Washington, the hot money out for the kind of fun not tolerated in
the District. Baltimore is somewhat in the state of development
Chicago knew four decades ago. That city’s political morality is
still primitive. The same trend is manifest in Baltimore. Yet crimes
of violence and serious felonies are not as pronounced as in either
Washington or Chicago.
Most citizens are openly on the side of the law-breakers, too; the
concepts of liberty and non-interference play into the hands of the
hoodlums and the harpies.
At this writing, any and all forms of vice are tolerated and protected.
There is a price for everything, and it’s not much. In fact, it costs
only $500 to jump to the top of the police promotion list.
PART FOUR
THE LOWDOWN
(_Confidential!_)
36. INSIDE STUFF
The sharpie who got tired of selling the Brooklyn Bridge moved into the
District and now sells the Washington Monument.
Suckers aren’t born at the rate of one a minute, Washington never does
anything on time; but the Union Station and the airfield pour them out
day and night. And God made them marks. For they are either simpletons
with cow-dung on their boots or they are the conman’s dream, the lunk
with larceny in his heart. Those who don’t come to Washington to
gawk come to get. And the little chiseler is a setup for the bigger
chiseler. The characters in “The Gilded Age,” by Mark Twain and Charles
Dudley Warner have shaved off their beards, but otherwise are still
with us. Men with grandiloquent schemes, who think a Congressman
from their county can land them a $10,000,000 contract for the quick
conversion of a barn, are ready-made for the polished pros who can wrap
that up for them and who set themselves forth as “expediters.”
They confide, sotto voce, that they have connections which they can’t
even breathe about; they hint with delicacy that certain people must
be reached, and for that purpose advance funds must be placed in hand,
after which the expediter will gladly accept a small commission on the
completed deal--as, if, and never.
That is only one, but the main one, of the lines. Nowhere else are
there so many men and women who live in luxury and are guilty of
vagrancy. In a community of nonproducers, where there is a minimum of
tangible exchange, the nature of man breeds agents and agents’ agents,
because the liveliest industry is “getting to” people who can or could
deliver golcondas.
Those who are not big-time enough to know people can know people who
know people, and do nicely on the far fringes. They case a “prospect”
and work him on whatever he is after. His principal occupation will be
waiting--waiting; thus he will have the time as well as the temperament
to be plucked. In that atmosphere the crudest con-games flourish. Never
trust a stranger in Washington. Gyp-and-clip carney operators who are
run off the lot because they can’t shill a rustic to a ten-cent wheel
of fortune, come here and take executive vice-presidents.
_A. Swindlers with Swank_
Beware of smooth-gabbing guys who drive around in big black limousines
with chauffeurs and live in costly apartments staffed with butlers,
housekeepers and valets. Some may be on the up-and-up. But, what with
taxes and cost of living, few square shooters can afford such luxury.
A few we know:
One has an “in” in the reservation departments of the big hotels. He is
tipped off to the prospective arrival of a wealthy chump. This is how
he worked one case: When Mr. Money arrived at the airport, the grifter
had him paged, then introduced himself with a bunk story, such as being
a friend of the hotel manager, who had asked him to pick up the boob.
The lamb lamps the limo and is sure the glib gypster who is giving him
a lift is okay. The wire has been properly briefed on the stranger’s
habits. He knows he’d go for a little life, so he suggests they go to
his suite for a slug. In a little while, a couple of babes happen in.
Soon everyone is drunk and undressed. That’s when the pictures are
ground out. One metal-manufacturer went for $35,000, left town next day.
Another sold the famous Muscle Shoals Dam to a former Congressman from
Nebraska for $50,000. He used Henry Ford’s name as a reference and
flashed a phony letter from him authorizing the sale.
Some years ago, in another administration, this same tip-and-tosser
tried to sell forged documents to the President and Vice-President and
other high officials. He said they were found in the clothes of a dead
man on the street. The papers, if genuine, were so hot they would have
blown up the government.
If someone tells you he can let you in on the inside of a hot oil deal,
and then introduces you to a couple of “prospectors” who just arrived
from Kentucky, call the cops, especially if one is an Indian with long
plaited hair and the other is dressed like a vaudeville comedian’s
idea of a Southern Colonel. These fast workers make a splendid living
peddling queer securities from an office on the sidewalk in front of
the Ambassador Hotel, at 14th and K. They have a fabulous well in
Kentucky, and they guarantee it is producing. It is. One barrel a day.
