by Anne Motto, F.M. Kirby Curator of Collections
February 18, 2025
For Part 1 of this story: A Canary in the Barroom
In 1923, the Canary Cottage Inn was a popular, ahem, “tea room” where revelers could dance the night away to a swinging orchestra. Already briefly shuttered once “due to the activities of prohibition enforcement officers,” it was forced to close again when the building was lost to fire one busy March night. Undaunted, however, its proprietors, Samuel Blume and Jacob Weinberg of Newark, quickly found a nearby estate for sale and within two months reopened at the new venue. The Florham Park mansion of recently deceased E.S. Marston became the second Canary Cottage and would keep the good times rolling through Prohibition.
Despite the 18th Amendment, the flashy establishment did not fly under the radar. While its regular advertisements of course made no mention of alcohol, the Canary Cottage frequently appeared in local newspapers. Blume and Weinberg were lauded as hosts, with one glowing review saying, “The Canary Cottage is handsomely furnished, and has oriental rugs galore. It serves good eatables, well cooked, and served, especially when you are hungry enough to tackle the special chicken dinner … The managers know right well how to play the part of hosts.”
This was, after all, not Blume and Weinberg’s first rodeo. They had worked at a large Newark speakeasy until it was shut down in a 1922 raid, and Blume was handed a five-month jail sentence. At the Canary Cottage they largely avoided interference from law enforcement for years, hosting firemen’s banquets, dinners for “sportsmen” pilots, and even, rumor has it, Charles Lindbergh. Their streak was broken in 1930 when they were raided by Prohibition agents, but while Blume was once again arrested, no alcohol was found. As the Chatham Press put it, “The raid occasioned but a flurry of excitement among the guests.”
Within ten days of repeal, the Canary Cottage was awarded a liquor license, and the booze would legally flow for years to come. However, it would be two decades before the establishment’s whispered backer, Newark mobster and bootlegger Longy Zwillman, would have a documented connection to Morris County’s swankiest speakeasy. A final chapter in its dramatic story would include the FBI, anonymous tips, and at least two strippers, but that is story for another day.
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