Word: salooners
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...occupy the corners of the rooms. In cabin after cabin, there is a color picture of the President of the United States. Yes, sir, says one oldtimer gesturing to a photo on the wall, "he was a great man, that Franklin D. Roosevelt." And over in the Dirty Shame Saloon, Grocery Store and Gas Station, Proprietor "Buster" Bray, formerly of San Francisco, says: "I wouldn't trade any of this for Third and Market Streets-not ever again...
...bunch of the beards were whooping it up at a Greenwich Village Java saloon called The Bitter End and one of the poems recited was Ode to a Champion: Cassius Marcellus Clay. Its author? Who else but Prosodic Pugilist Cassius Marcellus Clay, 20, getting ready for his Madison Square Garden skirmish this week with Heavyweight Doug Jones. Quoth Cassius: "The word's been passed around that I'm a very charming guy./ the greatest fighter that ever lived,/ and I'll gladly tell you why . . ." Of course if he turned out to be wrong, Cassius could just...
...Paris prices for their tickets. Richter, in return, expressed his feelings for Paris by swooping around town with a belle epoque enthusiasm scarcely expected from a visiting Soviet-chik. "Such taste, such wonderful music, such flair!" he proclaimed, having passed an evening watching the strippers at the Crazy Horse Saloon. "I could happily spend two or three days in here...
Died. Timothy Costello, 67, shillelagh-sporting Manhattan pubkeeper and longtime confidant of such writers as Hemingway, Steinbeck, O'Hara, and most visibly, James Thurber, who adorned Costello's Third Avenue saloon with his free-swinging sketches of the eternal war between the sexes; of a heart attack; in Manhattan...
...curious crammed into the Left Bank studio-gallery-theater of America's pioneer Beatnik Raymond Duncan for his 88th birthday blowout. The bespectacled old expatriate, whose pad is almost a photographic shrine to his late sister, Dancer Isadora Duncan, gave them a weirdly nostalgic show. In a quavering saloon tenor he sang My Old Kentucky Home; then, unshorn silver locks and hand-woven toga flying, he launched into a frantic soft-sandal jig. The Dior-dressed segment of the crowd dug it deep. But the modern beats, obviously distressed that no food and no smoking were allowed...