The Palladium opening night, on May 14, 1985, brought together celebrity, art, nightlife, and the practical disorder of a venue still being finished. For Andy Warhol, the evening was at once a social spectacle and a test of whether the club could succeed beyond its premiere: the crowd filled the room, but made its art impossible to see, while the club’s future depended on drawing people night after night.

Preparations and opening-day disruptions

The evening followed a day of preparation. On May 13, Ian Schrager called, Warhol finished designing the drink tickets, and Vincent Fremont had them Xeroxed. Warhol went to the Palladium with Benjamin Liu to show the design to Steve Rubell, then taped Rubell for an hour and a half for the Party book. That interview and the ticket design put Warhol’s creative and documentary work alongside the club’s opening preparations.

The next day began with Amos being sick, then acquired a costly detour at Warhol’s home. A painter working on a roof across the street said Warhol’s roof needed work; Warhol gave him permission without first asking for an estimate. The bill came to $4,900. When a neighbor objected to the newly silver roof, Warhol asked for it to be repainted. The painter estimated that spraying thirty gallons would cost $1,200, did the job in five minutes, and later asked for $1,500. Warhol challenged the higher figure by recalling the earlier price. The episode made the opening day feel less like a smooth buildup to a party than a series of errands and unexpected costs.

Benjamin Liu picked Warhol up early, and they took a $4 cab to the office. Its size and spread-out layout meant running repeatedly up and down stairs; Warhol described that movement as part of his working life since the move. The club’s opening was therefore approached from an already hectic day, not from a distance of effortless glamour.

A club still taking shape

At the Palladium, Warhol, Keith Haring, and PH entered through the back door on 13th Street. Electricians and construction workers were still working quickly. In Rubell’s office, phones rang amid confusion over the invitations and guest list: Rubell said, “There’s no door list, the invitations all were delivered yesterday and there is no list.” Meanwhile, people kept arriving with the list. The contrast between the club’s public opening and its unfinished practical arrangements was immediate. Warhol taped more material for the Party book and took photographs before leaving to drop off PH and go home to glue.

The preparations also included questions of dress and appearance. Warhol and the others had been waiting for Kenny Scharf to call about whether he wanted to go to Stephen Sprouse’s for an outfit; Scharf went on his own instead. He wore pink Stephen Sprouse low-riders with a blouse made by his wife, Teresa. Warhol disliked the look, particularly the visible crack at the back, and extended that disapproval to the same style on women. His judgment registers the personal taste that accompanied his record of the evening, rather than a neutral account of the clothes.

Guests, tensions, and expectations

Warhol picked up Cornelia Guest, who wore her hair in a long braid and, in his view, looked beautiful, like Britt Ekland. Halston also came to the opening, which Warhol treated as a notable appearance. Inside, Benjamin Liu appeared as Ming Vauze in a grape-colored strapless dress with a tulle skirt. Beauregard, a writer for Details, was also in drag. Boy George arrived with Marilyn, whom Warhol described as obnoxious and noted was carrying a camera. Eric and Shawn from Area looked glum.

The social scene included its own small measures of how the club was being run. Chris Makos, wearing a striped outfit, complained that drinks were not free. Cornelia, by contrast, was getting Cristal from Dan, Rubell’s driver from New Hampshire, who had become the club’s “general manager.” Warhol doubted that Dan would succeed in the role, reasoning that he was too nice to manage a place like the Palladium. These observations made the opening night more than a parade of guests: they captured expectations about service, authority, and the kind of person thought fit to run a nightclub.

Warhol also recorded unease beneath the celebration. Jean-Michel Basquiat was in a dark mood. He had bought Jennifer a dress for the opening but left her at home instead of bringing her. Warhol chose not to lecture him about his heroin use because he wanted to avoid a fight. He was also worried that Ming might become an alcoholic. Remembering what had happened with Curley, he feared a pattern in which drinking began in a happy, fun atmosphere and ended badly. The party’s exuberance did not cancel these private anxieties; it gave them a crowded, brightly dressed setting.

The crowded room and the uncertain comeback

Warhol’s assessment of the Palladium remained provisional. The opening had gone well, he thought, but the club would need bridge-and-tunnel patrons to keep it full regularly. If it succeeded, he reasoned, that would show there was no recession. The club’s future thus became, in his account, a test not only of Rubell’s comeback but also of whether nightlife could draw sustained business in a weak economy.

The packed room also prompted a sharper observation about art and its setting. Putting art in a disco, Warhol noted, made little difference once the room filled: people could no longer see the works. He compared the effect to the “discotheque room” in Saturday Night Fever, which became indistinguishable from a mass of dancing bodies when crowded. The opening turned a hoped-for combination of art and nightlife into a perceptual problem: once bodies occupied the room, the art receded from view.

For Rubell, the occasion marked a return after jail. Warhol saw him as having a new story, “jail and then the Big Comeback.” Rubell said, “I never lost faith,” though Warhol immediately noted that he had lost hair. Warhol left at 2:30. That concise ending leaves the opening’s central question unresolved: the Palladium had attracted a crowd for its debut, but whether it could keep attracting one—and make its art matter in a room built for dancing—was still to be seen.