During the 1950’s when HG was busy combining careers as a journalist and Broadway press agent, HG would often overindulge in strong drink. (BSK maintains this tendency has not wholly disappeared). The favorite boozing venue of HG and his raffish pals was Moe Dubiner’s bar/restaurant (long closed) on Stanton Street in the Lower East Side. When Moe shuttered his joint at 4 AM, the vodka and whiskey stoked group would often visit the nearby Second Avenue Russian Baths. Immigrant Jews believed in the health benefits of a good “shvitz” (sweat) so the Lower East Side had many bath houses but the Second Avenue was acknowledged as the best (the last remaining Bath House in the LES / East Village is Tenth Street’s Russian and Turkish Baths). HG followed a strict ritual at the Second Avenue. First, a visit to the Eucalyptus Room. Here, HG lounged in dry heat as herbaceous aromas wafted through the room. Then, a warm soapy shower. Into the Russian Room. Six rows of bleacher like marble seating. Hot steam. Macho guys like young HG sat on the very top row where the steam was blazing hot. Sweat poured off HG. Wandering through the room were the attendants/masseurs, hefty fellows clad only in jock strops. They carried bunches of birch branches. HG would beckon and an attendant would swing the branches through the air, sending a stream of hot air to a designated part of HG’s body. After being poached and losing pounds of water (vodka ?), HG would leap into the ice plunge. Yes, it was what it sounds like. A pool of ice cold water. Young HG managed to survive the shock to his system. Then, HG would stand against a wall (protecting his private parts) while an attendant directed a stream of warm water from a high pressure hose at every part of HG’s body. (Some older gentlemen oped for a “high colonic” or a “low colonic”, an internal cleansing. No details. You don’t want to know). HG would shower and then repeat the ritual: Dry heat, steam heat, ice plunge, high pressure hose, shower). The attendants also offered a “playtzeh”, a vigorous, painful massage. HG tried it once. Sheer masochism. After all the steaming and showering, HG picked up a cotton nightshirt and robe and slept a peaceful eight hours in the bath house dormitory. Awakened with an appetite like a ravenous beast. Fortunately, the Second Avenue served a hearty breakfast buffet: Many varieties of herring, smoked whitefish, boiled potatoes, sliced tomatoes and onions, sour cream, cream cheese, cottage cheese, rye bread, pumpernickel bread, bialys, bagels, onion rolls. Coffee. Tea. And, the thoughtful management provided a few bottles of brandy and chilled vodka. All of this took place in the era before bath houses became boy-meets-boy hangouts of the gay community. The Second Avenue was relentlessly heterosexual and ethnic. HG would leave the Second Avenue sober, rested, clear headed …and very, very clean.
