Photograph by Kevin A. Roberts
Has he told you about his angels?” asks Kathy Kusmer Brummet, the manager/bartender at Mike Talayna’s Juke Box Restaurant on Hampton Avenue. “You kind of laugh at it, but honestly, it’s never steered him wrong.” Mike Faille receives spiritual guidance, often in the form of snatches of music, from the celestial spheres. Back when he was shooting craps with thousands of dollars riding on each bet, he says, he “got a lot of help.” These days, his angels offer their insights when one of his friends is ill or distraught. People come to him for help regularly.
They usually think his name is Mike Talayna. He got the nickname playing ferocious handball at the J (the St. Louis Jewish Community Center). “Is the Talayna here?” other players would ask, using the Yiddish for “Italian.” That name came in handy when he started opening restaurants, especially his most famous, the Talayna’s on Skinker Boulevard at Forest Park Parkway. It was open until 3 a.m. before anybody else was, used church statuary and stained glass back when that was considered sacrilege, weathered a few murders in its parking lot, and taught St. Louisans about the geography of pizza. The place was beloved. Faille is beloved—quirks and all.
I call to see if I can interview him. “We need to meet in person,” he says, “so I can tell you something about me. For example, greatest pizza maker ever born. I’m never on any of those pizza lists. Also, I know the true cause of cancer and how to get rid of it. And I got four styles of pizza.”
So how did you become, in your estimation, “the greatest pizza maker ever born”?
I just dove in there. I made pizza at Rossino’s for a couple years. I learned it. I was 15; I’m 72 now. I opened my first place in ’64, at 310 DeBaliviere.
What prompted you to take that risk?
When I was married with a couple kids and broke, I hung out at Al Baker’s first place, Sorrento’s, and we played liar’s poker. I was very good, and nobody wanted to play with me. Mental—I beat everybody. One night somebody said, “If Mike plays, I don’t play.” I got mad that I had to depend on people I was smarter than to make a living. So I decided to open a place down the street.
You introduced New York– and Chicago-style pizza to a lot of St. Louisans.
I traveled there and learned all of it, quizzed people. I’m the first to have three styles. Now I have a fourth, a Boston char grill. The secret is, I proof the dough real good. Good pizza is crispy. Right amount of sauce and cheese, good sauce, good cheese, good spices. The dough is proofed, not too old, but not too fresh or it won’t rise, it’ll get doughy, dark on the outside and raw on the inside.
What do your competitors do wrong?
Some people might use all Provel cheese, which is not good. And they use a conveyor oven. I use a stone oven. [He leads the way through the kitchen of one of his restaurants, pointing.] This is the pan dough. That’s the New York dough. Here’s the St. Louis dough. No one goes through what I go through. The yeast is the heart of the dough. What controls the heart is the temperature. I let it blow up, and then I put it away.
You were a championship jitterbugger as a kid—crowds followed you around to watch you dance, and there’s even a video of it on YouTube.
Club Imperial, Goodfellow and West Florissant. I was the city jitterbug champion. Oh, the music! I couldn’t sit down! I liked the ladies. I had some good dance partners. I was a natural. Contests in Chicago, Texas, California, just for the thrill. My dad was a dance champion—I found out later.
And when did you start gambling?
As a teenager. Poker, then casinos, baccarat or dice.
What’s the secret to success?
Don’t gamble. I’m sorry I ever gambled. Between me and you, it’s costly. But for a while, psychically, I was beating them. I had a lot of help for a while. I said at Harrah’s, “Watch this Bo Derek roll,” and two fives came up.
How do you get psychic messages?
You have to believe in it. Open mind.
You spent eight years in Scientology. Why did you quit?
Well, they fight for too much money, and they want to control you.
Did you learn anything?
Oh yeah, I went clear first. That’s reaching a spiritual goal, so there’s nothing interfering. I didn’t know we were talking about Scientology in this interview.
Well, hasn’t it influenced your ideas about cur- ing cancer?
I’ve always been interested in science of mind. Your thoughts control your immune system. Your thoughts are your health. People get a lot of negative recordings and it shuts down the immune system, and that’s the real cause of cancer. Medicine has nothing to do with it. If I had got hold of Patrick Swayze, I would have knocked his cancer right out.
How?
I realized all the people who had cancer were troubled. They didn’t ventilate it. I knew if they talked about it over and over, it would dissolve. This is for whatever ails you. Now, my first victim in cancer was this girl. She could never get over her dad dying. We ran it. She’s crying like hell at first. Later she’s jovial, her demeanor’s changed. It’s recorded; I unrecord it. It’s that simple.
So you’re not impressed with traditional remedies, like chemotherapy?
