Silver Lining of Bill's Gay 90s Renovation

Loath as we are to admit it, there is a slight silver lining to the old Bill's Gay 90s space's recent transformation into the fancier Bill's Food & Drink. As you may recall, when the former owner's lease was not renewed earlier this year, she took all the historical artifacts inside the bar with her—posters, pictures, even the joint's two old bars. All gone. The new owners had no choice but to recreate an oldish-looking interior. But, in restoring the anteroom outside the bar, they uncovered an old mural that had been hidden for decades. Apparently the mural was revealed when the original owners were taking down the pictures that hung there; not even they knew it was there. It's a collection of whimsical ads for liquor brands, painted as if they were posted on a brick wall somewhere. Based on the brands featured—Ballantines, Ambassadors—it probably dates from the 1930s and 1940s, when those whiskeys were more popular. The slogans ("A Sure Hangover") poke fun at the liquors.

Bill's Space Lost Artifacts Battle

The New York Times confirmed some details in the sad saga of Bill's Gay 90s, the wonderful old 1920s New York saloon that was cashiered earlier this year when its landlord wouldn't renew its lease. One: high-end restauranteur John DeLucie is taking over the place. Two: DeLucie didn't get to keep all the atmospheric antiques that lined the walls; those went with the former owner. 

Said DeLucie: "We’re thrilled with what we’ve gotten and we’re even finding more cool stuff. And we plan this to be more of a restoration than a renovation to keep the spirit of the place." He added that all his restaurants are "places that have history." 

I think he meant "had."

Bill's Gay 90s Is Gutted

I walked by Bill's Gay 90s saloon on E. 54 Street yesterday, for the first time since the Prohibition-era tavern closed last March, and found it gutted.

One of the windows looking into the second-floor dining room was papered over, but the other one was wide open. (There was work going on inside, but I didn't see any workers. I could only hear them.)  One could easily see that the walls, which were once covered with framed theatrical posters from the 1890s and 1900s, and other artifacts of Olde New York, has been stripped bare.

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The Secrets of Bill's Gay Nineties

Bill's Gay Nineties closes on Saturday, March 24, possibly forever. The owners are talking about finding a new space, and they may. But regardless, it will never be the same. The bar has been in the same 1850s townhouse since opening during Prohibition. It's an irreplaceable setting for this diamond.

I'm not certain that New Yorkers realize exactly what they're losing. Yes, a former speakeasy with peerless dark-wood atmosphere and decor and a world-class collection of old theatrical and boxing memorabilia. (The owners are taking all that with them, so the restaurant that moves in will look nothing like Bill's.) We all know that. An unmatchable Old New York atmosphere. That, too. And staff who have been doing the same job at the same place for anywhere from 10 to 60 years. Ditto.

But Bill's has other hidden values, which will disappear come Sunday. Old places like this tend to, over the years, end up with pieces from other old places, ones that disappeared long ago. Take the swinging doors that lead into the basement bar. I've always admired them. But they struck me as being too ornate and fine, even for a class joint like Bill's. They seemed more 1890s than 1920s.

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Bill's Gay Nineties to Close March 24

As first reported here on Feb. 10, Bill's Gay Nineties, the irreplaceable speakeasy-era bar on E. 54th Street, is closing. It is being pushed out by its landlord, Noel Tynan (who seems to live in Ireland, and therefore understands a great deal about the needs and desires of New Yorkers). Tynan reportedly refused to negotiate with Bill's owner, Barbara Bart Olmsted. The final day on Earth for Bill's will by March 24, confirmed the New York Times.

The article tells us a few interesting facts about the place—which make it all the harder to part with it:

*Greeter Aldo Leone, 88, is a close relative to the famed restaurateur Mama Leone!

*A false brick wall in the basement still opens to a secret room where liquor was kept during Prohibition.

The article said, "There has been talk that John DeLucie, a chef and owner of trendy restaurants like the Lion and Crown, may take over the spot, but details have not been confirmed."

It's happening. Believe me.

There have also been reports that Oldsted is going to take with her not only all the pictures on the walls, but the swinging bars and the bar itself. After they are gone, whatever DeLucie comes up with certainly won't bear any relationship to the old Bill's. 

Bill's Gay Nineties Sold?

Late last year, this site and others reported that the fate of Bill's Gay Nineties was in limbo, that the old former speakeasy and beloved Midtown bar had declared bankrupcy and was in dispute with its landlord, and that restauranteur John DeLucie (Crown, The Lion) was eyeing the spot.

There has been no official announcement from either the Bill's or DeLucie camps, but it does seem a changing of the guard is in the wind on W. 54th Street. A few days back, I heard from a friend with intimate knowledge of the matter that it is in fact a done deal: the building has been sold, and DeLucie will inherit the reins. That news was quickly followed by a message from a Lost City reader:

I am sad to report (you might know this), but it is now confirmed that the building housing Bill's has been sold and they intend to remodel the place. The owner is looking for places to move, but we all know how that works out. It doesn't.

