The Sybarites were wrong-side-of-the-trackers by comparison. A curious phenomenon of the recent war resulted in the greatest collection of treasure in the history of the world being stored in squalid Second and Third Avenue tenement houses, in the upper 40's and 50's, on the East Side. Soon after Hitler took over, displaced merchants began pouring into America with rare gems, antiques and works of art as their only medium of exchange. The beginning of war brought a tidal wave of similar fine works to these shores, as British and Continental art dealers moved their stocks here, out of reach of bombers. New York, already an overcrowded commercial city, had absolutely no room to accommodate the hundreds of merchants who sprang up to sell these priceless goods. In desperation, they were forced into ground-floor stores of creaky and ratty old buildings in the slum stretches of Second and Third. But, because this is a strange city, with contrasts in each block, and few well-defined upper class and lower class residential sections, it so happened that right around the corner from these tenements, quite often in the same block, were the apartment homes of the wealthiest folk in the nation--those most interested in buying such wares. At the time the fabulous goods poured into the country, American millionaires began collecting jewels, art and expensive furniture as a hedge against inflation, on the theory that they always have value and are easily portable. If you are coming to New York to make a splurge, or learn what life is like, or impress someone on a business deal, you must headquarter on the East Side. Most any of its hundred standard hotels will do. If you are staying a while, you may want an apartment. Humorist Harry Hershfield used to explain to his friends that he was "on Broadway, but not of it." Those were the days when it was considered a rap to say of one "he has gone Broadway." When one went Broadway (or Hollywood) it wasn't nice at all. He developed a severe case of big-shotitis, spoke of money in tablecloth figures and referred to Lee Shubert as "Lee" and Louis B. Mayer as "Louis" (when they weren't around). But now, with most of the things that were then so characteristic of Broadway as _de trop_ as a pug dog, the people who used to go Broadway go Park Avenue. It is the same sort of disease, but more aggravated, and when it hits the average guy it raises a higher fever. You can spot a man who went Park Avenue by the fact that he refers to Alfred G. Vanderbilt as "Alf" and Barbara Hutton as "Babs." He mutters gibberish of "dilatory domiciles" and "married maidens," and has a Social Register. It has destroyed the usefulness of many otherwise useful people, as will be attested by several East Side night club proprietors. But one of the queer results of the evolution in fashion is that a lot of society girls from Park Avenue have reverted--and "gone Broadway," becoming models, torch singers and even chorus girls.