Eleven years ago, an imposing-looking man named Mark Calcagni interviewed me for a bartender position at the legendary Condor Club.
I had just moved back to San Francisco after years of living abroad, and my buddy, the burlesque MC-musician-dancer Kitty Chow, said she could help me get a job. I had years of experience behind the bar, but I had never worked at a strip club and was nervous.
Mark hired me.
“You can have any shifts you want,” he told me later, after I’d proven to be a competent drink slinger. That may not sound like much, but for a bartender — the newest one on staff, no less — those words were a gift.
As I’d learn during my six or seven months at the Condor, that was just Mark. His tough-guy facade barely hid his big heart.
When I learned of his death in Santa Rosa on October 3, I flashed back to that first moment of being greeted by Mark’s kind eyes. He was always willing to give people a chance, just as he’d given me one.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I was the right person to write a tribute to Mark. After all, I left the Condor 10 years ago to backpack around Europe and hadn’t communicated with Mark since 2020. But I realized that while the public was interested in the mafia movie-like storyline of an Italian American strip club boss (from New York, naturally) being shot to death in Northern California, Mark deserves more than that. Serving for so long in such a public-facing role at an historic nightclub, Mark should have a better public memory than what the tabloid headlines and the inevitable true crime podcast will provide.
Born in the suburbs of New York in 1965, Mark had been the general manager of Condor (and Vanity, formerly Penthouse) for what felt like forever. As the clubs’ owners shifted managers like Mark from venue to venue over the years, loyal staff followed him. Over the years, people quit and returned. Some never left. How many managers can say that about the places where they work?
Condor felt like Mark’s true home, and it was largely Mark’s gravitas that made the club feel like a safe place to land, a place where he could always squeeze in shifts if I needed work. Though strip clubs are seen as seedy, there can be real camaraderie there: More than one person I talked to referred to the Condor as a family.
“He had an infectious smile and a laugh that could instantly brighten any room,” said former cocktail server Evelyn Arevalo, who was my work BFF at the time. “Mark possessed a rare kindness, always striving to see the good in people and offering a helping hand wherever he could. His generosity of spirit and gentle nature touched countless lives.”
The nightlife industry can be brutal: relentless, sleepless, alcohol and drugs fueling the long nights. People cycle in and out quickly, and not everyone is as kindhearted as you might hope. It’s easy to become cynical.
Not Mark. He always had faith in people and in the club’s significance in the city. He helped the Condor become SF’s first strip club to achieve legacy status, solidifying the historical memory of dancer Carol Doda (1937-2015).
Mark saw the bigger picture: His charges needed someone in their corner, a person to give them a chance (sometimes several chances) to start over.
Mark’s understanding of the Condor’s burlesque roots is why he lobbied the owners for more than a year to let Kitty Chow produce the Condor Cabaret show to celebrate topless dancing’s 50th anniversary in 2014.The show ended up running monthly, even years after she left. “He was the best manager I’ve ever encountered in a strip club. He was a true friend that cared. Even after leaving the Condor, he would check in,” Kitty said.
Mark’s kindness could frustrate some, as when he’d give one staffer shift meals for free because of hard circumstances while insisting the rest of us had to pay. Some colleagues in the throes of addiction would flake out on shifts or get fucked up at work repeatedly and Mark kept them on.
Looking back, I realize that Mark saw the bigger picture: His charges needed someone in their corner, a person to give them a chance (sometimes several chances) to start over. I don’t know many other bosses would do the same: It’s easier to fire someone and just hire another young person to replace them. No one was disposable to Mark.
“If it wasn’t for Mark, I might not be alive,” said one of my former coworkers who Mark helped get sober. (“My name doesn’t matter, it’s all about Mark,” he said.) Mark helped a lot of employees in this way.
Another former bartending colleague, Andrea Vatran, described herself as Mark’s “friend, and someone forever grateful for his kindness.”
I asked Drea for a quote about our old boss and she sent me a page-long tribute. “I’ll never forget how he helped me when I went through some of the toughest moments of my life. He didn’t have to, but he did — because that’s who he was. He gave without expecting anything in return. He made people feel like they mattered,” she said.
At a celebration of life for Mark that was held at the Condor last week, there was a picture of him photoshopped with angel wings outside the entrance. Inside, the club was packed, people spilling out onto the street.
Staffers had stayed past 4 a.m. the night before to decorate, putting up white drapes, setting tables with linens and blue-and-white floral centerpieces. There were banners and pictures of Mark everywhere.
The main stage with the floor-to-ceiling pole and mirrored back wall turned into a memorial podium with a spray of white flowers in the shape of a cross. Friends shared anecdotes, played violin, and sang to Mark’s memory. There was more than enough Italian American comfort food for all.
Some people flew back for the gathering, like my former colleague who’d like to go by Rocky Raquel the Cocktail Waitress & Hospitality Lead. Rocky and Mark dated for a year and remained best friends for 13 years. She gave me permission to excerpt her heartfelt Facebook post to Mark. ”I’m devastated and very upset every time I think about this. One of the most humble, giving, thoughtful, considerate, funny, down to earth, BIG HEARTED humans I have ever encountered. He was loved by so many,” she wrote.
In a small moment of bittersweet justice — and timing worthy of a movie — one of the celebration speakers announced that two arrests had been made in Mark’s case. Two former employees from who knows when are alleged to have been behind the killing. Details are still emerging.
The shock of this news continues to come in waves for me. How could two former employees be the prime suspects when there was a club full of us who felt nothing but warmth toward Mark?
Without exposing more of his private affairs, suffice to say that Mark suffered a disproportionate amount of tragedy before meeting his own tragic end. Despite this, he never held back in his support of others. I hope that Mark’s kindness is remembered more than his last moments on earth, and that his family can find some kind of peace.
As I was walking on the beach last week, thinking about what to write for this tribute, I was also listening to the latest episode of KQED’s podcast Spooked. A story came up about the ghosts of the Condor, narrated by a former bartender who stood behind the bar after my time.
I’ve listened to every episode of Spooked, and this was the first time I’d ever heard the Condor mentioned. Why now, just as I was thinking about the club and Mark? The timing struck me as eerie. It was also perfect.
Knowing how Mark cared about the people around him, I wouldn’t be surprised if his spirit joins the many that hover over the Condor. Even though I know he loved that club, I hope Mark finds a more restful place with his loved ones for eternity. He deserves that.
