Life — October 19, 1928 — page 8: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ALONG THE MAIN STEM Dear Pat Wittarp: T'll wager that you have been pitying us back here along Broadway be- cause of the recent raids in “Heartacre Square.” But, Willard, save our tears and act your age. By this time Ars. Willebrandt is doing the weeping, or if she isn’t, she should be, because it is so humiliating—for her. You remem- ber the way the Prohibition boys tore up and down the old Stem with their little hatchets and smashed in doors? Or tried to frighten the night clubbers by yelling “Boo!""? Imagine tying to impress a bunch who are invariably as stewed as a Sunday morning prune! Well, that’s what they tried to do and while they closed up a few joints which close in the summer anyway, the same dives are going at full blast again; alleged champagne still ddles at $25 per quart and chow mein 1s being retailed at a buck and a hawf. It certainly is a swell farce for all of us ginnocent bystanders. The Furnace on 52nd Street, which de- scribes itself as “The Hottest Place in Town,” is open again and it still is pretty torrid. The sepia- shaded syncopators supply swell strains that soothe savages and you should hear that blazing band lay “St. Louis lues,” which, you know, is my idea of the national anthem. Oh, Willard, it’s grand, particularly when you are That Way over some femme or if you have gone That Way over some whoopee soup. When you're sober, I imagine, it gets on your nerves, but I wouldn’t know about that. The Mirador, once one of the Grade A places in town, has switched to a different management. The boys who own the Silver Slipper and the Frivolity Clubs (where the gals pose in the lewd) are the new sponsors of the Mirador and it has taken off its tall millinery. You may now frequent it and feel at home, with- out worrying about Miss Park Avenou- veau-Riche playing her lorgnette on you as if to say: “How did you get in here?” by Walter Winchell or having the stiffs in uniforms at the door giving you that Dirty Look. The show is oke and the tariff is within reach of people who can afford the lower-rate taxicabs, so tell your New York-bound friends, The Lido, however, still is fancy. You've got to dress up in the old con- sommé and herring if you want the best service, but if you manage to crash the gate, you simply must have What It Takes, which is slanguage for “It,” Sex- Appeal or Mazuma. It’s great for the car- riage trade, however, but not for Will Rogers, who was once criticized by them for saying “ain't.” To which bit of high- hatting Mr. Rogers is supposed to have chirped: “Yeah? I notice a lotta people who ain’t sayin’ ain't—ain’t eatin’!” Barney's in Greenitch Villitch has re. opened and how! Peewee Hale Byers and his crew of instrumentalists give in til] it hurts, and Walter O'Keefe officiates as master of ceremonies. His pithy remaris and pungent cracks amuse the intelli. gentsia, so he must be hot. The Chiteay- Madrid, with an open roof, on 54th Street, is still packing them in. Jack White is the clown up there and his future is bright, according tothe “wise mob,” which includes the local producers and man. agers. He rates a break in a show, Willard. He's plenty comical, But the Stem is breathless over an other whoopee parlor now being fashioned, The owners of The Furnace are plotting it and intend to name it “The Lion's Den,” with a sub-title as follows: “The Wildest Place in Town,” and we stay-up lates are panting for something different, which that joint promises to be. It can’t get any dizzier around here, old pal Most of us are on a merry-go-round, any- “Three more raccoons, Jake, and I'll be able to send the boy to college.”