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For years preceding and following the turn of the century 9th street was
definitely a street of wickedness. In fact it was dedicated to the ways
of wickedness—it and the shadowy region west, extending down to about K
street. There was a law on the books against the sort of houses that
filled the redlight district, but instead of enforcing it the police
exacted tribute. Every first Monday of the month proprietresses in silks
and plumes rustled into the city hall and majestically laid down their
gold. As the rate was, we are told, about $15 for inmates and $25 for
managers per month, they left a considerable stack on the municipal
desk. Most of it went into the public school coffers.
This noisome neighborhood kept police busy. No mere saunter up to the
station for a list of parking offenders was the police run in those
hectic days. Often a brief telephone call—murder or/and suicide at
Rose’s or Rae’s or Kitty’s, took police and reporters hopping. The
district was finally closed by the expedient of enforcing the law. The
man undertaking this revolutionary method of procedure was Co. Atty.
Frank Tyrrell.
One of the well known notorious houses, known as Lydia’s place, stood at
124 So. 9th st. This same building, cleansed in purpose and aspect, was
a number of years ago turned into the City Mission by interested Lincoln
churches. At the top of the house a lighted star now beckons shabby
wayfarers to a free meal and night’s lodging. Looking in at the mission
any evening one may see, not parading painted women in short skirts,
smoking cigarets—unmistakable marks of sin in the 80’s and 90’s—but
seated derelicts lending their cauliflower ears to the nightly religious
service.