Chumley's: A Speakeasy Can Be Destroyed But Not Defeated
Last November, The Observer's Chris Shott reported that one of Hemingway's favorite Greenwich Village watering holes, Chumley's, might re-open as early as spring, less than a year after a brick wall collapsed and forced the former speakeasy to close.
The maligned landlord of Chumley's Margaret Streiker Porres was finally ordered to pay a $200,000 dollar fine last fall and the Buildings Department amped up the pressure to renovate the crumbling, Prohibition-era landmark. But some foodies in the blogosphere were dubious about proprietor Steve Shlopack's optimistic projected re-opening dates, including March and April.
Last week Mr. Shlopak told the Lost City blog that construction would resume on Monday. Skeptics over at Eater sent a correspondent to check out whether the news was too good to be true, and, lo and behold, crews were banging away this morning. Now that reconstruction has begun, barring unexpected delays, patrons can look foward to the hallowed haunt's relaunch in late May or June. No word on the fate of Chumley's once its 99-year lease expires at the end of 2008.
Commenters on Eater were quick to dismiss the news. One claimed that a new bar/lounge will open instead.
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I lived at 48 Commerce St from 1951 to 1959. My apartment was around the block from Chumleys. There were a group of us, actors, writers, TV and film workers and others who were regulars at Chumleys. Ray was the bartender, and Mrs Chumley,the wife of the original owner Lee, came in every night for her nightcaps. She sat in the booth near the fireplace and usually passed out at about 11:00PM. Ray and one of us, under each arm, would would carry her upstairs where there was a bed for her. I met my late wife there, she was head of editorial research for Life magazine and I was at CBS. My picture as a WWII Glider Pilot was on the wall behind the bar. I just turned 88 and Chumleys holds a special place in my heart. Len Gumley
I have never been to Chumley's but would like to visit once the renovations are complete. My grandmother's brother, Clinton Curtis, was killed there in 1960 over a chess game. I never knew where it happened until today.