In the late 1970's, Disco music was king with likes of the Bee Gee's and the Disco queen, Donna Summer, who at one time held the title for the most records sold by a woman-ever. It was a cool time to go out for the evening to your favorite "disco." One reason it was neat was because you really dressed up in your best to go out. Lots of bell bottoms and silky open long collared shirts for the guys. The ladies in cocktail dresses or outfits resembling prom dresses in some cases. For a short while a few leisure suits for guys were spotted here and there. Thank goodness that craze didn't last.
One of the hottest disco clubs in the Des Moines area, actually out close to Interstate I 35-80 on Hickman in Clive, was called Smugglers-a restaurant, bar, disco, a chain and tied in with Holiday Inns. Some of my single friends and I started going there before it actually caught on and really started swinging. It was nice to have a place to hang out for an evening and dance without the big crowds. That didn't last too long!
We got to know the disc jockey real well and he would have nightly activities like dance contests and crazy stuff like beer jugging contests. One evening I had a date and we double dated with her best friend and decided to go to Smugglers. One problem with my date was that she didn't like to dance and/or didn't dance real well. So we pretty much sat at the bar and watched everybody else dance and just visited.
The other guy in our group, Marty, who I knew somewhat and was an aspiring young attorney in one of Des Moines' most prestigious firms . He had one big problem. He was out every night drinking hard very late every night and then getting up early. The story went that he also took something to get him going in the morning. Day in and day out. Never knew what!
During this particular evening and after way too much to drink, Marty was walking around and went over to these two guys and whispered in one's ear about something. The one yelled out, "What did you say?" Marty leaned over and repeated it. The one guy hauled off and slugged Marty and he went down! I jumped off my seat and tried to step in and do whatever and so did another bar patron. The pair of guys that were the part of this action took off for the front door.
The guy who Marty had whispered to was Paul Drostell, who owned for years the Greenbriar restaurant in Johnston, Iowa. He was also a local rugby player and had a little bit of a tough guy reputation. Marty was no match, especially when he could hardly stand up from drinking too much.
The next morning, I called Marty to see how he was feeling. He had taken a fist right to the side of the head and it could have been serious. He said he was O. K. I then asked him what he had whispered in Drostell's ear. He replied, "I told him when he was getting up to leave that he had forgot his purse!" Good grief! No wonder! I didn't feel as sorry for him after hearing that comment.
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