It’s on 44th street in between 5th and 6th. Wear a sport coat (they won’t let you in without one) and slacks, preferably a dark color, with a button down shirt. You don’t have to wear a tie, in fact it’s probably better if you don’t. You don’t want to appear like you’re overcompensating by dressing too fancy.
The Harvard Club is also a hotel. There’s a front desk which you can’t avoid and the people working behind it are going to ask you if there’s anything they can help you with. Tell them you’re meeting someone at the bar. They will direct you to it. After you’ve breached the first line of security you’re free to roam the premises.
It’s important to walk around like you’ve got somewhere important to be. Or at least like you belong there. If you double-take or second guess your steps, they’ll get suspicious. There’s always someone watching.
There are secluded areas like this one. It is hard to imagine what these spaces, if anything, get used for anymore. It seems like anyone who’d be attending the Harvard Club would either confine themselves to the business room, a small bank of desktop PCs, or the bar.
If you wanted to you could probably sit here for hours, reading. Though that would probably spark suspicion since it’s unlikely anyone ever does this.
Take a picture of the debate fliers that your friend, Bob, would get a kick out of. Lift back one of these frames, find that it is a safe cover, find that the safe is unlocked, find that there is a key in the safe, find that there is a corresponding lock across the hallway in a secret wooden panel, find that the door leads you down into a secret fraternity spanking dungeon.
The Algonquin Hotel is two doors down. Stop in and take a picture. Try to feel a connection, to be moved or wowed by the legacy of New York writers bred by this place. Feel nothing.