Supper Man: Detroit transplant Wojtowicz keeps spirit of old Vegas alive

Ken Miller

Wednesday, Aug. 4, 2004 | 7:54 a.m.

Still feisty at age 70 - despite having to wheel around a portable oxygen tank - Stan makes no secret of his dislike for modern-day Las Vegas.

When he first took over the Hill Top House Supper Club in 1972, Stan had one of the only restaurants in his area, and he liked it that way.

"If you saw headlights coming, they were either for my place or two others down the road," he said. "Now you can't even cross the highway (safely)."

His stubbornness to change is evident throughout his establishment. If you're looking for the sheen and shimmer of the Strip, look elsewhere. But if you're looking for memories of a bygone era, you're in the right place.

The building itself is nearly unchanged from when it was built on an oversized lot 50 years ago. With its blue wood siding, gable roof and potted flowers around the perimeter, it looks like a ranch house - and that's exactly what it used to be.

Hill Top House Supper Club's 22 wood-veneer tables are enclosed in two primary dining areas. Wood paneling contrasts with a brick facade toward the rear, and glass sconces share space with fake plastic plants in gold-plated, wall-mounted pots.

Dark-colored vinyl chairs are complemented by red carpeting and light-colored wallpaper featuring pictures of harvest baskets. A half-circle bar area with 12 stools sitting atop linoleum flooring abuts a section of wall containing various sayings on small plaques, such as "Use Your Head - It's the Little Things That Count."

If you need more proof of the restaurant's uniqueness, check the menu - Hill Top House Supper Club is one of the only restaurants that still serves frog legs. Stan has long since retired and his three sons, Brian, Aaron and Craig, are in charge of day-to-day operations, ensuring the business will continue to withstand the ravages of time.

"It's old Las Vegas," Stan said. "There's no slot machines here. Never have been." "It's like a time capsule," Brian, the bartender for Hill Top, said. "The town has changed outside this place."

Stan half-joked that he would be willing to sell his business "for the right money," to which Craig replied, "You've been saying that for 30 years."

Nine is enough

Stan didn't have a lot of exposure to restaurants growing up. He was the youngest in a family of nine growing up in Scarborough, W.Va., and his mother, Enaila, took care of most of the cooking.

"In those days, women stayed at home," he said.

His 10 years in West Virginia were spent mostly going to school and playing sports. His time with his father, Stanley, a coal miner, was limited, but educational.

"We used to sit on a hill in the summer and he'd smoke cigars and we talked," Stan remembers. "He let me smoke one time because I'd always wanted to try. He said, 'Chew on it, get some of that juice,' because he wanted me to get sick, which I did. He didn't want me smoking."

In 1944 Stan's mother moved to Detroit, partly because two of her daughters were there working in defense plants, and partly because, "She and my dad didn't get along. They were never divorced, they were just apart" until 1956, when his father died.

"She always said he was no good, but he was good enough to raise nine kids," Stan said.

Detroit was initially daunting for Stan, as he discovered there were radical differences between the North and South.

"I just remember thinking at the time that it was weird there was no segregation," he said. "But I got acquainted and made a lot of good friends in the neighborhood."

Stan graduated from Catholic school in 1952, and spent the next few years working odd jobs and "chasing girls."

One of his favorite haunts was the drive-in movie theater, and one of the girls he chased, Valerie, became his wife.

"She'd come there with her friends and I came there with my friends," he said. "Then we started having parties, and she would come to them. We met in 1954, and were married two years later."

Vegas can wait

Stan and Valerie raised a family of four -- including daughter Carrie -- in Warren, Mich., but Las Vegas was always in their plans.

"We came here in 1956 on a honeymoon and stayed at the Paradise Hotel on Fremont Street," he said. "Valerie said, 'Let's move out here, but let's go back first and then move here.' I said, 'If we do that, we'll never come back here.' Well, we went back, and sure enough, we stayed in Michigan."

Stan said even though they didn't talk about Las Vegas anymore, it was always in the back of his mind. But he would have to wait 13 years before moving became reality.

"In 1969, Valerie's brother, who was stationed at Nellis Air Force Base, was getting married, and we came out," he said. "After the wedding, we were at the airport about to take off, and she grabbed my hand and said, 'Let's move.' I said, 'OK,' thinking she was just talking again.

"I came home from work the next day in Michigan and there's a 'For Sale' sign in front of our house," Stan said. "After only a few more months, we finally moved."

