Phones at the table are widely considered bad etiquette, rude and unromantic. Some establishments go so far as to forbid them altogether. But nearly a century ago, in the Berlin nightclubs of the Weimar Republic, the Tischtelefon was the height of romance and sophistication. “You have to think of the Tischtelefon as a historic version of Tinder,” says Christof Blaesius, current owner of Berliner Ballhaus. It’s the only ballroom left in Germany’s capital that features a functioning system of numbered table telephones. They run on
an internal network that means patrons can dial-up the party of someone who catches their eye from across the room: the Weimar Republic equivalent of swiping right. You have to think of the Tischtelefon as a historic version of Tinder. Berliner Ballhaus opened its doors under the name Chausseepalast in 1905, but its table telephones weren’t installed until the 1930s. This was a time before landlines became ubiquitous in households. Long conversations were expensive and reserved largely for business purposes or the very wealthy. But
the Golden Age of Hollywood had already filled the world with glamorous images of falling in love over the phone. “The novelty was that you could now approach someone in real time,” Blaesius explains, “without having to actually stand in front of them to receive a possible rejection. Where this technology was available, it was more common for people to call instead of making the approach in person.” You could now approach someone in real time without having to actually stand in front of them
to receive a possible rejection. While not every call led to a happily ever after, the Tischtelefon has its success stories. “There are still couples of a certain age alive today who come once or twice a year and tell the story about how they met through the telephones,” Blaesius says. “The youngest of them are around 80, but you see their faces light up as they tell you about how they received a call on the table telephones.” Over the years, Blaesius has heard
the stories of at least five or six couples that met this way, though there are certainly more who went on to withstand the test of time. In 2026, table telephones are unique to Ballhaus Berlin. But throughout the late teens and roaring 20s of the Weimar Republic, they were a hallmark of the city’s flourishing club scene. In some establishments, such systems coexisted with networks of pneumonic tubes that allowed patrons to send messages to other tables if they were too shy to pick
up the phone. Ballhaus Resi, a dancehall on the edge of Hasenheide Park, was one of the first locales to feature both of these flirtation technologies. Their table telephones were furnished out of wood, metal and glass, made at the local headquarters of Siemens. The Femina-Palast, a bar that once occupied the Schöneberg’s Ellington Hotel and the Europahaus cabaret also boasted phone lines that ran between tables. Christopher Isherwood, who famously chronicled Berlin’s interwar years in his autobiographical novel Goodbye to Berlin, not only featured
fictitious references to telephone nightclubs, but also gives an example of how to pick up a woman over the phone: “Pardon me, madame, I feel sure from your voice that you’re a fascinating little blonde with long black eyelashes – just my type. How did I know? Aha, that’s my secret! Yes – quite right: I’m tall, dark, broad-shouldered, military appearance and the tiniest little moustache… You don’t believe me? Then come and see for yourself!” Unlike the 1972 film adaptation, Goodbye Berlin, the 1966
Broadway adaptation, Cabaret, features a number called ‘Telephone Song’ that illustrates the flirtatious phenomenon of a Berlin Tischtelefon. The song hinges on the pickup line, “You shouldn’t sit alone like that,” and leads into different offers of dancing, drinks and company exchanged from table to table. Other telephone nightclubs sprung up throughout Germany, in Munich and Hamburg. Foreign exports of the concept included Zelli’s in Paris, which hosted characters such as novelist Ernest Hemingway and silent film star Louise Brooks from 1922-1931. Manhattan’s Montecarlo Casino,
which opened its doors in 1933, was also said to have been inspired by Berlin’s notorious nightlife. Ironically, 1933 would also be the year that spelled the end of Weimar decadence and liberation as Adolf Hitler was appointed chancellor of Germany. Nazi crackdowns did a lot to wipe out Berlin’s nightlife, with Allied bombings and post-war austerity serving further blows. While some clubs reopened after the war, they lacked much of their original splendour. Still, the knockout punch for the table telephones came from a
youth culture shift in the late 60s and 70s – also known as ‘death by disco’. “The sexual revolution of the 60s changed the way people met each other,” Blaesius says. “By the end of the decade you weren’t going to ballrooms anymore so much as discos.” By the 1990s, Ballhaus Berlin was the only venue with its original table telephones. By then, they had changed their operating concept to serve as an event and party venue, rather than a traditional nightclub. Meanwhile, across town,
the mid-century Charlottenburg dancehall, Cafe Keese, took up the Tischtelefon tradition with a touch of kitsch and nostalgia. Instead of vintage rotary phones, the red velvet venue installed (at the time) modern lucite corded phones, allowing patrons to once again dial for drinks and ring across the room. They could even ask for a dance when the neon signs lit up to let patrons know whose turn it was to do the asking: “Frauenwahl” or “Männerwahl”. To this day, the location has a dedicated patronage,
trending mostly 45 and up, who come to dance disco fox and two-step to thumping Schlager music. But a century after the Tischtelefon rose to popularity, we’re once again living in a Berlin where many homes don’t have a landline. Some of its residents have never even picked up a receiver. For modern audiences, the novelty of this technology is not in its futurism but its analogue simplicity, which is anything but simple to maintain. The vintage 1992 telephones in Cafe Keese’s had to undergo
a major repair three years ago. But upkeep is an even greater challenge for the original Weimar phones that will soon turn 100. “Antiques are sensitive,” Blaesius says. “At least once a year the phones have to be cleaned and pieces are always breaking, which means you have to find replacements.” The Ballhaus owner almost gave up. But after placing an ad to source original parts, he received an overwhelming response. Few produced promising leads. Luckily, this specific model of table telephones had a guardian
angel. “A young man from Bavaria called me one day and said he could help,” Blaesius remembers. “He had taken over an extensive private collection of practically museum-quality telephones, from exactly this time, in black bacalite, like our phones, as well as in ivory.” The entire collection is being handed over to the venue, ensuring that the original Chausseepalast phones will reach their centenary and remain in use. For now, it seems the future of the Tischtelefon is in safe hands. “As long as I
am at the Ballhaus,” Blaesius states, “the telephones will also be there.” Visit Ballhaus Berlin on Chausseestraße to try a Tischtelefon for yourself.
Berlin, Tischtelefon, Ballhaus Berlin, Chausseepalast, Weimar Republic, dating history, Siemens, vintage phones, Cafe Keese, Cabaret Telephone Song, Christof Blaesius