This past weekend, I buried my friend Fred. The services were full of what I'm calling my foul weather friends -- the ones I only see at funerals. Anyway, I didn't have much time to dig around in the dirt for something for you, but my pal Michael Blatter from Mirrorball showed me the following article while we had lunch at Soho House (by the way, it's been a few since I visited Soho House, and it was only one lunch, but it was really comfy). After the jump, a noteworthy New York Times article from February 24, 1935, celebrating the resurgence of nightlife during the last Depression. It's by "Bosley Crowther." No, really.

NEW YORK'S NIGHTLIFE BURGEONS AGAIN

After Its Blighting in The Dry Era It Gives Promise of A Reflowering

By Bosley Crowther

. . .

There can be no doubt about it. Under the sable curtain drawn at the close of each day, New York is definitely beholding a return of that mass congregation in theatres, cabarets and other places where the lamps burn bright and long, which goes by the name of night life. Stirring like a phoenix in the cooling ashes of prohibition era and the embers of economic depression, the human urge for nocturnal pastime is once more beating its wings, and the lights of the Great White Way are twinkling their happy response.

In the fourteen months that have passed since repeal, Broadway has beheld the blossoming forth of an assortment of lavish resorts that would put in the shade the most luxurious haunts of an Oriental potentate. The hotels have rolled out carpets leading to handsomely designed bars and grills, where an orchestra invariably plays and a table-singing cutie, at least, extols the virtues of cocktails for two. And the darkly shadowed side streets to the east and west of Fifth Avenue, where it bisects the flaming Fifties, are flecked by the friendly glow that spills from the open doorways of intimate “clubs,” no longer forced to hide their lights under the opprobrious name of “speakeasy.”

New York has always been a city for the nocturnal gadabout and the attractions offered today—or, just to be literal, tonight—are no less elaborate than they have been in years gone by. The theatre, of course, is still with us- a little bit battered, perhaps, by the competition of motion pictures and radio presentations-but with us, nevertheless. The radio presentations, indeed, are drawing remarkable crowds to New York’s first amusement street, and the steady pull of the movies is a matter too familiar for comment. But the night clubs and restaurants, to which the after-theatre crowds gravitate, are the ultimate centers of life which thrives upon midnight oil.

To be sure there is a difference- and a big one, the old-timers will say- between the rhythm and flavor of night life in New York now and twenty or thirty years ago. Prohibition brought into play an influence that has not yet been completely dislodged. One should not need be reminded that the free and liberal flow of spirits is as essential to the promotion of night life as it is to the flavoring of plum pudding, and when the character of the flow was altered by the dry law the complexion of the whole scene was changed. But for sheer opulence and variety it is doubtful if at any time in the history of New York there have been richer opportunities for comparatively cheap and satisfying diversion after dark than now.

Before the World War and its successor the Volstead Act there was an honest gusto to be felt in the crowds that gathered in the brighter nocturnal rendezvous. Those were the happy days (and nights), say the venerable toffs- those old days when the century was young and New York was really Babylon on the Hudson! When a champagne-and –lobster supper at Delmonico’s or Rector’s was a blow-out fit for a swell; when the gamblers, jockeys and sports kept the taps open all night at the Metropole, the Hoffman House or Jack’s; when the dining , dancing and gambling establishment of Dick Canfield was as accessible to the right people as the Times Square subway station and a tuxedoed stag at eve had only to rap the silver head of his cane upon a door to gain admittance to any one of a hundred gay resorts- those were the blessed years when night life had color and flair!

Or even later- when there was a craze for tango and everybody was doing it on the dance floors of all the restaurants- champagne was still champagne and nothing had happened to make any one suspect that it mightn’t be. It was shortly before Europe went to war that the modern cabaret floor show came into vogue in New York and many of the larger places- Reisenweber’s, Murray’s, Shanley’s and Healy’s Golden Glades- installed the type of entertainment which has become the accredited thing today.

. . .

And then came prohibition. The effect upon the old and established roosts of the habitual or occasional night owls is familiar. They were forced, with few exceptions, to fold up. Some of the old time proprietors, who had run their legitimate business with an eye to pleasing their customers, took the keys of their darkened establishments and tossed them into the river, feeling, as they did so, a strong inclination to follow.

In place of the bright, open oases, with their long bars and gleaming tables, there appeared in all corners of the city the resorts known as “speakeasies.” These offspring of an ineffectual law, with their peep-hole doorways and grimly villainous watchmen, became the popular centers of night life. Into and out of them swarmed the crowds going to and from the theatres. College boys in the city on a “bender” and innocent, wide-eyed girls who were the beneficiaries alike of careful upbringing and post-war “emancipation,” gulped down the poisonous liquor, rubbed elbows with thugs and got their first glimpse of Life through the haze of badly ventilated dens.

