C. Free Loaders

A shrewdie can live here forever on the cuff. A gate-crasher, if well-dressed, can be choosy about eating and drinking gratis. Every day there’s a profusion of breakfasts, lunches, cocktail parties, dinners and late suppers thrown by lobbyists, corporations, officials, pressure groups, embassies and social climbers.

Admission is by invitation, but bids are sent out broadside. Organizations and lobbyists exchange mailing lists, even take names out of directories. Almost anyone who cares to get on such a roster can. Once on, his name makes all others. If he isn’t entered, it is simple to mooch an invitation from someone who has one, because few use them. Few large affairs are well guarded. It takes little ingenuity to walk in nonchalantly and act like a belonger.

The gate-crashers turn up in the unlikeliest places, maybe breakfasting at a press conference given by ladies of the W.C.T.U., lunching at a radio salesmen’s convention and dining, in tails and white tie, at a debutante’s ball.

Beds, and what goes with them—gals—can be stiffed, too. Those who make the lobbyists’ lists are invited to the wild parties in the hotels and mansions, where all that is on the house.

A friend of ours, a Congressman, told us this story. He was walking down Connecticut Avenue, past the Mayflower Hotel, on his way to dine at Harvey’s. He bumped into an acquaintance, a press agent from New York, who insisted the Congressman eat with him. “I’m going up to a swell private party at the Mayflower,” he said. The Congressman went along, had a wonderful meal, with wine and cigars, and soon pretty blondes began to mix. The satisfied legislator turned to his friend and said, “Gee, this is a swell party. I’d like to thank the host. Who is he?” The press agent said, “Damned if I know. I’ve been trying to find out all night.”