( #JerryBlavat, #Philadelphia )
I came across this post mentioning that Jerry Blavat now has a blog. For the lucky masses unaware of Blavat’s existence, Jerry is semi-famous Philadelphia disk jockey during the 1960s (and 70s?). The reason I am mentioning any of this is that I had a run in with this guy almost a decade ago at a charity event. Since his blog wants some stories, here is mine:
My tale takes place somewhere between 2003 or 2004. The setting was at a very nice Philadelphia hotel (near the Art Museum). The hotel was hosting a charity event that had something to do with Italian Americans and donations to Washington. Thanks to my father and his employer’s involvement in said charity, several tickets were purchased and I was offered a spot at the table. Having become newly single, I thought this would be an interesting place to meet women.
The crowd leaned towards the older side, but that was to be expected. That said, women my age were most definitely in attendance. Eventually I managed to break the ice with a girl near one of the carving stations (I remember because I made a comment that I was avoiding anything that would drip all over me). I started to notice an old man intently inspecting the carving station (the girl’s back was to the roast and to the older gentlemen).
This man then turns around and starts staring at my new friend’s ass. Right in front of me. No shame. He makes eye contact with me—then goes right back to looking at the girl’s ass. He then creeps over and asks what her name is (no “excuse me”, more like “hey, what’s your name”). Seeing this coming, I watch the girl to capture her reaction. She was definitely caught off guard. I could tell she was trying to figure out if I knew him. So I decide to get a little playful myself and cut him off and say “Sir—that wasn’t very nice to jump into our conversation, why don’t you introduce yourself first.”
Stupid me—I gave Jerry the opening he was hoping for. “I’m Jerry Blavat.” No reaction from either the young lady or myself (prior to this evening I had never heard of Jerry and I grew up in South Philadelphia). He sees that his name did not make the intended connection, so he then offers “the geator with the heator.” Zero reaction. I could sense that Mr. Blavat’s pride was wounded, but he made no attempts at retreat. He continued to pummel this young girl with standard stalker questions: “What school did you go to?” (she had graduated 2 years earlier), “where do you work?” and then starts in with “are you with this guy?”
Are you fucking kidding me?
My new friend said no, we had just met—he then turns around and tells me to go get him a drink. I respond with something along the lines of “I hope you are joking.” He wasn’t. I then said something like “I think you had too much to drink buddy, plus I think it is past your bed time.” This amped up “the geator” and he gave me some kind of jab about the younger generation having no respect to which I responded that he didn’t seem to have any respect interrupting our conversation. At this point, my would-be lady friend politely excused herself. I shot Jerry a death stare and mumbled several curses under my breath as I walked away.
As I approached the bar, my mother intercepted me and informed me that I was speaking with THE Jerry Blavat. I ask her how she knew him, and she gives me the he’s “the geator with the heater” line. I look at her at ask “what the hell does that even mean?” I don’t remember her answer, but she proceeds to ask what we talked about, and I just said, “not much, but that guy is an asshole.”
Mr. Blavat may be a respected DJ, and a member of the Philadelphia elite, but to me—he is just an old cock-blocker.
