Emmanouell (Mike) Anthony Spanos

HISTORY OF EMMANOUELL (MIKE) ANTHONY SPANOS

BY MICHAEL ANTHONY SPANOS, HIS SON

Mike Spanos

            As a preface, I am somewhat hesitant to include my remembrance of my dad fearing that there are many things that should be written but cannot because I have limited recollection of my early life growing up in Park City, Utah when Dad was alive. Noting that limitation, this is the way I remember those years.

Modern Day 315 Woodside Ave. 

            As a young child, age unknown, I remember living in our home at 315 Woodside Avenue. We were required as children to be very quiet because dad often slept during the day after working late at his café (Mike’s Cafe) across from the post office one Main Street. He became very irate if he was awakened because of our noise. He scolded me and yelled at mom for not keeping us quiet. My memory is very cloudy when trying to recollect any kind of home life with Dad and Mom and children being together: eating, visiting, doing things or going places together.

Mike & Joan Spanos

            I cannot recall any interaction between Mom and Dad other than arguments, which were infrequent but nevertheless frightening. There was no affection shown by either Mom or Dad toward each other or affection displayed by Dad toward us children. There may have been, but I cannot remember any. As I have grown and matured, I have come to realize that because of his circumstances, some of which are discussed later, he more than likely did not know how to be affectionate. Yet in visits to the village of Malona, Dad's brother and sisters were so very affectionate and loving. Dad left Malona as a young boy and was introduced to a very difficult life as he worked his way across the ocean, the only boy working with adults on a large vessel. He talked briefly to me on only a couple of occasions and told me he was able to work his way to the United States under very hard circumstances. It was difficult for a young boy because he had to do everything the others didn’t want to do. He did say that there was at least one relative on the boat with him so he wasn’t completely alone. It was important for him to come to the United States for a better life, he expressed.

            This next part, I feel some reluctance to write because I honestly wish I could remember but I don’t ever recall our mom being pregnant with my four younger brothers and sisters nor do I recall any interaction rom Dad to my siblings except at Christmas time. The majority of time I had with Dad was at the café or at the café and hotel after he relocated to the Salt Lake House. I cannot say at what point in time Mom and Dad quit living together but know it was after the birth of my brother Jerry. Another thing I can’t remember is where he lived after moving out of the house on Woodside Avenue before he moved into the Salt Lake House.

Salt Lake House Sign visible across from drug store

 I did go every single day to the café and every day I did all that Dad asked me to do. He taught me how to work, and he worked me hard. I was required to do the job right or I had to do it again. The hardest tasks were cleaning the cooking grills, mopping the floors, filling the coal furnace with coal, and cleaning big, heavy cinders out the furnace. He also taught me how to cook some of the dishes that he served in the café, and he showed me how to make a good Greek salad.

            At Mike’s Café, he had a good business especially while the mines were in operation. Things got tough when the mines closed down. His business declined, and he started breaking the law by selling hard liquor and allowing gambling in the back room. He kept the bottles of whiskey underneath the stainless steel warming racks. He had a special way of getting them out without burning himself but concealed so no one else would ever dream to look where he had them stashed. Dad told me on many occasions that he had to resort to liquor and gambling or he would lose his business. There was a point in time when law enforcement became aware of his illegal actions and sent some undercover officers in an attempt to catch him in the act. I’m not sure how effective that was but in time they raided the café. I can’t say how old I was and can’t say whether dad was actually arrested and jailed, but do know that he was in a lot of trouble, and his café was closed down for some time. Later he left the old location (Mike’s café, across from the Post Office), which was owned by Joe Grover. I did not realize until then that Dad did not own Mike’s Cafe. I’m not sure whether he was evicted or just made a better deal when he moved up the street from Pop Jenks. The name of the establishment was the Salt Lake House, a combination hotel, rooming house and café.

            The café and some of the rooms were located on the street level and there was a second level with more rooms. Most, if not all of the rooms upstairs, and some of the rooms on the main level were rented out for extended periods of time. As I think back now, there were some ladies of the night at the old café regularly because I often danced with them. These same ladies along with some new and different ones were around all of the time after his relocation to the Salt Lake House. The booze, the gambling and the prostitutes were a part of doing business, but it became much more covert than before. I witnessed first hand, some very prominent people, including law enforcement officers being poured a drink of alcohol as I was doing my work assignments. I liked to dance and remember dancing regularly with the prostitutes. When I came in, they put some money in the jukebox and we danced the jitterbug. When someone mentioned to Mom that I was dancing with these ladies, she was not happy. This occurred from 1953 to 1957. After a few dances, Dad put me to work. He explained that the mines had closed and he couldn’t pay for the building so he rented a block of rooms to the ladies, and it was their business how they used them.

            I spent a lot of time, not actually with Dad but around him because I had chores every morning and every evening and every weekend. He always made sure that I had something to eat. I loved his cooking and ate brains and eggs, lamb kidney and many other different kinds of Greek cooking. Dad caught Mel Shields and me eating an entire cooker basket full of French fries. He was a little upset but told us it was OK because the cooking oil was pure olive oil. He explained how much better olive oil was than any other oil in the world. After finishing the fries, we continued our cleaning because he required that the business be neat and clean.

        Dad was a generous man. He would do anything for anyone, and he found joy in helping people and doing for others who needed assistance. He always took care of the drifters; the down and out people could always find a good, hot meal and a place to stay. He made sure that all who were jailed were provided a meal while incarcerated. I helped him carry many meals to the prisoners who were always thankful for his consideration. I’m not aware that he was ever paid for providing this service. He fed and boarded the miners and kept accurate records of their charges. Because he was a great cook, the miners always told Dad the best part of their day was the anticipation of his good cooking after their shift ended and before they started drinking. The town people came in regularly and always ordered his famous Greek salad. It was a huge salad. Dad loved to feed his patrons his Greek specialties using olive oil and always plenty of garlic. He loved visiting and joking with people; he was kind of a wheeler-dealer. He was proud that he was the father of six children and always told those that didn’t know that he had six wonderful children. I saw Dad drink only on a couple of occasions but never saw him drunk or even tipsy. He was a heavy smoker. He rolled his own cigarettes and smoked a pipe using Prince Albert tobacco.

