The Bayfront Towers
A tasty beginning under the Banyan trees
The Chatterbox - from a 1940's era postcard
Long before Bayfront Tower cast it's tall, afternoon shadow over Tampa Bay, this site was the home of one of St. Pete's most historic meeting spots - The Chatterbox Restaurant. Surrounded by a stand of massive banyan trees, The Chatterbox was opened in 1936 by Kennett Cowan. (Coincidentally, present day BFT resident, Kenneth Cowan, shares a very similar name, but is no relation). The Cowan family operated The Chatterbox for thirty five years. It first opened as a nightclub, but later expanded to a drive-in and finally to a restaurant with interior seating. The Chatterbox bar was called The Sandbar and was furnished in 1930’s décor accented with black leather. Wildlife added to the ambiance of this unique dining experience. Cages of colorful birds were placed around the room and tropical fish swam in an aquarium behind the bar. At the time, The Chatterbox was considered the finest restaurant in St. Petersburg and was once recognized by Diners Magazine as the most superior restaurant on Florida’s west coast. It was also the first of the city’s buildings to be air conditioned. It was an exciting place, with plenty of entertainment, including music and dancing, a rarity in the Sunshine City at that time.
A vintage postcard drawing showing the banyan trees the once surrounded the ChatterBox
|
 Marilyn and Joe walk on a beach in St. Pete.
The “Box” became a popular meeting place for service men during WWII. Many a soldier dropped by for a memorable night before heading overseas. A large number of baseball and movie celebrities dined and partied there, including: Joe DiMaggio; Marilyn Monroe; Mickie Mantle; Casey Stengel; Lou Gehrig; George Hamilton and Johnny Weissmuller.
|
,
The Chatterbox
Reprinted from an article in the St. Petersburg Times run in 1972
Not quite 35 years ago, The Chatterbox opened at Central Avenue and First Street South, promoted as a “new and modern cocktail lounge and Grill.” With a seating capacity of 40. When it celebrated its first anniversary in June 1937, it had already expanded to accommodate 60 and plans were being made to up that figure to 200 and plans were being made to up that figure up to 200.
And so The Chatterbox grew and prospered until the 60’s. Then six years ago last week, the establishment was sold. Mark Cowan, grandson of the restaurant’s founder . . . remembers.
Love, Growth - its story
By Mark Cowan
“I hate this place,” I screamed, as I raked the huge banyan tree leaves from the parking lot. I was 12 years old and found life unbearable, involved as my family was with a rapidly sinking business . . . trying to keep alive a restaurant that was a mere shadow. of the place my Grandfather had built into a success – 35 years before.
The Chatterbox Restaurant was opened on Friday, June 13, 1936. But unlike the popular superstition, Friday the 13th proved lucky, for it spawned more than three decades of excellence in dining. My Grandfather, advertising agent Kennett (Ken) Cowan and his family moved to St. Petersburg from Evanston, Illinois, in 1935 with all their hopes, dreams and money tied into a small two story building. He began this venture with a bar on the top floor and a tiny dancing room on the ground floor.
But modest as the beginning was by today’s standards, this was something St. Petersburg, a sprouting city of about 30,000, had never been exposed to before. And response, to say the least, was overwhelming. What started as a nightclub, soon became a drive-in restaurant as well. But the needs of the community had not been filled – and so, within a six month period, The Box had expanded to four times its original size. It was considered downtown’s first restaurant and was one of the first air-conditioned buildings.
Bob Hewitt (my uncle and manager-bartender of “The Box” from the beginning) says “Ken always insisted on the finest in food, such as pure butter and corn-fed beef. And there was entertainment galore – music, dancing and a rarity for St. Petersburg in the 30’s – nightlife. At this time, patrons were always formally attired. And soon The Chatterbox was recognized in Diners Magazine as the most superior restaurant on Florida’s west coast.
Between 1937 and the beginning of World War II, The Chatterbox created many zany ideas and publicity schemes to encourage patronage. There was, for example, a candid camera night in which the customers took part, taking pictures of each other dancing and clowning. Only drinks were served and the “The Box” supplied the rented cameras.
Candid camera nights grew into motion picture nights, complete with subtitles and direction. These movies were made one night, then shown three or four times the following evening. Other evenings, a radio hour was transmitted through a telephone hookup with big band entertainment. Publicity schemes included Las Vegas-type entertainment, magicians, mind readers and dancers.
The BOX always remained open until the last customer finished. However there came a time when liquor could not be served after 10 p.m. With the passage of that law, a warning bell was installed. A huge doorman would sound it at the hint of a raid and all liquor would be swept quickly away - as the police were detained.
