Chapter 49: What was your first boss like?

Originally written November 25, 2021

My first boss, Larry Birch 1942-2021. Photo from Legacy.com

I didn’t work a full-time job until the summer of 1972, right after my freshman year at the University of New Mexico, when I started work at the Lotaburger on what is now South Guadalupe Street.

I was fortunate that the store manager was one of the kindest and one of the funniest people I’ve ever worked for. His name was Larry Birch.

Larry was a short, wirey guy whose face, nearly always smiling, suggested some redneck Popeye. He worked the Lotaburger with his wife Faye, who was taller than him and just as pleasant — though not nearly as talkative as Larry. Occasionally they brought their daughter Valerie, who was about 5 at the time, thus giving the job a family feel.

A little scene setting: At the time, that street where Lotaburger was located was called Rosario. A few blocks up, it changed to Jefferson Street, but just for a block or so, when it morphed into Guadalupe Street.

In the summer of ’72, the city was in the process of paving Paseo de Peralta west of Rosario. DeVargas Mall was not there yet, though Montgomery Ward had been open for years. (That was around the spot where the Market Street supermarket (part of the Albertson’s chain) is now.

This is the Lotaburger I worked at, 404 N Guadalupe St, Santa Fe, NM. Photo from TripAdvisor

This was around the time that the company I worked for, which for years was simply known as “Lotaburger,” became “Blake’s Lotaburger.” The company was started by an Albuquerque man named Blake Chanslor about a year before I was born. Blake died in 2009.

The Lotaburger I worked at was one of two in Santa Fe at the time, the other being on Cerrillos Road just north of Osage. That one isn’t there any more, but since my burger-flipping career ended, several more have popped up around the city.

Music break: New Mexicans love Lotaburgers, but Sam Cooke loved a “Whole Lotta Woman.”

At the time I worked at Lotaburger I was paid $1.30 an hour. That was below the federal minimum wage, but, at the time, $1.30 was the state minimum wage, so that’s how they got away with it.

I probably wouldn’t have lasted there for the three months I did had it not been for Larry. He made what could have been a crappy job not only tolerable but enjoyable.

Larry was a non-stop chatterbox who talked like a slightly speedy Andy Griffith. He provided a continuous commentary throughout each shift cracking corny jokes, gently ribbing all the workers, and occasionally giving orders. (“Steverino, could you go back to the walk-in and bring out some lettuce to shred? Thanks.”)

Ever so often, Larry would go up to Faye, hugging her from behind and singing, “Oh my darlin’, oh my darlin’…” making her smile sweetly. But he’d never get to the rest of the chorus, “oh my darlin’ Clementine” I assume because he didn’t want to call his wife by another woman’s name.

What was obvious to everyone was how much in love Larry and Faye were.

One thing I don’t remember Larry ever doing was yelling at me or any other employee there.

I’m sure that I and probably other workers screwed up from time to time, but Larry would never fly off the handle at anyone. He might say something like, “No, here, let me show you how to do it.” But he never would belittle you or try to make you feel bad.

I always felt a little guilty that I wasn’t honest with Larry about one thing when he first hired me.

I told him that I hadn’t decided whether or not I wanted to go back to college, though returning to UNM was my plan all along. So after August rolled around, I broke the news to Larry.

He wasn’t upset. I think he suspected this would happen all along. “Steverino, I never begrudge a man for wanting to further his education.”

So we parted on good terms leaving me with nothing but good memories of Larry Birch.

It wasn’t long after I left when Larry, Faye and Valerie moved from Santa Fe to Tucumcari — the town where he was born — to manage the Lotaburger there.

Skipping ahead to the spring of 1980, I hadn’t seen or spoken to Larry since well before he left Santa Fe.

My first wife Pam and I had applied for a summer job as cooks at Brush Ranch, a summer camp north of Pecos. I didn’t have much on my resume in the way of professionally cooking. So I decided to look up Larry to be a reference.

He happily agreed and wrote a letter of recommendation that made me look like the world’s greatest burger chef.

Now here’s the sad part:

When writing this in late November 2021, I did a quick Google search for “Larry Birch” and “Tucumcari.”

And there I found an obituary that had been published in the Quay County Sun on September 23, 2021. That’s right, Larry died just two months ago. He was just a couple of months shy of 79.

“Larry had the most infectious smile and was the greatest storyteller of all time,” the obit said. “Larry knew no strangers, just friends he hadn't yet met. His pleasant personality was contagious to everyone he met. His stories were so detailed and full of life, that he could make you feel like you were there right next to him when it all happened.”

Yep, that was the Larry I knew.

Rest in peace, Larry Birch. I hope there’s a Lotaburger in Heaven.

Hats off to Larry!