DANCE CLUBS HEEDING CALL TO TAME WILD LIFE

It was 3 A.M. on a Saturday night and Samantha Gregorio was all dressed up
with no place to go. Wearing glitter eyeshadow and absurdly tall platform
shoes, she huddled in a doorway outside the Sound Factory on West 46th
Street, a relentless downpour making a mockery of her painstakingly crafted
face.

Most of her friends, along with 1,000 or so other young people, were inside
the cavernous club on Manhattan's far West Side, but the 17-year-old high
school senior from Whitestone, Queens, had failed the identification check
at the door. ''I tried to use my older sister's license and I got snagged,''
she said, her voice heavy with disappointment.

Crammed beside her in the doorway were a dozen other sad and soggy clubbers,
a gallery of Sound Factory rejects who had broken one or another of the
stringent rules that have come to govern New York City night life in the
late 1990's.

There was a young man tossed out for fighting, a purple ring quickly
enveloping his right eye. Nearby, a girl with Pippi Longstocking braids was
so intoxicated she had retched on her shoes. And next to her were a pair of
Brooklyn men who said they had been ejected for selling Ecstasy, a
psychedelic designer drug that many consider an essential part of the
clubbing experience.

''New York isn't the fun town it used to be,'' Ms. Gregorio said, sounding
more like 27 than 17. ''It feels more like Cleveland than Sin City.''

Long a mecca for anything-goes night life, New York and its big-box dance
clubs have become heavily regulated places where drugs, underage drinking
and unseemly behavior are zealously discouraged. Chastened by increased
police scrutiny, powerful neighborhood opposition and the Government's
highly public war against the night-life magnate Peter Gatien, New York's
clubs have become increasingly intolerant of activity that might draw
unwanted attention from the authorities or the neighbors.

Since 1998, when prosecutors tried unsuccessfully to convict Mr. Gatien of
turning two of his clubs, the Limelight and the Tunnel, into drug bazaars,
the city's largest dance establishments have adopted security measures to
rival those of El Al, the hypervigilant Israeli airline.

Not that New York's night life scene has become puritanical. Many of the
16-to-25-year-olds who make a habit of club-hopping said they can always
find a way to sneak their drugs in, and on recent weekends, many clubgoers
admitted to being high on Ecstasy. When all else fails, they said, they
simply swallow their pills before entering.

But gone is the era when clubs like Studio 54 and Regine's practically
encouraged their patrons to snort cocaine at the bar. These days, metal
detectors and full body searches have become de rigeur. Most clubs employ
battalions of security guards, some of whom work undercover and solicit the
crowd for illegal drugs.

Many clubs maintain a photo gallery of ejected patrons behind the velvet
rope. And in an attempt to rein in drug use, almost every establishment has
bathroom attendants who peer under stalls and stop more than one person from
entering at a time.

On a recent evening at the Limelight in Chelsea, Jacques Stephens, 25, said
he was told he couldn't roll his own cigarettes because it might send the
wrong signal to would-be marijuana smokers. ''Things have gotten so tight
that if someone causes the least bit of trouble, they'll get whisked out
onto the street so fast and quietly no one notices,'' said Mr. Stephens, a
party promoter who goes by the name Ju Dred. ''Even if you're the host,
they'll just toss you out and there's nothing you can do about it.''

The increased security, said club patrons, disc jockeys and promoters, has
put a chill in New York's famously free-wheeling night life. Colin Strange,
31, a producer of techno music who travels extensively, said Mayor Rudolph
W. Giuliani has succeeded in criminalizing night life to the point that
almost every large American city's offerings are considered superior to
those in New York.

''When you get patted down just to enter a club or you can get thrown out
for dancing in the wrong spot, it really destroys the fun of going out,'' he
said. ''Dance clubs and raves are about freedom and escapism, and it's hard
to feel relaxed when you get manhandled and treated rudely.''

Club owners acknowledged that security and surveillance have become more
rigorous, but they said they were adapting to higher standards set by the
city. ''We likely violate people's civil rights, but it's a situation that
this administration has put us into,'' said Mr. Gatien, whose clubs have
been subject to many police raids, closures and investigations over the last
few years. ''Of course we are concerned about offending people or being too
intrusive, but it's a reality we have to deal with.''

City officials couldn't be more pleased, saying the harsher climate is proof
their efforts are paying off.

Deputy Mayor Rudy Washington, who oversees the administration's club
campaign, said complaints of New York becoming duller than Kansas were
reasons to celebrate.

''If the criticism is that people can't get drugs and weapons into clubs,
then I'll accept it,'' he said. ''If a parent doesn't have to worry if their
kid will come home from a club alive, then I think we're doing our job.''

Robert F. Messner, a lawyer who runs the Police Department's civil
enforcement unit, which has won nearly 350 court orders to close
''troublemaking'' businesses this year, credits the city's well-publicized
crackdown with taming the unruly side of the club world. ''The message has
gotten out that if you don't want to have a problem, you're going to have to
police yourselves,'' he said.

