In addition to these places described, a number of dance-halls, notably Billy McGlory's Armory Hall, and "Fatty" Flynn's place in Bond street, completed the boast of the day that New York City was a "wide-open town," and the "only place in the world fit to live in."
It was not very difficult for one, accustomed to the environment, to "make a living" in it by his "wits."
Any one, not minding a short spell of strenuousness, could always get from a dollar and a half to two dollars for "donning the mitts" in the "sporting-houses," where boxing was the special feature. Others, having neither the training or inclinations to take part in these "set-to's," officiated as waiters—"beer-slingers"—and found it more remunerative, if more tedious work.
It seems to be a distinct trait of people who visit these "dives" and "joints" to leave their small allowance of intelligence at the door. Men, who, in their daily occupation, are fairly alert and awake to their interests, permit themselves to be cheated by the most transparent devices of the "beer-slingers."
To give these fellows a bill in payment of drinks is simply inviting them to experiment on you. Over charging, "palming"—retaining a coin in the palm of the hand between ball of thumb and fleshy part—"flim-flamming"—doubling a bill in a number of them, and counting each end of it as one separate bill—are the most common means of cheating employed. Whenever any of these tricks failed, the money was either withheld or taken away by force, and the victim—the "sucker"—bodily thrown into the streets as a "disorderly person."
Such were the glories of the "open town."
Although a recognized factor in the world pugilistic, I was not above seeking occasional employment in these resorts, and it helped me to create for myself another reputation. I did not work in these places for the purpose of study or observation, yet, every night my contempt for the patrons of these "joints" increased.
Men, whose names I had heard and mentioned with awe; men, whose positions and station should have been guarantees of every sterling quality, came there, not once, but night after night, to enjoy that seemingly harmless pastime known as "slumming"—to have a "good time."
A "good time" in the midst of moral and physical filth; a "good time" in the company of jailbirds, fallen men and women; a "good time" of grossest selfishness, for, over and over again, I have seen men there for whose education I would have gladly given years of my life, and who, by one word of sympathy or encouragement, could have rekindled the dying flame of hope, of self-respect, in some fellow-being, but that word was never spoken, because it would have brought discord into the "good time," and would have jangled the croaking melody chanted by that chorus of human scum in praise of their host—the "sightseer"—of the evening!
A glorious sport this "sightseeing," these "good times," when men of "respectability" and position feast with gloating eyes on all that is vile and look on the unfortunates of a great city as if they were some strange beasts, some freaks in human shape. That almost every creature in these "dives" and "joints" has left behind a niche in the world's usefulness, or a home, to which his or her daily thoughts stray back, is not considered by the "sightseer." One does not like unpleasant reflections when at a circus.