Red Room Where the Writers Are

Roseland Ballroom

52nd st btw Broadway and 8th Avenue  239 w 52nd st  10019

 

Roseland is a squat little ugly 3 story building on 52nd that was originally an iceskating rink built in 1922.  She’s a girl that doesn’t really impress you at first but after a few good times together she grows on you. I saw tons of great bands at Roseland over the years. Just off the top of my head can say that I’ve seen Slayer there about three times, The Cramps, Reverand Horton Heat, Down, Pantera, and Queens of the Stoneage.  The sound was almost always terrible.  Something about the acoustics make it really hard for a sound guy I guess.   The only hint of her earlier glory days is in the bathroom lounge downstairs, next-door to the stalls, with it’s huge mirrors and countertops for “powdering the nose”.

 

The original Roseland opened in  Philadelphia  in 1917,  and was owned by Louis Brecker. In 1919 he moved the venue to 1658 Broadway (at 51st street) in New York. It was a segregated dance club called the "home of refined dancing", famed for the big band groups like the Glenn Miller Orchestra that played there. The 51st street Roseland where couples “danced under the famous star-studded ceiling” was torn down in 1956 and it moved to its present location on West 52nd, previously “Iceland”, now bankrupt.  Brecker attempted to maintain its ballroom dancing style, banning rock and roll and disco, but when he sold the building in 1981 the new owners promoted regular disco nights, which eventually turned more towards rock concerts as the decade changed.

The ceilings at Roseland are 32 feet high.  There is a nice grid above the ceiling:  the beams are kind of wide, but there are “movable beams” as well that can be tied off to hang a point just where you want it. 

 

My trapeze was hung at Roseland for The New York City Tattoo Convention in the year 1999.  Over a bare stage with sideshow banners surrounding me on all sides I did my act unglamorously under the fluorescent house lights while tattoo guns buzzed beneath my music.  There wasn’t any fancy lighting because Roseland is a “union house” and the Tattoo Convention didn’t need to waste extra dollars on coffee breaks and misogynist jokes just to make the acts more impressive.  Johnny Fox provided the giant banners hanging along the circumference of the room.  Every year he volunteered his act and donated banners in exchange for a booth.

 

Tattooing was illegal in New York City until local law 12 was passed in 1997.  That same year the annual NYC Tattoo convention began.  Three men ran the tattoo convention when it first started:  Steve Bonge, Butch Garcia,  and Wes Wood.  Clayton Patterson was their right hand man but not a full partner.  Eventually Wes went his separate way and it was just Steve and Butch running the show.  Steve and Butch are Hell’s Angels of the New York City Chapter. 

 

When I was growing up in the southwest, Arizona didn’t have any Hell’s Angels, so I had no clue what I was in for (but that always makes things more fun doesn’t it) when I started dating one.

 

We were together on and off for eight years starting the end of ‘96. It was through the Hells Angels that I had my first true glimpse of New York City.  Because there are no accounts written by females of their experiences with Hell’s Angels I feel I should tell a few tales of my own.

 

I won’t mention the name of the man I met in Vienna.  It was at an Austrian festival I performed at many times between 1995 and 2000.  He was from Long Island and belonged to the New York City Chapter.  We became acquainted while experiencing the sites of Vienna and kept in touch after the job was over. 

 

He introduced me to the side of NY that included great diners, rock and roll, custom cars, and big-hearted people who would do anything for their friends and family.  The Angels taught me what integrity means.  I found them to be a group of men who were staunchly patriotic and completely devoted to each other.  It’s hard for me to say much about them as a group because they were all entirely different. 

Flash (now dead):              was the older,  eccentric who looked a little like Wild Bill Hickock:  a man who loved life and was the life of every party. 

Butch:              the good-natured, music loving, romantic always ready with a joke or witty comment to lift the mood – also a mean harmonica player. 

Bonge:  the idealist.  An artist, photographer, historian, and actor. He was at the head of every fight if it was for a cause he believed in or to protect a friend.

Brendan:            the style-king.  I never saw him in anything but custom-made leather with an assortment of great accessories: beautiful boots, wild belt-buckle, great clip-on key chain, maybe even a small whip at his belt.  He was a leather fan and made many beautiful snake skin belts and wallets for people (a skill he learned in prison).  Among his accessories was always a gorgeous woman (or two) on his arm. 

Teddy:  big and intimidating.  He didn’t talk to me much but he did teach me how to eat a hamburger after complaining that I was going about it much too daintily.

