The Chickasha daily express. (Chickasha, Indian Territory [Okla.]) 1899-current, 1922-02-25

New York. Feb. 25.-A pretty wis
newspaper reporter with deyelope
thirst dlsembarked from Frencl
line boat the other day. returning L
Park Row, as the saying goes. afie
running around that vague clrcum
ference known as french diplomatic
circles" for years. He had hear,
ebout the prohibition that people
Joke so much about even over IN
Paris. but as everyone knew over
there. you can stlll get IL In New
York"
Well. distinguished international
journalist may be just as thirsty as
the. rest Of us or may yearn just as
eagerly TO be jostled between fat,
agitated couples on a dance floor.
And when the sun went out and the
lights came on along Broadway there
was the returned wanderer, who
used TO have credit acquaintance
with every reputable bartender from
Herald Square TO the Fifties. slap
ping down his puppies in cheer
less, aimless, seemingly hopeless
pilgrimage to the deserted shrines
OF his happier years.
The Knickerbocker bar. where Old
King Coles painting made merry
background for really brilliant con.
versation in the days before the
war-that was not to be found. The
Astor bar where cocktail hour was
rite-he couldn't find that. and
to make bad situation worse, hq
couldn't even find the place where
1t stood Wallick's hotel had gone
the way OF the Knckerbocker.
SO the poor fellow sighed into a
yellow cab and left call with the
porter: "Throw me off at Park
Row, right side up and use no hooks /.
I'm not people, I'm baggage. | used
to be live one on Broadway, fella,
but | reckon I'm a mummy now. |
They wont make me pay rent in
this town any more. They'll call Il
storage. Giddap, James. and don't
spare the Goodyear Cords."
Fifteen minutes afterward he dis
embarked at newspaper office and
applied to the city editor for job
covering the morgue at night, fail
ing which he hunted up broadway
reporter of his old acquaintance
and these words he did say:
"They tell me the town is dead
That's exclusive and you can scoop
the world on it,
Being Broadway man the old
acquaintance held a sort of pilots
license to sail the unchartered night
ways OF New York and when they
arrived up town again they deserted
Broadway for the side streets. And
seated in what was formerly the
basement kitchen of a brownstone
once the home of society
dowager, over moderately big rye1
bighballs, they compared notes.
"The stuff is here and the life is
here said the New Yorker WHO !
hadn't been away, "but you've got
to know where to look for it. But
you're reasonably safe in ringing
the bell at almost any brownstone
house between Fortieth street and
Fiftyfifth, for many of them are
joints of one kind or another since
prohibition came along. The police
come in and out all night long and
have their drinks and pick up the
sugar for the sergeant, who appar-
emily passes it ON upstairs to his
boss. A highball is dollar but you
have been paying from 16 to 20
francs for the same thing over in
Paris but there's no kick on the
price,"
This is one phase Of the new night
life in New York In these base
Inent resorts established in the old
the trade doesn't really
begin until two in the morning, but
from that hour on until six and,
until the next noon, the
Joy, If unrefined, is energetic enough
o satisfy even regular rounder.
Tie surest way to identify live"
lace is to pick one that seems al
most thoroughly dead, house with
lirty windows, with old theatrical
how bills hanging in the windows.
rhe ash can at the curb is a good I
men, for, If it doesn't improve the ;
spect of the place, it may be taken /
s q signal that the house is in I
affiliated by bootlegger, because
obody else would live behind the |
utward evidences of such utter d. '
apidation. The dead front" is Just {
STALL IL
Such resorts have revived an evil 0