The Whores, The Help, and The Hooligans Bill Hogan December 13, 2014 17 Editors’ Note: Bill Hogan has offered to share with us a series of his recollections about life in long-ago Wheeling. It seems truly strange to me today to put myself back in the early 1940s, when I was barely in my teens. The attitudes and mores that made up the culture of those times seem unreal in today’s world, but real they were. Sadly, they have been largely undocumented for future generations. We had a section of Wheeling that was marked off by a natural boundary — “south of the creek” — which had a different set of laws. It was very heavily populated with saloons which openly offered illegal liquor, gambling, and women. There were houses of prostitution everywhere, even in the alley behind Saint Alphonsus Catholic Church. The houses were accepted as part of the fabric of life. Private homes had small enameled metal plates with “Private Residence” attached to their doors so drunks wouldn’t pound on the doors at all hours of the night seeking admittance. Whereas the town north of the creek, where the shopping was located, was run according to the laws of the community and was very proper, the south end was “wide open.” The alley behind St. Alphonsus as it looks today. I was raised “out the pike,” which was where the “rich” people lived according to the town folks. Most lived in houses with front and back lawns and garages for their automobiles. But liberally sprinkled about the county were the the baronies and estates of the truly wealthy. The upper classes were defined, that is, upper, middle and the lower-middle class, not only by the size of their homes but also by the number of servants they employed. Most of the homes had “help,” or maids who performed the heavy housework and took care of the children. They lived in with their employer families and were paid $7.00 a week plus room and board with Thursdays off. The members of the Fort Henry Club and the Wheeling Country Club, the most exclusive clubs in the city, resided “out the pike.” These clubs were prosperous, with memberships from the the steel, tobacco, canning, and banking interests, as well as the professional class i.e., the doctors and lawyers as well as a very prosperous bourgeoisie for the use by their executives. The dues and bills were tax deductible in those days. In addition to memberships the revenue was enhanced by the take from slot machines. The prosperity of these clubs made for some very subtle but strong discrimination. No Jews, very few Catholics and, of course, the only blacks were the help dressed up in the starched uniforms of their particular stations. “Out the pikers” knew of the underbelly of the town because the saloons and “houses” were raided on a regular basis, reported in the paper, and fined $100.00 and costs of $6.00. They were never shut down, and the fines became a planned cost of doing business. The city used this income to balance the budget. It also served to salve their consciences that the laws were apparently being enforced. This old alley hasn’t always been so sleepy. This arrangement evolved among the mill owners, those “out the pike,” and the laboring class “south of the creek” as an unwritten covenant. The labor for the mills was provided, and in exchange they were permitted to have their entertainment. And it was not uncommon for the gentry to partake in the fun also. The area was extremely safe because it was not only patrolled by city police (the state police were told to stay out) but customer safety was further guaranteed by the proprietors of these establishments, especially the operators who ran the big games that attracted gamblers from far and wide. These patrons had to feel that they could get any winnings home safely. There was a “black and tan” section south of the creek, and my brother Jim was “rolled” going into the alley approach of Tootsie’s. After he collected himself, he went into Tootsie’s and told him he wanted his wallet back. Tootsie set him up with a drink and his wallet reappeared intact within 20 minutes. My initial interaction with “the cat houses,” “the Tenderloin,” “the Strip” or “23rd street” was when I was 15 or 16. We, that is the boys and I, had been cruising in my mother’s car. We were on our way to Oglebay Park early in the evening by way of “skunk hollow” road, better known as Waddell’s Run Road when we hit a skunk. It was a hot and muggy night, and it smelled to high heaven. Tommy Vogel picked up the carcass by the tail and we tied it to the rear bumper, leaving a wake of unpleasant odor behind us. We had great fun driving through town fumigating all the poor souls standing on the streetcar islands waiting for their trolleys. Then someone came up with the idea of throwing it into a whore house. The famous one on the alley corner behind