This piece, written by Josh Lowenthal, originally appeared on the lbpost.com in February 2007. It is being re-run today along with our coverage of the closure of Smooth’s Sports Grille. Enjoy. –Executive Editor Ryan ZumMallen
Who is John Morris? Who is this swashbuckling business pioneer that discovered the world’s first sports bar, lured us into the Downtown renaissance, and initiated iconic events as the 2nd Street parade and New Years on Pine? Who is this man that everyone seems to know, publicly love to hate, and privately love to love?
There is probably not a more controversial figure in Long Beach over the past 30 years than restauranteur John Morris. Few have shaken the foundations of our municipality the way Morris does, going on extreme highs and extreme lows and taking us all along for the ride. While nobody questions his commitment to the community or his willingness to take risk, Morris has been marginalized as a mercurial figure by the establishment. That is, many lament he is not a team player. But to Morris, being the bad cop is a role he has taken on for the greater good; he gladly accepts criticism as long as the community ends up stronger in the process.
“City Hall folks don’t like my personality…..I’m too crude. They can’t control me; they can’t buy me off. And, they enjoy having a whipping boy. If you don’t go along with the plan – if you don’t conform, if you have a different vision, then you’re ‘a naysayer’. And that’s how they’ve made me out to be – Mr. Negative. Why? Because I have a difference of opinion and I’m not afraid to speak about it. But at the end of the day, it will be a great Downtown, a fabulous Downtown.”
The genesis of Morris’s role in the development of Long Beach is fascinating, especially considering the monumental hurdles he overcame just to be here. “You ever see Angela’s Ashes? That was my childhood. Nothing but coal around my eyes.” Morris was born in Widnes, England in 1948, a blue-collar industrial town outside of Liverpool. The oldest of six children, Morris learned the value of hard work at a young age. “My dad was a drunk on the dole who would spend all the money he had betting on horses. So I had to step up early to help my mum.”
At age ten Morris eschewed school to care for the rest of his family. Finding work wherever he could, Morris walked miles from home to pick potatoes or deliver coal on horse-drawn carriage. “When it was cold, I’d take the baby pram down to the acid pits and pick up coal, coke, wood – anything that would burn – we needed it to keep the house warm.” Morris claims he would have considered going to school more, but didn’t have the clothes for it. “If there wasn’t work I’d wait in the fields until the school days were over, and then go home.”
Life changed when Morris became 15; members of his extended family had put together enough money for John to come over to America, settling in Lancaster Pennsylvania. His immediate family would follow six years later. “I had never understood what opportunity was until I got to the States – it was like I was reborn, and I never wanted to look back.”
John finished high school in 1967 and was immediately drafted by Uncle Sam. Morris went into the US Air Force and served his new country as an aircraft mechanic during the Vietnam War. “At that time non-citizens weren’t allowed to serve in a combat zone, so I never got over to the war.” After four years, John left the Air Force and returned to Pennsylvania, working a series of jobs, among them in the RCA factory, and driving a truck for UPS. Determined to avoid the blue-collar monotony of Widnes, Morris decided to make a break and head for California in 1973.
Getting a ride out to the West Coast with all the money he had, Morris wound up in Long Beach by way of an advertisement for the Queen Mary. After downing a cup of tea on the majestic ship, he decided to stay for a while. “Long Beach was like Fantasyland to me, nothing close to anything I’d been around….ever.” Morris immediately found an apartment on Bayshore and Ocean. “I spent a hundred bucks a month for that apartment facing the ocean, I can tell you that….I can never forget that.” John cooked breakfast once a week for the building on Claremont Ave; residents had to bring the food, John would cook for free, but the food surplus would provide him with a week’s worth of eats.
Delivering papers for the Press Telegram, John found comfort, respect, and an audience in the Belmont Shore nightlife. “There were 18 bars on 2nd Street back then, and you could go to any one of them on Tuesday night for a 10 cent beer…..called it drowned night.” Morris became a quasi-celebrity of the local nightlife hotspots: the Jolly Roger, the Windrose, the Acapulco Inn, McKenna’s Creek, and Bobby McGee’s. Soon enough he was hobnobbing with a Los Angeles Rams rookie named Dennis Harrah, whose West Virginia upbringing found Long Beach more appealing than Los Angeles.
This is when John Morris began to flower; there was something about the freedom of the 70’s, the liberal, positive vibe of Long Beach, and his never-look-back philosophy that combusted into a confident ideas man…… for the first time in his life he loved his community, and wanted to leave his mark. It was not a matter of if or even when, it was just a matter of how.
John Morris had moved into the women’s garment industry, and had found professional and financial success. He scrapped together enough money to buy a small home for himself, but instead decided to partner with Harrah to buy a nicer house on the Peninsula….the same house owned today by Frank Colonna. Soon they convinced a fellow Ram to rent the place next door, Joe Namath, who was finishing an illustrious NFL career on the Rams. “He was on his last legs with the Rams, but wasn’t on his last legs in life…..he was having a ball out here. When he got here he was like, ‘who the heck is this guy from Widnes?’ And I was like ‘look man, there’s lots and lots of women here in Long Beach….you should stay close Broadway Joe.’” Soon enough combining careers and interests, John would have impromptu fashion shows at the house bringing scores of ladies to the delight of Harrah and Namath.
