Manhattan has many a hotspot, many a white-tie joint, but few nightclubs in which a connoisseur of jazz would care to be found. Two years ago a mild-mannered little Trenton, N. J. shoe-store owner named Barney Josephson (no kin to Author Matthew Josephson) opened a subterranean nightclub in downtown Manhattan. He wanted the kind of place where people like himself would not be sneered at by waiters, cigaret and hat-check girls, or bored by a commercial girl show. He called it Café Society, and turned loose some excellent comic artists (among them Peggy...
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