Canadian World Traveller Spring 2024 Issue

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69
about the Algonquin’s cat while being
advised, “Cat Napping. Please do not tap on
the glass.”
As the sign explains, the hotel cat during the
1920s was Billy. Two days after he died in
1933, a stray cat wandered into the building
and was named Rusty. Believing the name
was too common for such a fine property,
actor John Barrymore, a hotel resident,
renamed the pet Hamlet in honor of his greatest
stage role. Over the years there have been
eight Hamlets and three Matildas (the name
for female cats). Hamlet VIII began his residency
in September 2017.
Two mornings I saw the ginger-colored feline
ambassador roaming the lobby/bar. He
didn’t seem to be afraid of people; it was easy
to get close enough for pictures.
Midtown Manhattan’s Algonquin Hotel
by Randy Mink
A
fixture in midtown Manhattan since
1902, the Algonquin Hotel Times
Square, Autograph Collection is a
revered landmark with a tale to tell. Its storied
past revolves around a group of literary luminaries
who met there daily for long lunches in
the 1920s.
Tucked away on a quiet block of West 44th
Street, within easy walking distance of
Broadway theaters and Rockefeller Center, the
181-room hotel is inextricably linked to the
Algonquin Round Table, a jocular band of
writers, illustrators, journalists and show business
folks who showed up to socialize and
trade barbs. Among its members: Robert
Benchley, James Thurber, Dorothy Parker,
Edna Ferber, playwright George S. Kaufman
and Harpo Marx of the Marx Brothers. They
convened at a 15-seat round table amid the
clubby, chandeliered splendor of the Rose
Room, a restaurant that no longer exists.
An oil painting of Round Table regulars graces
the lobby’s Blue Bar Restaurant and Lounge,
today’s gathering place for hotel guests.
While I have to admit that I’m not familiar with
the works of many of those literary giants, I
think I woke up just a little bit smarter after a
good night’s sleep in my fourth-floor suite.
And while the word “cozy” may seem out of
place in describing anything in midtown
Manhattan, I immediately developed fuzzy
feelings for this historic hotel. The resident cat
probably had something to do with it.
Most people walking past the hotel probably
don’t notice the kitty sleeping by the window.
But if they stop to read the sign, they’ll learn
Distinguished by white, Corinthian-crowned
columns, the Blue Bar extends from the street
entrance to an area with bookshelves, a
grand piano, and, as a nod to the past, a
round table suitable for large groups.
My suite, Room 406, featured a lounger
couch, a small dining table, 60- and 48-inch
flat-screen TVs, antique-style telephones and
a collection of New York-centric books,
including one about the Algonquin Round
Table. Fresh flowers gussied up the entranceway,
living area, bedroom and bathroom
(notable for its pretty teal sink).
Wandering around one night, I came upon
guest room doors bearing quotable witticisms
from Round Table wordsmiths. Adorning the
hallways are framed cartoons and vintage
covers from the New Yorker magazine (whose
co-founder and editor-in-chief, Harold Ross,
was part of the Round Table).
One door had this Robert Benchley quip: “It
took me fifteen years to discover I had no talent
for writing, but I couldn’t give it up
because by that time I was too famous.”
www.algonquinhotel.com
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