Ian Schrager, founder

New York was on the verge of bankruptcy in the mid-1970s. Danger was in the air, people were getting mugged, but it was also a creative, bohemian time. You could really feel the energy in the gay clubs: there were frantic, intense, sweating bodies everywhere. Straight people hadn’t yet learned to let it all hang out.

I was a lawyer and my friend Steve Rubell was in the restaurant business. In bad times, people look for escapism, so I suggested starting a club. We saw an old TV studio in the west side of Manhattan, which was like Lebanon at the time – unsafe to walk. But it felt right. We persuaded a store owner called Jack Dushey to lend us $400,000 to convert the building and put lighting in, then we put a team together and it all instantly took off.

Right from the opening night, it was like holding on to a lightning bolt or walking into Disney World. The lighting and the sets were an assault on the senses. People danced with wild abandon. The door policy was controversial, but we wanted a mix of rich, poor, gay, straight, old and young, because when you have that alchemy, magic happens. Somebody topless could dance with a woman in a ballgown and a tiara.

Over the next few years, every celebrity or big shot came to Studio 54. But nobody pestered anyone for an autograph, so they could be themselves. Andy Warhol was shy and just liked to watch. Mick Jagger was the same as he was on stage and Diana Ross was an amazing dancer. I never saw Donald Trump dance, though. He was a serious guy.

‘It was like holding on to a lightning bolt’ … Andy Warhol, Calvin Klein, Brooke Shields and Steve Rubell at Studio 54 c.1981. Photograph: Robin Platzer/Images Press/Getty Images

We were always trying to wow our customers. We dumped four tons of glitter on the dancefloor. When Bianca Jagger jumped on a white horse, the photo went all over the world, but those moments only ever lasted a few minutes because we didn’t want to stop the party. There was a huge “man in the moon” hanging over the dancefloor, who lit up whenever a giant spoon rose up to his nose. But this was more about being arrogant and subversive than celebrating drugs. Studio 54 was no more hedonistic than any other place.

I’m lucky to have survived it. Success made us do stupid things, like fighting the US government. After Steve said, “Only the mafia make more money”, Internal Revenue were all over us. It’s a myth that we had cash hidden all over the club. It was in the back of cars.

Michael Overington, manager

I started as a $3-an-hour cleaner but I made myself invaluable and ended up manager. I kept the place going while Ian and Steve were in jail for 13 months [for tax evasion]. I’d visit them, take in dimes for their phone calls, tell them what was happening in the club.

‘Visiting artists loved it’ … Grace Jones performs at a Studio 54 party in 1978. Photograph: Ron Galella/WireImage

I was the sensible guy who’d crack the whip and get the bartenders and cloakroom girls in position. Every night, we played Earth, Wind and Fire to get the staff in the zone. There was a lot of cocaine back then and the music was energising, so people would speed up and dance till 4am. Visiting artists loved it when we played their records. Madonna lip-synced to a tape. Diana Ross sang along to her songs in the DJ booth.

Because it was a big space with an opening out on to the street, we could bring cars, furniture or animals in, to create different environments every night. At $20 or $30 admission, the door take alone would pay for the scenery, actors and costumes for drag parties and such. The neighbours thought we were crazy. Once, for a Grease party, we brought a load of 1950s convertibles in and the fire department told me to take the gasoline out of them. So we pumped it into the sewers. You could smell it for two blocks. I said: “Well, you told me to get the gas out.”

I recently found an old letter from the health department that said: “You are in violation of the regulations by having a zebra in the club.” The animals would take dumps on the dancefloor.

And one New Year’s Eve, we had a 200ft ice wall which turned the club into a giant blue igloo. I piled the ice out on to the sidewalk the next morning – it was 6ft high and 20ft long. This drunk guy came along with his eyes wide open and said: “Man, they must serve some big drinks in there.”