7

I shall take advantage of this pause in my narrative to describe more closely the "Club" spoken of in the latter part of the preceding chapter—to describe it as I afterwards came to know it, as an habitué. I shall do this not only because of the direct influence it had on my life, but also because it was at that time the most famous place of its kind in New York, and was well known to both white and colored people of certain classes.

I will take this pause in my story to describe the "Club" I mentioned near the end of the previous chapter. I will describe it as I later came to know it, as a regular. I do this not only because the Club directly influenced my life. It was also the most famous place of its kind in New York at the time. It was well known to both white and colored people of certain classes.

I have already stated that in the basement of the house there was a Chinese restaurant. The Chinaman who kept it did an exceptionally good business; for chop-suey was a favorite dish among the frequenters of the place. It is a food that, somehow, has the power of absorbing alcoholic liquors that have been taken into the stomach. I have heard men claim that they could sober up on chop-suey. Perhaps that accounted, in some degree, for its popularity. On the main floor there were two large rooms: a parlor about thirty feet in length, and a large, square back room into which the parlor opened. The floor of the parlor was carpeted; small tables and chairs were arranged about the room; the windows were draped with lace curtains, and the walls were literally covered with photographs or lithographs of every colored man in America who had ever "done anything." There were pictures of Frederick Douglass and of Peter Jackson, of all the lesser lights of the prize-fighting ring, of all the famous jockeys and the stage celebrities, down to the newest song and dance team. The most of these photographs were autographed and, in a sense, made a really valuable collection. In the back room there was a piano, and tables were placed around the wall. The floor was bare and the center was left vacant for singers, dancers, and others who entertained the patrons. In a closet in this room which jutted out into the hall the proprietor kept his buffet. There was no open bar, because the place had no liquor license. In this back room the tables were sometimes pushed aside, and the floor given over to general dancing. The front room on the next floor was a sort of private party room; a back room on the same floor contained no furniture and was devoted to the use of new and ambitious performers. In this room song and dance teams practiced their steps, acrobatic teams practiced their tumbles, and many other kinds of "acts" rehearsed their "turns." The other rooms of the house were used as sleeping-apartments.

I have already mentioned the Chinese restaurant in the basement of the house. The Chinaman who ran it did exceptionally good business because chop-suey was a favorite dish among the people who frequented the place. Somehow, the food has the power to absorb alcoholic drinks in the stomach. I have heard men claim that they could sober up on chop-suey. Perhaps that helped explain its popularity. On the main floor were two large rooms: a parlor about thirty feet long and a large, square back room opening off it. The parlor floor was carpeted, and small tables and chairs were arranged around the room. Lace curtains hung at the windows, and photographs or lithographs literally covered the walls. They showed every colored man in America who had ever "done anything." There were pictures of Frederick Douglass and Peter Jackson, along with all the lesser-known prizefighters, famous jockeys, and stage celebrities, down to the newest song and dance team. Most of the photographs were autographed, and in a sense, they made a truly valuable collection. In the back room, there was a piano, and tables stood along the walls. The floor was bare, with the center left open for singers, dancers, and others who entertained the patrons. In a closet in this room that jutted into the hall, the proprietor kept his buffet. There was no open bar because the place had no liquor license. Sometimes the tables in the back room were pushed aside, and everyone could dance. The front room on the next floor was a kind of private party room. A back room on the same floor had no furniture and was set aside for new and ambitious performers. Song and dance teams practiced their steps there, acrobatic teams practiced their tumbles, and many other kinds of "acts" rehearsed their "turns." The other rooms in the house were used as bedrooms.

No gambling was allowed, and the conduct of the place was surprisingly orderly. It was, in short, a center of colored Bohemians and sports. Here the great prize fighters were wont to come, the famous jockeys, the noted minstrels, whose names and faces were familiar on every bill-board in the country; and these drew a multitude of those who love to dwell in the shadow of greatness. There were then no organizations giving performances of such order as are now given by several colored companies; that was because no manager could imagine that audiences would pay to see Negro performers in any other role than that of Mississippi River roustabouts; but there was lots of talent and ambition. I often heard the younger and brighter men discussing the time when they would compel the public to recognize that they could do something more than grin and cut pigeon-wings.

