Safeguarding a Symbol

Manhattan's renowned "21" restaurant swung open its iron-grille gate on West 52nd St. as a classy speakeasy during prohibition. It has since evolved into a unique American showplace: a restaurant run in some ways more like a club than a public accommodation. There is no longer a trapdoor on the bar to trip drinks into a sewer at the press of a button, but logs still crackle in the fireplaces and a $750,000 collection of paintings, drawings and bronzes adorns the paneled walls. Habitues include the rich, the powerful and the famous, plus thousands of others who flock there to see or be seen, attracted as much by the mystique as the cuisine. A hamburger lunch may cost $14 with a drink or two, yet industrialists, movie stars and social celebrities covet "territorial rights" to "21" 's hard-to-get tables. Their patronage helps the club to earn a substantial profit on revenues of some $4,500,000 a year.

Last week, in a deal that combined friendship with business acumen, the "21" Club became a part of the wide-ranging empire of Ralph E. Ablon, chairman of New York-based Ogden Corp. For about $10 million in stock, Ablon acquired the tangible assets of "21" (among them $250,000 worth of old English silver that graces its walls) as well as its valuable land and the three brownstones in which it operates. With the club came two offshoots: Iron Gate Products Co., importers of caviar, grouse and other delicacies, and "21" Club Selected Items Ltd., which imports cigars and smokers' accessories.

Absolute Czars. The investment, as Ablon put it, was "ecologically perfect for Ogden" because the company already derives nearly half of its annual $1 billion sales from food growing and processing (the other half comes from such varied interests as scrap metals, land development and shipbuilding). The merger also solved a problem for "21" 's owners: the Kriendler brothers Bob and Pete, their cousin Jerry Berns and their nephew Sheldon Tannen. The family has run the restaurant for the past 40 years. Lately, Bob Kriendler had been wondering if the family should sell it lest the death of one owner create estate problems that might impair the business. The Kriendlers had had a number of offers for the club, but they wanted to stay in control no matter who owned it. "We have our own way of doing things, and it is an expensive way," says Kriendler. "Who would let us continue to run '21' like absolute czars?"

"I would," replied Los Angeles Architect Charles Luckman, a friend of 30 years, when Kriendler mentioned his dilemma last August. Because of precisely the same situation, Luckman had recently brought his own firm, Charles Luckman Associates, into Ablon's realm as a part of Ogden Development Corp. By coincidence, that deal had been struck over a two-hour lunch at "21". Ablon, who is also a regular patron, quickly agreed that safeguarding such a symbol of opulence would be good business for Ogden.

Even so, it took nine months to work out the details to the satisfaction of both sides, or, as Bob Kriendler put it, "to have our cake and eat it too." The Kriendlers will continue to run the club as part of Ogden Development Corp., and their contract allows them to quit if Ogden does anything that they deem "injurious" to the place. Ablon has no intention of dimming the glitter. "Any change is too much in a restaurant like '21'," he says. "I won't get any free lunches."

Friends of the House. The inimitable Kriendler style, as a letter from management assured some 28,000 patrons, will indeed be maintained. With a nod to a headwaiter, the Kriendlers may send a tipsy Texas millionaire off to "Siberia," as the far end of the ground-floor dining room is called, or make sure that Joan-Crawford is served by her favorite waiters upstairs. Promising newcomers often strive to become "friends of the house," a status that brings such discreet services as credit and the assurance that a guest will be spared the embarrassment of encountering his former--or present --wife. Unwritten rules about decorum and dress are firmly enforced. Women are almost always barred for appearing in pants, culottes or over-revealing dresses, and Darryl Zanuck was turned away when he showed up wearing a turtleneck.

Despite such benevolent dictation, the "21" 's "friends" tend to regard the club as part of their lives. Last week a brief teletype message from a frequent guest in the upstairs dining room saluted the merger: "This insures that the great institution of '21' will remain intact." It was signed "Onassis."

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