They mooch strictly person-to-person. They do no business through the
mails, so they are clear of the Post Office and the SEC. Many of their
meat are middle-aged and elderly women, widows with a small amount of
insurance or a modest business like a rooming-house preferred. But they
will tackle tough touches, approached originally by dames.
Watch out for anyone you meet in a hotel who offers to get you a dame.
Odds are you will end up in a barrel, running second in a badger-game.
The boys tried it on a Washington newspaperman recently, but for once
they saw the back of the eight-ball. Not only didn’t the reporter
have any money, but he knew the right cops. He ended up borrowing a
century-note from them.
_B. Fortune-tellers_
Reading the future is big business and strictly sanctioned by law, at
an annual fee of $250.
Wives of high officials, members of Congress, and society dames are
pushovers for this kind of flimflam, and fork over sums to astrologers,
palmists, psychics, clairvoyants, and other such miracle-mongers. Many
government officials furtively consult fortune-fakers. (Look at the
state the country is in now.)
These thimble-riggers advertise openly. Most of them state “Licensed by
the District of Columbia,” which convinces the morons they have been
investigated and certified by government authorities.
One dame, Madame Harrison Astor, states “... prides herself on the fact
of being the only palmist in the world who during her stay in England
has been officially summoned to the St. James’ Palace to read for his
late Majesty King Edward VII.”
Martha Mar Vell, who advertises herself as a palmist, clairvoyante,
medium, spiritualist and practitioner of spirit ember and Egyptian sand
divinations, haughtily warns, “Please observe hours.”
Many fortune-tellers are on the con, hoodwink the superstitious into
investing in shady enterprises; they often do not even go that far, but
relieve them directly of money to cure the evil eye and the hex.
Some legislators and high officials make no moves without consulting
their favorite psychics. That is why they are licensed here, whereas in
other cities, when they get by, it is sub rosa.
Some oracles who boast august personages or their wives in their
clientele are in the pay of foreign governments, Communists, lobbyists
or fingermen for thieves. Lawmakers or law enforcers come to the
mediums or diviners to seek advice from the spirits or the stars and
get what the swindlers have been paid to tell them.
Gypsies never had it better. Most of them don’t bother to buy licenses.
As this was being written, a gypsy fortune-teller was under indictment
charged with using such props as torn diapers, a red candle and a
department store ladies’ room, to skin three Washington housewives
of $450. Police said Julia Nichols would show up at a woman’s home,
announce she was a church-worker, then tell the housewife she was
hexed. She would ask for money, a handkerchief or diaper. She would
tear the cloth in half, fold the money in it and depart to have it
“blessed.” And blessed if she would return!
Rituals were involved, the police said. In one case Miss Nichols
allegedly placed a silver dollar in a glass of water and told her
victim to park the tumbler in a bureau drawer. In another, she
allegedly enclosed the money in a diaper, with flour, salt, and a
length of the housewife’s hair. In a third case, police said, the
gypsy led a victim from her home to a department store rest-room
before taking her money. In another, she allegedly left a housewife’s
apartment with the currency after giving her a red candle to light and
telling her to recite the Lord’s Prayer.
_C. Free Loaders_
A shrewdie can live here forever on the cuff. A gate-crasher, if
well-dressed, can be choosy about eating and drinking gratis. Every day
there’s a profusion of breakfasts, lunches, cocktail parties, dinners
and late suppers thrown by lobbyists, corporations, officials, pressure
groups, embassies and social climbers.
Admission is by invitation, but bids are sent out broadside.
Organizations and lobbyists exchange mailing lists, even take names out
of directories. Almost anyone who cares to get on such a roster can.
Once on, his name makes all others. If he isn’t entered, it is simple
to mooch an invitation from someone who has one, because few use them.
Few large affairs are well guarded. It takes little ingenuity to walk
in nonchalantly and act like a belonger.
The gate-crashers turn up in the unlikeliest places, maybe breakfasting
at a press conference given by ladies of the W.C.T.U., lunching at a
radio salesmen’s convention and dining, in tails and white tie, at a
debutante’s ball.
