I used to run the door at Club Bojangles and under it La Bastille. Killer music, man. Wayne Cochran, the blue eyed king of soul, Buddy Rich, Fats Domino, The New Christy Minstrels. One night at La Bastille a bum-looking fellow came down to the club so I doubled the door fee to try to keep him out. A minute later the bar manager came running to the door asking me if I had charged the man. I proudly told him the story. He said, "You can't charge him - that's Woody Herman!" After hours we used to go down to The Cellar and take our own bottle so we could drink. The picture on this site of The Cellar makes it look much nicer and hipper that I remember. It was very rundown, no live band, fleabitten sleeping bags on the floor, and the "entertainment" was local hookers who strutted, in a wobbly fashion, their stuff on the runway, stripping at they went. I'm amazed that those brain cells are still there and functioning.