Blues:              the tall, quiet one

Chuck Zito:            (Always called by first and last name) was a Nomad, but passed through regularly – never knew I existed although I was introduced to him many times.  My clearest memory of Chuck Zito was at an Oz after-party.  I commented how interesting it was that he was wearing a khaki linen suit.  I was coldly told it didn’t matter what he wore because he was a man who “backed his shit”.  This was a phrase I will forever take with me.

Scott:               the loudest laugher

Eddie:               the family man

Frank:             Impatient and hot-tempered.  --An excellent contractor.  He did a lot of renovations in the main room of the clubhouse when he was a prospect.  (In order to become an Angel you must first prospect for a year after being a “hang-around” for an indefinite amount of time). 

­­­Buster:            --            Full name Domingo de Jesus Buster—he had very handsome Hispanic features.  Fought to play Santana and War CDs at parties.  Competed with Brendon in the outfit department.

And Bart:            the biggest and loudest.  Dominated the club’s cd player at parties with his favorite band - Tool.  Drove a hummer when not on his Harley and loved a good cigar.  His biceps were larger than my thighs, and his chest was a brick wall.  If I ever make it to old and senile I am sure that one of my all-time fondest, lasting memories will be of Bart warmly yelling a booming “JERRY!!!” at me from across the room at their parties. 

 

I guess I should explain:  Jerry was a nickname given to me after my first bike-run with the Angels.  Until this relationship I was never a motorcycle person.  I think my first time on a motorcycle was with my Uncle Cliff at about eight years old in Pocatello, ID.  That was enough to last me until early in 96 when I performed at Lollapalooza in NY.  It was the year the show went heavy with Metallica headlining, Soundgarden and the Ramones playing in the lineup on the mainstage.  CJ Ramone decided he liked my best friend and invited us to ride down to DC with them to see the show there.  CJ’s bike had illegal ape-hangers and a small seat so he chose some friends of his for us to ride with.  Mine was a chubby long-haired blond guy whose name I don’t remember (My best friend and I laughed a lot on this trip).  We showed up completely unprepared.  I didn’t even bring eyewear.  CJ gave me a pair of his K.D.s with yellow lenses.  After a 5 hour ride down to DC it was a pleasure to take the stinky late-night Amtrak train back to NY when the concerts were over. 

 

This was the extent of my riding experience prior to my first actual “bike-run” with the Angels.  Determined to hide my true inner-geek, I painfully tried to choose the perfect accessories for the historic moment – a new adventure for which I had no clue as to what was in store.  I was slightly more prepared than on the trip to DC:  I wore boots (with heels) and a long sleeve shirt under my jacket (FYI – unless it’s the hottest month of summer if you ever ride for more than an hour I would highly recommend a turtleneck and earplugs.  Am Jam was in May and I froze).  As we were saddling up to leave I buckled my half-helmet and proudly placed the glasses CJ had given me on my nose thinking I was really cool.  One of the guys took a look back at me and said I looked like Jerry Louis in “The Nutty Professor”.  I never lived it down – the name Jerry stuck forever.  

 

I went on a few runs with the pack over the years – multiple times to Am Jam and Laconia; to Chuck Zito’s book-signing at the China Club (which turned into a police chase thanks to Frank) and a few events here and there.  They had runs for the first run of the year, runs to remember lost members, U.S. runs, World runs…. It was required by all members to go on a certain number of runs every year or to be penalized.  Because it’s in  the press’ best interest to make it seem like the club is some sort of subversive, anarchist group whose main goal is to sell drugs, people tend to forget that “Hell’s Angels” are first and foremost, a motorcycle club.  I really can’t describe what an exhilarating feeling it is to be “white-lining” down the highway (even on the back of a bike) with 80 other motorcycles following behind two by two. 

 

New York City Chapter started as the Aliens up in the Bronx and became Angels on December 5, 1969.   Sandy Alexander was president.  77 E. 3rd Street became their new home and the NY Church of the Angels had been born.  Sandy was owner of the building as far as I knew, even years later when I visited.  The department of Buildings doesn’t have any information on the building but propertyshark mentioned member Birdie Ruderman as well as Sandy, as previously holding the deed. The block was not a good one years ago when they first opened shop but it is now threatening to be overgrown by NYU dormitories and luxury condos.  Such is the fate of the city I suppose but it will be a shame if we lose a building with such a crazy past.

