Saturday Morning, June 13, 2026
A Chorus Line
The line was long, winding well down the block. Young women, standing single file. They wore dresses so tight their voices rose three octaves. Hemlines so short a dropped lipstick could land them in jail. Teased hair, heavy eyeliner, they were a sight to passing traffic.
Donald I. Harper, acrylic on Masonite,
Antique Shop, [St. Denis Street, Montreal, Canada],
Galerie d'Arte-Vente, 12" x 16"
Lucite bracelet, sold from 1976 to the 1990's.
I'm in with the in crowd...
Periodically, a buff brute would troll the line, selecting one or two. Screams and squeals rose with each selection. Escorted away, the chosen disappeared inside the nightclub's front door. Many souls were sold each Saturday night for just a chance at invite. For the unchosen, it was a painful and slow death, carrying an exorbitant cost for prep. Walking home unrequited. Dreams are like that. Participation could make or break you. You danced with the stars or I survived the gawking cars.
To Dream the Impossible Dream
Each decade New York City spawns an in nightclub. An event. It attracts celebrities, movie stars, and its share of gadflies. To be seen or not be seen, that is the question. The Rainbow Room. The Hawaiian Room. Latin Quarter. Stork Club. 21. Studio 54. All have left a trail through Manhattan. Places to be.
Arthur nightclub poster, New York City, ca. 1966-69.
Signed by original promoters: Sybil Christopher, Jordan Christopher, Roddy McDowell, & Edward Villella, 22" x 14"
Attendees would wait hours just for one chance to rub shoulders with the rich and famous. Who knew who you'd meet? A chance encounter could change your life. Better the clubs were named the Oracle of Delphi. Though the wait is intolerable, the opportunity to participate slim, few are discouraged. None depart early. Why would you suggest such a thing?
Ford Forlano sterling Hydrop Top pin, in three parts.
It's Greek to Me
In the 1960's, another oasis appeared. Arthurs, named after George Harrison's reference to his beard in A Hard Day's Night. A club so exclusive, even the celebs were honed. You were indeed somebody if admitted fulfilling the common goal of humanity. Acceptance. Between 1966 and 1969 this shooting star shone. Founded by a small group, it blossomed into dozens of investors including Leonard Bernstein. The club was everything everyone wanted it to be. Glamorous. Amorous. Outlandish. A Who's Who of clientele.
Mexican sterling necklace, by Rosa Zamora Lopez
The true litmus test was that lineup of Nubians outside waiting, anticipating. But, like all shooting stars, it vanished, fading from the limelight never to return. The unwritten rule of cool. Tents are packed, camels loaded, and the caravan disappears into the desert. The only sign of the once greatness is the line of pumpkins winding down the block at midnight.
You won't be treated like this at Brown Bros. No, we will sell you the pumpkins.
Doors open at 8 AM. Auction starts at 9 AM. PA AU 1265L [bb]