By Josh Katzowitz
Eddie Lane and his son, Mike, are men of contradictions. Eddie is a successful, respected businessman who takes some of his cues from the wait staff at Waffle House. He’s an Irish-Catholic who’s never tasted a drop of alcohol. He sits in his beautiful showroom in Montgomery and pets a beautiful standard poodle named Prince who’s spewing the vilest gas since the campfire scene in Blazing Saddles.
His son, Mike is a jeweler who, on this day at least, is wearing nothing glittery on his fingers or his wrists. He’s a former state champion football player from Moeller High School who played at Notre Dame under Gerry Faust, yet nothing would make him happier than selling you the prettiest, girliest diamond ring for the woman of your dreams.
The two of them curse and laugh on the golf course, and they poke fun at each other whenever an opportunity arises. They’re men who would like to beat your ass on the racquetball court. But when a family member is truly in need, they’ll fly through hellacious storms filled with hail and 2,000 foot drops to be at a bedside in an instant. When they talk, they speak about integrity and doing what’s right. Read the rest of this entry…
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By Greg Hoard, Photos by Ross Van Pelt
All day long the door swings back and forth. People coming in looking for help, looking for something they want, something their kids, their grandkids or their team needs. Some are coming for the first time, eyes opening in wonder at all that surrounds them, all that is offered.
Others have been coming through the door for decades, remembering the first time they came with their dad or grandfather, remembering how the floors used to creak and the smell of fine leather filled the place, and that sense, that knowing – full well – they would leave with something treasured.
They come seeking a new ball glove, not just a new one, but one that’s perfect – feels just right. They come looking for a new bat, one with good balance and the proper heft, and the cap that fits just right. They order uniforms here, just like the ones the pros wear. Pete Rose once called from Los Angeles to order basketball uniforms for his son’s team in California. Read the rest of this entry…
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By Elaine Stone, Photo by Joe Simon
Marx Hot Bagels in Blue Ash looks like the typical storefront restaurant nestled among a variety of stores in a strip mall, but the sign posted on the door is the first clue this is far from the typical bagel shop. It reads, “This is an experience, not a restaurant. Owner is not politically correct. Enter at your own risk.”
Upon entering the shop, you are immediately confronted with all the wonderful smells of fresh made bagels: the cinnamon, the honey wheat and the savory smells of onion and garlic.
If you happen to visit the shop when the owner, John Marx, is calling the shots, you might be in for a different kind of confrontation. On any given day, Marx can be heard barking at his employees to keep up the frenetic pace, Read the rest of this entry…
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