The Taxi-Dance Hall

A Sociological Study in Commercialized Recreation and City Life

Paul Goalby Cressey

• Publisher: University of Chicago Press
• Year: 2008
• Print ISBN: 9780226120515
• eBook ISBN: 9780226120546
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: North American History
• Index: Social Sciences

First published in 1932, The Taxi-Dance Hall is Paul Goalby Cressey's fascinating study of Chicago's urban nightlife—as seen through the eyes of the patrons, owners, and dancers-for-hire who frequented the city's notoriously seedy "taxi-dance" halls.

Taxi-dance halls, as the introduction notes, were social centers where men could come and pay to dance with "a bevy of pretty, vivacious, and often mercenary" women. Ten cents per dance was the usual fee, with half the proceeds going to the dancer and the other half to the owner of the taxi-hall. Cressey's study includes detailed maps of the taxi-dance districts, illuminating interviews with dancers, patrons, and owners, and vivid analyses of local attempts to reform the taxi-dance hall and its attendees.

Cressey's study reveals these halls to be the distinctive urban consequence of tensions between a young, diverse, and economically independent population at odds with the restrictive regulations of Prohibition America. Thick with sexual vice, ethnic clashes, and powerful undercurrents of class, The Taxi-Dance Hall is a landmark example of Chicago sociology, perfect for scholars and history buffs alike.

PART I
THE TAXI-DANCE HALL: WHAT IT IS

CHAPTER I

A NIGHT IN A TAXI-DANCE HALL

Taxi-dance halls are relatively unknown to the general public. Yet for thousands of men throughout the United States who frequent them they are familiar establishments. Located inconspicuously in buildings near the business centers of many cities, these taxi-dance halls are readily accessible. They are a recent development and yet already are to be found in most of the larger cities of the country and are increasing steadily in number. Today, under one guise or another, they can be discovered in cities as different as New Orleans and Chicago, and as far apart as New York, Kansas City, Seattle, and Los Angeles.

In these halls young women and girls are paid to dance with all-comers, usually on a fifty-fifty commission basis. Half of the money spent by the patrons goes to the proprietors who pay for the hall, the orchestra, and the other operating expenses while the other half is paid to the young women themselves. The girl employed in these halls is expected to dance with any man who may choose her and to remain with him on the dance floor for as long a time as he is willing to pay the charges. Hence the significance of the apt name “taxi-dancer” which has recently been given her. Like the taxi-driver with his cab, she is for public hire and is paid in proportion to the time spent and the services rendered.

In Chicago, with which this study is chiefly concerned, the taxi-dance halls almost invariably seem to have incorporated the name “dancing school” or “dancing academy” into their title as though to suggest that systematic instruction in dancing were given. The Eureka Dancing Academy may be considered typical of Chicago taxi-dance halls.¹

THE EUREKA DANCING ACADEMY

The Eureka Dancing Academy is lodged unimpressively on the second floor of a roughly built store building on an arterial street, but a half-block from an important street-car intersection. Only a dully lighted electric sign flickering forth the words “Dancing Academy,” a congregation of youths and taxicabs at the stairway entrance, and an occasional blare from the jazz orchestra within indicate to the passer-by that he is near one of Chicago's playgrounds. But a closer inspection reveals a portable signboard on which is daubed the announcement, “Dancing Tonight! Fifty Beautiful Lady Instructors.”

Before long the patrons and taxi-dancers begin to arrive. Some patrons come in automobiles, though many more alight from street cars. Still others seem to come from the immediate neighborhood. For the most part they are alone, though occasionally groups of two and three appear. The patrons are a motley crowd. Some are uncouth, noisy youths, busied chiefly with their cigarettes. Others are sleekly groomed and suave young men, who come alone and remain aloof. Others are middle-aged men whose stooped shoulders and shambling gait speak eloquently of a life of manual toil. Sometimes they speak English fluently. More often their broken English reveals them as European immigrants, on the way toward being Americanized. Still others are dapperly dressed little Filipinos who come together, sometimes even in squads of six or eight, and slip quietly into the entrance. Altogether, the patrons make up a polyglot aggregation from many corners of the world.

