Club owners get an often-deserved bad rep from musicians. Many times, the conditions in the club or restaurant are terrible: the lighting’s non-existent; the band’s crammed into a dingy corner below a monolithic row of television sets blaring the latest claptrap from any—and sometimes all—of 100 available stations; the pay gets magically reduced at the end of the evening; and you fight for a lukewarm glass of water from the bar. Ask any musician who plays casual gigs, and they’ll have stories of unpleasant experiences with owners or managers of clubs, restaurants, or hotel lobbies.
One famous story involved the late cornetist Connie Jones, who was leading a band at Fritzel’s in NOLA one night. An agent/manager/club owner notorious for paying musicians $75-100 for the corporate gigs and weddings he was booking for $2000-3000 was sitting in the front row of the audience that night and, after the band concluded their tune, enthused, “Connie, I want you and your band to play that at my funeral!” Connie made a show of glancing at his watch and replied, “Well, thank you for the invitation, ________. We’re free next Thursday!”
When a club/restaurant owner or manager flouts the norm with generosity, foresight, cooperation, and appreciation, there’s a cause for celebration. I thought I’d be able to write about Robert E. Claffey, known as “Butch” and the owner of Bill’s Seafood in Westbrook, CT, before he passed…after all, he was only 73 at the time of his death on October 19, 2023. Although he’s no longer with us to read this, a tribute to this amazing man is long overdue. To quote his nephew, Mark Leopoldino (who started 32 years ago in a summer job at the restaurant, never left, and eventually became manager and then owner of the establishment), Butch was “hardworking, strong, generous, kind, honest, loyal, and very very smart.”
I agree with this entire statement, while adding that Butch knew how to have a good time and knew how to encourage others to have one too! He was very proud of one of the newspaper quotes he and the restaurant received (“the best ongoing party in the state”). Butch Claffey was my boss and a good friend from 1987 until his untimely passing, and always encouraged and appreciated all the musicians lucky enough to be invited to play at his “seafood shanty” next to the singing bridge on Rte. 1 in Westbrook.
Butch had the notion that if you created a warm, welcoming atmosphere, provided friendly staff to serve great affordable seafood, and supplied quality live music of all styles, you’d fill the place. He was right! The sessions I played on Sunday afternoons at Bill’s as part of banjoist Dan Vece’s sing-along band were some of the most fun I’ve ever had. The restaurant and the music attracted all varieties of clientele; tuxedoed gents rubbed elbows with hippies in sandals, Harley riders toasted the owners of yachts, and families with small children learned the words to the (very) old tunes we played from couples singing along who’d been married over 60 years. Presiding over the music, mirth, and memory-making was Butch, smiling from behind the bar, clearly enjoying one of the six acts he employed on a weekly basis.
YES, Butch featured live music six nights a week at Bill’s. TST readers will be glad to know that Wednesday night featured an amateur (but quite good) 10-piece band playing ’20s territory-jazz stock arrangements called the Corinthian Yacht Club Jazz Orchestra, while Thursday night gave way to the 1917 Jazz Band, a New Orleans-inspired quartet led by English-born clarinetist Tom Sharp, and Friday had (and still has) the Bill’s Seafood All-Stars with a truly incredible rotating line-up. While Saturday was devoted to ’50s-’70s rock (groups with names like the Convertibles were very popular), Sunday would find a young starry-eyed piano player (me) next to an ancient, Puck-like banjoist and raconteur (Dan) along with a second banjoist (Ken Canfield, another friend who died this past year at the age of 90) and string bassist Cliff Morris (who was like a second father to me) playing old—again, really old—tunes. It was an honor to play at Bill’s Seafood for such a fair, honest, generous, and caring man.
Butch was very quiet and reserved but always had a twinkle in his eye and loved a good joke. “Bill” of “Bill’s Seafood” didn’t exist; it was just the name of the restaurant. (He’d worked as a kid bartending there on weekends and eventually bought the restaurant with the money he saved.) During the summer when hordes of out-of-state tourists sat in a line of cars waiting for a space in the lot to open, Butch hired a parking attendant. It was invariably a hard-drinking, heavy-smoking dude with a beard down to his chest, who would listen to pleas such as “But I have to have a space near the building; Bill’s an old friend of mine and he’ll be upset with you,” and then, when he’d had enough of the would-be con artist’s groveling, he would snarl “There IS no Bill, you idiot…get the hell outta here!”
Speaking of heavy drinking, Butch and I did a good deal of that together in the 1990s after the Sunday gig was over. He eventually realized his imbibing had gotten out of control, and admitted himself into a drying tank in Stonington, CT, emerging the sober man he would be until the too-early end of his life. He’d worked in the liquor industry from a very young age and was able to beat its hold on him. Only a man of unflagging perseverance and deep perspective could accomplish that while owning a restaurant with such a well-stocked bar.
He was beloved by staff, musician, and patron alike. One indicator of a good restaurant owner is how well they can retain staff. Butch kept his employees close and watched generations of families patronize and work at Bill’s. For my part, there was never a time I wasn’t looking forward to going to Bill’s, either as a musician (I was able to sub in several of the bands I described above) or as a patron going to hear terrific music and eat authentic, lovingly produced, New England seafood. Butch always lit up when I came through the door. He was a dear man who freely offered to me his guidance, wisdom, and trust. I’m a better person for having had the privilege to know and love him.
Two more things stand out about my departed friend. First, Butch was a hands-on owner. He was there all the time except for an annual two weeks’ vacation in Puerto Rico and knew everything going on at his place. He was fiercely supportive and protective of every one of the several dozen people he employed there. Second, for musicians, he combined a fair fee with unparalleled generosity: both the bar and kitchen were open for anything a musician desired. We used to joke that although he was paying us well, it would be possible to eat and/or drink three times our pay!!
I’ll invite Butch’s nephew Mark who—with his family and staff—is continuing and growing Butch’s legacy at Bill’s Seafood, to conclude my tribute to this incredible man. In his eulogy, Mark shared: “Many years ago, I heard Butch eulogize one of his dear friends, ‘Irish’ Jim Kelly [another pianist/entertainer Butch had play at the restaurant]. He spoke of the importance of the dash between your birthdate and your death date and how that dash is filled throughout your life. My only wish for Butch and for all of us … I wish his dash was just a little bit longer…”
Me too. Mark asked if I’d come play Butch’s funeral, but sadly Anne and I were performing on the road, so I was unable to take part. If, when I last saw Butch alive, he’d told me he wanted me to play at his funeral, I’d have made a show of glancing at my watch and saying, “Well, thank you for the invitation, Butch. I’m free in 2053.”
