The restaurant was named after him.

The decor was based on his famous suits.

The drink-list was fashioned after many of his more popular “sayings.”

I was a waiter there.

He hated me. Treated me like something he stepped in.

One Sunday night, he came in looking for autograph seekers. There were none that night. I told him I was thinking of closing the kitchen. Would he care for some food to take home?

“I’ll have chicken,” he said without looking at me.

There were two chicken dishes on the menu. I asked him which one he preferred.

“I’ll have the chicken,” he said.

I understood his confusion. He was preoccupied: there was a picture of himself on one of the 60 television sets.

I decided to order the Grilled Chicken for him. It was safe.

“Would you care for some mashed potatoes or creamed spinach with your chicken?”

“No…just chicken.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Oh, and I want something else.”

“Yes?”

“I want some chicken.”

His last line gave me pause, because I couldn’t believe what I had just heard.

“Um…you want chicken with your chicken?”

“Yes.”

“And nothing else?”

“Nope. I don’t want any of that other stuff you mentioned. It has bad stuff in it.”

“Potatoes and spinach have bad stuff in them?”

“Yes. Bad stuff.”

I ordered two grilled chicken breasts, asked the chef to toss in an order of Mashed Potatoes and a double order of Creamed Spinach.

I gave it to him. He took it and left without saying another word.

The next day I was fired.

Go Knicks!!