not out of character because the Inn dated back to about the 12th or 13th century when the religious orders started their lectures and educational efforts in the cellars of the Mitre that ultimately spun out to become Oxford University through its many distinct colleges. The job was very focused on the food & beverage operations which were humming.
Two or three interesting anecdotes came from my 18 months in this position. First was a very loyal guest in the dining room who gave regular speeches at the Colleges and returned to the hotel for all his meals. Winston Churchill became that most favourite of our regulars, always preferring one table in the corner that was private and 'out of the way'. No-one bothered him ever. He did however arrange for me to visit his gardeners at his home, Bleinheim Palace, where we made an arrangement to buy vegetables from their expansive gardens on a regular basis. Margaret Rutherford was also a frequent guest and there was often a time when Margaret was at her favourite table facing Winston over at his corner.
Anecdote. The Front Desk called me to ask if they could extend credit to a small group of guys that had a 'gig' in town, would share rooms and would pay us tomorrow. I approved and they did pay the next day. They later became more successful than me as a group called, The Beatles'
The opening of the London Hilton was organised by a famous City 'mover and shaker' who was, by my good fortune, my Mum's best friend. We received invitations for the family where I was introduced, as a budding hotelier, to the Hilton senior executives from New York whose loose offer was most welcome. Simply put, it was 'whenever you get over to the US, let us know and we will find something for you'.
In the meantime, another opportunity arose. I still believe that Miss Jackson was behind this new seasonal opportunity.
My first job in a resort was at the Woolacombe Bay Hotel in North Devon as the Assistant Manager. A similar set of responsibilities mostly focused on the food and beverage operation but with wider responsibilities for recruitment and training. It was a seasonal post and it coincided well with my plans to move to the USA where the big opportunities seemed to abound. 
My first major mistake was to attend a meeting in the fancy lounge bar area with the Owner and his wife. I was a little late because of some staff shortages in the kitchen so I ran the short distance to the staircase that led down to the lounge bar. I tripped and fell down the stairs with sufficient speed that propelled me spreadeagled across the polished wood floor of the lounge bar to the feet of the Owner and his wife who were standing at the bar.
It was an interesting assignment that took every bit of 24 hours a day to cover for the major staff shortages that we suffered as a single season resort many miles from anywhere except the gorgeous ocean and the magnificent surrounding hills.
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
The fare to the USA was steep but it was a one-way trip by sea. The German ship SS Bremen docked in Bremerhaven was the cheapest way to the USA at that time so I sold my bug-eyed Austin Healey Sprite and headed to Bremen and then to New York City and a meeting with the Senior Vice President Hilton Hotels who I had met briefly at the London Hilton opening. Referred 
immediately to the Savoy Hilton at Fifth Avenue & 59th St to meet their GM, Mr Tony Carpenter, a charming, elegant gentleman who put me to work immediately.
My first job in New York, I was told, was to buy a pair of shoes to replace my suede shoes, a British style that I had not shed yet! The real job however was at Reception of the Savoy Hilton, the 1200 room wedding-cake building at the corner of Central Park and 59th St on Fifth Avenue opposite the Plaza Hotel. Almost permanent residents there at the time were Judy Garland and Peter Lawford, both of whom seemed to consume rather more alcohol than they could reasonably handle.
One afternoon, I was arranging a party from the back office in our Upper-West Side apartment with friends when a guest overheard me and asked if she could join us at the party. Who could refuse Zsa Zsa Gabor? She was a great hit and my reputation went through the roof......for that evening.
After about a year at this great hotel, the hotel was sold and the new lady owner, Mrs Benatar was the first to order a ladder so that she could climb up the wall and personally dislodge the portrait of Conrad Hilton and dramatically smash his picture and frame onto the lobby floor. Hilton was out and major changes were to be made to the management. I was delighted to be informed by senior management that I would be one of the very few to be transferred to the Waldorf Astoria.
My second job in New York was as Assistant Manager at the Waldorf Astoria, a position that was held by about six of us located prominently in the lobby of the Waldorf close to the famous Waldorf Clock. It was here that we met and dealt with the hundreds of over-bookings that were the rule rather than the exception during the New York World's Fair of 1962. It was here that I met briefly with Conrad Hilton who toured the hotel and met me and everyone else for a few seconds as he did his rounds.
One of the curved balls that came my way in my early days at the Waldorf. I received notice from the authorities that I was drafted into the US Army with the ultimate destination of Vietnam. I was required to proceed to the testing centre for a medical examination and other tests. This blip in my career path was brought to the attention of senior management who leaned on a local Senator who arranged for a deferment for a year, and one year later, another deferment until the Senator concluded, 'Get him out of here!!". I was then transferred to a Commonwealth country where Brits were welcome and the Flagship of Hilton International, the Queen Elizabeth Hotel in Montreal. My French skills assisted in this transfer.
Anecdote. My French skills were based on my French Grammar from school and my experiences in Paris that were of limited use to me in French Canada where the accent in Canadian films requires French subtitles in France. I needed to adjust my accent that I am still doing to this day.
