In other words, the remnants of Tavern on the Green, perhaps the most fantastical restaurant in New York—Mr. Genereux calls its aesthetic “idealized fantasyland”—will be resurrected by a disciple of suburban chic.
MUCH INK HAS BEEN spilled in hagiographic accounts of the last days of the LeRoy reign at Tavern on the Green, a restaurant with which New York City has a relationship that is, at best, fraught, and at worst, scornful. But sources close to the LeRoys say that following Warner’s death, Tavern on the Green was allowed to atrophy.
“I would go in there with colleagues, and they would go, ‘Oh my God, this place really needs work,” said a LeRoy colleague. “But the ladies from Ohio off the tour buses would still be enthralled.”
And why shouldn’t they be? The place was a wonderland of excess, guests ushered by frocked doormen into rooms of Tiffany stained glass and Waterford chandeliers, inanimate monkeys and brass samovars, with views of the world’s most famous park, framed by King Kong and elephant topiaries. The sort of world that could only have been created by Warner Leroy, son of Wizard of Oz producer Mervyn LeRoy and Doris Warner, child of the Hollywood backlots, imagination unbound by questions of money.
Warner LeRoy, after acquiring the concession in 1973, made himself, and Tavern on the Green, the center of his own Technicolor universe. He was, said one insider, “a consummate operator.”
“He had a relationship with all of the political centers of the city,” said the family confidant. Campaign finance records show he spread his money around, doling out thousands of dollars in donations in the 1990s to Ruth Messinger, Rudy Giuliani, Mark Green, Alan Hevesi, David Dinkins and Peter Vallone.
Jennifer LeRoy was all of 22 when she inherited Tavern on the Green in 2001, and her upbringing hadn’t prepared her for the cutthroat world of restaurant management. Nor did she seem particularly inclined to learn. Sources say her presence on the scene was negligible. As was that of her mother, Kay, whom she called in to help. As far as political power was concerned, she and her mother seemed, for whatever reasons, principally interested in cultivating the support of former public advocate Betsy Gotbaum.
Yet Jennifer was good with the press, which positively salivated for her, the pretty young socialite atop one of New York City’s most prized baubles. She posed for a profile in Page Six magazine as Dorothy in ruby high heels and thick braided hair, clutching a Toto-like dog in her hands. Actual management of the restaurant fell to chief operating officer Michael Desiderio (he declined to comment for this story).
THERE WAS DECAY BEHIND the gilded curtain, and Tavern on the Green’s landlord, the Parks Department, appeared to notice. In February 2009, in preparation for the year-end expiration of the LeRoys’ lease, the city issued a request for bids that pointedly read: “Proposals are expected to include a substantial capital plan.” Proposed capital expenditures are said to have been a determining factor in the decision to award the new concession rights not to the LeRoys but rather to Central Park Boathouse operator Dean Poll. He promised to invest $25 million. The LeRoys: about $8.5 million.
But Mr. Poll had more going for him than that. Eager as he was to establish a monopoly over Central Park’s most lucrative restaurants, spanning the Boathouse on the eastern side and Tavern on the Green on the west, Mr. Poll was also something of the last man standing, abetted in his efforts by the LeRoy family’s own dysfunction, the torpor of the Parks Department and a hospitality industry reeling from the recession.
