Bowery Never So Wide Open, The Sun (Article, 1898)
Full Text
BOWERY NEVER SO WIDE OPEN
Dive Owners Pay the Local Tammany Boss's Tax and Cops Leave Them Alone.
There is no time like a wet night to see Tammanyized New York by gaslight. On a night like last night everybody is seeking shelter, and in a wide-open town there are many swinging doors. The dives were all full, therefore, and the system of Tammany protection for lawbreakers was seen at its best. Of course places that should have been closed did a rushing business all over town, but it was a particularly profitable night for the protected places along the Bowery.
There is delightful abandon in the Bowery resorts these days that, old-timers say, was never seen before. The frequenters of these places don't seem to feel any restraint, for some reason or another, and they do and say about what they please when they please. In the words of a man who has lived all his life on the Bowery:
"You can get anything you want on the Bowery these days." Continuing, he said:
"The Bowery has never known such times as these, not even in the days of Billy McGlory and Della the Bluebird. I don't know's there are many new features, but the old ones have been all revived, and there was never so little difficulty in getting at them. There ain't any 'Slide,' but there's 'Paresis Hall,' and you can see there all you could see at the Slide, and more, too. There ain't no Billy McGlory, but there's McGurk's, and you can find all the 'Bluebirds' you want at the Volks Garden and a dozen other places. I tell ye, my boy, it's the real thing on the Bowery these days, and you don't have to stand in with the cops. They get their orders before they go on n post, and you're as safe in one of the joints as you would be at home, if you've got one."
"Who gives orders to the cops?" asked the reporter.
"Oh, I don't know. All I know is that a joint keeper goes to the district leader and tells him he's going to run a certain kind of game. The district leader asks where, and the join keeper tells him.
"'All right,' says the boss of the district: 'the price for that game is'--he names the price and that is all there is to it. That settles the matter and the police never bother that place."
"Where is Paresis Hall and McGurk's and Volks Garden?" asked the reporter.
"Lord! you must be from Philadelphia," exclaimed the old-timer. "You're certainly a stranger in these parts. Paresis Hall is right at the north end of the Bowery, where it runs into Fourth avenue, on the west side of the street, McGurk's is further down on the east side, and Volks Garden is just below McGurk's."
Thus directed, the reporter started up the Bowery. Seeing the sign of the Volks Garden, he dropped in. It is a beer garden, with a little stage at the east and where a variety performance goes on during the evening. There were placards about the room which announced "A grand ball after the concert."
The reporter seated himself at one of the tables and called for something to drink. Men and women were seated at tables all about him. At his right a middle-aged, prosperous-looking man, evidently from the country. There was no one else at this man's table when the reporter entered. A few moments later a girl, possibly 20 years old, with bleached hair hanging in braids down her back, her face plastered with paint and powder and a pink "mortar board" on her head, came along and sat down at the table with the man. Turning a pair of blue eyes, heavily penciled all around, upon the man, the girl smiled and said:
"Why, how do you do, Uncle! I'm so glad to see you. May I enjoy your company for awhile?"
"Certainly, miss," said the old man, "but I don't think I know you."
"Oh that don't matter," replied the girl, "we'll get better acquainted."
Just then a waiter came up and the girl said to him:
"Bring me some brandy."
"What's yours?" asked the waiter of the man.
"Well, I don't know's I want anything, but since you've asked me (this to the girl) I'll take sarsaparilla."
The drinks were brought, and the waiter told the old fellow the price was 35 cnets. The man didn't say anything, but he looked a lot as he had paid the check. The glasses had hardly been drained when the waiter was back with another glass of alleged brandy and asked the old man what he'd have.
"Same thing," was the reply, and the drink was brought. The man settled again, and two more brandies were brought to the table in a few minutes. No order had been given for them.
"Fifty cents, please," said the waiter.
"For what?" asked the old man.
"Two brandies," was the reply.
"Look here, young man!" exclaimed the stranger. "I'll pay for drink I order, but for none I don't order."
"Well," said the waiter, "if you don't want to pay for the lady's drinks, you better get out."
"This is a damned swindling game!" said the old man, "and I've got enough."
He hurriedly left the place. He wouldn't have been so surprised had he known the rules of the resorts. The girl was one of the performers on the stage. She, like all the other women employed there, got her job on the condition that she "sat for drinks" on the floor when she was not on the stage. Every "stage lady" gets a commission of five cents besides her salary on every drink brought to the table where she sits. Each girl has a certain waiter who follows her about the room. It is his business to bring drinks as fast as he can, irrespective of orders, and the man settles. If he finds fault he is invited to leave. All the girls call for "brandy," because that is the most expensive drink sold. Just what the "brandy" is the reporter didn't learn. Besides the beer garden, there are private "wine rooms" connected with the place, where a man and woman may take their drinks privately.
McGurk's back room was packed and jammed with people when the reporter got there. There wasn't enough chairs, so some of the women sat in the laps of the men. The reporter was in the place about ten minutes, and during that time he saw two fights between sailors, which were quickly suppressed. During one of the fracases one of the sailors insisted that he had been robbed by one of the women. He was quickly hustled out.
Paresis Hall is said to be the worst resort, in most ways, in the city. It is officially known as Columbus Hall and numbered 392 Bowery. There is a saloon downstairs with a back room, and three rooms upstairs. If you get there after 1 o'clock in the morning you get whatever there is by joining a club. The place is frequented by male solicitors who assure you that for $3 you can see a show upstairs that is really worth seeing. This is said to be a reproduction of the disgraceful scenes at the old "Slide," called the "rag-time dance."
