I remember hearing about the 13 Club back when I was a teenager. I think the psychology teacher brought them up, but this is the first newspaper mention of them that I have found. Honestly, they sound like a bunch of children, and yet it seems like a great gimmick for restaurants to pull off on every thirteenth of the month.
13 Skeletons, 13 Chairs, 13 Here, 13 There, 13 Club Ends 13th Year
13 Waiters Serve 13 Courses, 13 Mirrors Are Total Loss and Hobbs Renamed as 13th Boss
After four hours and twenty-six minutes spent in an earnest endeavor to wish themselves all the hard luck in the world, the Thirteenth Club brought its annual and ladies’ banquet to a close at 12:13 this morning. The banquet was held at the Little Hungary (thirteen letters) restaurant, No. 257 East Houston Street.
The attempt to corner all the hard luck on the market began last night at 13 minutes to 8. To get into the banquet hall the diners had to walk under a ladder. The date, Dec. 13, was carefully picked as most suitable for the occasion. Thirteen tables were set and there were thirteen chairs at each table. Thirteen persons sat at the speakers’ table, thirteen waiters served the dinner consisted of thirteen courses. There were two sets of thirteen lights each to illuminate the room. Thirteen open umbrellas were distributed about the room and thirteen skeletons dangled from the ceiling. It was the thirteenth time Col. John F. Hobbs had been elected Chief Ruler.
The salt was spilled whenever any one took the notion, and thirteen mirrors were smashed to keep the smashers supplied with all the things the superstitious fear throughout a ripe old age.
Some of the members used as a table a coffin at the head of which were lighted candles.
When the familiar superstition had been defied any one who could think up a new way of tempting fate was looked upon with envy.
The dinner was closed when Chief Ruler Hobbs and Bryan G. Hughes, Big Bone of the club, smashed a mirror with the forearm of a deceased woman which had been encased in silver. After the dinner according to the Club’s tradition Samuel Lich and Adam Rosemblum sat in chairs until daylight waiting for such jinxes as might accept the challenges hurled at them.
Source: The Evening World newspaper. December 14, 1922. New York, N.Y.