When the war came, the purchase of good liquor became a problem. A man was sent to St. Louis each week to make sure that the customers had the best in whiskey. If a customer didn’t believe the whiskey was authentic, it was common practice for my Grandfather to personally break the seal on a new bottle and pour the man a new drink.
During these war-ridden years, The Chatterbox made their adjustments as the country made adjustments. St. Petersburg was often the last stop for servicemen on their way overseas . . . a time for them to party, to store up good times for the bad times ahead. But unlike some other rowdy bars, The Chatterbox became a meeting place for men in all branches and of all ranks to socialize as civilians.
Candlelight was used during this blackout period to observe the blackout rules. On VJ day, my Grandfather proclaimed an open bar for all servicemen and there was a party in the streets for two days straight.
Many top baseball figures and movie celebrities: Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle, and Lou Gehrig (who told my Grandmother of his retirement, because of bone disease, the night before it was publicly announced) often frequently visited “The Box.” Entertainment figures such as Johnny Weissmuler, George Hamilton and, a year before her death, Marilyn Monroe also dined there.
My Grandfather, always striving for the unique and the best, constantly innovated new ideas for the place. He closed six weeks of every year to completely renovate the building. Each year, the décor, color and seating were changed in a striving for the ultimate in taste and atmosphere. These changes might include a new crystal chandelier or a totally different color scheme for both room/furniture.
During inclement weather there were parking problems, with guests sometimes running as far as four blocks. For convenience and comfort, runners were hired for the customer’s cars. Another idea that enhanced The Box’s efficiency was a dumbwaiter, sending drinks from the Sand Bar to the dining room. My Grandfather also installed a system of intercom phones, unheard of at the time.
The Chatterbox had its share of oddities, as any place of long standing will. Once there was a robbery. Not much was taken, but on the salad counter there was a note – “Thank you for the ham & turkey sandwiches and the champagne. (Signed) The Green Hand.” Winos set up house in the huge banyan trees. One man even tried to commit suicide while standing at the bar, talking with the bartender and having a drink, with both wrists slit.
But perhaps the most unusual thing of all was the fact that The Chatterbox was owned and operated by a single family for the entire time of its existence. More than 12 members of my family worked there from time to time. And The Box kept help for phenomenally long periods if time. It was never left to the dis-services of someone who didn’t care.
As downtown fell to the ‘60s with its racial tensions and suburban development and shopping centers moving toward the beach. The Chatterbox also fell. A giant fire two weeks after a complete remodeling broke my Grandfather. But he and my father kept it opened until 1971, when Bayfront Tower purchased the property.
The exact day of its closing was January 21,1971. I remember the day well. My Grandfather sat down and, with his skillful penmanship constructed a simple sign on Cardboard. It read:
“Thank You for your 35 years of patronage and support.
The Chatterbox is closed for business.
Sincerely yours, Kennett Cowan”
And I remember the crowd of about 30 people who wept on its steps as they read. The old place knew it had fulfilled its purpose and promptly started falling apart. Pipes fell without encouragement. The steam table collapsed without a Bang. And now there are only memories.
The Chatterbox
Reprinted from an article in the St. Petersburg Times run in 1972
Not quite 35 years ago, The Chatterbox opened at Central Avenue and First Street South, promoted as a “new and modern cocktail lounge and Grill.” With a seating capacity of 40. When it celebrated its first anniversary in June 1937, it had already expanded to accommodate 60 and plans were being made to up that figure to 200 and plans were being made to up that figure up to 200.
And so The Chatterbox grew and prospered until the 60’s. Then six years ago last week, the establishment was sold. Mark Cowan, grandson of the restaurant’s founder . . . remembers.
Love, Growth - its story
By Mark Cowan
“I hate this place,” I screamed, as I raked the huge banyan tree leaves from the parking lot. I was 12 years old and found life unbearable, involved as my family was with a rapidly sinking business . . . trying to keep alive a restaurant that was a mere shadow. of the place my Grandfather had built into a success – 35 years before.
The Chatterbox Restaurant was opened on Friday, June 13, 1936. But unlike the popular superstition, Friday the 13th proved lucky, for it spawned more than three decades of excellence in dining. My Grandfather, advertising agent Kennett (Ken) Cowan and his family moved to St. Petersburg from Evanston, Illinois, in 1935 with all their hopes, dreams and money tied into a small two story building. He began this venture with a bar on the top floor and a tiny dancing room on the ground floor.