No gambling was allowed, and the place was surprisingly orderly. In short, it was a gathering place for colored Bohemians and sports. Great prizefighters, famous jockeys, and well-known minstrels came there. Their names and faces appeared on billboards across the country. They drew crowds of people who loved to live in the shadow of greatness. At the time, no groups gave performances like those now offered by several colored companies. That was because no manager could imagine audiences paying to see Negro performers in any role except Mississippi River roustabouts. But there was plenty of talent and ambition. I often heard the younger, brighter men discussing the day they would force the public to recognize their abilities. They could do more than grin and cut pigeon-wings.

Sometimes one or two of the visiting stage professionals, after being sufficiently urged, would go into the back room and take the places of the regular amateur entertainers, but they were very sparing with these favors, and the patrons regarded them as special treats. There was one man, a minstrel, who, whenever he responded to a request to "do something," never essayed anything below a reading from Shakespeare. How well he read I do not know, but he greatly impressed me; and I can say that at least he had a voice which strangely stirred those who heard it. Here was a man who made people laugh at the size of his mouth, while he carried in his heart a burning ambition to be a tragedian; and so after all he did play a part in a tragedy.

Sometimes, after enough urging, one or two visiting stage professionals would perform in the back room instead of the regular amateur entertainers. But they rarely did this, and the patrons considered their performances special treats. One man, a minstrel, would never perform anything less than a reading from Shakespeare when asked to "do something." I do not know how well he read, but he greatly impressed me. I can say that his voice, at least, stirred his listeners in a strange way. This man made people laugh at the size of his mouth, yet he carried a burning ambition to be a tragic actor in his heart. And so, after all, he did play a part in a tragedy.

These notables of the ring, the turf, and the stage, drew to the place crowds of admirers, both white and colored. Whenever one of them came in, there were awe-inspired whispers from those who knew him by sight, in which they enlightened those around them as to his identity, and hinted darkly at their great intimacy with the noted one. Those who were on terms of approach immediately showed their privilege over others less fortunate by gathering around their divinity. I was, at first, among those who dwelt in darkness. Most of these celebrities I had never heard of. This made me an object of pity among many of my new associates. I soon learned, however, to fake a knowledge for the benefit of those who were greener than I; and, finally, I became personally acquainted with the majority of the famous personages who came to the "Club."

These stars of boxing, horse racing, and the stage drew crowds of admirers to the place, both white and colored. Whenever one of them came in, those who recognized him whispered in awe. They told the people around them who he was and hinted mysteriously at how close they were to him. Those who knew him well enough to approach him immediately gathered around their idol. In this way, they showed their privilege over the less fortunate. At first, I was among those who were in the dark. I had never heard of most of these celebrities. This made many of my new associates pity me. Soon, however, I learned to pretend I knew them, for the benefit of those who knew even less than I did. Eventually, I became personally acquainted with most of the famous people who came to the "Club."

A great deal of money was spent here, so many of the patrons were men who earned large sums. I remember one night a dapper little brown-skin fellow was pointed out to me and I was told that he was the most popular jockey of the day, and that he earned $12,000 a year. This latter statement I couldn't doubt, for with my own eyes I saw him spending at about thirty times that rate. For his friends and those who were introduced to him he bought nothing but wine—in sporting circles, "wine" means champagne—and paid for it at five dollars a quart. He sent a quart to every table in the place with his compliments; and on the table at which he and his party were seated there were more than a dozen bottles. It was the custom at the "Club" for the waiter not to remove the bottles when champagne was being drunk until the party had finished. There were reasons for this; it advertised the brand of wine, it advertised that the party was drinking wine, and advertised how much they had bought. This jockey had won a great race that day, and he was rewarding his admirers for the homage they paid him, all of which he accepted with a fine air of condescension.