Beds, and what goes with them--gals--can be stiffed, too. Those who
make the lobbyists’ lists are invited to the wild parties in the hotels
and mansions, where all that is on the house.
A friend of ours, a Congressman, told us this story. He was walking
down Connecticut Avenue, past the Mayflower Hotel, on his way to dine
at Harvey’s. He bumped into an acquaintance, a press agent from New
York, who insisted the Congressman eat with him. “I’m going up to a
swell private party at the Mayflower,” he said. The Congressman went
along, had a wonderful meal, with wine and cigars, and soon pretty
blondes began to mix. The satisfied legislator turned to his friend and
said, “Gee, this is a swell party. I’d like to thank the host. Who is
he?” The press agent said, “Damned if I know. I’ve been trying to find
out all night.”
_D. The Introducers_
Nowhere else on earth, including New York, are there as many guys who
make their livings introducing people. These articles thrive because
they are personality-plus ghees with guts, who know right people,
and if they don’t they go through the motions. If you want to meet
someone--cabinet officer, army brass, congressman, fixer, or social
hostess--these birds will introduce you--no hoke. They can get you
into the White House to meet the President. They play poker with
General Vaughan.
These fellows are functional. They are the catalysts who bring various
elements together. When they assume a contract from an industrialist to
introduce him to a bureau chief, they serve for the bureau chief, too,
by introducing him to the industrialist from whom he will get favors in
return for favors.
Some of the introducers work for straight fees. Others, smoother, are
taken care of in politer but more lucrative ways, such as getting on
the inside for a hunk of stock or a chance to buy government surplus
for peanuts or other charming get-rich-quick methods.
You can be introduced to charming ladies, too. Polished procuring is a
polite profession. No lush-rolling or extortion involved. It is honest
pimping. Yet, little Rollo, there are still some honest gentlemen in
Washington.
37. TIPS ON THE TOWNS
_Booze_
Washington consumes four times as much hootch as the entire state of
Maryland, including Baltimore, which alone has 200,000 more population.
The most popular kind of liquor is bourbon, suh, with rye next. Only
fairies, English diplomats, New Yorkers and spats-wearers drink Scotch.
The legal liquor closing for on-premises consumption in the District
is 2 a.m. on weekdays and midnight on weekends. Only beer and light
wine may be sold on Sundays. Baltimore sells until 2 a.m., seven
nights a week, though some saloons which do not serve food and which
pay a lower license fee must close their bars at one. (But you can sit
there until 2 to finish anything you bought earlier.) Only beer and
light wine may be sold for on-premises consumption in Virginia. The
closing hour is midnight. Prince Georges, Md., has a law similar to
Washington’s--seldom observed.
Legal boozing age in the three jurisdictions is 21, though minors over
18 may drink beer in Maryland and D.C.
But there’s something about the climate--everyone looks older than he
is.
_Cabaret Info_
Most District area night clubs do three shows nightly, at 8, 10:30 and
12:30, and two on Saturdays and Sundays, at 8:30 and 12. The hotel
grills do two, at 8:30 and 12.
The burlesque joints in Baltimore grind continuously until 2.
Few Washington night clubs impose a cover charge. All have minimums,
usually a dollar or $1.50. The hotel cafes, when presenting expensive
attractions, usually put on a couvert up to $2.
It’s agin the law and the rules of the American Guild of Variety
Artists to permit female entertainers to sit at tables with male
guests. The hotels and the better Washington night clubs enforce
this. The others wink at it. There is no attempt at observance in the
Maryland suburbs or in Baltimore.
_Checks and Chicks_
When the cutie in the checkroom hands you back your hat, don’t think
for a moment she keeps the tip you slip her. She works on a straight
per diem for a concessionaire, who pays the restaurant or hotel by the
year. But if she doesn’t turn in a tip for every hat, she loses her
job on grounds she swiped the money or she is so stupid or icky that
she gets stiffed. For many years, the minimum hat check in New York by
habit has been two bits, but the hoosiers who come to Washington get
lavish with a dime or sneak off ignoring the plate with the decoy coins
entirely. The concessionaire figures 18 cents as the average tip and on
that basis he checks his employes. The gals learn how to pinch part of
the loot from liberal tippers, though their uniforms are made without
pockets. Photo concession girls may keep their tips, but cigaret girls
have to turn theirs in.
