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First let me tell you how I have always felt at home in that classy house named ‘21’. Many a pleasant night spent there with my wife and my good friend Peter Kriendler, that wonderful New York gentleman. I miss that fellow very much.
Now for an unforgettable story-at least for me:
One night at 21’s upstairs room we were there to celebrate Pete’s birthday (I forget which – might’ve been his 75th.)
Anyway, there were many fine people there – all of them regarded as a friend of Pete’s. Pete sat me in between Earl Wilson, the columnist for the Post (on my right) and Victor Potamkin, the famed car salesman (on my left).
Well, here’s the scene and how it unfolded: Potamkin, ever the trickster, took a one dollar bill out of his pocket and asked Wilson to examine it…he said to Wilson, “Take a good look – it’s is just one dollar, right?”
“Right,” said Wilson.
Now Potamkin takes the dollar in his two hands and wrinkles it while saying the magician’s words – “Abra Ka Dabra.”
Potamkin then opens his hands where you see a round crinkly ball, supposedly the dollar. He (Potamkin) takes real slow steps in straightening out the dollar. He hands it over to Wilson to finish taking all the wrinkles out.
Wilson looks at the “dollar” and is amazed at what happened to the dollar – he shows it to all – and by golly, it’s not a dollar but a big, fat lusty $ 100 bill.
After the oohs and ahs, Wilson puts the hundred in his pocket without any thought of giving it back. He kept it and the trickster, Potamkin was out a hundred bucks!
Bill Gallo
A few years ago, following the sale of our family firm, Lebenthal & Company, my siblings and I decided to have a roast for our father. Jim Lebenthal has been known to New Yorkers for decades and loves ‘21’ so it was the obvious choice to hold the event. The only trouble was that it was a surprise. We had to somehow get Dad up to a private room with a ruse. He had been speaking at a municipal bond trade association event earlier that day so the head of the organization agreed to invite him to a “special speakers dinner” on the 3rd floor. When Dad came into the room he recognized all of his friends but was confused because it wasn’t the group he expected. He stood there and said “I think I am in the wrong room,” not connecting the fact that all these people he knew wouldn’t have been there for anything else but him. We all laughed. Everyone prepared wonderful, hysterical tributes to him and it was the perfect evening to celebrate him. Over the years I’ve been to ‘21’ so many times it feels like home. My annual December “ladies who don’t -lunch” in the wine cellar, the breakfast series, lunches, dinners and cocktails, but the roast for Dad was the most memorable.
Alexandra Lebenthal
It happened back in 1965 when I, a rather callow young fellow from Columbus relatively new to New York, was invited to attend a meeting at the restaurant of the now-defunct Ohio Society. Although there were scores of VIPs on hand that evening, Jerry personally took time out to introduce me to a number of the greats and near-greats on hand -- luminaries like Walter Cronkite, Cassius Clay, Jimmy Connors, and many others. Needless to add, the experience left a deep impression on that dazzled young man.
It was a most gracious and generous gesture on his part as I was launching my career in the Big Apple and a moment I will never forget.
Bob Dilenschneider
Back in the 1960s, the New York Jets used to have an annual outing for the news media at Monmouth Park race track. But it began--glamorously, to me--with Breakfast at ‘21’. One of the Jets' owners was Sonny Werblin, the impressario, who was a ‘21’ regular. So we'd have our bloody Mary's and caviar and a three-piece band would play Broadway classics. Then, one of ‘21's white jacketed waiters would join us on the bus and mix drinks all the way down to the Jersey Shore while the band played on.
But it was that one-hour start at the restaurant that set the tone, and I remember it as a part of a vanished New York.
Gerald Eskenazi
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