A genial red-haired lad, a teamster by trade, referred with pride to his ability as a boxer. In answer to pointed questions as to where and how he acquired his skill, he said a saloon-keeper, “an awful good sport,” allowed the boys to use his back room. Fortunately the “good sport’s” saloon was at some distance; and, suggesting that it must be a bore to go so far after a day’s hard work, I offered to provide a room and a professional to coach them on fine points if James thought the “fellows” would care for it. A call next morning at the office of the Children’s Aid Society resulted in permission to put to this service an unused part of a nearby building, and during the day a promising boxer was engaged. James had not waited to inquire if I had either the room or trainer ready, and appeared the next evening with a list of young men for the club.
Some weeks later a “throw-away,” a small handbill to announce events, came into my hands. It read:
EAT ’EM ALIVE!
Grand Annual Ball of the ⸺ of the
Nurses’ Settlement.[8]
The date was given and the price of admission “with wardrobe”;[9] and to my horror the place designated for this function was a notorious hall on the Bowery, its door adjacent to one opening into “Suicide Hall,” so designated because of several self-murders recently committed there. There was a great deal of mystery about the object of the ball, and the instructor, guileless in almost everything but the art of boxing, reluctantly betrayed the secret. They had in mind to make a large sum of money and with it buy me a present. They dreamed of a writing-desk. It was a difficult situation, but the young men, their chivalrous instincts touched, reacted to my little speech and seemed to comprehend that it would be embarrassing to the ladies of the settlement to be placed under the implication of profiting by the sale of liquor,—though this was delicate ground to tread upon, since members of the families of several of the club boys were bartenders or in the saloon business; but the name of the settlement had been used to advertise the ball, and “there was something in it.”
To emphasize my point and to relieve them of complications, since they had contracted for the use of the place, I offered to pay the owner of the hall a sum of money (one hundred dollars, as I recall it) if he would keep the bar closed on the night of the dance; and I pledged the young men that we would all attend and help to make the ball a success if we could compromise in this manner. The owner of the hall, however, as some of the more worldly-wise members had prophesied, scoffed at my offer.
Public halls are the most common way of making money for a desired end. Sometimes ephemeral organizations are created to “run” them and divide the profits that may accrue. At other times, like the fashionable “Charity” balls, the object is to raise money for a beneficent purpose. It required some readjustment of the ordinary association of ideas to purchase without comment the tickets offered at the door of the settlement for a “grand ball,” the proceeds of which were to provide a tombstone for a departed friend.
It was soon clear to us that an entirely innocent and natural desire for recreation afforded continual opportunity for the overstimulation of the senses and for dangerous exploitation. Later, when the question could be formally brought to the notice of the public, men and women whose minds had been turned to the evils of the dance-halls and the causes of social unrest responded to our appeal, and the Social Halls Association was organized.
Clinton Hall, a handsome, fireproof structure, was erected on Clinton Street in 1904. It provides meeting-rooms for trades unions, lodges, and benefit societies; an auditorium and ballroom, poolrooms, dining-halls, and kitchens, with provision for the Kosher preparation of meals. In summer there is a roof garden, with a stage for dramatic performances. The building was opened with a charming dance given by the young men of the settlement, followed soon after by a beautiful and impressive performance of the Ajax of Sophocles by the Greeks of New York.
The stock was subscribed for by people of means, by the small merchants of the neighborhood, and by settlement residents and their friends. A janitress brought her bank book, showing savings amounting to $200, with which she desired to purchase two shares. She was with difficulty dissuaded from the investment, which I felt she could not afford. When I explained that the people who were subscribing for the stock were prepared not to receive any return from it; that they were risking the money for the sake of those who were obliged to frequent undesirable halls, Mrs. H⸺ replied, “That’s just how Jim and me feel about it. We’ve been janitors, and we know.” The Social Halls Association is a business corporation, and has its own board of directors, of which I have been president from the beginning.
Clinton Hall has afforded an excellent illustration of the psychology of suggestion. The fact that no bar is in evidence, and no white-aproned waiters parade in and out of the ballroom or halls of meetings, has resulted in a minimum consumption of liquor, although, during the first years, drinks could have been purchased by leaving the crowd and the music and sitting at a table in a room one floor below the ballroom. Leaders of rougher crowds than the usual clientele of Clinton Hall, accustomed to a “rake-off” from the bar at the end of festivities, had to have documentary evidence of the small sales, so incredible did it seem to them that the “crowd” had drunk so little.