_Clip Joints_
Beware of the invitation from the stranger you meet at the bar, who
suggests you go to a friend’s place after hours for liquor and gals.
There are at least 300 clip joints running in Washington, most of them
in the colored neighborhoods, in private houses and flats, where you
can get booze of a sort after-hours; but it may be spiked with knockout
drops and you will wake up rolled and robbed--if you wake up at all.
Baltimore clip-dives operate more closely to the orthodox custom. As
soon as you sit down in a hideaway, a couple of bimbos rush to your
table and order drinks. When you are ready to go, you get a bill that
includes the month’s rent. If you don’t come across, you’ll be lucky to
get out with a broken nose.
_Dancing_
If your specialty is the rumba or samba, don’t expect to find a partner
in Washington or Baltimore, They’ll do a shaky fox trot to that music.
The codgers still do the old conservative dances. The youngsters are
jive maniacs.
At this writing, there are no public dance halls in Washington where
you can meet partners, but, though table hopping is supposed to be de
trop, you won’t have any trouble getting dames on the loose to dance
with you. As in Baltimore, they will solicit you for dances, even if
that’s all they’re after.
All night clubs, but few hotels, present dancing on Sundays in
Washington and Maryland.
For matinee and cocktail dancing consult the appendix or the daily
papers.
_Dates_
If you still can’t get yourself a girl after having read this book, we
don’t think you’re trying. But here are some easy ways:
Ask the bell captain.
Refer to appendix for a list of dance studios.
Call Clara Lane, Friendship Center, Republic 3504 (Washington), for
personal interview.
Get a manicure.
Read the newspaper ads for dances run by the State Societies.
Join a church or the Y.
In the summer, go to any beach or take a ride on a Potomac steamer.
Strike up a “Haven’t I met you somewhere” with any girl you see in a
cocktail lounge or a hotel lobby. For that matter, your chances are
good with almost any girl you see anywhere in Washington. She may say
no. We bet you five to three she won’t.
_Dining_
We will recommend no restaurants here. A list of best-known places in
Washington and Baltimore will be found in the appendix. We guarantee
none. But Baltimore goes in for good food in the good places, while
Washington doesn’t know what fine cuisine is. Meals are cheaper in
Washington than in New York. Baltimore, with some of the finest
restaurants in the country, charges even less.
Most people dine early in both towns. Some of the best restaurants
close for the night at 8 or 9. This is the Keokuk touch.
Washington politicians hang out at Harvey’s and the Occidental. They
don’t mind the insults. Some of the better food is at Olmsted’s. The
tax-payers foot the losses of the dining-rooms in the Senate and House
of Representatives.
Baltimore politicians dine in the back room of the Emerson; the ward
heelers eat at Bickford’s, called “No. 10 Downing Street.”
There are no swank dining places of the grade of El Morocco, the Colony
or 21 in Washington or Baltimore. The elite in government service eat
lunch in their own private dining-rooms and dinner at their clubs.
_Divorce_
The divorce rate in the District, as well as in Maryland and Virginia,
is considerably below the national average, though the grounds are not
particularly oppressive. At this writing there are 4,000 divorced males
in the District of Columbia and 8,000 divorced females.
All three jurisdictions require one year’s residence before beginning a
divorce action, which eliminates them from competition with Nevada or
Florida. If the grounds are out-of-state, it’s two years in D.C. You
have to wait six months after a District decree before remarriage.
Grounds for divorce in the District are adultery, desertion for two
years, conviction for felony, and living apart five years. Maryland
adds impotence and insanity. Virginia also grants divorce for
impotence, pregnancy of wife at time of marriage and wife’s unchastity,
as well as all causes specified in the District.
Some smart lawyers know how to beat the residence provisions, but if
you can afford that kind of a lawyer you’re much better off going to
states that specialize in hot-cake divorces.
_Guns_
You require a license to carry a concealed weapon, but no one enforces
the law if you keep a dozen machine-guns in your house. The courts
have ruled you are not carrying a concealed weapon if you have a gun
in the glove compartment of your car or if you have an unloaded one in
your pocket, even if you have cartridges on you. Cops can’t pinch you
without a search warrant.