A great deal of money was spent here, since many patrons were men who earned large sums. I remember one night when someone pointed out a dapper little brown-skin fellow. I was told he was the most popular jockey of the day and earned $12,000 a year. I couldn't doubt his earnings, because I saw him spending money at about thirty times that rate. He bought nothing but wine for his friends and anyone introduced to him. In sporting circles, "wine" means champagne, and he paid five dollars a quart for it. He sent a quart to every table in the place, with his compliments. At the table where he and his party sat, there were more than a dozen bottles. At the "Club", waiters didn't remove champagne bottles until the party had finished drinking. There were reasons for this. The bottles advertised the brand of wine, showed that the party was drinking wine, and showed how much they had bought. The jockey had won a great race that day. He was rewarding his admirers for the homage they paid him, which he accepted with a fine air of condescension.

Besides the people I have just been describing, there was at the place almost every night one or two parties of white people, men and women, who were out sight-seeing, or slumming. They generally came in cabs; some of them would stay only for a few minutes, while others sometimes stayed until morning. There was also another set of white people who came frequently; it was made up of variety performers and others who delineated "darky characters"; they came to get their imitations first hand from the Negro entertainers they saw there.

Besides the people I have just described, one or two groups of white men and women visited the place almost every night. They were out sightseeing or slumming. They usually came in cabs. Some stayed only a few minutes, while others sometimes stayed until morning. Another group of white people also came often. They included variety performers and others who portrayed "darky characters". They came to learn their imitations firsthand from the Negro entertainers they saw there.

There was still another set of white patrons, composed of women; these were not occasional visitors, but five or six of them were regular habituées. When I first saw them, I was not sure that they were white. In the first place, among the many colored women who came to the "Club" there were several just as fair; and, secondly, I always saw these women in company with colored men. They were all good-looking and well-dressed, and seemed to be women of some education. One of these in particular attracted my attention; she was an exceedingly beautiful woman of perhaps thirty-five; she had glistening copper-colored hair, very white skin, and eyes very much like Du Maurier's conception of Trilby's "twin gray stars." When I came to know her, I found that she was a woman of considerable culture; she had traveled in Europe, spoke French, and played the piano well. She was always dressed elegantly, but in absolute good taste. She always came to the "Club" in a cab, and was soon joined by a well-set-up, very black young fellow. He was always faultlessly dressed; one of the most exclusive tailors in New York made his clothes, and he wore a number of diamonds in about as good taste as they could be worn in by a man. I learned that she paid for his clothes and his diamonds. I learned, too, that he was not the only one of his kind. More that I learned would be better suited to a book on social phenomena than to a narrative of my life.

There was another group of white patrons, made up of women. They were not occasional visitors. Five or six of them came regularly. When I first saw them, I was not sure they were white. For one thing, several of the many colored women who came to the "Club" were just as fair. Also, I always saw these women with colored men. They were all good-looking and well-dressed, and they seemed to be women with some education. One of them especially caught my attention. She was an extremely beautiful woman of perhaps thirty-five, with shining copper-colored hair and very white skin. Her eyes were much like Du Maurier's idea of Trilby's "twin gray stars." When I came to know her, I found that she was a woman of considerable culture. She had traveled in Europe, spoke French, and played the piano well. She always dressed elegantly, but in perfectly good taste. She always came to the "Club" in a cab. Soon a well-built, very black young man would join her. He was always impeccably dressed. One of New York's most exclusive tailors made his clothes. He also wore several diamonds, about as tastefully as a man could wear them. I learned that she paid for his clothes and diamonds. I also learned that he was not the only man of his kind. Other things I learned would be better suited to a book about social phenomena than to the story of my life.

This woman was known at the "Club" as the rich widow. She went by a very aristocratic-sounding name, which corresponded to her appearance. I shall never forget how hard it was for me to get over my feelings of surprise, perhaps more than surprise, at seeing her with her black companion; somehow I never exactly enjoyed the sight. I have devoted so much time to this pair, the "widow" and her companion, because it was through them that another decided turn was brought about in my life.

This woman was known at the "Club" as the rich widow. She used a very aristocratic-sounding name, which suited her appearance. I will never forget how hard it was to get over my surprise at seeing her with her black companion. Perhaps I felt more than surprise. Somehow, I never quite enjoyed seeing them together. I have spent so much time on this pair, the "widow" and her companion, because they brought about another decisive turn in my life.