CANADA
I arrived a the Queen Elizabeth Hotel and met the future president of Hilton Canada who was Personnel Manager at that time. He briefed me on where I would go and said go find a room somewhere. I found a room in the stu
dent sector of downtown Montreal where thousands of students enliven life in this great city. I bought a bed and a dining set and made a wooden frame for the bed so that it resembled a sofa.
My third job with Hilton was a temporary step backwards from Assistant Manager at the Waldorf to Room Clerk or Receptionist at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel Montreal. Time would correct that but I was there because of my US military Draft Status, not a promotion. The promotion came quickly. In the meantime, my French was 'Canadianized' and I grew to love Canada and the Montreal ladies.
My fourth job with Hilton was as Assistant Front Office Manager at the newly opened Montreal Airport Hilton. That worked out well and I was soon moved to a new position toward a new area of our profession.
My fifth job with Hilton was as Assistant Sales Manager at the Airport property that sounds impressive but was far from 
easy. The sales function required direct sales calls to multiple commercial and office buildings along Airport Road where buildings were spaced out 50-100 yards apart and the only way for a young assistant sales manager with no car to accomplish this was by foot. In summer sweating, in winter, nose running...... through huge snowdrifts. But that is where I learned where past complaints could be rectified.
My sixth job with Hilton came when I was transferred back to the Queen Elizabeth as Assistant Manager, somewhat similar to the position at the Waldorf but a lot closer to my apartment in Downtown Montreal, and at the centre of the action in this bustling, successful hotel with a couple of dozen F & B outlets and a huge convention business, connected to Union Station and the underground shopping trails that snake under the city for miles.
JAMAICA
After about a year, Out of the Blue I was summoned to the office of the President of Hilton Canada and invited to accept a position as Front Office Manager at the Jamaica Hilton and to report to the Hilton International VP Personnel at their offices in the Waldorf Astoria as soon as I could wrap up my affairs in Canada. This involved breaking my lease, updating my passport in Ottawa, settling my income taxes and Canada, severing some precious relationships and packing. Wi
thin a week, I took off for New York City and my meeting with Hilton International's senior executives.
Anecdote. At a business lunch with the VP HR at the Peacock Alley off the lobby of the Waldorf Astoria, I was 'knocked over' by Conrad Hilton who was dining there at that time, who tapped me on the shoulder and said....'Aren't you David McMillan that used to work here?'. I was speechless I think. I have never forgotten that........... and actually never will.
My flight to Montego Bay, Jamaica was uneventful and the two hour trip to the hotel was highlighted by the darkness that permeated the poorer areas of the country on the gorgeous country roads. On later trips between Ocho Rios and Montego Bay to pick up VIPs, I was amazed and shocked, after the rainstorms, to experience oceans of crabs crossing the coastal road and cracking under the wheels of the car. The subsequent construction of a highway connecting Montego Bay with Ocho Rios has eliminated this experience as well as the charming routes along the ocean and through the picturesque villages and sugar plantations of the gorgeous North Coast.
The property is located on a white sand beach protected by a magnificent coral reef that runs along much of the North Coast about two kilometres from Ocho Rios with the spectacular Dunns River Falls 'en route'.
My seventh job with Hilton was as Front Office Manager at the Jamaica Hilton in Mammee Bay in November 1966 started in the height of the winter booking season in which pressure for rooms from Christmas to Easter was astronomic at a time when technology had not kept pace. Reservations from Hilton Reservations Service (HRS) were communicated by mail and the lag time was +/-one week during which +/- 100-200 reservations could be taken, confirmed and deposits deposited. No system existed to track this avalanche of confirmed reservations and deposits that had started before my arrival. A senior experienced colleague from our Trinidad property was seconded to assist us to dig-out. In the meantime, over-bookings filled every hotel and villa on the island plus hotels on neighbouring islands.............. aside from those furious guests that were sent home. This was perhaps the most painful experience of my whole career. My second and third high season were paradise compared to that first one.
My eighth job with Hilton was as Rooms Division & Project Manager at this property. It was basically the same as Front Office/Rooms Division Manager but, in addition they put me in charge of the renovation of all the guest rooms and corridors. A job that was hugely rewarding since, as anyone knows who has done this kind of work, nothing goes as planned and creativity is at the source of all solutions. My weekly trips to Kingston through Fern Gully were awe-inspiring and my meetings there with the contractor who was re-building the existing case goods that were shipped out, a half of a floor at a time and loaded back up to the floors with a rope lift we constructed over the room balconies.
Anecdote. Martin Luther King was a daily lunch client whom we got to know well. He was writing a book in a neighbouring house and he enjoyed taking a break and visiting the property and socialising easily with us and our guests. Harry Belafonte, one of my favourites from earlier years visited but was a very difficult client, also not liked at all by our Jamaican employees.
After two great years in Jamaica, my Canadian sweetheart and I married and, shortly after, Jose 'Pepe' Menendez, Hilton's Area VP for the Caribbean and Latin America, who also was my Best Man at our wedding, offered me a new challenge in their newly opened Curacao Hilton as Rooms Division and Sales Manager with the charming Peter Howard, the GM, a previous colleague from our days at the Savoy Hilton in New York.
TO BE CONTINUED
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