One fall 1978 Monday night at McKenna’s Creek Morris and Harrah corralled a group to hang out, inviting fellow Rams players to come along. Since Monday Night Football was on, the gridiron warriors wanted to see the game. “We had to yell at the bartender about the game. He had to go to the closet, get the TV, put it on the mantle, and get the rabbit ears tuned so these guys could watch the game.” Once the game was on, the place came alive. Morris knew there was something there, so he tested it out subsequent weeks. “It was a ritual, we’d make a big enough stink and then they’d finally get the game on and the whole place was happy. I’m thinking there’s an opportunity here, I’m gonna do this, and within two days I had found the place for it.”
The Stockpot, located in the middle of 2nd Street, had never had the success of its predecessor Leilani. John got the lease, and what started out as simply wanting a place to watch games had evolved into a revolutionary idea: a bar devoted to watching sports and celebrating sports personalities. Morris would use the newest technology and put multiple televisions all over the bar. He would get memorabilia and signed photos of the pros. He would put together live events hosting pro athletes and their greatest fans. He would partner with new Rams star Dennis Harrah and capitalize on his fame. He would name the bar Legends.
John felt that in order for Legends to be a success as the world’s first sports bar, he had to go big. He arranged to have the first Mistubishi big screen rear-projection television in a commercial establishment. And the content would be delivered by brand new technology – satellite transmission. “It was so new. All our satellite feeds were raw, it wasn’t sophisticated like it is today. We’d have a game on, and when it was time for a commercial break, you’d stay with them instead of seeing commercials. So we’d see Howard Cosell smoking cigars and talking about women in the stands, and of course I’d pump up the volume for everyone at Legends to enjoy. It was so candid…..it was so real……everyone loved it – it was awesome.”
Overnight, Legends became a sensation, in Long Beach and in the entire world of broadcast sports. “By the busload I would get visits by every Dodger player. We’d get calls after Ram games from the Airport. Plane lands at nine, we’ll be there at ten. Everyone……players, management, cheerleaders……everyone would pour into Legends. Lakers, Angels. Back then you didn’t have to pay players to appear, you just had to feed ‘em. We had to put screens in front of the windows because hundreds and hundreds of people would gather around to be part of the action. It was a different era, really a different era….and it was fun.”
Before Legends, 2nd street was all about beer bars and being a beach community. But Legends put 2nd street on the map as a social destination, taking the economic development to another level. Friends and colleagues implored Morris to go international and trademark his breakthrough, but he was still focused on Long Beach. “The thing is neither Dennis nor I were detail guys. Even though we knew we were on to something revolutionary, neither of us put anything in place as far as the big ticket is concerned. But honestly I’ve never been into money, I’m more into the ride. And that was one hell of a ride.” Without a penny of remuneration, John Morris even mentored the development of sports bar Champions, which was later sold to the Marriott Corportation for millions.
Locally, Morris came up with the idea and was the driving force behind the 2nd Street Christmas Parade, and initiated a program where local Little League videotaped games would be watched at Legends. For his efforts, he would later receive the Businessman of the Decade award by the Belmont Shore Business Association. With success came confidence, and with confidence came ideas. And this is where the love/hate relationship began with City Hall. Residents weary of Panama Joes pressured then-Councilmember Jan Hall to place cumbersome operating conditions on Legends. Residents also channeled complaints through City Hall that Morris was feeding the needy at Christmas, bringing in the homeless to Belmont Shore. John completely ignored those complaints, upsetting many, and in fact made the annual event larger than life. “I guess that comes from my upbringing my early childhood in Widnes. I can just relate to people without.”
The bustling success of Legends propelled John Morris into a new direction…….west. He had received a brochure on Pine Avenue sent to him by the City that boasted zero interest loans for new businesses. “The pictures were amazing – a great marketing piece. I thought why not? I bought the property without knowing what I was doing, but wanted to be in the restaurant business, not the bar business.”
John Morris opened the legendary Mum’s restaurant in February 1988. As he’s quick to point out, it was an unbelieveable leap of faith. “Next door the Manila Sands was a brothel, catering to the ships coming from the Philippines. The street was dangerous, to say the least.”
A drive down Pine Street and anyone knew it would be a struggle. Morris expected this, although he thought he would get more cooperation from the City to get open. “It was a nightmare. I help them out by being the first one to take the plunge, and nobody was there to assist me cut through the tape to get open. Every single small barrier that could be thrown up was, from plumbing to electrical to simple licensing. I always reflect on being in [then City Manager James] Hankla’s office over my greasetrap and I was running out of money. His advice was ‘Well John just mark my words: Downtown Long Beach will succeed despite City Hall.’”
