When I’m out and about, someone invariably introduces me to their friends or tells my gal that they have known me for 15 or 20 years, and that they were in my clubs when they were 14 or 16 years old. I think a lot of this is a means to disguise their real age, but unfortunately I also believe that they are too often telling the truth. There was a time when the drinking age was 18, but that was a long time ago. It’s been 21 since ’85. The policy at my clubs was 21 and older, but the reality was often very different. Security didn’t have sophisticated ID scanners and they were often myopic or suffered from hyperopia – farsightedness. Club operators suffered from hyperopia towards youngins as a policy. If they were hot and the ID was passable, they were passed through the red velvets. We all knew the models weren’t 21; the sharp and hot ones got through as well. They were watched carefully. If they misbehaved or fell in with the wrong types, they were banished to lesser clubs. It was the times. These days, clubland still sneaks in the young and the beautiful, and the promoters often serve as babysitters.
I have just learned that although I am long departed from the nightlife scene, I still have the ability to corrupt. My editor Bonnie Gleicher was introduced to the Domi Dollz scene while innocently editing articles I wrote about their events. She has now fallen under their spell, as witnessed by her feature article in today’s BlackBook. She has befriended my friend Nina Payne and others in the crew, and I am torn between feelings of jealousy and being a proud father. We will see how these feelings pain out…I mean pan.