We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
By being a hipster-free zone, a quiet, dark, cozy bar filled with sofas where people behave and dress nicely, it had become one of my favorite retreats from the NYC streets. It has been almost like belonging to a fancy NY club, or a real speak-easy down to the gal at the door deciding whether you were appropriate for the place. Cool.
I am skeptical that one more trendy bar scene will support the $1 million/year rent on this little place, but who knows?
As for me, I avoid the glitzy and the trendy. The Apartment, as it will remain for a final month:
“We have a lot of athletes or musicians or celebrities who come into our places — what are you going to do, tell them we don’t want you in because you’re wearing a denim jacket?”
Yes. Absolutely. Why not? Why should athletes, musicians (by which I presume he means rock or rap musicians, as jazz or classical musicians would be meet the dress code in their performance attire) or celebrities be treated differently than anyone else?
I bartended at an old classy restaurant-lounge in North Oakland-Pittsburgh in the 90's. Not quite as interesting a space as the apartment, but lots of well-dressed old timers and Pittsburgh high-rollers would come in. Heard lots of stories about Danny Murtaugh and Billy Eckstine etc while I served Rob Roys and Martinis - real martinis. A live piano player on weekends with customers singing jazz standards. And some of them could really sing too.
It's not there anymore. I think a trendy farm-to-table thing is in the space now.
And so the sad and futile ritual will commence. The place will be fondly recalled and "rediscovered;" the attempt will be made to "re-create" or "reconstitute" it. Sure. Like yesterday's cloud flecked sunset. "Look in my face. My name is Might-Have-Been. I am also called No More, Too Late, Farewell..."
Ralph Kinney Bennett