The girls, however, seem much alike. They wear the same style of dress, daub their faces in the same way, chew their chicle in the same manner, and—except for a few older spirits—all step about with a youthful air of confidence and enthusiasm. But one soon perceives wide differences under the surface. Some approach the entrance in a decorous manner, others with loud laughter, slang, and profanity. The girls most frequently alight from street cars, sometimes alone, often in groups of two and three. Some seem to live within walking distance, and a few arrive in taxicabs, with an occasional girl perched in the forward seat beside the driver. Frequently an overflowing taxicab conveys three or four girls, accompanied by an equal number of men. The girls, trim in their fur coats and jauntily worn hats, hurry across the sidewalk, through the entrance and up the stairs, followed by their escorts. When the escorts are Filipinos, they too hasten toward the doorway, themselves the object of a none-too-friendly gaze from the men about the entrance.

Admission to the dance hall is easy to secure. In a narrow glass cage at the head of the stairs sits the ticket-seller, with immobile countenance. He indicates by a flicker of the eyelids and a glance toward the sign stating the admission fee that entrance will be granted upon the payment of the prescribed charge of $1.10. Stuffing into convenient pockets the long strip of dance tickets, the patron is then ushered through the checkroom and into the main hall.

It is a long narrow room with a low ceiling festooned with streamers of red-and-green crêpe paper. Wall panels of crudely painted pastoral scenes serve only to accentuate the rude equipment. On a platform at one end of the hall the five musicians of the orchestra wriggle, twist, and screech. But their best efforts to add pep and variety to the monotonous “Baby Face, You've Got the Cutest Little Baby Face” win no applause. The dancers are musically unappreciative, entirely oblivious to the orgiastic behavior on the orchestra stand.

Most of the two hundred men in the hall do not seem to be dancing. They stand about the edge of the dance space or slouch down into the single row of chairs ranged along the wall and gaze fixedly upon the performers. No one speaks. No one laughs. It is a strangely silent crowd. The orchestra stops with a final squawk from the saxophone. The couples dissolve, and for the next half-minute the crowded dance floor becomes a mass of seething, gesticulating figures; sideline spectators dart hither and thither after girls of their choice, while other men slump down into the vacated seats. Above the commotion the ticket-collector shouts loudly for tickets. As soon as the girl receives a ticket from the patron, she tears it in half, gives one part to the ubiquitous ticket collector; and the other half she blandly stores with other receipts under the hem of her silk stocking—where before the evening is over the accumulation appears as a large and oddly placed tumor. She volunteers no conversation; as the music begins, she nonchalantly turns toward her new patron ready for the dance with him.

This time the orchestra offers the snappy little jig, “I Like Your Size, I Like Your Eyes, Who Wouldn't?” The newly elected couples move out upon the floor, and the side-line spectators again line up to ogle. Ogling, in fact, seems here to be the chief occupation of the male. Twice as many men ogle as dance. They jostle each other for room along the side line and gradually, involuntarily, they encroach upon the dance space. “Back to the line, boys, back to the line!” An Irish policeman in uniform walks along the side lines pushing back the overzealous with vigorous, persistent shoves. The men retreat, only to press forward a moment later.

The dance-hall girl, on closer inspection, seems to represent a type in more than appearance. She may be either blond or brunette, but apparently she is required to be slender, lithe, youthful, and vivacious. She perhaps need not be thought virtuous, in the conventional sense; she must at least be considered “peppy.” Occasionally a girl more brazen than the rest, with cynically curled lips and too generously applied rouge, dances by, exhibiting in her actions a revolt against the conventional. But for the most part the dancers appear to be giddy young girls in the first flush of enthusiasm over the thrills, satisfactions, and money which this transient world of the dance hall provides. Their stock in trade seems to be an ability to dance with some skill a great variety of dance steps, and, more important, sufficient attractiveness to draw many patrons to the hall. They apparently seek to enhance their attractiveness by every feminine device—rouge, lipstick, and fetching coiffures. Even the silken dress seems sometimes to serve its mistress professionally. When business is dull the unchartered girls frolic together over the floor, their skirts swish about, the side-line spectators gape and reach for more tickets.