the Pirate Café on 23rd street was selected as the target. Tommy Vogel, who had a great arm, positioned himself at the bottom of the front steps and someone went up on the porch and knocked on the front door then stepped aside. When the door opened Tommy winged the dead skunk into the whore house, and I want you to know that our vocabulary of cuss words was increased exponentially! We all ran for the car because we knew they would call the police, and we drove madly to get out of the area. It went down in lore as the night “we threw the cat into the cat house.” The Pirate Cafe, like most of the buildings in this story, has been reduced to a vacant lot. As I mentioned before, I lived out the pike where Triadelphia High was the logical school for me. However, I was Catholic, and Bishop Swint told all the parents that if they sent their children to public schools, they could not receive the sacraments. So I went in town to Central Catholic, which at that time was a boys’ school. The vast majority of the boys were from the “working class.” It was difficult for me in the beginning. I have always said that is when I learned to talk and run fast. I made easy friends with some of the boys from town- Tommy Klug, Don “Little Dubie” Dailer, Joe Nemith, Pinky Manners, and others. Occasionally, I would hop a bus after dinner and go into town to hang out with my school buddies, especially in the summer during the long days. Don’s was a hangout. He had two older brothers, Jim, who was known as “Big Dubie,” and Ed, who played football. They were good athletes and had a sister, “Ducky,” who was really cute. They lived in a “train” apartment on the first floor, and I spent a lot of time hanging there talking with Mr. and Mrs. Dailer and lots of others. Their apartment was situated on the corner of Chapline and 23rd streets in the heart of the “Tenderloin.” Mrs. Dailer was a mother and housewife, and Mr. Dailer worked at Wheeling Steel in the headquarters building just off 12th street on Market. He walked to and from work. The nightly activity seemed to occur on a different plane from their lives. They were really good people. Fast forward, I am at Saint Francis Preparatory School in Spring Grove, Pa. While at Central, I had been thrown out of chemistry and second-year of French, and although I graduated, I needed these credits to gain admittance to Notre Dame, my father’s alma mater. My dad had often told me, “Bill, you can go to any college you want as long as it is Notre Dame!” We had the same six kids at our table for all our meals at Saint Francis. We exchanged information about our families and our hometowns and became good friends. I suggested that they come and visit me. They wanted to know what we did for fun, and I told them we played a lot of basketball, some softball, took girls to dances at the Pine Room, and occasionally hung out at whorehouses and listened to records. “You do what!!!!” They exclaimed, really shouting. I guess I was really naive in that, until that moment, I believed everyone grew up like everyone else. I explained that on hot summer evenings when there was nothing going on, Don would take us over to his neighbor’s house where we were welcomed, given free Cokes, and we could listen to records of the latest hits on the jukebox without putting coins into it. This was big stuff because we learned the words to all the songs that were on the “Hit Parade” on Saturday night. When darkness came and the johns would start to come, the madam would kick us out. It just seemed like something to do, although I didn’t tell my parents about it. Everyone broke the laws concerning liquor by the drink. There were bookies, card games, caged dice everywhere in town, and, of course, the big barbut (Turkish dice) game at the Pirate Café. The “ladies of the night” worked only the bars and in the houses “south of the creek.” I remember the manager of one of the most popular gambling joints south of the creek testifying at a crime hearing: “We’re just like the country club, only we ain’t got no golf course.” Today, I realize how lucky I was in my education. I enjoyed an idyllic home and family life. The good nuns, Sisters of Divine Providence, and the Marist Brothers in high school, literally and lovingly pounded the course information into us. At the same time I learned about life on the other side of the tracks in the “school” of life south of the creek. Bill Hogan near his boyhood hangout at 23rd and Chapline. photos by Wallis Share this:Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window) 17 Responses Frank February 24, 2017 I am not as old as you . I am from Cambridge Ohio just up I 70 love the night life around the [houses] ..from 1966 thru H/School . Run the island etc. My favorite was last ally back next to RR tracks ,good old days !! PS think