Under the city's nuisance abatement law, three arrests at a club can be
enough to shut it permanently. the Tunnel, Limelight and Sound Factory were
all padlocked after the police made drug arrests at or near them. But courts
found that the arrests did not all meet legal criteria to be held against
the clubs, which were allowed under court order to reopen.

''The activity doesn't have to be facilitated by the club owner,'' Mr.
Messner said. ''The law doesn't take into account the innocence or guilt of
the management.''

As a result, the clubs have introduced a remarkable battery of measures to
keep trouble away. At most places, the vetting process begins on the
sidewalk, where security guards look for the dilated pupils and wobbly gaits
of those under the influence. They also scan the crowd for faces that might
match those on their photo gallery of ''most wanted'' posters.

At the Tunnel, which may be the city's most thoroughly policed club,
bouncers pass out palm cards that warn entering patrons against illegal drug
use. The message is repeated by a pair of employees in the entry vestibule.
And inside the sprawling club at West 27th Street and 12th Avenue, the same
admonishment is posted on nearly every wall.

Those who make it through the identification checkpoint have their ID cards
photographed by a machine that looks like a microfilm reader. A woman who
operated the machine at Sound Factory one night told skeptical patrons their
names and addresses were simply being added to a mailing list. But a bouncer
at the Tunnel admitted that the photographic record is a legal safeguard
against trouble, citing an incident last month in which a 16-year-old girl
claimed she and a friend had been raped in the club's bathroom. Although the
two later admitted fabricating their story, city officials cited the girl's
age as legal grounds for closing the club.

Before paying the $25 admission fee, patrons are thoroughly searched:
pockets are emptied, bags rummaged through and cigarette packs pulled apart.
Those who want to drink alcohol have their identification checked again and
then must wear a bracelet to prove they are over 21. To prevent a patron
from sharing the bracelet with a friend, the band shreds upon removal.

Robert H. Silbering, the city's former special narcotics prosecutor, who is
now a private security consultant, came up with most of the Tunnel's
anti-drug strategy. In addition to the 25 uniformed guards working the club,
he said, he employs a handful of undercover agents whose identities aren't
known even to Mr. Gatien's staff.

On the average night, he said, 20 or so patrons are ejected, mostly for
using drugs. ''Are you going to catch everybody?'' he asked. ''No, but by
creating a chilling atmosphere, we can deter some people from bringing in
drugs or using them.''

Of course, the tactics also lead to fewer paying customers. At the Tunnel
one recent Saturday night, the crowd was noticeably sparse, something many
patrons attributed to the security. John Rullan, 18, of Oceanside on Long
Island, said he had been mistreated that evening after a girl approached him
for a light. As he was digging in his pocket, he said, a guard grabbed his
arm and marched him into a room, where he was subjected to a search that
included the removal of his shoes, socks and trousers. ''They were looking
for pills, but I didn't have any,'' he said. ''They apologized and let me
go, but I'm through with the place.''

Still, many of those who spoke to a reporter at a half-dozen clubs in recent
weeks said they had no trouble taking drugs in, especially Ecstasy, a
substance that was invented in the 1970's and banned by the Federal
Government in 1985. Many of those who spend Friday and Saturday nights at
places like the Tunnel, Sound Factory, Twilo and Vinyl said the experience
would be humdrum without Ecstasy, which they said is perfectly suited to the
clubs' elaborately orchestrated light shows and the chest-thumping house
music.

Several people bragged about their modes of concealing the drug. Some women
said they stashed tablets inside tampons or under bras, while others
admitted to hiding them in places a guard would not dare search.

For those who arrive empty-handed, ''house dealers'' -- those who sneak in
quantities to sell at $25 a pop -- can sometimes be found, although
approaching an undercover security guard by mistake will bring instant
ejection.

Because it also has amphetamine-like qualities, Ecstasy often spurs people
to dance for hours on end, and dehydration is a serious risk to those who do
not consume enough water. But the biggest danger comes with combining
Ecstasy and other drugs, something called ''candy flipping.'' In January, an
18-year-old died at the Tunnel after taking a combination of Ecstasy and
ketamine, an animal anesthetic commonly known as Special K.

At Twilo on a recent Friday night, many patrons bopped around the club
holding colorful fluorescent tubes known as glow sticks, a psychedelic
accoutrement popular with those ''rolling'' on Ecstasy.

Ilana Yitzhaki, 19, a student from New Brunswick, N.J., who once worked at
the Tunnel, estimated that the majority of the crowd was rolling that
evening. ''It really brings people together, and helps you let your guard
down,'' she said. ''Just look around, and see how everyone is smiling.''

Beatific grins were rampant, but the thick-necked security guards were
scowling. Wearing tiny earphones and eyeing the throngs suspiciously, they
pointed their flashlight beams into the faces of anyone who paused on a
stairway or blocked the ramp leading to the restrooms.

Mike Bindra, Twilo's general manager, said the security is tight for the
good of the 2,000 or so people who attend on an average weekend night. The
price of entry is $25 to $30, depending on the D.J. ''We're trying to make
it difficult to sell or even do drugs on the premises,'' he said. ''We want
people to come here to dance, not to sprawl out on the floor and be a big
mess. Sure, the security can be an inconvenience, but then again, so is
living in Manhattan.''