The Head Waiter Refused to Serve a Hells Angel and His Mother – But Ozzy Osbourne Saw Everything

August 22nd, 2018, 900 p.m. At Lulchcevita, the most expensive Italian restaurant in Beverly Hills, Aussie Osborne was eating his pasta at a corner table, and just as he wanted, nobody had recognized him. Escaping the exhaustion of 50 years of fame, and being able to eat quietly like an ordinary person was worth more to Aussie than any luxury.

But exactly 12 minutes later, something would happen in that restaurant that would make the 70-year-old rock legend rise from his table, confront a waiter in front of the entire restaurant, and deliver the harshest lesson in humanity those wealthy patrons had ever received. The restaurant was one of the most extravagant establishments in Beverly Hills.

 Crystal chandeliers, velvet chairs, sauces served tableside with syringes. Ozie didn’t care about any of it. As he twirled his pasta, a man two tables over was talking loudly on the phone about his investments. The woman beside him had sent back the wine the waiter brought because she didn’t like it for the third time.

 Aussie laughed to himself. 50 years ago in Birmingham, his mother could have done a week’s grocery shopping with the price of one bottle of wine. Now here people were complaining about the vintage. Just then the restaurant door opened and Ozie looked up. When he saw the two people walking in, he set his fork down on his plate.

The head waiter, Phipe, stood at the door like a statue in his 60s, silverhaired, with his nose in the air. A Frenchman. He’d been in this profession for 30 years, and had become an expert at letting in the right people. At least that’s what he thought. For him, the right person meant an expensive suit, a Rolex watch, and an American Express Centurion card.

 When the door opened, the expression on Filipa’s face froze instantly. The man who walked in was about 45 years old, tall, broadshouldered. He wore a black leather vest, and on the back of that vest, a huge skull emblem gleamed, Hell’s Angels, California. His arms were covered in tattoos, and his beard reached down to his chest.

 But what really caught the eye was the elderly woman he was holding by the arm. The woman must have been in her 80s, small, fragile, her white hair gathered in a thin bun. She wore an old but clean dress, probably bought years ago for a special occasion, and carefully preserved ever since. She walked, holding on to her son’s arm, and there was a childlike excitement on her face.

As her eyes drank in the restaurant’s grandeur, a small smile appeared on her lips. This moment meant something very special to her. But Philippa’s eyes only saw the leather vest and the tattoos. He stepped forward and raised his hand as if building an invisible wall. Philip’s voice was ice cold.

 “Sir, I’m afraid we’re fully booked this evening,” he said with a heavy French accent. “Perhaps another time.” The man paused. He had seen the couple who walked in just a minute ago. They didn’t have a reservation either, but Filippa had seated them immediately. I made a reservation 6 months ago to bring my mother to this restaurant, the man said, his voice calm but firm.

 My name is Eddie Torres. 9:00 for two. Phipe didn’t even glance at the list. There must be an error in our system, he said with a shrug. I’m terribly sorry, but we won’t be able to accommodate you this evening. Perhaps another establishment down the street. He didn’t finish his sentence, but the implication was clear.

 somewhere more suitable for someone like you. The excitement on the old woman’s face faded. Her hands began to tremble and she gripped her son’s arm tighter. I’m sorry, she murmured. Maybe we shouldn’t have come. Eddie looked at his mother and something broke in his eyes. No, Mom, he said softly. You’re not going to apologize for anything.

 You’re the last person in this world who should be apologizing. Phipe grew impatient. Sir, please don’t block the entrance. We have other guests. Eddie’s jaw tightened. Beneath his vest, a t-shirt with the fire department logo was visible, but Philipe either didn’t notice or didn’t want to. Eddie had been working for the Los Angeles Fire Department for 20 years.

 3 years ago, he’d rescued four children from an apartment fire and received a medal of valor. Last year, he’d pulled a family from a burning car on the highway. But right now in this restaurant, he was just a tattooed man in a leather vest. Oussie was watching all of this from his corner. At first, he’d only looked out of curiosity. But now, something was starting to boil inside him.

 He saw the disappointment on the old woman’s face. He saw how helpless her son looked while trying to protect his mother. And he saw that disgusting, arrogant expression on Phipe’s face, that I know everything. I’m better than you expression. Oussie knew this look all too well. In 69 years of life, he’d encountered it countless times.

 In the back streets of Birmingham, people had looked at his workingclass family with those eyes. At the start of his career, the musicindustry had looked at a long-haired man in a leather jacket with those eyes. They still did. Eddie held his mother’s hand and was about to turn away. “Let’s go, Mom,” he said. This place doesn’t deserve us.

 Just then, a voice rose from inside the restaurant. A Birmingham accent, horse but powerful. Hey, wait a minute. Philippa flinched and looked toward the source of the voice. A man was getting up from the corner table. Long, messy hair, round glasses, black t-shirt. Philippa’s eyes widened. A familiar face, very familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

 The man walked through the tables toward the door. His gate was slightly unsteady, the yet undiagnosed symptoms of Parkinson’s at that time, but there was determination in his stance. Ozie stopped in front of Phipe and turned to Eddie and his mother. Then he looked at Phipe with that famous sideways glance of his. “Mate,” he said, “this gentleman and lady will be dining with me.