The Federal Small Arms Act, enforced by the Alcoholic Tax Unit of the
U.S. Treasury, imposes a $300 tax on transfer of certain firearms
and forbids any felon to carry a pistol. But this is practically
unenforceable in the District, because of the niggardly appropriations
of Congress and the disinclination of federal judges to sentence anyone
for anything.
_Hotels_
In most towns we warn first-time visitors to beware of cab drivers who
steer them to hotels they don’t want to go to. But Washington hotels
are usually so crowded, you’re lucky to be steered. We have seen people
sit in lobbies from early in the morning until midnight, while the
clerks phoned all other hotels, trying to take care of the overflow.
Do not come to Washington unless you have made a reservation in
advance. Be sure the reservation is confirmed. A few hotels are part
of nationwide chains, among them the Mayflower (Hilton), the Hay-Adams
(Manger) and the Statler. You can probably make your reservations and
have them confirmed in your own home town.
Hotel rates are high. The cheapest single room in the first-class
hotels is $8, and that faces the garbage cans. Modest suites are $20 a
day, and you pay at least $25 for anything decent.
But Washington abounds with cheap assignation hotels, where you can
take a broad for the night for three bucks, no baggage required. In
Baltimore you can find this kind for as little as one dollar a night.
Few good Washington hotels have any qualms about your morals. If you
are raided because that gal isn’t your wife, it is because the house
dick and bell captain have their own stable of fillies and they get
no cut-in from outside competition. The “security officer” (refined
designation for a house dick) of one of the oldest and most famous
hotels in Washington, near the White House, was recently fired because
he ran a shakedown racket, putting the bite on guests who brought dames
in.
(_Inside stuff_: Smart guys start charge accounts in hotels and have
their bills mailed to their offices. That way, if they suddenly make
a date, they can call and have a room prepared for them. Hotels do
not like to cash checks for strangers, but will for those with charge
accounts. It is a specific crime to defraud an inn-keeper.)
Washington and Baltimore hotels, unlike those in northern cities, are
not required to serve or admit Negroes.
(Unless you are expecting a guest, do not open your door if someone
raps on it. Many people have been robbed, raped or assaulted that
way. When the girl with the nice voice phones and announces she’s
from Harris & Ewing, the photographers, and read you were in town and
wanted to take your picture, don’t think you are a celebrity. This firm
goes through all registrations, plays for the chumps. After you pose
for their photos, a glib salesman sells you a dozen. We wouldn’t have
minded, but they phoned us at three in the afternoon, and we never get
up until four.)
(_Tips_: And that’s the only way you’ll get along in any hotel--with
tips, big ones. If you can’t get a room, slip the room clerk a sawbuck.
Liberal handouts to the bellhops, doormen and elevator boys will help
you get service, also pave the way for the things that hotels aren’t
supposed to supply, but always do.)
_Limousines_
We told you about the smooth con-men who travel in shiny
chauffeur-driven limousines. The cars are easy to obtain. All smart
travelers rent them wherever they go. They cost $5 an hour, which is
usually cheaper than cabs for any considerable use. They are available
at any hour. The chauffeurs are well-trained and in uniform. The
cars are brand new Cadillacs or Packards, indistinguishable from a
millionaire’s private car, except that the D.C. license plate begins
with the letter “L.” Look in the phone book or ask the hotel porter to
get you a car or phone Haines, HObart 8460, ask for James Conley, the
best driver in town. Minimum tip one dollar an hour, unless you’re a
skunk. In Baltimore, phone Belvedere, LE 8888.
_Marriage_
It’s much cheaper and easier without rice and old shoes here, but you
will always find a few old-fashioned people who like it the hard way.
If you are one who has to be respectable, we will give you the lowdown
on how to go about it in the area.
(_Note_: Common law marriages are valid in the District. They are not
in Maryland and Virginia, though the former state, while prohibiting
such marriages for its own residents, will recognize as binding any
such entered into in the District.)
The marriageable ages in the three jurisdictions are 16 for girls and
18 for boys, with parents’ consent; 18 and 21 in D.C. and Maryland,
without consent, and 21 and 21 in Virginia. Marriages between first
cousins are permitted in all three.
Maryland and Virginia forbid marriages between whites and Negroes or
Orientals. Virginia also proscribes American Indians. There are no
racial restrictions in the District.