But modest as the beginning was by today’s standards, this was something St. Petersburg, a sprouting city of about 30,000, had never been exposed to before. And response, to say the least, was overwhelming. What started as a nightclub, soon became a drive-in restaurant as well. But the needs of the community had not been filled – and so, within a six month period, The Box had expanded to four times its original size. It was considered downtown’s first restaurant and was one of the first air-conditioned buildings.
Bob Hewitt (my uncle and manager-bartender of “The Box” from the beginning) says “Ken always insisted on the finest in food, such as pure butter and corn-fed beef. And there was entertainment galore – music, dancing and a rarity for St. Petersburg in the 30’s – nightlife. At this time, patrons were always formally attired. And soon The Chatterbox was recognized in Diners Magazine as the most superior restaurant on Florida’s west coast.
Between 1937 and the beginning of World War II, The Chatterbox created many zany ideas and publicity schemes to encourage patronage. There was, for example, a candid camera night in which the customers took part, taking pictures of each other dancing and clowning. Only drinks were served and the “The Box” supplied the rented cameras.
Candid camera nights grew into motion picture nights, complete with subtitles and direction. These movies were made one night, then shown three or four times the following evening. Other evenings, a radio hour was transmitted through a telephone hookup with big band entertainment. Publicity schemes included Las Vegas-type entertainment, magicians, mind readers and dancers.
The BOX always remained open until the last customer finished. However there came a time when liquor could not be served after 10 p.m. With the passage of that law, a warning bell was installed. A huge doorman would sound it at the hint of a raid and all liquor would be swept quickly away - as the police were detained.
When the war came, the purchase of good liquor became a problem. A man was sent to St. Louis each week to make sure that the customers had the best in whiskey. If a customer didn’t believe the whiskey was authentic, it was common practice for my Grandfather to personally break the seal on a new bottle and pour the man a new drink.
During these war-ridden years, The Chatterbox made their adjustments as the country made adjustments. St. Petersburg was often the last stop for servicemen on their way overseas . . . a time for them to party, to store up good times for the bad times ahead. But unlike some other rowdy bars, The Chatterbox became a meeting place for men in all branches and of all ranks to socialize as civilians.
Candlelight was used during this blackout period to observe the blackout rules. On VJ day, my Grandfather proclaimed an open bar for all servicemen and there was a party in the streets for two days straight.
Many top baseball figures and movie celebrities: Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle, and Lou Gehrig (who told my Grandmother of his retirement, because of bone disease, the night before it was publicly announced) often frequently visited “The Box.” Entertainment figures such as Johnny Weissmuler, George Hamilton and, a year before her death, Marilyn Monroe also dined there.
My Grandfather, always striving for the unique and the best, constantly innovated new ideas for the place. He closed six weeks of every year to completely renovate the building. Each year, the décor, color and seating were changed in a striving for the ultimate in taste and atmosphere. These changes might include a new crystal chandelier or a totally different color scheme for both room/furniture.
During inclement weather there were parking problems, with guests sometimes running as far as four blocks. For convenience and comfort, runners were hired for the customer’s cars. Another idea that enhanced The Box’s efficiency was a dumbwaiter, sending drinks from the Sand Bar to the dining room. My Grandfather also installed a system of intercom phones, unheard of at the time.
The Chatterbox had its share of oddities, as any place of long standing will. Once there was a robbery. Not much was taken, but on the salad counter there was a note – “Thank you for the ham & turkey sandwiches and the champagne. (Signed) The Green Hand.” Winos set up house in the huge banyan trees. One man even tried to commit suicide while standing at the bar, talking with the bartender and having a drink, with both wrists slit.
But perhaps the most unusual thing of all was the fact that The Chatterbox was owned and operated by a single family for the entire time of its existence. More than 12 members of my family worked there from time to time. And The Box kept help for phenomenally long periods if time. It was never left to the dis-services of someone who didn’t care.
As downtown fell to the ‘60s with its racial tensions and suburban development and shopping centers moving toward the beach. The Chatterbox also fell. A giant fire two weeks after a complete remodeling broke my Grandfather. But he and my father kept it opened until 1971, when Bayfront Tower purchased the property.
The exact day of its closing was January 21,1971. I remember the day well. My Grandfather sat down and, with his skillful penmanship constructed a simple sign on Cardboard. It read:
“Thank You for your 35 years of patronage and support.
The Chatterbox is closed for business.
Sincerely yours, Kennett Cowan”
And I remember the crowd of about 30 people who wept on its steps as they read. The old place knew it had fulfilled its purpose and promptly started falling apart. Pipes fell without encouragement. The steam table collapsed without a Bang. And now there are only memories.