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Even the most anarchic sexual outlawry rapidly becomes commercialized. No place epitomized this more than the basement of the Ansonia Hotel, at 230 West 74th Street in Manhattan. The location would become infamous as Plato's Retreat, New York's most celebrated pit of filth. But it began its underground career as the Continental Baths, an upscale gay hangout complete with a swimming pool, coffee shop, massage parlor, steam room, and floor show that starred such talent as Metropolitan Opera singer Eleanor Steber. (The filth, in this case, was metaphorical: Unlike many other bathhouses, such as the infamous St. Mark's Baths, the Continental was kept scrupulously clean.)

The establishment received an unexpected boost when Bette Midler, who had spent many an evening performing cabaret acts for the Continental's clientele, mentioned the baths on The Tonight Show in 1970.

Before long, an armada of straight couples was sinking the gay cruisers' fun. But Steve Ostrow, the club's bisexual suburban New Jerseyite owner (who had, on at least one occasion, brought his own six-year-old son and twelve-year-old daughter to the baths), was delighted with the change in crowd, declaring to a Rolling Stone reporter, "We're close to total sexual liberation here. . . . The world comes here now to feel the release of pent-up sexuality, all those years of inhibition are splattered, if you will, against my walls!"

Unfortunately, the gay and straight markets mixed like massage oil and water. In September 1976, the basement of the Ansonia was taken over by entrepreneurs Larry Levenson and Mike Ross, who moved their swingers' club, Plato's Retreat, to its eighth location. "We finally got rid of the baths," groaned an Ansonia resident in a November 1977 New York magazine exposé. "Now we've got Plato's Retreat."

Levenson and Ross retained the Continental's swimming pool, dance floor, and mattress-covered orgy room. They added a cold buffet, and charged $25 per couple and $10 for each single woman. As in the rest of the swinging world, female bisexuality was considered chic and sexy but male homosexual activity was discouraged. Men were not admitted without a female partner, who had to escort him into and out of the orgy room.

No liquor was served, but drugs were prevalent. Dan Dorfman, the New York magazine writer, gave Plato's a glowing review:

When I arrived at Plato's shortly before midnight, there were about 85 couples on hand, and I counted roughly 30 naked people among them. Later, at about 2 A.M., there were about 150 couples, and I'd guess there were about 70 people in their birthday suits. A variety of sexual feats were being performed nearly everywhere — in the pool, in the whirlpool bath, on the lounge chairs, and in a large, thickly mattressed swing room. Trio sex — usually two men and a woman — was not uncommon. I also spotted several women making love to each other. . . .

Still, just wandering around Plato's can be a lively experience. For example, I strolled into one area that houses about 40 cubicles where people can make love in private. While there I suddenly heard moaning. I thought someone was hurt and rushed over. As it turned out, the moans were coming from a girl, perhaps nineteen, and they were moans of pleasure, not pain. Her companion, another girl, in her late twenties, smiled at me, and said: "Why don't you come in?" I blushed, thanked her, and walked away.

The next such invitation was difficult to turn down. It came from Andrea, a striking brunet [sic] of about 27. She saw me walking about with a pad, asked me if I was a reporter, and then pleaded with me: "Don't call this place a f--k joint, because there's more to it than that. You can have brief, beautiful relationships here. Every city should have a Plato's."

Levenson and Ross agreed with Andrea, planning to franchise Plato's Retreats across the country. The projected earnings were enormous — more than $1 million a year for each establishment. Though the original Plato's was run as a not-for-profit operation, hundreds of thousands of dollars were spent on remodeling the Ansonia's basement, and Larry Levenson brought home a tidy paycheck each week — not bad for a former fast-food manager from the Bronx.