            Seldom did he ever speak to me about his home in Malona or his family. I don’t think he ever returned to his homeland. While he talked a lot to many people, meaningful information type discussions were not a part of my experiences when I was with or around him. We, as a family, were very embarrassed about his house of ill repute. We received phone calls at home wanting to know where it was located and other information. There were a couple of occasions when men clients actually came to our home looking for the business. He was a pretty healthy guy and very personable. He played an enormous part civically in the city. Local government leaders were always meeting with him and talking to him about improving the community. He contributed to and organized most of the Labor Day and Fourth of July celebrations. There were good prizes for all of the various contests, he made sure. I was very proud that Dad owned and operated his own business. When I wasn’t cleaning, he allowed me to do a little cooking and waiting on customers. It was a fun time, but mom was not happy because I spent a lot of time at his business.

            One of the most difficult things I had to do was to ask Dad for grocery money. Mom sent me to ask for money when there was no other way to. Mostly the requests were for food, but sometimes it was to pay utility bills or medical bills. At times, he gave me what Mom wanted me to ask for. Other times, he gave me a part and said that it was all that he had. Still on other occasions, he raked me over the coals and found fault with us for requiring so much money. There was a time that we had a charge account at Joe Peasley’s grocery store, but we were cut off when the bill was not paid.

            Sometime alter the divorce/separation, I no longer had to ask for money for food because we went on state and church welfare and Mom started to work in Salt Lake City for our support. I continued working for Dad and then it happened - I was able to do something with him outside of the business. I don’t remember the circumstances but he took me to Salt Lake City. This is the only time I ever got to go with him and recall how impressed I was that he could navigate his way around the big city, and also at the number of people he knew in such a huge place. We went to a dozen or more places where people knew his name and were glad to see him. He spoke Greek to most of them. The one place where he took me that I recall the name was The English Tailors where he bought something.

Post Card of Main Street SLC in the 1950's
English Tailor's sign visible in bottom left corner

            We were active in church, and that was OK with Dad. On one and only one occasion he went to church with us. Don’t know what the circumstances were but he attended with us in the ward behind the Memorial Building on Park Avenue. He embarrassed me because he talked out loud during church and then he coughed and cleared his throat of phlegm, which caused the congregation to turn around and look at our family. I have fond memories of several Christmas days when he came home to visit. Though he wasn’t living with us, our anticipation of his arrival was exciting. When he came, he gave us children all of the coins he had in his pockets. One year we all got a silver dollar plus some spare change — we thought we had won the lottery. I cannot recall him bringing presents or giving us anything specific for Christmas or birthdays.

            I think he was never involved with any of the children in school or sports or extra curricular activities. I have wondered if he knew how to express love or his feelings and have hoped that by sisters and brothers have clearer and better memories than I do concerning his affection toward them. I have come to realize through the Spirit that he did love us very much but just didn’t know how to openly express his feelings. He was such a generous, caring man and did have empathy for those less fortunate. He never turned anybody away who was in need. After he passed away, we went through his belongings and found credit slips with names amounting to thousands of dollars that people owed to him but never paid.

            He somehow made it to Montana as a young man. Have no information how old he was when he arrived, or what he did while he was there, or when or how he came to Utah. He met our mother when she was very young, and according to her, he literally swept her off her feet. Mom was somewhat vague when I tried to get information concerning Dad. I also learned from him that during his early years in Utah he was involved with some crooks who were bootlegging whiskey from Wyoming to Utah. I learned late in my life from Mom and Kathy that he could have possibly had a wife or mistress and even a child in Havre, Montana.

Old Miner's Hospital

Miner Hospital Staff

         








            On 5 November 1957, Dad was in the old Miner’s Hospital for what was supposed to be a gall bladder attack. I was with him in the hospital the night he passed away and recall him being very restless and then completely motionless. We summoned help. The hospital staff made us leave the room, and what seemed like hours later, came to us and told us that he had died of a heart attack.  It was a sad time. I missed him very much.

            He died with nothing, not even sufficient funds to bury himself. Mom didn’t have money. Guy Olpin, the funeral home owner, provided him a coffin and a burial. Mom purchased the cemetery plot — four spaces. An interesting sideline to this is that when we moved to Heber as a family, we purchased a house built by George Knight from Park City. He is married to Guy Olpin’s sister. Mr. Olpin put a lien on 

the home we were buying, and we were unable to get clear title until the lien was satisfied. In May or June 

of I972, we paid Guy Olpin for daddy’s funeral and coffin. Until the time we bought our home, we had absolutely no knowledge that his funeral expenses were outstanding.

            On 5 February 1974, with Mom’s approval, our dearly beloved father was baptized a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. On that same day, he was endowed. On the 02 April 1977, Mom and Dad were sealed as husband and wife and my brothers, sisters, and I were sealed to our mother and father in the Salt Lake Temple.

Park City Utah Cemetery

For context of how difficult times were in Park City during the 1950's (post mining boom and pre ski tourism) and how it nearly became a ghost town, see the below article.  It mentions crack-downs on "houses of ill repute" in Park City with 10 arrests happening just 2 years before the death of Emmanouell Spanos. 

https://www.parkcitymag.com/arts-and-culture/2018/12/how-park-city-survived-the-ghost-town-years-of-the-1950s