The year is 1923.  President Warren G. Harding is the first president elected by the men AND women of the USA. World War I is over and America finds itself as one of the most powerful industrial and urban economies of the world. A clash of cultures pervades the country with this new found stature: production vs. consumption, character vs. personality, scarcity vs. abundunce, religion vs. science, idealizing the past vs. future, local vs. mass culture, and substance vs. image. Prohibition eventually provides one of the best meters for which “side” you're on.

The Eaton Hotel has not been immune to these clashes. The dimwitted, but friendly owner Mr. Silveroak tries to keep the old Victorian style abundant, but fires, weather, and money have forced his place to a different tune... Now the Jazz-age reigns until the buck ends.

This weekend the folk, if not the weather, are providing plenty to roar about. A terrible winter storm has stranded all of the guests (and those fortunate to make it inside) at the Eaton Hotel. The train station a block away has had to send many a weary passenger to the Eaton in the middle of the night. The Hotel also finds itself hosting a large congregation for the Women's Voting League as well as the usual out-on-the-town clientele looking to have some fun.

A blood curling scream cuts through the weariness of cabin fever shortly after noon. Later a notice requesting everyone's presence at the ballroom by 8pm is placed under each door. Something strange is afoot - best be there as there is only one way to discover the truth or to conceal it.  All that remains is to find out which you hope it will be...