The taxi-dancer's job is an arduous one. The girl must have almost unlimited physical stamina to stand up indefinitely to the many forms of physical exercise which the patron may choose to consider dancing. As a matter of fact, dancing is anything but uniform in the taxi-dance hall. Some couples gallop together over the floor, weaving their way in and around the slower dancers; others seek to attain aesthetic heights by a curious angular strut and a double shuffle or a stamp and a glide. Still others dance the “Charleston,” and are granted unchallenged pre-emption of the center of the floor. Some couples are content with a slow, simple one-step as they move about the hall. At times certain dancers seem to cease all semblance of motion over the floor, and while locked tightly together give themselves up to movements sensual in nature and obviously more practiced than spontaneous. These couples tend to segregate at one end of the hall where they mill about in a compressed pack of wriggling, perspiring bodies. It is toward such feminine partners that many of the men rush at the end of each dance; these are the taxi-dancers who, irrespective of personal charm, never seem to lack for patrons. “It's all in the day's work, and we are the girls who get the dances,” would seem to be their attitude.

A majority of the patrons, however, do not appear to be seeking this type of activity. Many obviously enjoy dancing for its own sake. Others frankly crave youthful feminine society of a sort which can be enjoyed without the formality of introduction, and are willing to pay liberally for it. A few appear to be those who have taken the “dancing academy” advertisement seriously, and have come to be instructed. The girls make no attempt to teach these men, but simply walk them about the hall in an uncertain manner. But for most men attending this “dancing school” it is certainly a place of amusement, not of instruction.

The patrons of the taxi-dance hall constitute a variegated assortment. The brown-skinned Filipino rubs elbows with the stolid European Slav. The Chinese chop-suey waiter comes into his own alongside the Greek from the Mediterranean. The newly industrialized Mexican peon finds his place in the same crowd with the “bad boys” of some of Chicago's first families. The rural visitor seeking a thrill achieves his purpose in company with the globe-trotter from Australia. The American Negro remains the only racial type excluded from the taxi-dance hall.

Age likewise involves little or no restriction for the patron of this dance hall. Gray-haired, mustached men of sixty dance a slow, uncertain one-step in response to the vivacious jigging of their youthful companions, or, perhaps, sit alone in some corner puffing at a cigar. Then there are pudgy men of forty or fifty who dance awkwardly but obviously with great pleasure to themselves; and a few spectacled, well-groomed, middle-aged gentlemen who move quietly, politely, and discreetly among the others. Then also there is the florid-faced, muscular giant of middle years, uncouth in manner and dress, who occupies a prominent place on the side lines, his huge hairy paws extended over the shoulders of his diminutive partner. And standing a little removed from the others is the anemic little man, short of stature, meekly getting out of everyone's way.

Young men are there too, boisterous youths who enter in groups of three and four and hang together at the outskirts of the side-line spectators. They dance little, but instead seem preoccupied in noisy disputes with one another. At first impression they do not seem to be interested in the taxi-dancers. But when they address a girl it is with a certain directness of manner which frequently seems to win favor. They draw her to one side where with appropriate display of braggadocio they press their suit, collectively or singly. Failing in their quest, they seek out other favorites. But should success attend their efforts, they conduct themselves more quietly, very probably awaiting closing time when they will be able to escort from the hall the girl of their choice. The taxi-dancer in question meanwhile goes on about her business—collecting dance tickets.

In addition to the old or middle-aged and the young men there are “rough and ready” fellows of marriageable age who seem to be unable to assimilate completely some of the modes of city life. In a more rustic setting they may have been the Brummels of the party; in the impersonal contacts of city life they play a more obscure rôle. Many appear to be recent industrial recruits from the country, eager to experience some of the thrills of city life. Others may be foot-loose globe-trotters, hobo journeymen “traveling on their trade,” for whom the normal steps in feminine acquaintanceship must be sped up. Still others, however, constitute a different type and suggest the sleekly groomed, suave young “business men” of questionable antecedents. A man of this last type will stand politely at the side lines smoking his cigarettes, and, when wishing to dance, will select invariably the prettiest and youngest of the girls. Finally, there are a few men, handicapped by physical disabilities, for whom the taxi-dancer's obligation to accept all-comers makes the establishment a haven of refuge. The dwarfed, maimed, and pock-marked all find social acceptance here; and together with the other variegated types they make of the institution a picturesque and rather pathetic revelation of human nature and city life.