 Please join me at my table.” Phip’s mouth fell open. But sir,” he stammered, “you you made a reservation for one.” Ozie took off his glasses and looked straight into Philip’s eyes. Those pale blue eyes that had seen thousands of stages, that had mesmerized thousands of people. Now they were working the same magic, but for a different purpose.

 Philipe suddenly recognized him. The color drained from his face. Ozie Osborne, the prince of darkness, one of their restaurant’s famous customers. and he had just invited the people Filipa had turned away to his table. Ozie turned to Eddie and extended his hand. “Zussie,” he said simply. “And you?” Eddie shook his hand in bewilderment.

 “Edddy Torres, and this is my mother, Rosa.” Ozie leaned toward the old woman and gently kissed her hand like an old-fashioned English gentleman. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Rosa,” he said. I hope you’ll join me this evening because to be honest, I’ve grown tired of eating alone. Rosa’s eyes lit up. Her hands were trembling, but this time from excitement. Really? She whispered.

Aren’t you? Aren’t you Oussie Osborne? Oussie laughed. That famous cracked laugh of his. Bloody hell, he said. Finally, someone recognized me. Every time I come here, the waiters think I’m Jackie Chan. Rosa laughed. A real genuine laugh, the kind she hadn’t let out in years. Her son Eddie looked at her in amazement.

 When was the last time he’d seen his mother laugh like this? Maybe before his father died. Maybe even before that. Philippa was still frozen at the door. “Sir,” he said, turning to Oussie. “Let me arrange your table right away. For three, correct?” Oussie shook his head. “No, mate,” he said. “For four.

 You’re going to sit down, too, and you’re going to explain to us exactly what happened here tonight.” Philip’s face went white as chalk. The moment they sat down at the table, the whispers in the restaurant began. Ozie Osborne sitting with a Hell’s Angels member and an old woman. Phones came out, secret photos were taken, but Aussie didn’t care at all.

 He’d never cared what people thought his whole life, and he wasn’t about to start at 69. Philipe sat at the edge of the table, perched on the edge of his chair. His hands were trembling, and a thin bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. Ozie turned to him and lowered his glasses to the tip of his nose. “Now, mate,” he said calmly, but with a steely edge to his voice.

 “Why don’t you tell me and my new friends what happened here tonight?” Phipe swallowed. “Sir, I was simply following restaurant policy. Some of our guests might be well uncomfortable with certain appearances. Which appearances? Oussie asked. The leather vest, the tattoos, or a son wanting to take his mother somewhere nice? Phipe couldn’t answer.

 His lips moved, but no sound came out. Ozie continued. You know, mate, I was once turned away from doors by people like you in Birmingham, in London, everywhere. A long-haired, wildeyed man playing rock music. Doesn’t fit into society. Looks dangerous. But you know what? That man who was turned away from those doors is now one of your restaurant’s most valued customers.

Phipe lowered his head. I’m so sorry, he murmured. I’m truly sorry. Ozie was silent for a moment, then nodded. Don’t tell me you’re sorry, he said, pointing to Eddie and Rosa. Tell them. Philipe turned and looked into the old woman’s eyes. “Mrs. Rosa,” he said, his voice trembling. “Mr.

 Eddie, I’m deeply sorry for my behavior. It was inexcusable.” “Rosa smiled, a tired but merciful smile. You’re forgiven, son,” she said. “We all make mistakes. What matters is owning up to them.” Filipe’s eyes filled with tears. He bowed his head and rose from the table. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said. “Tonight’s dinner is on me.

” and Mr. Eddie, I’ll personally add your reservation back into the system. Nothing like this will ever happen again. After Filipe left, there was a silence at the table. “Finally, Rosa spoke.” “Mr. Ozie,” she said, her eyes shining. “I don’t know how to thank you.Today is a very special day for me, and you saved it.” Ozie raised his eyebrows.

“A special day?” Rosa nodded, and her eyes drifted into the distance. Today would have been our 50th wedding anniversary. She said, “My husband Eduardo passed away 5 years ago, but every year on this day, we used to go to the restaurant where we had our first date. It was a small Italian place in San Pedro.

 But that restaurant closed last year. So I told Eddie, let’s go somewhere different this year, somewhere nice, somewhere worthy of Eduardo’s memory.” Ozy’s face softened. For a moment he thought of his own mother, Lillian Osborne, the woman who raised him in the back streets of Birmingham, who taught him to sing, who never gave up on him.

 His mother had passed away in 2001. And Aussie still carried that pain. Every time he took the stage, every time he sang a song, he imagined his mother watching from somewhere. Rosa, Oussie said suddenly, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you something. What does your son do for a living?” Rose’s face lit up. Eddie, he’s a hero.

 He works for the Los Angeles Fire Department. He’s been saving people’s lives for 20 years. Eddie lowered his head in embarrassment. Mom, you’re exaggerating. I’m not exaggerating, Rosa said firmly. 3 years ago, you rescued four children from an apartment fire. Last year, you pulled that family from a burning car on the highway. You have a medal of valor.