I rockiness some of the old house maybe I will stop bye next time I am up that way . Thank you for the old members . Log in to Reply Tom Rabbitt April 29, 2017 Grew up in Washington Heights in northern Manhattan Island in the fifties. Catholic school, from which I was expelled in sophmore year. Had already been expelled from the Boy Scouts of America, and fired as an altar boy at St Rose of Lima Catholic Church. The Army didn’t mind my being a loose cannon, and sent me home a First Lieutenant after five years. We had a distinct lack of whore houses. Plenty of Apartments of Ill Repute. Life was definitely more fun when things were run more loosely and kids were allowed to be wild. The only helmets any of us had were made of leather padded with felt. Traumatic Brain Injury was unheard of. We were all just a a little dazed and confused. Most of us drank as young teenagers, and experimented with marijuana from about thirteen on. Still have the occasional tipple, and still experiment with marijuana daily. Life’s still fun, if you disregard most of the rules. Log in to Reply Barbara Fisher January 19, 2017 What an interesting and TRUE story—remember hearing stories and also old enough to know Bill Hogan and the DUBIE DAILER GROUP. THANKS Log in to Reply Dave Dailer August 3, 2016 Hello Bill; That was my grandparents apartment you were hanging out in, and of course my dad, Uncle Donny Aunt Ducky and uncle Ed. I barely remember that place before Grandma and Grandpa moved to east Wheeling. I really enjoy the stories in this online paper, yours have been some of the best. Log in to Reply bill August 3, 2016 My first apartment in Wheeling was 2319 Chaplain. That was 1976. Log in to Reply Jim DeBolt August 3, 2016 Enjoyed reading this and look forward to more stories. Log in to Reply Anonymous October 15, 2015 Great Log in to Reply Anonymous April 28, 2015 Love this Log in to Reply Matt April 28, 2015 Awesome story. I’m sitting in my apt on the corner of 23rd and Chapline as I read this. I love our city’s history! Thanks for sharing. Log in to Reply MWright January 5, 2015 Ah, the good old days of organized crime and human trafficking. Nostalgia! Log in to Reply Karen Merritt December 20, 2014 I loved this article. I remember some of the terminologies, from the stories my grandfather used to tell us. I haven’t heard the term “cat house” in forever, and even my late father used to call them that. I’m hoping for more stories like this too. Log in to Reply DebbieCampbell December 15, 2014 I really enjoyed your stories. My great grandfather started Winiesdorffer’s Dry Cleaning in center Wheeling. It is now the Paradox Book Store. He was a tailor and made custom suits for Bill Lias, notorious mob boss. My grandfather Paul worked there until his death in 1954. My Mother used to sit on the steps and Bill would give them a nickel for a Coleman’s Fish sandwich. They did the dry cleaning for the prostitutes and my Uncle’s Bill and Norbert would deliver and my grandfather would yell after them, you better come back with the money and not let them take it out “in trade”! My Grandfather also had to testify in Big Bill’s behalf, when they tried to deport him for not being born in this country. My Grandfather knew him when they were kids. They called him Robin Hood, because he would help a lot of the poor. Wheeling was known as Little Chicago. I remember a lot of the stories my Uncle’s would tell at family get togethers. Log in to Reply jack hattman December 15, 2014 THIS IS GREAT READING. IT IS WHAT I AM MOST LOOKING FOR FROM WEELUNK IHOPE THERE ARE MANY MORE MINI-HISTORIES LIKE THIS COMING. DOES ANYONE KNOW ABOUT BIG BILL LIAS?(SP) Log in to Reply Richard Humway December 14, 2014 Great read from a wonderful soul! He has many more stories that I’ve been privileged to hear. Wheeling was known as the City of the “sporting life”, for many years, visitors from PA & OH would sweep into town on weekends for booze, prostitutes and gambling….then return home for church on Sunday. Richard Humway Log in to Reply Kellie Cole December 13, 2014 Bill, You’re an amazing storyteller. So glad that you shared this story with an audience. Looking forward to more! Log in to Reply jrg December 13, 2014 Cannot wait for Bill’s next installment! Excellent read. Log in to Reply Chuck Wood December 13, 2014 What an excellent remembrance/history story! This is what Weelunk can do that other venues can’t. Lets have more like this. This reminds me of going to a Lunar Science Conference in Houston in the early 70s. The Holiday Inn conference hotel had the Boom Boom room with strippers – the Holiday Inn! Like Bill’s story this is another example of how what is accepted in culture wildly changes over time. Log in to Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYou must be logged in to post a comment.