 

Above the exit to the clubhouse bar on the main floor is a sign that reads “What happens in this room stays in this room”.  Being female however; I have to tell just one story!  It wasn’t during a party or illegal so I hope I will be forgiven.  It was the very first time I stepped into the room and the sight fulfilled every fantasy I might have had about the mystery of the clubhouse – I assure you I never saw anything so bizarre happen there ever again:

 

One afternoon, not long after we had started dating, my friend invited me to come with him to see the clubhouse bar.  As we entered the room I was surprised to find a beautiful blonde lying on the floor by herself with a ball and chain locked around her ankle.  She was completely naked—her clean white skin draped across dirty red carpet -- no idea how she got there.  It was as if she had been magically beamed to the spot by a spaceship or the hand of a mischievous Greek God. Head resting on her fist, propped up by her elbow she casually stated in a heavy Australian accent with a voice of contentment, “I must be quite a sight lying here like this aren’t I.”  Completely shocked, I honestly can’t remember if or what I answered.  My date laughed as we left the room saying she was “a kook” that came around from time to time and liked the attention. 

 

The other clubhouse tale I loved hearing but happened way before my time was the one about the wild boar in the back yard that one of the members kept as a pet.

 

I have heard a lot of talk about wife-swapping and Hells Angels.  Maybe it has happened in other chapters or in other generations but the ones I was around were pretty old-fashioned when it came to women.  I can’t imagine any of the jealous guys I knew swapping their girlfriends or wives with other members.  I have encountered one or two women that end up dating men with other chapters after a relationship is over.  I have also witnessed women who come to the parties and slip into the bathroom with more than one member, but never an “old-lady” sharing more than one partner.  I was never forced to clean, strip, monetarily support my boyfriend, or do drugs. (I might have partaken in a few drugs of my own accord).  After putting in time and proving that I was willing and able to ride on the back of an old shovelhead with a bad seat and worn shocks, leather fringe from my partner’s “patch” flapping in my face in the rain without a complaint they always treated me well and included me in a lot of their recreations. 

           

There is an unusual hierarchy among the members’ “old-ladies”.  I watched a lot of women come and go over the years and it’s kind of funny what an attitude they get after moving in to the building. Most of them fade away after a while.  The only ones who win awards in my book are Lara and Barbara -- Teddy and Blue’s girlfriends.  They were not only smart but also tough:  Lara broke horses when she lived out west and bar-tended for the mafia in NY during their poker games.  She was very petite, but had a huge head of hair down to her waist – blonde with some black streaks.  She also had a few dreads mixed in to which she had tied some very sharp claw-like things.  She almost killed me head-banging at a Pantera show one night (at Roseland).  Barbara could speak fluent Russian, was super-handy with a computer, and catered a lot of the clubhouse parties because she was an excellent cook.  The two of them were pillars in the establishment. 

 

And then there were the other ones who came and went more quickly:   I remember one girl who was so proud of her position that she put out a cigarette on an ex-boss’ arm who she ran into at at a Rolling Stones Show (also at Roseland in fact), bragging about it for the rest of the night.  She knew she could get away with it because of the company by her side. Power – even ill-perceived – goes to everyone’s head.  Although it’s not fun paying rent in the city, I never moved into the clubhouse.  I spent enough time at the place to get hauled into jail during one of Giulliani’s raids and that was plenty for me.  Cops in NY love to make you lie face down on the ground while they cuff you.  –It’s happened to me twice—the second time was after my van’s license plates were stolen (and returned)  I forgot to report them returned:  Police pulled me over and I was asked to tell my story laying face down on pavement. -- While we were waiting in the paddy wagon in front of the clubhouse I entertained the guys by slipping out of my plastic cuffs – like cuffs were even needed on a 100-pounder like myself anyway.  One of the NY members had a girlfriend (before my time) who could supposedly knock a guy out with one swing and demonstrated it many times on demand, but I’ve never been in a fight in my life. 

 

Not every experience I had with them was positive, but the lessons and experiences they gave me outweighed the negatives.  They taught me how to drive and parallel park  in narrow  streets (I had a van) and how to navigate my way in and out of the city - God help my passengers.  I learned how to have a great conversation without asking any questions.  They also taught me a lot about human nature.  Standing beside one of them you see a lot in the eyes of the people who approach and notice interesting patterns in the way they treat you.  Some Hells Angel fans are so smitten and scared by the patches that they won’t even say “hello” when they come up to shake the hand of the man at my side.  Recently I made the mistake of loaning an old “support” sweatshirt to a male friend when we were in Boston – which is a popular Hell’s Angel neighborhood.  Out of nowhere a gargantuan “civilian” biker came up to my friend to introduce himself and vigorously shake his hand saying, ”Snitches get stitches! You know what I mean?”  (the guy wouldn’t even glance at me).  My friend was completely freaked out by the experience and never borrowed the sweatshirt again, but he had to admit it was kind of funny.  I learned from the Angels that no matter how intimidating, scary or different looking a person is, if you have the balls to look them in the eye and greet them honestly the way you would greet a peer they will respect you regardless of any differences.