Morris lamented that the City did a great job to market Pine to get him to invest, but left him hanging after he arrived. “I thought Long Beach would find ways to be more supportive, but I was wrong. We were doing 25 dinners on Friday night – it was a ghost town – I was completely losing my shirt. A year after Mum’s opened the Fish House opened, and then L’Opera, and things were looking brighter. But I was still only doing 25 dinners on a weekend because those new spots just divided the pie a little bit. I needed a push, and whenever I came up with ideas on how to get the push I got shot down by City Hall.”
John ultimately sold his share in Legends to focus on Mums, which was finally boosted by the opening of the Pine Street AMC movie theater. And after successfully organizing the blockbuster New Years on Pine he understood the massive possibilities for the Downtown rebirth. He also received encouragement with a change of guard at City Hall, when insider and 16-year local Council incumbent Wally Edgerton was ousted by liberal CSULB psychology professor Alan Lowenthal. “I was one of the few people who related to Alan Lowenthal, who everyone considered basically a communist outsider when he arrived to Council. We both sort of had moonbeam personalities, where we focused on the possibilities rather than the barriers. We really understood each other and still do today.”
John Morris finally had an advocate within the establishment that would listen to his ideas and run with them. This buoyancy came to haunt him when things didn’t go his way, and the sound of his disappointment was deafening. “Alan and I agreed on the value of the Promenade project: art theater, Imax theater, walkway with retail, entertainment. It would have been the centerpiece to Downtown growth. But the proposed Pike project was getting all the attention after Disney pulled out of the Bay. And that’s when the demise of Pine Ave started since all the resources were focused on Queensway Bay. They [Pike proponents] stole key tenants from the Promenade for the Pike, and then ultimately those tenants never came to Long Beach at all. That’s what hurt the City. And I was extremely vocal about it more than anyone else, and they isolated me from everybody because of that. I was taboo.”
John realized that while most sympathized with him, they didn’t want to share in taking the heat. “I received quiet support, but nobody would stand up because everyone knew how vindictive City Hall could be. My restaurant was untouchable not only to those who worked in the City, but for those who did any business with the City. Don’t be seen with Johnny-boy. That’s the way it’s been, and in some ways that’s the way it still is today. [City Manager] Jerry Miller never comes to my restaurant, and it ain’t about the food.”
Nobody disputes the strained relationship between Morris and City Hall, ultimately immortalized in a victorious lawsuit filed by Morris against the City. All of this is indeed ironic, because no small business owner in town better understands the nexus between the public and private sectors, non-profit fundraising, political activism, and for-profit endeavors. At any given day at Morris’s current Pine Avenue restaurant Smooth’s Sports Grille, you’re likely to see all of these worlds cross paths, and deals are struck from table to table.
For those who have forgone the rumor mill and gotten to know John Morris, they will find opinion mixed with compassion……John diligently supports any local charity that comes his way, and refuses to say no to a good cause. “That’s my downside. I’m a giver. I don’t have much to give anymore but I’m a giver.” He has personally raised hundreds of thousands of dollars for the Boys and Girls Club and Children Today. Last month he fed hundreds of volunteers conducting the homeless census in January. Most recently he’s linked over a dozen charities to benefit from Pine Street’s Amgen Bike Tour celebration on February 24th. Next month it will indeed be something else. As long as someone in need asks, he will find a way to make it happen.
Most notably, John continues to have a soft spot for the City’s homeless population. For years Legends and Mums served 3,000 people to Christmas dinner who otherwise would have nothing. “These people were not served soup kitchen style…..they were waited on, respected, and treated with dignity, and that’s the way it should be.” To this day, Morris leaves the Smooth’s patio heating on all night, for the benefit of the homeless men and women who have nowhere else to go. “Hey, they also protect my building. I’d like it if the homeless were away from Downtown because there is a negative impact on the business. But until there is more assistance from the government and those that are supposed to be providing shelter, those of us with a conscience in a position to help will always have this moral dilemma. I always just try to do the right thing.”
Is John Morris misunderstood? Absolutely. Is John Morris underappreciated? No question about it. Is John Morris opinionated and brash? Exceptionally. But John Morris is the ultimate survivor, and wants to see everyone succeed. “I’ve always said, as Downtown goes, the City goes. We can still do this. I think we’re close, but we just took another dip. And thankfully it seems we are finally backing into a master plan. At the end of the day, 5 to 7 years from now Downtown will be what we envisioned 20 years ago.”
So who is John Morris? He is our greatest cheerleader and our greatest critic. He is colossally optimistic on our City’s potential, pessimistic toward the culture of City Hall, and still never looks back to what could have been. Love him or hate him, he has been the concierge of our City’s small business evolution over the
past 30 years.
“People don’t know who I am or what I’m about. But I’m all about the right reasons. I’m a shy guy really, and maybe I overcompensate sometimes. I may be vocal about something I don’t like, but in the final analysis there’s only one team here. I was against the Aquarium. But once it was a reality, I was behind it – it’s ours and it’s beautiful. Now let’s see how we can make a better plan going forward that includes it.”