Hearty 'hallo' from Greece

Editor's note: The Chicago Daily News published this column on Nov. 23, 1973.

For days, terrible rumors have been sweeping Billy Goat's Tavern.

They all concerned the recent trip to Greece by Sam Sianis, the owner. He went to Greece, where he was born, to marry a girl named Irene.

But he got there just as the student uprising began and troops, tanks, and martial law moved in.

So everybody in the tavern was saying Sianis was in a Greek prison, or Sianis was trapped at the airport, or Sianis was captured by the students, or that he had fled to the mountains.

One customer summed up everybody's grief when he lifted his face from the bar and wailed:

"He said that when he came back he'd have a big party and the drinks would be free. But if he's in prison, no party. Jeez, those damn students. What a tragedy.''

The basis for the rumors was one phone call Sianis made to the tavern after he landed in Athens.

Unfortunately, the connection was bad and the call was taken by one of Sianis' relatives, all of whom work in the tavern-grill.

Nobody knows what Sianis said because Sianis' relatives speak limited English. The ones behind the grill can say only:

"Wan doobla-cheese weet onion.'' Those who tend bar can say: "Wan stein bee!''

The relative who took the call could only report: "I no know wha' hap, bus eesh nah goo!''

I was distressed by the rumors because I'm partly responsible for Sianis being in Greece in the first place. I have been playing matchmaker.

When the famed Billy Goat Sianis died, the bar was inherited by Sam, his nephew, whom Billy Goat had brought here as a boy from a small village in Greece.

Billy Goat's funeral was hardly over when many young ladies, some who weren't too young, began coming to the tavern and making goo-goo eyes at nephew Sam.

Some were sincere in their overtures, since Sam, at 37, is a fine figure of a man. He is only five-seven, but he has a 19-inch neck and can lift a bar stool by one rung with his teeth.

Others, however, were attracted by the fact that Sianis' place sells more Schlitz than just about any joint in town, which means he is a man of considerable means.

I feared that one of these women would turn his head with her wiles, and an unfortunate marriage would occur.

So I urged him to go back to his native Greece and find a nice girl who knows nothing of checking accounts, charge accounts, Bonwit Teller, property laws, Gloria Steinem, tennis clubs, and property laws.

My motives were partly selfish. Billy Goat's is my favorite tavern, and a tavern is only as happy as its owner, and a tavern owner cannot be happy with a wife who expects him home before 3 a.m.

"Remember Zorba!'' I kept telling him. "No henpecked man, he.''

So after several vacations in Greece, Sianis returned this summer with a picture of the beautiful Irene and an announcement that he would return in November to marry her.

"She's a good women,'' he said. "She don't say much.''

And that was why he happened to be there this week in the midst of unrest, troops, tanks, and martial law.

Finally the tension became so great that the bartenders were drinking more than the customers, which can happen when they become nervous, and when the owner is out of the country.

That is why I put through a transatlantic phone call, hoping to get some information. One of his relatives gave me a relative's number in Athens. The number was "seesha fy seesha, fy seesha fy fo!''

The call went through. Several voices said: "Huh?'' Then Sianis himself came on.

"Wash new?'' he said.

I told him that the customers feared for his safety and about the rumors.

He said things had, indeed, looked bad for a while.

"When I get off airplane, I look for Irene, but she's not there. I figure that maybe I'm making a mistake if she can't even meet me.

"Then I get in cab and I go two blocks and then the soldiers jump out and surround me.

"I say: `Wash wrong?' They say: `We gotta war.' I say: `Whose gonna win?' They say: `We gonna win.' I say: `I'm on your side.'

"Then they tell me that nobody is supposed to be out this late. Ees Marshall's law, I ask them, `Marshall who?' In Chicago, my place stay open till 2 a.m., so it wasn't too late.

"They tell me that I better get off the street until the war is over. So I been off the street all week.''

Did this mean that he is being kept from Irene, and that the wedding is off, and the Chicago free party, too?

"Nah,'' said Sianis. "Irene is right here with me. We gonna get married next week. Here, I put her on the phone. Irene, say hallo.''

She came on the phone and said: "Hallo!''

I said: "Hello. Are you looking forward to the wedding?''

She said: "Hallo!''

I said: "Do you think you will like Chicago?''

She said: "Hallo!''

Sianis came back on and said: "Her English ain't too good yet.''

The tavern will remain a happy place.