Hot jazz and blues were melting together as he passed by the Frolic Theater, which boasted to be the finest colored theater in the South, featuring only musicals and high comedy.
And the people kept on moving. . . . Down the block, Ethel Waters sang and asked the musical question, "What did I do to be so black and blue?" While next door, Ma Rainey shouted out "Hey, Jailor, tell me what have I done?" . . . And people in the Silver Moon Blue Note Club were doing the shimmy-sham-shimmy to Art Tatum's "Red Hot Pepper Stomp."
He was here—Slagtown on a Saturday night—and just one block away, white Birmingham was completely unaware that this exotic sepia spot even existed. Slagtown, where the Highland Avenue maid of that afternoon could be tonight's Queen of the Avenue, and red-caps and shoeshine boys were the leaders of Slagtown's after-dark fashion show. They were all here, with black shiny patent-leather slick hair and gold teeth that glistened and sparkled as they passed under the colored lights that flashed and traveled around the signs. Blacks, tans, cinnamons, octoroons, reds and dukes mixtures, moving Artis down the street, all dressed in suits of lime green and purple, sporting two-toned yellow-and-tan brogans and thin red-and-white silk ties, while the ladies, with gleaming deep maroon and tangerine lips and swinging hips, were promenading in spectator pumps and red fox furs . . .
Lights blinked away at him. THE MAGIC CITY BILLIARDS PARLOR FOR GENTLEMEN; THE ST. JAMES GRILL; BLUE HEAVEN BAR-B-CUE; ALMA MAE JONES SCHOOL OF BEAUTY CULTURE . . . on past the Champion Theater, Where Happiness Costs So Little, 10c . . . Two doors down, he saw dancing couples through the window of the Black and Tan Ballroom, where amber spotlights lazily searched the room, turning the couples a pale purple as they floated by. He turned the corner and was carried along, faster and faster, down the teeming street, past The Clouds of Joy Used Clothing Exchange, the Little Delilah Cafe, Pandora Billiards, and the Stairway to the Stars Cocktail Lounge, advertised as The Home of the Mixed Drink, and the Pastime Theater, this week featuring Edna Mae Harris in an All-Colored Revue. Next door, at the Grand Theater, Mary Marble and Little Chips were appearing. He went on by the Little Savoy Cafe, past more dancing couples, silhouetted through the windows of the Hotel Dixie Carlton Ballroom, with its large revolving mirrored ball shooting silver sparkles of light all over the room. . . . Foxtrotting couples inside were unaware of the young black boy in overalls, wide, eyed with wonder, being swept by the Busy Bee Bar-b-cue Shop, for Ladies and Gents that offered Electrically Cooked Waffles and Hot Cakes at All Hours and Your Favorite Sandwiches Toasted, Served with the Best Coffee in the City, Hot Dogs for 5c, Homemade Chili, Hamburger, Pork, Ham, Swiss Cheese Sandwiches, All for a Dime. . . past the Viola Crumbely Over the Rainbow Insurance Co., which specialized in burial policies, with a sign in the window that urged her potential customers to Get a Lot While You 're Young, on by the De Luxe Hotel and Rooms for Gentlemen.
Near the Casino Club at the Masonic Temple, a large-breasted beauty behind him, resplendent in a corn-colored satin dress, wearing a lemon-yellow feather boa, squealed and swung her purse at a fleet-footed gentleman and missed. The gentleman laughed, and Artis laughed, too, as he continued on down the street with the crowd; he knew he was home at last.
(BIRMINGHAM’S SEPIA NEWSPAPER)
BY MR. MILTON JAMES
MAY 6, 1937
Mr Artis O. Peavey was admitted to the University Hospital late Saturday evening, suffering from multiple self-inflicted accidental injuries he received while attempting to open a particularly expensive bottle of wine, his female companion said; the year and the label unknown.
Is it just my imagination, or did I see Miss Ida Doizer on the midnight streetcar the other night headed out to Ensley to Tuxedo Junction for a few dances with Bennie Upshaw, only to see her ride home with Mr. G. T. Williams?
We must have two or three Birmingham boys in every one of the popular bands around the country, thanks to the expert musicianship of our own beloved Professor Fess Watley. We are well received on the music scene. Don't forget our old friend Cab Calloway is due to grace our magic city soon.
Fine fare over at the Frolic Theater this week . . .
Monday-Thursday: A 5-Star Program
Erskine Hawkins, “The Twentieth Century Gabriel,”
In
“DEVILLED HAMS”
Also—ALL COLORED SPORTS REEL
MARCH 2, 1986
Eating a cup of vanilla ice cream with a wooden spoon, Mrs. Threadgoode was reminiscing to Evelyn about the Depression.
"A lot of people died, one way or the other. It hit hard. Especially the colored, who never did have much to begin with. Sipsey said that half the people over there in Troutville would have froze or starved to death if it hadn't been for Railroad Bill."
This was a new name to Evelyn. "Who was Railroad Bill?"
Mrs. Threadgoode seemed surprised, "Didn't I ever tell you about Railroad Bill?"
"No, I don't believe you have."
"Well, he was a famous bandit. They say he was a colored man that would sneak on the trains and throw food and coal off the government supply trains at night, and the colored people that lived along the tracks would come and get the stuff at daybreak and run home with it as fast as they could.
"I don't believe they ever did catch him . . . never did find out who he was. . . Grady Kilgore, who was a railroad detective friend of Idgie's, used to come in the cafe every day, and Idgie would laugh and say, 'I hear ol' Railroad Bill is still on the loose. What's the matter with you boys?' He used to get so mad, they must have put twenty extra men on the trains, at one time or another, and they offered a lifetime pass on the L N Railroad to whoever had information about him to come forth, but nobody did. Idgie just razzed him to death over that one! But they were always good friends. He was in that Dill Pickle Club . . .”
“That what?"
Mrs. Threadgoode laughed. "The Dill Pickle Club, this crazy club Idgie and Grady and Jack Butts started."
"What kind of a club was it?"
"Well, they claimed it was a breakfast and social club, but it was really just a bunch of Idgie's ragtag friends that would all get together, she and some of the railroad men and Eva Bates and Smokey Lonesome. About all they did was drink whiskey and make up lies. They'd look you right in the eye and tell you a lie when the truth would have served them better.
"That was their fun, making up tales. Crazy tales. One time, Ruth had just come in from church and Idgie was sitting around with them and she said, 'Ruth, I'm sorry to have to tell this, but while you were gone, Stump swallowed a 22-caliber bullet.'
"When Ruth got all excited, Idgie said, 'Don't worry, he's just fine. I just took him over to Doc Hadley's and he gave him a half a bottle of castor oil, and said it was all right to bring him home but just be careful not to point him at anyone.'"
Evelyn laughed. Mrs. Threadgoode said, "Well, you can imagine that Ruth didn't care much for the idea of that club. Idgie was the president and she was always calling secret meetings. Cleo said those secret meetings were nothing more than hot polker games. But he said the club did some good things, but they would never tell you about it if they did, they'd deny it every time.
"They didn't care anything about the Baptist preacher, Reverend Scroggins, 'cause he was a teetotaler, and every time some poor fool would ask where he could buy whiskey or live bait, they'd sent him over to the preacher's house. Like to have driven him crazy.