I shall take advantage of this pause in my narrative to describe more closely the “Club” spoken of in the latter part of the preceding chapter—­to describe it as I afterwards came to know it, as an habitue.  I shall do this not only because of the direct influence it had on my life, but also because it was at that time the most famous place of its kind in New York, and was well known to both white and colored people of certain classes.

I have already stated that in the basement of the house there was a Chinese restaurant.  The Chinaman who kept it did an exceptionally good business; for chop-suey was a favorite dish among the frequenters of the place.  It is a food that, somehow, has the power of absorbing alcoholic liquors that have been taken into the stomach.  I have heard men claim that they could sober up on chop-suey.  Perhaps that accounted, in some degree, for its popularity.  On the main floor there were two large rooms:  a parlor about thirty feet in length, and a large, square back room into which the parlor opened.  The floor of the parlor was carpeted; small tables and chairs were arranged about the room; the windows were draped with lace curtains, and the walls were literally covered with photographs or lithographs of every colored man in America who had ever “done anything.”  There were pictures of Frederick Douglass and of Peter Jackson, of all the lesser lights of the prize-fighting ring, of all the famous jockeys and the stage celebrities, down to the newest song and dance team.  The most of these photographs were autographed and, in a sense, made a really valuable collection.  In the back room there was a piano, and tables were placed around the wall.  The floor was bare and the center was left vacant for singers, dancers, and others who entertained the patrons.  In a closet in this room which jutted out into the hall the proprietor kept his buffet.  There was no open bar, because the place had no liquor license.  In this back room the tables were sometimes pushed aside, and the floor given over to general dancing.  The front room on the next floor was a sort of private party room; a back room on the same floor contained no furniture and was devoted to the use of new and ambitious performers.  In this room song and dance teams practiced their steps, acrobatic teams practiced their tumbles, and many other kinds of “acts” rehearsed their “turns.”  The other rooms of the house were used as sleeping-apartments.

No gambling was allowed, and the conduct of the place was surprisingly orderly.  It was, in short, a center of colored Bohemians and sports.  Here the great prize fighters were wont to come, the famous jockeys, the noted minstrels, whose names and faces were familiar on every bill-board in the country; and these drew a multitude of those who love to dwell in the shadow of greatness.  There were then no organizations giving performances of such order as are now given by several colored companies; that was because no manager could imagine that audiences would pay to see Negro performers in any other role than that of Mississippi River roustabouts; but there was lots of talent and ambition.  I often heard the younger and brighter men discussing the time when they would compel the public to recognize that they could do something more than grin and cut pigeon-wings.