Thirty years after Studio 54 opened its doors, the pretty young things who ran the place are not so young anymore. But they all have stories to tell—even if they can’t tell them to their grandchildren. Covering Studio 54 was like covering the big bang. On April 26, 1977—a long time before superstar D.J.’s, before velvet ropes, before anyone had ever heard of “club drugs” like XTC, 2CB, and special K—Steve Rubell and Ian Schrager let there be light and speed and spectacle so preternaturally pleasurable that it had to fall apart. But while the ball lasted, there was no more thrilling nightlife than the dance on West 54th Street. I know, because I was there. Studio 54 was my beat as the “Intelligencer” columnist. Go forth and party with Halston, Bianca, Andy, and Liza, said my editor, and bring back the buzz. (…) By Philip Nobile