The Club Years — John Dunn's Memoir

FLIPPERS — "WHY DO YOU WANT TO BE A DJ? THROW A PARTY."

I walked into Flippers in the late 1970s with one goal in mind: to become a DJ.

Like everyone trying to break into the scene, I carried a demo tape and the belief that if someone would just listen, I could prove myself.

I handed that tape to Stan Wertlieb, the general manager at the time.

After we talked for a bit, he looked at me and said something that completely changed my trajectory.

"Why do you want to be a DJ? Throw a party."

At first, it sounded simple. Almost too simple.

But Stan was right.

The very first night we launched our event at Flippers, it exploded. Over 1,500 people packed the place. The energy, the movement, the music, the lights — it was unlike anything I had ever experienced.

That night didn't just introduce me to promotion. It revealed where I truly belonged.

Flippers — The Roller Boogie Palace

Flippers itself was something you had to see to understand.

Located at Santa Monica Boulevard and La Cienega, it wasn't your typical nightclub. It was a roller rink with booze, a serious sound system, and enough room to accommodate an enormous crowd.

The place was a magnet for Hollywood.

Prince, Elton John, Cher, musicians, actors, models, skaters, and every imaginable character seemed to find their way through those doors.

And watching people attempt disco moves on roller skates after a few cocktails was worth the price of admission alone.

Flippers was also where I met Joel Larson, drummer for The Grass Roots.

Joel had installed the sound system and already had deep relationships with the ownership and production side of the business.

He understood something I was just beginning to learn.

This wasn't simply about playing records.

It was about creating an experience.

Building a following.

Making people feel like they absolutely had to be somewhere on a particular night.

When I realized that my future was in producing the nights rather than just playing the music, I handed my entire vinyl collection over to Lee Selwyn, who took over the DJ side.

I didn't know it at the time, but that decision would eventually put me inside some of the most legendary rooms in Hollywood.

LE HOT CLUB — THE MONDAY NIGHT GAMBLE

"The Valley won't work."

I grew up in the San Fernando Valley, and one thing kept bothering me.

Why did everyone have to drive over the hill to Hollywood to have a good time?

Why couldn't we create something incredible right here in the Valley?

I approached Joel Larson with the idea.

He wasn't interested.

"The Valley won't work," he told me. "People go to the city to party."

Well, that was all the motivation I needed.

I was going to prove him wrong.

Harry Lewis and the meeting that launched a legend

Through my friend Mark Stagner, I managed to arrange a meeting with Harry Lewis.

Harry was the man behind Hamburger Hamlet and owned a restaurant in Encino called Le Hot Club.

I walked into his Beverly Hills office dressed like someone who had just stepped out of a Sunset Strip nightclub.

Tight black pants.

Pointed boots.

A crisp shirt.

I certainly didn't look like a traditional businessman.

But I knew how to fill a room.

I pitched Harry on giving me Monday nights at Le Hot Club.

He leaned back and gave me a proposition.

"We won't pay you anything. You'll have to figure out how to compensate yourself. If you can do that, you can have the club."

No salary.

No guarantees.

No safety net.

Just an opportunity.

I went home that night and couldn't sleep.

Then the answer hit me.

Don't charge the women.

Charge the guys.

And just like that, we had our marketing campaign.

"LADIES ALWAYS FREE — GENTLEMEN AND OTHERS $5.00."

It was outrageous.

It was funny.

And it worked.

KROQ, Richard Blade, and "No Polyester"

The next piece of the puzzle was radio.

I brought in my friend Dick Shepard, who was working at a small Long Beach radio station, to record our promotional spot.

The commercial ended with a line that became part of the personality of the night.

"Remember... no polyester."

Around that time, KROQ needed a fill-in DJ.

Rick Carroll asked whether Dick could step in, but there was one condition.

He needed to change his name.

And Richard Blade was born.

The timing couldn't have been better.

Richard was taking off on KROQ just as we were launching Le Hot Club.

We had the music.

We had the promotion.

We had the radio exposure.

And we had a concept that people immediately understood.

Opening night — Encino goes crazy

Opening night was absolute insanity.

There were lines down the street.

In Encino.

On a Monday night.

Rock bands, celebrities, leather jackets, beautiful women, and the same incredible energy we'd created on Sunset Boulevard.

Only now it was happening in the San Fernando Valley.

The place was packed.

And it stayed packed.

For eight years, Le Hot Club roared.

Academy Awards night?

Still a line.

Rain pouring down in Encino?

Still a line.

We even provided umbrellas.

The Valley nightclub that supposedly couldn't work had become one of the hottest weekly events in Los Angeles.

And Harry Lewis, the man who had given me a chance without paying me a dime, was suddenly sending me into his other restaurants as the expert.

Not bad for a Valley kid with an idea.

More From the Club Years

The archive also includes flyers from KAOS, Cattle Barons, and Le Hot Club / PG's.

Next: The Whisky and The Roxy

The story continues on the Sunset Strip.