Years ago, I packed up a small suitcase and headed off to New York, to pursue the elusive dream of becoming a stage actor.
As I jetted my way to NYC, a couple of passengers - aware that it was my first trip to the Big Apple - gave me the low-down on the ins-and-outs of the mean streets there.
Of course, they raved, I must saunter over to Studio 54!
The chic, bitchy couple excitedly gushed that it was the "in" place to be, provided passage was granted into the exalted confines of the trendy disco within.
Apparently, the stumbling block was a uneasily-bought doorman - with a keen eye - who gave potential party-goers a once over before making a snap decision as to whether to lift the red-tassled rope at the entrance to the club to admit.
How do I wangle my way in, then, I queried them?
"Just use a little psychology," they instructed. And, "you'll be in like Flynn", they mused.
For instance, they cautioned that I should not mince up to the line with a questioning look on my face, wondering if I'd get in.
"Act like you belong, there. That's the key," they noted, matter-of-fact.
So, after I was settled into my Hotel digs in a less-than ritzy part of town, I donned my most expensive knock-out ensemble - white linen slacks, silk shirt, and creme-colored sport jacket topped off with a white fedora slightly cocked to one side of my head - and headed off to meet my destiny.
I took the subway uptown - yeah, until I got situated - a budget was key.
But, at Times Square, I pulled a switcheroo.
Desperate times called for desperate measures, after all.
I hailed a cab, then gave instructions to the driver to cruise to a stop at the entrance to exclusive, Studio 54.
"Yes, sir," he responded curtly.
The chic watering hole ceremoniously opened at 254 West 54th Street in Manhattan in the early seventies.
As the hired car cruised up in front of the old theatre, which housed the popular night spot, I couldn't help but wince at the long line snaking on down the street.
From behind frosted glass, I spied about thirty lookie-looks - amid elegant faces of the trendy set - chomping at the bit to catch the doorman's discerning eye.
As I alighted from the cab, and steered my way toward the fray, I heard a strong masculine voice call out - "let that man through".
The bystanders parted like the great sea, as I strolled up to the gated area, with a swagger theretofore unbeknownst to me!
The doorman gave a little bow, released the gold-tipped cord, and let me pass.
"Tabernacle", a French-Canadian part-of-me uttered, as my heart leapt out of my chest.
On the exterior Club 54 was pretty serene and cool.
Inside, however, a frenetic beat stirred up an emotional storm; after all, a nightly primal ritual was underway.
Suddenly - I was thrust amid a host of effervescent gyrating fashionistas, half-naked men, and elegant sophisticated ladies (all tarted up) thriving on an adrenalin rush.
Was that Halston in the corner sipping on cocktail?
At the bar, I spied Grace Jones - all in black - eyeing me mysteriously from behind a thin black veil that sheathed her face and dipped down below her elegant chin.
Studio 54 was operated by the flamboyant - publicly visible Rubell - and a retiring silent partner. During the club's heyday, Rubell became widely known for hand selecting guests from the madding crowds outside and was prone to mix the delicious beautiful "nobodies" with glamorous celebrities in the same venue.
The illustrious manager was nowhere in sight on this occasion, but bound to put in a perfunctory appearance, yet.
As celebrated Jester of the day, he was inclined to hold court, wasn't he?
The theatre, itself, had quite a history.
Studio 54 originated as the Gallo Opera House in 1927, then later became known as the New Yorker Theatre in 1930, the Casino de Paris in 1933, the Palladium Theatre in 1936 and the Federal Music Theatre in 1937.
In 1937, the name was changed back to the New Yorker Theatre - until CBS purchased the facility in the 1950s - when the hot spot was summarily renamed Studio 52.
From the 1950s to the mid-1970s, CBS used the location as a radio and TV stage that aired the shows "Password", "To Tell the Truth", and "The Jack Benny Show" respectively.
The soap opera - "Love of Life" - was produced there until 1975.
In 1976, CBS concentrated most of its New York TV Broadcasts at the Ed Sullivan Theater (Studio 50) further west at the CBS Broadcast Center; so, Studio 52 was sold.
The Ed Sullivan Theater once had a pathway to Studio 54 through an access door which was summarily cinder-blocked during the Theater's David Letterman renovation days.
The building was purchased and renamed for its street address at 254 West 54th Street situated between Broadway and Eighth Avenue. The prominent location was highly visible due to other tenants in the building - two famed disco record labels - West End Records and Scepter.
Carmen D'Alessio, a former PR Agent, was initially retained by model - Uva Harden - to promote the club.
Later, D'Allessio nabbed nightclub owners Rubell & Schrager to head up the disco. Their own club - The Enchanted Garden - had met with considerable success, so they were sure-fire candidates to head up Studio 54.
D'Allessio was uniquely connected in the fashion, music and film scenes, and often hobnobbed with "A" list jet setters, movers and shakers, and celebrities throughout the free-world.
So, Rubell & Shrager gave D'Alessio much of the control for the design and promotion of the club.
For the opening, D'Alessio sent out 5,000 invitations to her very "closest friends", luring each one to the much-anticipated opening with the promise of enticing surprise gifts for those who attended.
Liz Smith, Cindy Adams and other New York gossip columnists reported on the much-ballyhooed opening - at which point, Studio 54 (the most notorious nightclub in history) was born.
At the glitzy, star-studded premier - Bianca Jagger, Brooke Shields, Cher, Margaux Hemingway, and Donald Trump - put in high-profile appearances.
Excited hordes outside scrambled to gain entry but only the lucky ones with connections, a dazzling outfit, or gorgeous face, made the cut.
Imagine that - Mick Jagger and Frank Sinatra - were turned away at the door!
I guess Mick was on-the-outs with Bianca on that occasion!
Shortly after the opening, D'Alessio hosted a birthday party for Bianca Jagger.
Jagger entered on a white horse and the resulting publicity firmly established Studio 54 as the preferred nightclub for New York celebrities including the likes of Halston, Elton John, Liza Minnelli, Truman Capote, Elizabeth Taylor, and Andy Warhol.
Unfortunately, the merry-making would not last forever; after all, there was a scandal brewing in the wings over rumors that scads of cash was allegedly stashed away at the club, complicated by gossip that door receipts were going unreported, illicit drugs were on the premises, and that the owners were bona fide tax evaders.
At the height of the hysteria, Federal agents grabbed Ian Schrager at the disco one morning, and found almost a million dollars hidden in the walls of the premises.
When Steve Rubell was stopped in his Mercedes, another hundred thousand dollars was found stashed in the trunk.
The raid was the story of the decade.
Although the FBI telephoned Andy Warhol as a potential witness (his staff slyly alleged he was out of the office) he escaped the long arm of the law.
Even still, he was unscathed.
In response to the drama, Warhol was alleged to have said,
"All scandals help business because there's no publicity like bad publicity."
In fact, his first reaction was to put Steve on the cover of Interview Magazine!
Indeed, Mr. Rubell was rushed into an elegant tux, photographed, and plastered on the February 1979 cover.
As the Studio 54 scandal hit the front pages of major dailies across the world, Steve Rubell was already cleverly conjuring up a defense.
For instance, he blabbed to everyone within earshot that the White House's "Chief of staff" - Hamilton Jordan - pestered him for cocaine on more than one occasion at Studio 54.
Warhol's response?
"I don't think Steve is a nice person."
Well, to Law Enforcement, he was a criminal - that's for sure.
He was charged, and booked, and served time over the whole fiasco.
Ah, but the memories!
