Mayor D’Alesandro’s honor came after he read an intelligent paper to the delegates. It came as a surprise that D’Alesandro had such a fine grasp on the subject. It came to him that way, too.
You see, when he read it, it was the first time he had seen it. It was written for him by a Baltimore newspaperman.
The location of the deadfalls in Baltimore reminds us of Galveston, where the gambling and red-light districts, controlled by Syndicate-allied bosses Sam and Rosario Maceo, are also contiguous to the offices of the law enforcement authorities.
The Miami Club is on the main floor of a building which advertises “Rooms Upstairs.” It has some of the most disgusting acts we have ever seen. Girls in the show will sit out with you on request. Every time you pay for your round of drinks—they require you to pay after each round—the sitter asks you for a dollar tip. The girls who work in the show get no commission on these drinks. But if they don’t have a drink in front of them all the time they risk being fired. Their base pay, as “entertainers” runs from $20 to $35 a week. The rest they make from the tips and from deals arranged for after work. Some of the girls in the show aren’t bad lookers. We spoke to one young Puerto Rican, named Aida, who could have gone places in New York if she had any spunk or talent. Here all she did was walk around the floor without a stitch on. Off her it looked good.
The m.c. at the Miami, when we got nauseated there, was a fairy. Some of the older dames in the show are lesbians. Many fags frequent the place. The girls told us all that freely, though not free.
The rest of the customers are servicemen, riffraff, sight-seers and drunks. One seldom brings his wife or girl friend to this place. One of the nights we were there we saw two policemen and a lieutenant in uniform, sitting at a table drinking, surrounded by girls. At the next table was a wizened little old fellow tossing dough away on the broads. We figured him for a chump. But he turned out to be a retired Baltimore police captain who quit so rich that he can afford to spend $500 a night, that way.
Many of the lower-paid employes of the British and French embassies in Washington hang out at the Miami. Occasionally some of these girls are brought to Washington when low down high-jinks are wanted. The Miami advertises regularly in the Washington dailies.
The waitresses at the Miami seem to be independent contractors. Tables are not assigned. Customers are continuously solicited for orders by dozens of different ones. Each carries a purse and you settle with her after every round. She pays cash at the bar for it. It seems any girl who wants to can come in and hustle drinks this way without being hired. Some wear slacks, others street clothes, and a few sport cheap evening gowns. They will sit with you with no coaxing. One of our waitresses sat down and said, “My tables always buy me a drink.”
At the Miami Club we often saw men seated with girls from the show or waitresses and making obscene passes—not in booths, right out on the open floor.
But the ultimate in lowdown shows goes to Kay’s, on Frederick and Baltimore Sts., across from the Oasis. There is nothing like Kay’s anywhere, and we’ve seen them all. The dance-floor is about 15 feet square, all tables on the floor. Practically every girl in the show works naked and does raw routines within reaching distance of those at ringside. The women, with words and motions that wouldn’t be allowed in Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house, solicit men from the floor. One of the most startling dirty acts we’ve ever seen was done by a woman billed as Moana. She introduced it as her “Whore Dance.”