 My son is a hero. Aussie turned to Eddie and looked at him with new eyes. Behind the leather vest, the tattoos, and the beard, there was a lifesaver. There was a son who sacrificed for his mother, and there was a courage that ran into fire every single day. “So, what’s the deal with the Hell’s Angels?” Ozie asked curiously. Eddie shrugged.

 “My dad was a member, too,” he said. “I joined when I was young, but the club means family to me. It’s not what some people think. We look out for each other. We support each other through hard times. Most of our meetings are basically just barbecue parties. Oussie laughed. Bloody hell, he said. That reminds me of Black Sabbath.

We were a family, too. Still are, actually. Tony, Giza, we’re all connected. People look at us from the outside and think it’s some devil worship thing, but the reality is very different. The waiter came and took their orders. Oussie turned to Rosa and narrowed his eyes. “Rosa,” he said. “What did you eat on your first date with Eduardo?” Rosa’s eyes sparkled and her face grew younger.

 “Spaghetti Alaputanesca,” she said. Eduardo took me to that little restaurant and the waiter recommended this dish. I was embarrassed because the name was a bit well strange, but Eduardo laughed and said, “Love is strange too, Rosa, but it’s beautiful.” I fell in love with him that night. Oussie turned to the waiter.

 Spaghetti alaputanesca for the lady, he said. And bring a bottle of your best champagne to the table. Tonight is a special night. We’re drinking to Eduardo’s memory. Tears began to stream from Rosa’s eyes. She placed her hand on her chest and took a deep breath. Throughout the meal, the three of them talked as if they’d known each other for years.

 Rosa told them about the 50 years she’d spent with Eduardo, how they met, how they got married, how they grew old together. Eduardo was a carpenter, and the wooden jewelry box he’d given Rosa was still at her bedside. Eddie talked about the hardest moments he’d experienced as a firefighter. Once he’d rescued a child from beneath a collapsed building, and he could never forget the expression on the child’s mother’s face.

 “That’s what I live for,” he said. That moment when you know you’ve changed someone’s life. Nothing else matters. Aussie shared too. His poor childhood in Birmingham. How he discovered music. His love with Sharon. Randy Rhodess’s death and how that pain still lived inside him. The early symptoms of Parkinson’s and his fear of the future.

 This was the first time he was telling these things to people he didn’t know. And strangely it was comforting. Mr. Rosie,” Rosa said softly. “Don’t be afraid. Life gets hard sometimes, but love heals everything. You have your Sharon. You have your family. And now you have friends like us, too.” Ozy’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you,” he said, his voice.

 “I needed that.” As midnight approached, the restaurant began to empty. Ozie asked for the check, but the waiter shook his head. “Mr. Phipe said, “You’re our guest tonight, sir.” Aussie smiled. “Then double the tip,” he said, pulling a wad of bills from his pocket. “Share this among the staff and tell Phipe his apology is accepted, but don’t let something like this happen again.

” As they left the restaurant, Ozie pulled Eddie aside. “One moment, son,” he said. He took a business card from his pocket and handed it to Eddie. “This is my private number. If you and your mother ever need anything, call me day or night. And one more thing, he said, “Never take off that Hell’s Angels vest.It takes courage to wear that vest.

 And you, son, are a brave man. A man who runs into fire is always brave.” Eddie took the card and looked into Ozy’s eyes. “Thank you for tonight,” he said. “Not just for my mom, but for me, too. For the first time in a long time, someone really saw me.” Ozie patted Eddie on the shoulder. We invisibles recognize each other, son.

 He said, “People in leather jackets with tattoos who don’t fit into society. But you know what? Sometimes the most beautiful hearts are hidden beneath the hardest shells.” 6 months later, Eddie Torres received the Los Angeles Fire Department’s firefighter of the year award. At the ceremony, he squeezed his mother’s hand before walking onto the stage.

 In his pocket was Ozie’s business card, worn, but still readable. As he accepted the award, he turned to the audience and gave a short speech. I dedicate this award, he said, to everyone in my life who truly believed in me. To my mother who sacrificed everything for me. To my father’s memory who taught me that nothing happens without courage.

 And to a man I met one night in Beverly Hills who reminded me that we don’t have to be invisible. Sometimes all it takes is for someone to see us. Aussie didn’t attend that ceremony. The No More Tours 2 tour was still going on, but that night before his concert in Phoenix, Sharon told him that Eddie had won the award. Ozie smiled and took a deep breath before walking onto the stage.

 That night, as he sang, “Mama, I’m coming home.” He thought of Rosa. He thought of Eduardo. And he thought of all the invisible heroes he’d met in his life. As the final notes of the song echoed through the arena, Oussie leaned into the microphone and whispered. “This song is for all the mothers,” he said. “And for the sons who never leave them alone.

” Rosa Torres passed away peacefully in 2020. At her funeral, Eddie played his mother’s favorite song, Mama, I’m Coming Home, and beside the casket stood a framed photograph. There were three people in the photo, Rosa, Eddie, and Aussie. It had been taken that night at Lulchcevita. All three were smiling.

 All three were happy. All three were visible.