If you make the trip to Havana, the Capitol Hill nightclub, your ID
will surely be checked, likely by Eli Baroh, head of security, who’s
been perched on a bar stool out front nearly every night since Havana
opened its doors just over a year ago.
Havana doesn’t have bouncers; it has, as owner Quentin Ertel likes
to call them, “hosts.” Baroh, Robert Donnelan, and Brandon Cyprian are
your hosts; thanks to them, there have been no fights inside the
club—an impressive feat. Their approach to
security—diffusing tension, talking conflict out of existence
before it even begins—stems from a quote from Sun Tzu’s
The Art of War: “Change their colors, use them mixed
in with your own.” Baroh is committed to understanding the Chinese
philosopher’s ideas. (The first time I met him, he was reading Sun
Pin’s Military Methods of the Art of War, an elaboration and
guide to Sun Tzu’s earlier work.)
Baroh doesn’t approach patrons looking for a confrontation; he looks
to understand them and, if they decide to give him a hassle, to use
that understanding to outsmart them and send them on their way. It’s
this innate curiosity and insight into human nature that makes him a
kick-ass host.
You’ve probably seen Baroh—he’s worked doors all around
Seattle for years. He got his start at sports bars such as the Ram,
Earl’s on the Ave, and the All American in the University District, as
well as clubs such as Belltown’s Viceroy and the Showbox downtown.
Chances are you’ve talked with him—he’s not the kind of guy who
robotically checks IDs like a stone-faced mute. He’ll put down the book
he’s reading (currently the fantasy series Wheel of Time,
about a reluctant hero, by Robert Jordan), greet you with a “Hey there,
kid,” and ask how you’re doing. If you reciprocate, Baroh is likely to
respond with, “I’m doing all right so far,” those last two words an
invitation for more exchange. Radiating from underneath his all-black
security clothes are a warmth and self-possession that make a
conversation with Baroh a destination in itself.
Baroh is a born-and-bred Seattleite, with deep roots in Rainier
Valley, which he is proud to still call home. And he’s a born
storyteller. Over a long lunch of nachos (chicken for me, bean and
cheese for him—Baroh keeps kosher), he proudly tells me his
family history, which begins in Egypt.
Baroh’s grandfather Jacques Blumenzweig was a prominent Jewish
community member imprisoned after 1967’s Six Days’ War. After obtaining
false passports from the U.S. government, he and his wife Sarah moved
their family to France for a year before finally settling in Washington
State. Soon after the family arrived in Seattle, their Rainier Valley
apartment burned down, and they were generously taken in by well-known
local community member Seymour Kaplan. The Blumenzweigs were able to
get back on their feet and eventually established a successful kosher
catering business, providing food for Jewish community events. When
Baroh won the Seymour Kaplan Humanitarian Award—twice—in
elementary school, it meant the world to his grandfather.
After graduating from Franklin High School (where he played
saxophone in the band), Baroh worked for years as a manager at Kennelly
Keys Music in Southcenter and Northgate. While between jobs, Baroh’s
sister, who was managing the sports bar the Ram in the University
District, asked him to help out and work the back door. What started as
a family favor led to a career keeping watch over people, from friends
to strangers to celebrities (be sure to ask Baroh about his security
stint touring with Bone Thugs-N-Harmony).
At the Ram, Baroh was nicknamed “the Godfather” because he could get
anything he wanted, from anyone, anytime. And though he doesn’t drink
much, his drink of choice is the Godfather—two parts scotch, one
part amaretto—which he likes to take with a cigar, these days a
Cohiba, whose cherry-walnut flavor he clearly enjoys describing as much
as savoring.
At one of Havana’s recent outdoor movie screenings, Baroh’s friend
Dave stopped by to say hi. When I ask how they met, Dave thinks for a
moment, then says, “Through our friend Spencer. Back when Eli worked at
the Showbox, Spencer would always stop by to have a little dip with
Eli, which was weird because Spencer never chewed. But Eli would always
give him a pinch, and so we’d hang out and talk. That’s how we became
friends.”
And so the Godfather gives back.
“What I like about security,” says Baroh, “is that even though you
have to live at bars and clubs, you get to know people, and it gives
you a home.”
Working the door isn’t just a job for Baroh, it’s where he makes
friends and meets friends. The door might just as well be to his living
room. 