There were, to be sure, many “speaks” that were as handsomely and ingeniously decorated as any of the “clubs” today. The more popular ones were the haunts of different sets- society, the theatre crowd, college men, sports and gamblers and such- and barred their doors to all but the cognoscenti, more for the sake of safety than any social exclusiveness. In all of them the prices were outlandish and not one of them was free from a furtive, evasive atmosphere.

On or near to Broadway there were, as formerly, larger places that catered to the dine-and-dance crowds with more or less elaborate floor shows and a sort of luncheon-club spirit. The smaller cabarets on the side streets went gunning for the after-theatre owls and usually offered first-class entertainment. Although the larger resorts vended no liquor, they were prompt with the ginger ale and soda to be mixed with the contents of flasks cautiously removed from hip pockets. In the smaller places-well, it depended on your face and the size of your bankroll. No one seemed to mind; indeed, the late Texas Guinan rather made the grinning “sucker” feel the singular privilege that was his. Under the beneficence of an illusory prosperity, the human animal became a rather hopeless case. Then came the crash.

. . .

Today the scene is very different. The furtive aspect of night life has been pretty well dissipated; prices have been considerably reduced as the result of legal competition. The same shady element that profited by prohibition is still hanging grimly to some spots and in these the patron is still looked upon as something of a sucker, after all. But he certainly gets more for his money-even though the labels maybe faked.

The most significant evidences of night life’s return to grace are the large theatre-restaurants that have been opened in the Broadway area within the past eight months. Although they mat still have the superficial aspect of exposition facades, not quite sure of their permanence, there can be no doubt that real money has been spent upon them and real money has been the harvest they have reaped.

Theatres that formerly stood as white elephants upon their owners’ hands have been completely renovated and redecorated, seats have been pulled out and terraced rows of tables have been made to rise back from the stages on the main floors and in the balconies. The stages themselves have been extended and slicked for dancing and elaborate bars have bee set up in lobbies. Without exception, these new places reflect the popular demand for something just a bit bigger and more ornate than anything that has gone before.

The shows they put on- both at dinner and after-theatre hours- are elaborately planned. No impromptu entertainments, these! The parades of headline vaudeville acts, eye filling troops of show girls and precisely trained chorus groups are set to the pattern of musical revue and compare favorably with some of the best that legitimate theatre has to offer. One of the newest of the places ahs skimmed its talent from the bream of Continental musical halls and cabarets and has gone in for a Parisian motif that outdoes the wildest extravagances of Maxim’s or the Moulin Rouge.

Acting on the reasonable assumption that the public can be won with lower prices, these places have managed to operate at comparatively insignificant cost to the individual patron. Unless one is particularly thirst and fastidious in taste, a $10 bill can be made to feed and moisten a couple on an ordinary night. At that rate, the proprietors manage to fill their vast spaces with a varied assortment of customers- suburbanites in the city for a gay but well-budgeted evening; swells in tall coats; twittering sight –seers from the South and Middle West; visiting firemen in town for a bibulous convention, theatre folk and all the other fry that bright lights invariably allure.

. . .

A long Broadway, too, there are still the larger cabarets- vast, low-ceilinged rooms with crowded tables pushing themselves against a shining dance floor upon which, at intervals during the evening, a cascade of noisy baby-dolls will debouch and a clattering, informal show will go on. These places, with their table-d’hôte dinners and special rates to parties, continue as in prohibition days to draw their patrons from the “white collar” and professional groups that delight in the banter of masters of ceremonies.

Somewhat removed from Broadway, in spirit if not in miles, are the so-called “class” spots- the glittering resorts that cater to the “carriage trade,” where evening dress is “compulsory” and lorgnettes flash like sabers in a cavalry charge. Whether modestly retired behind a stretching canopy and liveried doormen, concealed in a Central Park grove or hung upon the cheek of night atop some towering skyscraper like “a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ears,” they breathe of tone and quality. There the vintage of the wine is more carefully regarded than the price, crepes suzette are more frequently ordered than three-decker sandwiches-and a “cover charge” is smilingly slapped at the foot of the supper check.

Entertainment in these swankier places does not run to profligacy. Quality, not quantity, is the watchword. Perhaps a favorite musical comedy performer, who sings slightly risqué songs and pretends to be somebody else; a suave dance team or a magician and a band with an esoteric rhythm, will make up the evening’s program.

Just this Winter there has been a heavy influx of moderately talented debutantes and other young women of social position as regular entertainers in some of the smaller “swank” clubs. The reason is obvious. They attract their friends (who pay) and give to the place an even more intimate, “our-set” sort of atmosphere.

In other years the hotels and taverns were focal points for the gathering of particular groups; the setup is different since repeal. In competition with the regular night clubs and cabarets, the hotels have installed their own bars and advertised their supper rooms and grills as the popular resorts of any and all who seek midnight refreshment.

And yet, in spite of the apparent revival of night life around New York, there are many proprietors today who will tell you that it’s not what it should be- and certainly not what they had expected. The public-the big public, that is- hasn’t yet got enough money to spend on amusements. The evidences of revival are to be seen and the preparations have all been made. But the full play is yet to be acted. So they say.