 

Although welcoming and generous, in the back of my mind I always felt that I couldn’t truly rely on the guys as my friends because in the end it was my boyfriend who was in their club and as a woman I could never be a member.  If it ever came down to it, I knew that it was my boyfriend they had sworn loyalty too -- not me.  I didn’t want to grow old in a reality that could never be my own.   If I sound vague in my descriptions here it is no accident.  There are some things you just can’t learn from books – even those penned by the exceptional hand of Hunter S. Thompson.

 

Now seems like a good time to change the subject so I will introduce the amazing Johnny Foxx.  He performed almost every year at the tattoo convention with a really clever spoken, sword-swallowing act.  I have also heard that he is a great magician.  For a while he owned a curio store and gallery called “Freakatorium” on Clinton Street in the lower east side.  He is a huge fan and supporter of all “counter-culture”, side-show, motorcycle clubs, leather gear, and “bizarro”-history. 

 

 

“I don’t believe in insurance.  That’s gambling against yourself.”

 

NA:       What is your primary act?

JF:       My primary act is talking.  I mix it with sword swallowing and fire eating and sideshow skills. I like talking about stories of the characters I’ve met and worked with at different shows – different foreigners and freaks…for me they were a lot more than that—

 

NA:    What year did you start performing?

JF:       I first started with doing a magic act in ’73, in Florida while working in a restaurant, doing magic after dinner.  “I’ll clean your plates and then I’ll do a couple tricks for ya!”

NA:       And when did you come to New York?

JF:       I’ve been coming in and out of New York City since I was a little kid.  I grew up in Hartford and I had an aunt that lived in Manhattan on Central Park south.  I used to come and stay for a couple weeks at a time with her.  She used to send me over to watch Mark Chagall paint at Lincoln Center.  And she would bring me to the Russian Tea Room, and around the city.  I moved here permanently 7 or 8 years ago.

NA:       What year did the Freakatorium open?

JF:       That started in 98.  I actually opened it in August of ’99.

NA:       Is performing  your only source of income?

JF:       I also travel to Renaissance Festivals.  I have other concessions such as Dungeon of torture, A High Striker, Thor’s Hammer, and uh, cinnamon roasted almonds.

 

NA:       Did you choose this as your profession or did it choose you?

JF:       It chose me of course.  I was born on a Friday the 13th.  Nothing but crazy, wild, wacky stuff happened all through my life.

 

 NA:      Where did your interest in magic come from? In other words – what should parents look out for?

JF:       – well as a kid I was always attracted to tricks and slight of hand.  I used to hang around pool halls, learn trick shots, and I was intrigued by juggling. I was a big fan of Chaplin and Buster Keaton …..I remember watching silent flicks – I was fascinated with old movies – Todd Browning’s Freaks, Nightmare Alley, and old, scary movies….

 

NA:       How did you become a magician?

JF:       I started waiting tables in Florida, there were other waiters goofing around singing and doing things at the tables – hamming it up.  And I started goofing around with these other waiters and just singing and making fun of them … I started becoming a clown and I’d do magic tricks.  When I was working in Florida, I had met a magician by the name of Jim Challini.  He was a multi talented magician, and I was very curious, how he got so good.  He told me about this teacher that he studied with in New York named Slidini - an old Italian magician raised in Manhattan….I studied with him later on when he was on west 45th street.

I moved to Colorado and started working in another restaurant, doing close up magic and they said, “don’t do any magic, just keep tuning the tables.”  Oh you want a waiter!  I said “waiters are a dime a dozen”, I said “I do magic.  So I looked for a restaurant that would let me do the magic and then I heard about these guys that were doing a magic theme restaurant up in Aspen, Colorado.   So in about ’76, ’77, I worked in Aspen with these 4 other magicians who were from California and we’d go out and street perform. That led to fire eating.  I started getting more intrigued with fire because there were too many magicians emerging on the scene.  So I was street performing in Colorodo, and I hadn’t seen any sword swallowing done in years and years and I thought “Oh, I could probably swallow a sword.”  I remember swallowing spaghetti when I was a kid and pulling it back up and I remember doing yoga and learning how to relax…. I was thinking well I could probably swallow a sword so I started working on it and after about six or eight months of practicing 5 minutes before breakfast, 5 minutes before lunch, 5 minutes before dinner – I made sure to practice on an empty stomach.