My way, you laugh at the end, and you’re cured. Their way, you go bald, and you might die.
You had open-heart surgery last February—was that from carrying too much emotional baggage?
No, no, just being too rough on it over the years.
You’ve had some trauma in the past, too.
I’ve been hit by two cars and two streetcars in my days. When I was about 5, I got hit by a streetcar. I shot out of my body a block away and watched my body go boom, boom, boom to the curb.
Nothing seems to keep you down, though.
I was always into a good attitude. See, I can talk to a person and know how they were raised by their demeanor. They say spanking the babies is OK? That’s all negative recordings. It’s dangerous.
How were you raised?
My mom had seven kids. Dad was a shoemaker on Hamilton Avenue—we lived at 1028 Hamilton. He died when I was 4. So we all moved downstairs, and she rented the upstairs out. She worked at a restaurant counter. My brother worked at a bowling alley. As long as my mother was nice, nobody was mean to me. I went to St. Rose Grade School.
So you were Italian Catholic?
Yeah. Supposedly. Mercy High School for three years, then my football coach flunked me in summer school. Then I just went out on the streets. Worked at Bardenheier Wine Cellars, got fired. Started working in a couple restaurants.
What eventually settled you down—a little, at least?
I met my first wife at Sorrento’s. I got her pregnant—that’s what drew me! I was married 10 years. My thrill was getting single again and having fun.
You’ve been quite the ladies’ man, over the years…
Yeah. I had a few accidents. Seven kids, four mothers.
Would you marry again?
If I find the right girl I would. Just a gal that’s got some morals, that’s pleasant. Sane, very sane, like me. In my opinion.
You’re famous for lavishing affection on your little dogs; Central West End residents used to see you walking your Shih Tzus in Forest Park on long, long leads.
I’m down to a Lhasa apso and a Russian blue cat.
In the early ’90s, you bought a mansion on Lindell Boulevard. You had plans for a dance floor for your jitterbugging, a gallery for your busts and bronzes, and a pizza oven in your kitchen. Instead, you had to sell after losing $1.5 million on one of your restaurants. Do you wish you were living there now?
Nope. I wish I’d never bought it.
Someone once posted a 4 a.m. message on MySpace: “Love you more than Mike Talayna loves disco balls.” What is it with those disco balls?
See, I found out years ago that people are attracted to crystals and colors. So I flood them with crystals and colors, beveled walls and neon. And Christmas—people like that colorful scene. I just magnified it.
You’re good at creating atmosphere—how did you first go about it?
I wanted to be different. No one had all the art glass. I just showered it. Extreme. For example, I have a nightclub, I got 115 mirror balls. Guinness World Record, although they haven’t responded yet.
You testified against the smoking ban, saying it would be better “if St. Louis was known as the Freedom City instead.” How’s the ban playing out?
I don’t like it. It’s all right, though. Businesswise, it can hurt you. Not here, but at my nightclubs a little bit.
Is it true you don’t smoke or drink?
I might do a shot of sambuca once a week.
How many restaurants and clubs have you opened over the past 46 years?
Oh, 32 or 33 joints. About 26 too many. I’m on my fifth mirror neon place. [He offers a taste of his favorite pizza.] You don’t eat meat? [He sounds disappointed. A little while later, he brings me a small square of pizza.] I just want you to try this. [It’s meat.] It’s like candy. People come in, and they can’t get over it!
Which place was your favorite?
Jukebox Party Club on Page and Schuetz. We’d all dance. That was a fun place for me.
Was it hard to close your famous Talayna’s on Skinker Boulevard in 1998?
The building was getting old; there was no parking. Wash. U. bought it. Maybe I’m sorry I moved.
Where else do you go to eat pizza?
Truthfully, pizzas are weak all over. [He sloshes some dressing into a bowl, presents it with a flourish. Unsure, I dip my index finger.]
How do you make it?
I put it in a blender. It’s a secret recipe. It’s got an anchovy base. Parmesan. [He dips his finger, too.]
Was your mom a good cook?
Pretty good. No better than me.
For two years, you’ve been working on a restaurant in the old Reuben’s/Coco’s building in Frontenac.
Steaks, pasta, pizza. I want to create a mood where it’s just fun to be there.
What about Talayna’s on the Park?
I sold the DeBaliviere restaurant, closed the deal at the start of October.
Any special plans to amuse guests at the new place?
I’m bringing in Frank Sinatra’s out-of-wedlock daughter, Julie Sinatra. She wrote a book, Under My Skin. Found out she was Frank’s daughter when she was 53… She’s a folk-rock singer.
And you’ll be around, too.
All the time. But there’s no dance floor.