Time well spent

Stan feels that waiting to come to Las Vegas was for the best. During that 13 years he discovered his talent -- and passion -- for cooking.

"When I got married, I was working for Pfeiffer Brewing Company as a truck driver, but I got laid off in 1964," he said. "I went without a job for about a year, and I needed to find something to do to support my family."

In 1965 he got a job as a pot washer at ARA Services, a catering company, and met the woman who would change his life, Gertrude Paust, his boss at ARA.

"During my first week, when my shift was over, I'd talk to the cooks, see what they were doing," Stan said. "When the week was over, Gertrude asks me, 'You comin' back Monday?' I said, 'I got no choice. I got kids to feed.' "

The next week Paust shocked Stan by telling him she had signed him up for cooking classes.

"I said, 'You gonna pick me up and take me?' She said, 'Yes, I am,' " Stan said, laughing.

Paust hired Stan as a cook almost immediately, and he took classes at night and worked during the day. Shortly after becoming a full-time cook, Stan was then informed he'd been signed up for management classes at Oakland University.

"She never said why she signed me up," Stan said. "She was just that type of person. All I know is, if it weren't for going to work and washing pots, I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you."

By the time Stan and Valerie moved to Las Vegas, he had a trade he felt confident in and was anxious and excited to put it to work.

Best-laid plans

Stan's initial plan was to work as a cook in one of the casinos, but that plan quickly changed.

"You had to be a union member to get that job," he said. "Luckily, my sister knew a guy who had a restaurant, and he gave me a job."

That restaurant was the now-defunct Steak Corral. Stan worked there a year before becoming partners with Tony Kerazidis, who owned the Raven, a restaurant/bar on Charleston Boulevard. (The building is still there, but is no longer a restaurant.)

Stan worked there for more than a year, and eventually the third partner in the operation, Tony Zappa, wanted to sell the lease on the property. Stan knew he had an opportunity to finally run his own business, and offered Zappa $20,000.

"He wouldn't take less than $25,000, so I went elsewhere," Stan said. "A bartender friend of mine told me about this place, so I made an offer. They said 'Yes' right away."

Stan changed nothing when he took over.

"When I started, we had lobster tails, New York steak, shrimp and frog legs," he said. "We still sell chicken livers, but we got rid of the gizzards."

Additions over the years have included orange roughy, cracked crab and scampi, but Stan has been careful not to mess too much with the original formula.

"If people still buy it, we still sell it," he said.

He didn't change the staff, either. Everyone working there when he took over kept their jobs.

"I did the cooking, but we had one dishwasher, a bartender and five waitresses," he said. "Now that all my sons are here, we now have three waitresses and two in the kitchen."

Family business

Stan still keeps in touch with his remaining family members. Six of his brothers and sisters have died, but his surviving sister lives in Las Vegas.

"She has Alzheimer's and is taken care of by her husband," he said. His surviving brother still lives in Detroit.

Valerie, who worked as a hostess at Hill Top House Supper Club for 32 years, is still a co-owner, but doesn't come in much anymore because of an ongoing physical ailment. Stan said he looks forward to traveling abroad with her soon, but only when she's better.

And Stan is ecstatic that his sons have come to work for him, but added he never pushed them one way or the other.

When Aaron graduated from high school, Stan said he wanted to wash dishes at the restaurant. Stan saw it as an opportunity to hand down his cooking skills.

"I said, 'You're not going to work the rest of your life as a dishwasher. If you work for me, you're going to learn to cook,' " Stan said. Aaron quickly took over cooking duties and is now the head chef.

"I've let all my children make their own decisions," he said. "My daughter took up the accordion when she was little. While driving her to practice one day, I said, 'Are you enjoying this?' She said, 'Not really.' I turned the car around and we never went to another accordion practice. Why should she be unhappy, be forced to do something she didn't want to do?"

One thing Stan is sure of: Everything he's done has been his choice, and he wouldn't change a thing if had it to do all over again.

"I never expected to be here this long," he said with a chuckle. "But I know a lot of people, and a lot of people know me. We've got regulars that have been coming in since 1973. We've got their grandkids and their kids coming in."

Craig, who works as a cook, said he believes a lot of that business is from people who like things the way they used to be.

"Vegas has gotten big and it's gotten corporate to the point where little guys like us have trouble competing," Craig said. "But we have very loyal customers."

Brian echoed that sentiment.

"People tell us they want to keep this restaurant their secret," Brian said, adding with a laugh, "I tell them, 'If you do that, we'll have to close our doors.' "

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