NA:       You taught yourself?!

JF:       There was one sword swallower that I called.  he used to go by the name of Rolic Munts Bank.  His real name was Leo Greep.  He worked  with the Big John Strong Circus.  He was a sword swallower.  I said, “How do I measure the sword?”  And he told me, he said, “You have to keep going down until you hear a voice inside your head scream “Stop!” “And I was like “What?”  And he said “ keep going until you touch the valve that goes into the stomach and it’s very tender and you’ll know when you touch it”.  From that I knew how to measure it. knew that I had to keep it clean and dull.   I called my sister, she’s in the medical profession. I have an uncle who was a doctor, my grandfather was a doctor, I have two cousins that are doctors, my mother’s a nurse, all her sisters are nurses.  I grew up with medical books around me a lot.  I used to read the medical books and look at them.  I was fascinated with anatomy as a kid.  I wasn’t afraid of putting the sword in my throat.  I graduated from Vassar,  I was pretty comfortable that I could do it. 

NA:       Are you close to your family?

JF:       I’m close to my mom.  My father passed away in ’77.  My brother and sister – I stay in touch with a little bit. 

NA:       Do they support your artistic side?

JF:       Yeah.  They know I’m happy doin what I’m doin.  I have a son that’s 16 years old.  He lives in Colorado.  We spend a couple of months together every year in the summertime.

 

NA:       Have you ever had an accident? 

JF:       I don’t believe in accidents.  Everything happens for a reason.  I have hurt myself - I remember one time swallowing a sword I heard this little kid in the audience say “Dad there’s blood on the sword!”  And I looked down at the sword and I went “Oh my God there is, there’s blood on the sword”.   I think it was because I wasn’t standing straight and I let the sword drop down.  I do this one move where I take my hands away from the sword and I snap my fingers and the sword drops, I let it drop down and if I’m not really really straight I can scrape the side of the esophagus. 

NA:       Did you have to go to the doctor ?

JF:       Naw.  I’m my own doctor.  I drank aloe vera juice for four or five days.

NA:       How do you come up with ideas?

JF:       I try to get inspiration from props. If an inanimate object can inspire me I like that.   Sometimes I read history of old performers, descriptions of their act which I haven’t seen, so I have to imagine it myself.

NA:       Do you practice or rehearse any more?

JF:       Sure.

NA:       How many hours a week?

JF:       If I’m doing a show or if I have a new show I’ll run it and then tape it and watch it.  Rehearse, rewrite it.  I’m into writing and rewriting the show – Doing it and then seeing what it is, how it runs and where it needs to be tightened up.

AT:       Do you feel that living in New York has changed your act at all?

JF:       An act matures like wine or anything really, it gets more mellow.  You realize you don’t have to jump around to grab attention.  In New York, I feel like I’ve paid my dues.  And I’ve gotten to the point where I really feel comfortable.  I know I don’t need to take every job that’s offered me.  Less is more. 

NA:       What idea or trick are you most proud of?

JF:       Well, at Joe Coleman’s wedding – I’ve only done it once --  I made a egg omelet with four eggs and I drank the omelet raw,  swallowed a frying pan handle and then while it was down my throat I bent over and regurgitated the omelet into the frying pan and then cooked it with two small blow torches.  I put it on a plate and I handed it to Joe who then ate it!  The only thing that he ate the day of his wedding, he’s proud to tell people, is wedding cake that was cut with a sword that came out of my throat and that egg omelet.

NA:       What sort of effect are you trying to achieve with your audience?

JF:       I like bringing laughter and I like to give people something to think about after a show:  People that came from situations less fortunate made lemonade with lemons; Shut up and do something good with your life.  Do something enjoyable. 

NA:       do you ever think you’re going to retire?

JF:            Retire?  I’ll be retired when they put me in the ground – ah I don’t even want to be put in the ground, when they incinerate me – no, I’ll still be working even when I’m dead.  I’m gonna have my head shrunk and it’ll hang in the Freakatorium.  They’ll think – “this guy is still entertaining people after he’s dead!”  I want my head shrunk.