By Doug Miller
They've been the store's regulars for years. They aren't bohemian coffee-shop types - although they count among their ranks some genuine artists, they are mostly workers and retired businessmen. But they like the Coffee Nut, and the Coffee Nut likes them. The store even welcomes Calvin, a 12-year-old white English bulldog and recent cancer survivor, who is the group's unofficial greeter.
They've become such a part of a fabric of the Coffee Nut that they had bright orange sweatshirts made up for Election Day ("The psycho ward: vote for us, we're committed") and posed for a photo, which they sent to the newspaper. It wasn't published. Less formally and in jest, they call themselves the Long Beach Dirty Old Men's Club, and claim they chose the Coffee Nut for its view of the entrance to the New York Sports Club across the street, with its parade of 20-something women in workout clothes filing in and out.
Truth is, their view of the gym is mostly blocked by the parking island that divides East Park Avenue. But who wants to admit that they hang out with one another just for the fun of hanging out with one another?
... Or for the good coffee?
... Or even, as they are starting to realize, because of Raul?
There is much they're still learning about their friend Raul, who worked behind the counter at the Coffee Nut for two years before he died in his sleep March 2.
They knew the basics. They knew he was from Uruguay, and came to America many years ago. They knew he had an apartment on East Olive Street, and had worked at Pier One in Long Beach before the Coffee Nut (and was adored there as well). They knew he had been a businessman with a gift shop in Manhattan's west 30s, near Broadway, in the 1980s, and that he had lived on the Upper East Side before moving to Long Island. They knew he had a cat and that he loved soccer. They knew his birthday was last week, and that he turned either 63 or 64.
But some things they learned only after he died. His last name, for instance. Sambeli.
The group found out that Raul had a mother in the old country and a sister somewhere. John Anfossi, a dean at Long Beach Middle School, was able to fill in a few more details. Raul was a childhood friend of Anfossi's mother-in-law, he said, and he and his wife, Maggie, considered themselves Raul's American family since his arrival in America.
On Monday, as the morning LBDOMC meeting was brought to order at the Coffee Nut, charter member Richard Boodman led the proceedings. As customers filed by, the men stopped them and asked for comments about Raul. All of them knew him. Some women cried. Some kissed his picture hanging on the front door.
"He was a delightful person."
"The minute you started talking, he spoke your language."
"He had an intoxicating laugh."
"A wonderful human being."
Jill Romano, owner of the Healing Oasis beauty salon next door, heard that a reporter was asking about Raul and stopped by. "I looked forward to seeing him each morning," she said. "He was a sweet guy."
Rob Manel, who is Calvin's keeper, offered that Raul "was very perceptive. He read into people. ... He was an important part of our lives."
"I drove a bus for 23 years," said Bob Shanley, whose poster-sized photographs of Long Beach scenes add atmosphere to the Coffee Nut. "People thought of me as their bus driver, and would ask about me when I wasn't there. Raul, he was ours."
Reached at the Middle School, John Anfossi said he wasn't surprised to hear that the crowd at the coffee shop loved Raul. Summing up Raul's appeal, he said, "It was a lot of things. His kind mannerisms. His smile. He took ownership of what he worked for, whatever it was. He made that shop like a home."
In their grief, the club members struggled when asked what it was, precisely, that made Raul unique. They could easily toss around adjectives and generously describe his generosity, but they found it harder to agree on a definitive Raul story. Boodman suggested that perhaps this was somehow Raul's fault. "Maybe there are no central Raul stories because he always steered the conversation toward you," he said.
Manel agreed. "He was a listener, a great listener," he said.
A man in his 50s named Vinnie offered to help. Big and imposing in a white sweatshirt, Vinnie looked like he works for a living.
"Let me tell you, I grew up in Brooklyn, and knew all types of people," he began. "I met a man in 1970, when I was halfway around the world. Half white, half black, gay as a three-dollar bill, from Detroit." He paused. "I'm het-tro," he said with a glare, then continued.
"Kenny Wallace was his name. He died. He was the best man, the most gentle man I ever knew. I was proud to call him a friend." His voice cracked just for a moment. He held up two fingers. "Now I can say that's happened to me twice."
Some of the men found it easier to talk about their feelings toward their friend via e-mail. Victor Poretz, a Lincoln Boulevard resident, composed a letter over the weekend.
"This morning, several of my friends from the coffee shop that knew and cared for Raul all agreed unanimously that Raul touched every single one of us in one way or another. ... He was knowledgeable about many things including coffee, Yerba Mate, which he drank all his life, good beef as well as world economics, history and culture to name a few of the subjects you could converse with Raul about ..."
Poretz went on to describe the free language lessons Raul gave him. "I also had the pleasure of being able to practice my Castellano with Raul, the particular dialect of Spanish spoken by Raul. ... Raul was always very polite in correcting me when I made mistakes with my Castellano but truth be told, I always used to love to hear the beautiful way Raul spoke Castellano and the informed things he had to say."
As the morning LBDOMC meeting wound down, Manel and Calvin resumed their walk, and the rest of the men went home or to work. Behind the counter at the liquor store a few doors down, Richard Daro offered his thoughts on Raul.
"He was very gentle and very cultured, and very well-educated," Daro said. "Actually, I don't know his background, other than that he was from South America. But one time I remember I was reading something, a phrase in Italian that I didn't understand. I asked him about it, and Raul explained everything."
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