Dancing Days

by Billie Lee Snyder Thornburg

Introduction:
Billie Snyder Thornburg's third book, "Sandhills Kid in the City," continues the story of Billy and her sister, Bertie, that was begun in "Bertie and Me," and, "Bertie and Me and Miles Too." It covers the years from 1929 to 1937, when their father, Bert, moved the family to Salem, Ore., so his girls could go to high school.

In 1931, the family moved back to Nebraska. Billie became a dance teacher and this excerpt gives a bit of the flavor of North Platte in the 1930s when it was known as "Little Chicago."

I continued living in my apartment, heating bath water in a coffee pot and teaching dancing in my studio and being on my own until late fall. The weather was turning colder and colder. Mr. Grant would not give me enough heat. I'd complain. He'd say there would be more heat, but there wasn't.

When it came rent time I had a bright idea. I would get even with the old boy and maybe get more heat. I went to the bank and bought enough rolls of pennies to pay my rent. I took them out of the wrappers and put them in a tin box. I had the exact amount of money in the box, but he had to count them to be sure.

He dumped them out on his desk and started counting. He was not used to counting pennies and it took quite a while. I just sat there. Once he looked up at me and said, "You did this on purpose."

I said, "No, times are tough and that is the only way I can pay my rent this month."

He looked at me again and said, "You can't be dishonest and be a granddaughter of Jeremiah Snyder."

I liked what he had said

about my grandfather. Now I felt guilty about the lie I had told him about the pennies. I sat there trying not to let that lie show. I felt like it was sticking out all over me.

Mr. Grant was an old time attorney who had probably gone through some hard times and was tight with his money. He continued to count the pennies, just to make sure I had the right amount. Nellie mentioned Mr. Grant in her book, Evil Obsession. He was one of the honest, good guys.

When I went to pay my rent, he always wanted me to sit down and talk a while. Once when I was sitting there, he must have noticed me looking at his dirty windows. He said, "You know I built this building (he told me how many years ago) and those windows have never been washed and they never will be as long as I'm here."

Recently I learned that one of the best-known brothels in North Platte was practically next door to my living quarters and dancing studio. The six months I lived and taught at that address I never realized that Violet Gosney's Rooms, or whorehouse if you must, was the next upstairs from mine. My address was 505½ N. Dewey Street. Violet's was 513½.

After discovering I was next door to Violet's, I began to do a little more research on the North Platte brothels. At
that time, North Platte's population was about twelve thousand. I found there were 18 such places in the little

town of North Platte in the year 1934. Many of them were downtown in the upstairs rooms as Violet's were. Most were on Front Street and North Jeffers Street. Violet's was the only house of ill repute on Dewey Street.

Other towns called that particular section of town the "Red-Light District," and people could tell you just where it was located. I was in Scottsbluff last year and a man told me the Scottsbluff Red Light District used to be on Ninth Avenue. I never heard the term Red Light District used here in North Platte. The only reason I can figure out is because it was scattered all over town and was usually referred to as "all those whorehouses."

I had an experience with one of the madams once. I don't remember her name, but I knew who she was at the time. She brought her beautiful little blond 4-year-old girl in to enroll her for private lessons. Private lessons at the time were $1.50 for a half-hour. This was during the depression and not many people could afford private lessons. Most students were doing well to afford one-hour class lessons at .75 cents.

I knew this lady could well afford the lessons. In my mind I did four times $1.50. Six dollars a month. Things were really looking up. The Madam did not say anything about paying me. She stayed with the little girl and watched her lesson. She watched each lesson after that, too, but never mentioned paying. I didn't have the nerve to ask her, but I thought she'd surely pay at the beginning of the next month.

I saved the lesson time for her, but she didn't show up and never came back. I realized she was trying to take me and I wasn't going to let her get by with it. Her "place of business" was not far from my studio. I knew which one it was. It was a big two-story corner house on a very nice street.

I walked up there, walked up the steps and in the front door. There was a large entryway with a small counter as in a hotel. The madam was standing behind the counter. Two men stood nearby, but turned their backs as I walked in.

I went up to the counter and told the madam I wanted the money for the dancing lessons. She told me she didn't have it. I hooked my elbow over her counter, leaned on my arm and told her I would just wait until she got it. She reached in a drawer and came up with $6 very fast. I took my money and got out of there in a hurry.

Only a month later I saw in the North Platte paper that she died. The first thing that hit my mind when reading her death-notice was, "It was sure a good thing I didn't wait any longer to collect my money."

After all the trouble of getting those pennies, Mr. Grant did not give me any more heat. I started to look for another place to live and teach. I heard of a two-room deal about like I had. It was located at 608½ Dewey. The place was above Hirschfelds, on the corner of Dewey and Sixth Street. I went to take a look.

The building was warm and it was the same number of stairs.

The small room that housed the toilet was just outside my door. I wouldn't have to go the full length of the hall to go to the "outhouse." I felt that I was moving up in the world.
There were three rooms up there; the two that were for rent and one occupied by Al Hastings, the head of the underworld when North Platte was known as Little Chicago.

The room that I used as my apartment was next to Al Hastings' office. It had a connecting door that was always locked. I knew Al Hastings had something to do with bootlegging, but a lot of people were mixed up in bootlegging in those days. As I got to know Mr. Hastings, I started calling him "Al" to his back, but always "Mr. Hastings" to his face.

Sometimes there would be a lot of noise coming from his room. One time it sounded like he or someone fell out of a chair. I laughed to myself and thought, "They're drinking in there again."

One night I came home late and the door to his office was open. All was dark and quiet. I looked his home number up in the phone book, called and told him his office door was open. I asked if I should close it. He said yes and he sounded very grateful.

Some days later I got a phone call. It was Al from his office next door. He told me the police had put a ticket on my car for overparking. I got all shook up, but he told me not to worry about it. He said, "Go down and get the ticket and bring it up and give it to me."

I did, all the time wondering who the heck he thought he was. Little did I know that he ran the police department as well as most of North Platte during the 1920s and most of the 1930s. He was who he thought he was! But I didn't know that until much later.

The entrance to the Waltemath Dance Hall was across the hall from my apartment. The dance hall had a piano. (My piano had been repossessed for nonpayment.) My dancing classes had grown. The little rented studio next to my room was not large enough.

Mr. Fred Waltemath, my landord, was a kind old man. He was the father of young Dr. Glen Waltemath, whom I had worked with at the hospital. I felt like I knew him since I liked his son. Mr Waltemath let me have the dance hall for the same rent I paid for the little room.

I was all fixed. I still slept and lived in my room next to Al Hastings' office. Years later when I learned who the real Al Hastings was, I realized that I couldn't have been better protected. If Al liked you, nothing bad happened to you if he could help it. He protected all us law-breakers that he liked. (I knew I had broken the law when I hiked down that long flight of steps and brought my ticket back to Al to be fixed.)

Be sure and pick up your copy of Billie’s newest book “Sandhill’s Kid in the City” today! Order online at www.theold101press.com