The Lake Ronkonkoma Ledger
June 10, 1927 Edition
Front Page, Society Column

By L. Farrell, Staff Correspondent

Ronkonkoma, L.I. — There’s a murmur on the wind and a curious shimmer on the lake. Beneath the quiet veneer of our little township, a certain name is making the rounds in hushed tones and clinking glasses—Artemis.

Said to be nestled somewhere near the old tracks, behind an unmarked door cloaked in ivy and shadows, Artemis is no ordinary establishment. It is, by all local accounts, a modern-day temple of indulgence, where jazz floats like smoke and the clatter of cocktail shakers defies the Volstead Act.

From the outside, there is nothing remarkable. But those in the know—be they railroad men, flappers, or gents in pinstripe suits—speak reverently of its velvet booths, crimson lanterns, and a menu of elixirs far bolder than any soda fountain offers.

A Garden of Quiet Rebellion

Legend has it Artemis takes its name from the Greek goddess of the wild, the moon, and all things untamed—fitting, perhaps, for a place that offers sanctuary to free spirits in a time of restraint.

While officials claim the region remains dry and orderly, patrons have reportedly spotted figures slipping in at dusk, only to emerge hours later, laughing, dancing, and smelling faintly of citrus and gin.

“The bourbon there,” whispered one sharply dressed fellow, “tastes like it was aged in a barrel blessed by Dionysus himself.”

Music, Moonlight, and Mystery

On any given night, a piano tinkles softly behind the bar, keeping time with a clarinet and a trumpet that sings like it’s been freed from purgatory. The crowd is mixed—blue collars, silver spoons, and everything in between. What unites them is a shared desire: to escape, to sip, to be.

Those fortunate enough to gain entry say a secret phrase is whispered through a sliding panel in a mahogany door—though no two sources can seem to agree on what that phrase might be. “The moon is high,” claimed one lady in feathers. “Lake water never tells,” offered another.

The Local Response

Naturally, law enforcement denies all knowledge. “There are no such unlawful gatherings in my jurisdiction,” said Constable Reilly with a suspiciously rosy nose. “Just decent folks enjoying soda and song.”

But Ronkonkoma knows better. In these grey days of temperance and turmoil, Artemis glows like a firefly in a mason jar—bright, brief, and hard to catch.

So if you hear the jazz on the breeze, or the scent of lavender and absinthe calls your name, follow it. Just don’t tell the feds. And remember:

In Ronkonkoma, some secrets are best enjoyed by moonlight.

For entertainment purposes only. This article does not confirm nor deny the existence of any illegal establishment.