I am told the DeLucie plans to respect the space and its classic interior. Not that that makes the shift any easier to take.

The final closing may not happen for weeks or months, said the reader. In the meantime, I encourage all New Yorkers to enjoy this classic bar and crowd it with life and money every single night. It would be nice if its exit dragged on a year. Apparently, Bill's longtime greeter, Aldo Leone, has been working at the bar for 49 years. He's one year from celebrating a half century at the place.

Bill's Gay Nineties Dilemma Grows Murkier

Alarmed by the rumors swirling around the classic Manhattan bar Bill's Gay Nineties, I paid a call on the former speakeasy to raise a glass, stare at the old boxing posters and theatrical bills and see what I could learn. The blue-blazered swells around me were swilling their Cutty and waters and dirty Martinis as if nothing were amiss. Very likely, they had not read the reports in the New York Post and Crain's that Bill's had declared bankruptcy and was being courted by the oily downtown scene-meister John DeLucie (The Lion, Waverly Inn, etc.)

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More Sad Bill's Gay Nineties News

This article in Crain's may explain the upsetting recent news that a snazzy local restauranteur John DeLucie has been talking to the owners of the former midtown speakeasy Bill's Gay Nineties about renovating and taking over the W. 54th Street saloon: 

One of the city's oldest restaurants, Bill's Gay Nineties, has filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection.

The Prohibition-era establishment, located in a five-story townhouse at 57 E. 54th St., has been unable to negotiate a lease extension with the building's landlord, according to the filing.

Its owner, Barbara Olmsted, wrote in the filing that she still hopes to reach an agreement with the landlord or to move the business to a nearby location.

Ms. Olmstead owes just $40,000 in back rent. The business' other debts are relatively small, as well. The estimated total liabilities are between $100,000 and $500,000.

“It looks like it's a straight-up landlord dispute, in which the tenant is trying to buy more time” said bankruptcy attorney Fred Stevens, a partner of Klestadt & Winters.

The filing also blames the bankruptcy on the recession and “the difficult climate facing New York restaurants.”

Ms. Olmsted did not return several phone calls nor did her attorney, Lawrence Morrison. Her father, O.B. Bart bought Bill's Gay Nineties in 1965 and she took over the business in 1979. The Bart family is only the second owner of the speakeasy, once a watering hole for some of Hollywood's most famous names including Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe.

This news came as a surprise to me. I always assumed Bill's owned the building and that was one of the reasons it had stayed in business for so long.

Can New York's Restaurant Swells Please Keep Their Glitter-Stained Hands Off the City's Landmarks?

First Graydon Carter souped up the legendary Waverly Inn and the Monkey Bar. Then Gabe Stulhman fancified  the Village icon Fedora. And Torrisi Italian Specialties, is threatening to take over Rocco's, the old Village Italian standby. Now this:

Former Waverly Inn chef John DeLucie is opening a new front in the restaurant war with his former boss Graydon Carter. The team behind clubby eateries Crown and The Lion — Mark Amadei, Sean Largotta and DeLucie — is in talks to take over 1920s speakeasy Bill’s Gay ’90s right across the street from Monkey Bar, co-owned by Carter. If the deal goes through for the East 54th Street townhouse, they hope to reopen it by the spring. Sources say they plan to re-create the old-time feel of the original bar with a first-floor tavern and several private rooms. Carter was partners with DeLucie at Waverly Inn until he left last year to open The Lion. A Crown rep had no comment.

Here's a news flash to Mr. DeLucie: Bill's already has an old-time feel. Don't fuck it up with your vile whoring-after-the-1%, faux-authentic sensibilities. This is not your element. You have no idea what a real New York tavern is. So: Back. The. Hell. Away. From. Bill's.

Bill Makes Good Grub

I've had many a drink in the small, dark-wood bar of Bill's Gay Nineties restaurant (called the Silver Dollar Bar0, the unsung, old-school former speakeasy on E. 54th Street. But I've never eaten there. Few patrons know there's a second floor. I do, but every time I've peeked up there it's been desolate, the many tables and chairs unoccupied. I figured the food must not be such great shakes.

But, not trying is not knowing, so last night I sat down for dinner with a good friend among the countless framed playbills and posters of long-forgotten plays and attractions from the first years of Broadway. (The days before plays were meant to last.) A photograph of Maude Adams, the original Peter Pan, hung above my friend's head. Further up was a poster for a play called "Fine Feathers," ballyhooed as "the finest written play in our day." Never heard of it. Sarah Bernhardt, Ada Rehan, Edward Harrigan, Al Jolson, Mrs. Fiske and Tony Pastor looked down on us from other walls, all seeming to whisper "Sic transit gloria."

