The All-Stars of Nightlife Doors

Kind words will unlock an iron door. -- Turkish proverb

Yesterday I interviewed GoldBar doorman Jon Lennon and got the usual calls, texts, tweets, e-mails, blog comments and Facebook chatter about who is the best doorman ever and stuff like that. This all happened while I was trying to watch baseball's All-Star Game and the coverage of all-star President Barack Obama chatting up the greatest living all-star ball player, Willie Mays. Mark Benecke was the gatekeeper of the greatest club of all time, Studio 54. That made him, at one point, almost as important as Mayor Ed Koch. Yet, my memory of Studio had Steve Rubell picking and choosing until he went inside to chat up a Liz Taylor or a Truman Capote. When I worked for Steve, he insisted that the door defined the night, and each night redefined the club. Bad nights were not allowed, and irrelevant people were not admitted. I would watch for hours as Steve and Mark did their thing, and it inadvertently taught me the biz. Seeing the orchestration of the mix and how celebrities were ushered in -- sometimes carried in -- was my nightly entertainment.

I never went inside Studio 54 in its heyday, although Steve usually asked me. I weighed 135 pounds, wore ripped jeans and a Ramones T-shirt, and always ended up at Max’s Kansas City or some other downtown rock hole in the wall. Later on, when Steve hired me to run his Palladium, we talked about how people would yell at me for refusing to go inside. For them it was life and death. For me, Studio was the uptown world, and I lived in a downtown universe. It seemed unbelievable that Steve remembered me from the door. He had a doorman’s memory for a face. He taught me that you will never remember their names, but remember their face, their attitude, and their value—all these things could develop over time. Mark Benecke never picked me. For him, my look was not “Studio worthy.” I’ve met him a few times since, and all my friends who know him think he’s grand, but I didn’t make the cut back then. Each door maestro has his own criteria.

A door all-star is good at balancing the aesthetics of the club with the bottom line. Anyone in fashion or clubdom can pick 80 percent of the people who get in. It’s that last 20 percent that keeps you in business. You have to know everybody or you will turn away a VIP, and they come from all sorts of angles. There are celebs of course, but also artists, sports heroes, CEOs, fashionistas, writers, politicians, and so many others who are in their own worlds VIPs. What is missing in most clubs these days is the mixing of crowds from many walks of life. What I see when I go out is mostly like-minded people hanging where they think they should be. The doormen have for the most part been eviscerated. They could do a better job of mixing. They are people with broad life experiences, but the current club scene lacks the mix, and they have been relegated to a job of recognizing invitees and hot people or marketing bottles to schlubs they wouldn’t want to know. Many wear gloves. A doorman gets paid to let the right people in. They must have strong personalities to say no to strong personalities. They also must educate those turned away because it is very common for that person to redefine themselves and make the cut. I am constantly told by club owners (often while they are hiring me to design their space) that I didn’t let them in someplace back in the day. Most doormen, although accused otherwise, have a great amount of compassion and love for people. They are doing a job. Of course, there are some who think they are curing cancer .

In my experience (besides Mark, who didn’t think skinny rockers with ripped jeans would “add to the mix") my door all-stars are Wass, Kenny Kenny, Kitty Boots, Howie Montaug, Sally Randall, King, Irv Johnson, Hattie Hathaway, Richard Boch, Thomas, and myself. I was a solid door man. Rubell put me at the door of the Palladium even though I was its director. Most doormen are pursuing far more important careers while adding their considerable charms to the purpose. The good ones are good listeners and can be convinced if the person “brings it right.” Respect is a serious word at club doors, and it is a door that swings both ways.

I was at the door of every club I ever ran. It’s the place you need to be. It’s the place serious owners put a person who they can trust guarding their multimillion-dollar investment. Today’s crop are sharp and worldly. Angelo, Stefan, Binn, Ross, Genc, Alexx, Rich, Marcus, Matt, Ruben, Jon, Timothy, Frans, Sherry, Megan, Damien, and so many others bring professionalism and intelligence to their gateways. The times dictate a gathering of like-minded souls, so they are like Ferraris running in third gear.

A long time ago in a galaxy far far away, I tried to get into the VIP room of the Mudd Club. I was denied by her highness Chi Chi Valenti, but I was determined to gain entry, as it was for me akin to reaching nirvana. I thought it would be the answer to all my aspirations and prayers; I tried Armani, I tried Fiorucci, I tried everything to no avail. Then I stopped trying and just watched who got in and what they were wearing and how they approached her. A few weeks later, I showed up in my Benecke favorite: ripped jeans, Ramones shirt, and biker jacket. I bowed my head slightly with a polite smile and presented her with the most perfect rose. She welcomed me. I was never denied entry anywhere again. My club career started with her opening up those VIP ropes. So now you know who to blame—my dear friend and teacher, Chi Chi Valenti; all heart, all style, all-knowing, all-star.