Another former speakeasy going strong in 1946 was Artist and Writers Restaurant (Artist was singular, there apparently being only one) at 215 West 40th Street, a block away from the Metropolitan Opera. It was the favored haunt of the crowd from the nearby Herald Tribune. The newspaper's owner, Ogden Reid, often stopped in for rounds with his editors, reporters and copy boys, sometimes imbibing until he all but fell down. He always picked up the tab. On occasions he brought along his famous friends. During Prohibition days, patrons entered through a door inside the warehouse where the Opera stored scenery. It had been chartered as a club back then and new guests had to be introduced by a member. According to the Herald Tribune's near legendary sports editor, Stanley Woodward, in his memoirs, Paper Tiger, in the old days it was considered unfashionable to come to work at the newspaper entirely sober. Meeting for drinks after work was such an established custom that those who did not participate were considered unsociable.
Unlike '21' and other celebrity haunts, Artist and Writers was egalitarian. There was no blacklist. You could find cheaper places to drink but it was a relatively affordable indulgence for most Herald Tribune staffers. Even foppish society reporter Lucius Beebe would take a break from his rounds of the city's elite establishments to act like one of the boys (and this was a boy's club, much like a college fraternity). Until the end of Prohibition, women were barred from the premises. Afterwards they were not entirely welcome, with the exception of a few like the hard-drinking Tallulah Bankhead. She was one of several celebrities-- Humphrey Bogart was another-- who enjoyed soaking up the speakeasy atmosphere along with the stiff drinks the joint had to offer. Staffers from The New Yorker, Newsweek and The Times also put in appearances. The journalists began gathering in the late afternoon. Later in the night, a crowd from the Metropolitan Opera, dressed in tuxes, would appear along with the after-theater set of actors, producers and press agents.
The sign out front read "Artist and Writers (formerly Club) Restaurant" (sic) but to the regulars, the place was known as Bleeck's (pronounced Blake's) after its owner, a German-American from St. Louis. The decor was English tavern with wood paneling, heavy furniture, dim lighting and a tarnished suit of armor near the door. A stuffed marlin, caught almost 40 years before by J.P. Morgan, hung over the bar. The heavy food and the waiters were German and the bartenders were Irish. The atmosphere was rowdy. Betting was a popular activity. The most popular game was the match game. Then there was the Ghoul Pool. Participants would buy the names of a famous person over the age of 75 for a buck each. Whoever held the name of the person who died first won the pool. While loud arguments were common, the place was usually peaceful, although fights sometimes broke out; one playwright decked drama critic Richard Watts over an unfavorable review and Woodward, a bull of a man, once tore out a section of the bar when the bartender cut him off. Martinis were the favored drink with Scotch coming in second. The martinis were poured so that they topped the rim, held in place by surface tension, assuring that the first sip would produce a cascade that would pour out on the bar and the drinker's cuffs unless he bent over and slurped it.
In the issue of November 26, 1945, Life magazine had chosen Bleeck's for its "Life Goes to" feature. The article was written by theatrical press agent Richard Maney, who, the intro said, could be found there nightly between 5:00 and 7:00 PM. The photos showed the bar packed with men in rumpled suits. Several wore hats. Maney explained the workings of the match game, the favored form of wagering at Bleeck's. Each of the players was issued three matches. The sum that the loser would have to pay out to the others was set before the game commenced. When a signal was given, each player would hold anywhere from none to three matches in a hand clenched behind his back. Each player would guess the total. The winner would be eliminated until there was only one man left. He was the loser and had to pay out to all of the other players, usually adding a round of drinks. Bleeck's habitues had introduced the game to other watering holes but this was its epicenter. It was so popular that Jack Bleeck distributed a set of handsome plastic matches to the regulars each year as Christmas gifts. The elegant Lucius Beebe, however, played the game with his personal set of gold matchsticks. Darts had been banned at the bar after New Yorker drama critic Wolcott Gibbs attempted to hit the target with his back turned and came close to hitting another patron. Another New Yorker editor got up on a table and announced he was going to fly to the men's room. His fellow patrons caught him. Bleeck's had no jukebox but communal singing occasionally broke out. Often patrons joined in a chorus of the old-time hymn "Shall We Gather at the River" at midnight.