Our waiter was one of the oddest birds I've ever encountered. Slight, blonde, of indeterminate age and with an indeterminate accent, like those Hollywood contract players from the '30s who were perpetually playing "foreign." He could have been seated at the bar at Rick's in "Casablanca," waiting for a letter of transport.

The menu was short, with the usual assortment of meat and seafood favorites typical of chop houses of yesteryear. I had the Maryland Crab Cakes, my friend the Sesame Crusted Tuna. And both were quite fine! I had expected some circular hockey pucks made of crab, but my cakes were fresh and light and presented with care. The green beans were crisp and the side of remoulade sauce was a nice touch.

We had the hall all to ourselves from 6:30 to 7:30 PM. Bill's customers who choose to eat seem to prefer the cozy downstairs bar. But if you like privacy, while keeping company with the faded stars of the Rialto, head upstairs. There's also an upright piano. No idea if, or when, it's played.

After returning home, I turned up a little history about Bill's and discovered that in the 1930s, there was a notorious altercation between a Bill's doorman and famous journalist-screenwriter Adela Rogers St. John and her party, in which blood was spilled. Charges were eventually dropped on both sides, with the presided judge closing the trial with this self-penned verse:

There comes a night when we all get tight
And we drink queer drinks and we think queer thinks
And the world seems full of skating rinks.
Nobody cares if you fall downstairs
And nobody cares if the landlord swears.

Wooden Phone Booth Sighting: Bill Gay Nineties

Bill's Gay Nineties, the relatively unsung former speakeasy that dwells in its own world on E. 54th Street, has facilities on hand for the cell-phone unfriendly. This phone booth is set into the wall, just to the left as you walk down a few steps and enter the hall that leads to the bar. There's a seat inside and the light switches on as you close the door. An old Bell Telephone sign is posted above the door. It would be interesting to see how many calls are clocked on this thing a month. Lots? None?



Wooden Phone Booth Sighting: Gino's
What About Bill?

What About Bill?

What doesn't Bill's Gay Nineties have that "21," Pete's Tavern, Chumley's and P.J. Clarke's and other classic Manhattan steak and ale places have?

While places like McSorley's and the Old Town Tavern get their dark wood and nostalgic ambiance sung in glorious write-ups nearly every year, Bill's sojourns on in relatively anonymity in its East 54th Street space, where it has been located since the 1920s, when it was a speakeasy. It's not even reviewed in Zagat's or mentioned in the guide's list of "Historic Places."

I suspect my attitude toward the place (which changed only last week) mirrored that of other citizens. Though I've passed by the address time and again over the past decade and eyed it with curiosity—the basement entrance, the iron jockeys—I never went it. Not having seen it extolled in the papers or guide books, I suspected it was a fake of some sort, perhaps a 20-year-old dive pretending to be a 100-year-old institution. That it never seemed to be crowded only strengthened my suspicions.

Last week, I walked through the door to find out the truth. A genuine, old wooden phone booth (working!) was at the left as you walked in. A long wooden coat wrack lined the left hand side of the front hall. Bill's name is spelled out in old coins on the floor. Actual swinging doors, adorned with stained glass, lead to the bar room which, like all these old places, is remarkably compact and snug. The atmosphere was quiet and sedate—a few regulars, the bartender unperturbed. The walls immediately provoked my interest, covered as they were with engravings of old prize fighters: Jack Dempsey, Jim Jeffries, Gene Tunney. I was halfway through A.J. Liebling's classic book of boxing essays, "The Sweet Science," and my mind was filled with ring-sing accounts. The bartender looked at the image on the cover—Sugar Ray Robinson slugging it out with Jack LaMotta—and said, "Isn't that that photo on the wall?" I turned around. Sure enough: a photo from the same fight was framed and hanging behind me.

The bartender told me the place is owned by Barbara Bart, the daughter of the previous owner and only the third person to own the place since its founding. He also told me they didn't own the building (ouch!). A piano player comes in every night at 8 PM. The second floor is the main dining area: fireplace, checkered tablecloths and countless framed bills of theatre attractions whose stars haven't been famous since 1911. Theatre and boxing. Odd combination. But this is how people entertained themselves in New York until the moving pictures came along.

So, why don't more people know about Bill's Gay Nineties? Maybe the odd name; people don't know what the "gay nineties" were anymore, or why they were gay, or how they were gay in a way that is different from the way things are gay today. Maybe the location, 54th Street between Madison and Park. Nothing's there, except an outlet of Sym's department store—although, oddly, its very near P.J. Clarke's, which attracts hoards. Maybe they just like it that way. Maybe they told Tim Zagat to get lost when he came around trolling for free drinks. Who knows? But I know about it now. I'll be back.