The orchestra passes from the snappy little jig “I Like Your Size, I Like Your Eyes, Who Wouldn't?” to “Honey Bunch, You Know How Much I Love You; Honey Bunch, I'm Always Thinking of You”; and then to “I Wish I Had My Old Girl Back Again; I Miss Her More than Ever Now.” This last offering is a slow, dreamy waltz, and seems popular with the patrons. There is a scurry for partners; laughter and conversation cease, and except for the shuffling of feet and the labored measures from the orchestra, nothing disturbs the rhythmic movements of the dance. Overhead lights go out, and from one corner a spotlight throws a series of colors over the revolving figures. They appear weird shapes, gliding in and out of the kaleidoscopic colorings, one moment in a blaze of color and the next instant retreating to ashen-gray hulks in the dusk that enshrouds the room. Here are mystery, fantasy, and romance. A strange quiescence pervades all. But only momentarily. The incandescent clusters again light up the room, the saxophone croons forth its final notes, and the dance is done. The spell over, all are back again in a practical, money-making world. Girls disengage themselves from their erstwhile captors, and hurry unescorted to the side lines or to a prearranged rendezvous with other partners. Patrons, grown suddenly active, finger hurriedly for tickets, and pace up and down the row of unappropriated girls along the side lines seeking out favorites. The traffic in romance and in feminine society is again under way.

It is a mercenary and silent world—this world of the taxi-dance hall. Feminine society is for sale, and at a neat price. Dances are very short; seldom do they last more than ninety seconds. At ten cents for each ninety seconds of dancing, a full evening would total the man a tidy sum. Since the average patron does not seem to belong to the social class of easy affluence, he spends much of his evening on the side lines balancing his exchequer against new stimulations in the dance—apparently with the result that his exchequer loses. The more popular taxi-dancer accumulates an enormous number of tickets in the course of an evening. These young girls by a few hours of dancing each evening may secure a weekly income of at least thirty-five or forty dollars. By the sale of nothing more than their personal society for a few hours each evening they may earn twice or three times as much as they could by a long disagreeable day in a factory or store.

There is little conversation. The patron may sit for hours beside others of his sex without conversing with them. Instead, the attention of all patrons focuses upon the jigging couples in the center of the floor. The girls, likewise, when not dancing stand for long periods beside each other without talking. Conversation, at best, does not seem to be a highly developed art in this taxi-dance hall. Even when dancing couples do not converse, although it is almost the only situation in the dance hall in which men and girls may become acquainted.

The evening in the dance hall is coming to a close. It is past one o'clock in the morning and the “dancing academy” adjourns at two. The jazz musicians, now thoroughly tired, grind out their music mechanically. It is now a matter of physical endurance. So it is also for the taxi-dancer. Her vivacity and enthusiasm—so evident earlier in the evening—are now gone. She stands indifferently on the side lines, shoulders drooping, or shuffles toward a chair where she slouches dejectedly, awaiting closing time, when she will be permitted to leave. Many patrons also show signs of fatigue. Some who have imbibed too freely sleep noisily in their chairs. A few vigorous ones, however, remain dancing upon the floor.

Some of these men are obviously dancing for sheer enjoyment. But they are in the minority. More often they seem to be seeking a certain girl for a “date” after closing hour. They dance on, dance after dance, apparently supplied with an endless number of tickets. The periods of “dancing” are shortened from ninety to sixty seconds, but the interested patrons continue undaunted by the change, in some cases apparently not even realizing that a...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Dedication
• Contents
• Foreword
• Introduction
• Author's Preface
• Part I. The Taxi-Dance Hall: What It Is
• Part II. The Taxi-Dancer and Her World
• Part III. The Patron and His Problems
• Part IV. The Natural History and Ecology of the Taxi-Dance Hall
• Part V. The Taxi-Dance Hall Problem
• Index