Every time I walk up the stairs at the West Fourth Street subway stop on my way to the Comedy Cellar, I find myself bouncing from one leg to the other, the way that Louis C. K. does on those steps in the intro to his popular summer series on FX. Call it the Louie shuffle. Once at street level, I look around, and the first things I often see are ghosts.


To my left is the old Waverly Theater, where audiences lined up for midnight movies like “Night of the Living Dead” and “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” Dr. J played at the basketball court across the street. As I make my way uphill on Minetta Lane, I pass the sign for Cafe Wha?, site of Bob Dylan’s New York debut. But it’s not until I go around the corner into the dark, subterranean hallway of the Comedy Cellar that the past overwhelms the present.


That’s because this narrow space, where audiences slowly file into what is the most storied old-school comedy club in the city, has the look of a hall of fame, even if it isn’t one. The photographs, most of them old, sit on walls painted a sickly green. A balled-up paper towel rests above exposed pipes right over your head.


What’s compelling about this comedy crypt, particularly for someone like me, who writes about this line of work, is that all of the comedians sign their photos. They frequently offer a line of thanks to the club’s former owner, Manny Dworman (his son, Noam, now owns the club), and its much-feared booker, Estee Adoran.


Imagine how intimidating it must be to write a joke on the walls, where it will remain for decades, competing with all those other funny lines. Many pass up the chance, instead simply expressing gratitude.


“Thank you for being my family,” wrote Anthony Jeselnik, a comic known for his abrasiveness. Some appear earnest but hint at untold stories. The revered Mitch Hedberg, who died in 2005, wrote: “To Estee from Mitch. Thank you for being my friend.”


Yet there are still many comics who capture a part of their public sensibilities in a few funny words. Todd Barry, who nicely plays mock big-shot attitude, wrote: “To Estee and Manny, You can keep this.” Louis C. K. wrote: “I’m going to hate looking at this picture all the time. Please take it down when I die.” Sarah Silverman: “Dear Comedy Cellar: I’m pregnant. It’s yours. Love Sarah.”


Some comics try a less aggressive approach, preferring self-deprecation in this most swaggering of comedy clubs. Whitney Cummings drew an arrow at her hair in a photo, writing, “Bad idea bangs.” Many praise the free food.


In the past year Ms. Adoran has redecorated the walls, adding many new comics. In an episode of “Louie” last year — the show is now in its third season — you could see the old Comedy Cellar wall, where the photos are more spread out. Now they wallpaper the hallway. There are head scratchers (what is the singer John Mayer, who has dabbled in stand-up, doing there?), emerging stars like Marina Franklin and popular veterans like Dane Cook and Bill Burr (referred to here as Billy Burr).


The only unsigned photo I saw was a snapshot of Roseanne Barr. Some omissions are unintentional. The absence of Marc Maron is an oversight that Ms. Adoran says she will fix. Others, like the regular Nikki Glaser, are missing for a reason: Apparently Ms. Glaser is working on finding a head shot she likes.


At the end of the hallway, in a short corridor on the left, are a few more photos right before the door to the theater. Six comics have pride of place here, behind a plate of glass. Baby-faced versions of Jon Stewart, Colin Quinn, Dave Chappelle, Darrell Hammond and Ray Romano have been staring at comics before they walked onstage for years. Wanda Sykes-Hall (who got divorced and dropped the second half of her last name) was added at some point. Ms. Adoran says they are there because these were the first regulars “who became really big.”


Opposite those six stars are a shot of Andy Kaufman and three candid photos of Robin Williams performing in the early 1980s, around when the club started presenting comedians. That Williams showed up was an early lift for the club. Now the Cellar has major stars drop by all the time, but it’s a reminder that this hallway is as much about history as it is about the present.


Of all the photographs, my favorite is of Tom Rhodes, the first comic to sign a development deal with Comedy Central. In his note he captured best what makes this place a beloved destination. “Thank you,” he wrote, “for being the groovy, smoke-filled jazz riffing village club I dreamed of as a boy.”