Pauloise-a different Colorado Springs

by **Steve_Immel** Wed Dec 24, 2008 5:48 pm

(Copied from the website for your entertainment and commentery)
We had an amazing turn out for the last Novemberfest at Benny's Bar. Probably the most bikes of any brand ever parked out in front of and on the sidewalk outside the door of the place. Benny's was picked as an event location based on it's history and relevance to Colorado Springs. Not to mention that it was a dive bar par exultance dating back many years. I don't know how many of you noticed the many pictures adorning the walls of the bar and pool area. These mostly included Benny the owner and various national sports stars, political hotshots and people of power and position. One picture on the wall behind the counter near the food serving area where I was munching on my fajita particularly caught my attention. Seated at a table in the bar in an undated photo were Dad Bruce, the chief of police for Colorado Springs for many years, a dour expression on his face, Benny, and the head of the local mafia, looking very rough and mean and like he had been kicked recently down a flight of stairs. With Dad Bruce around this is a possibility. I really would like to know what brought this unlikely group of individuals together in those pre-politically correct days. Let's return briefly to those days of the Dad Bruce rule for a bit of a disjointed tour around the city.

Dad Bruce was an old fashioned cop who would have made a good New York Irish beat cop in the 1890's. He ruled Colorado Springs with an iron fist and wasn't against whacking a doubter of his authority up side the head with his Billy club. People of all colors and walks of life including the criminal element had great respect if not outright fear of the chief of police. Actually CS of this period was remarkably free of crime and somewhat boring. Drugs were unknown mostly while pot was smoked by some musicians and lower status Mexicans. Opium was relegated to the relatively small older Chinese population of the area.

Cocaine may have been used by a small number of the wealthy elite from the Broadmoor estates but most of this ruling class depended heavily on alcohol then as now. I suppose CS was a segregated town with the black population being called the "n-word" According to my father who was born in CS in 1911, poor white Swedes were called "white n-words". I have to believe Orientals were "yellow n-words" and American Indians were "red n-words" Well, Mexicans were variously "wet-backs", "greasers", "beaners" and "pachukos". Generally anyone of non Broadmoor breeding was in the "n-word" category.

The black people of CS and Camp Carson (before it became a fort) were controlled by a real character named Fannie Mae Duncan who owned a barr and lounge on Colorado Avenue named "Duncan's Cotton Club". She was widely known to carry a loaded .38 caliber snub nosed revolver in her purse for peace keeping purposes. A concealed carry permit wasn't necessary if you were a friend of the powerful chief of police. Never heard of her shooting anyone but that's not surprising. She was known for skimming the till at the bar and in all probability ole Dad wasn't against taking advantage of the perks of the job. Any incidents would have been hushed up quickly and discreetly particularly if the incident involved a male "n-word" showing up on the street with a .38 hole in his body.

Let's exit Benny's Bar, go out the front door, turn right and walk up a few blocks on Colorado Ave. As we cross The Colorado Ave bridge shortly on the right is the Cotton Club. You've heard about the place but you are rightly hesitant to go in. No problem. You are with Pauloise and he works with a couple of the high stakes dice rollers. These are Johnny C, a flashy dressed, dapper individual who drives a Corvette Sting Ray (black of course) and Jack B a thin wiry person with a pencil mustache who educates me on the finer points of carrying a straight razor in my sock, well concealed. At the time I an currently shaving with an electric Remington. This place is amenable to having white people in there but usually it is some white working girls or some out of town dice hustlers. The clientele consists of the usual pimps and hustlers and hoes and 86ed bar flies that no one else wants. Indeed the sign on the door says "all folks welcome". We look around, interesting as it is but decide to continue our tour.

Out Duncan's door and on east on Colorado we come to Cascade and turn right. Up the block we come to the run down hotel and I've forgotten the name of it. It houses the unfortunate of society in the pre PC days known as bums, winos, hobos, and down and outers. We peer in the window but we see not much except general drabness and neglect. The most interesting sight is a stuffed mountain lion who has a case of terminal mange and massive loss of hair. The lion looks more like he died of humiliation from the situation he is in rather than being shot by some hunter. He is destined to stand there for all eternity unless Fannie Mae comes by to dispatch him with her .38. This is not to be. Gentrification and progress replace all the buildings on this block with ugly massive industrial palaces that look like the designers cribbed notes from the circa 1958 Soviet governmental building designers. Anyway, that's to come a few years later.

Next door to the hotel is Giuseppe's. We had supper at a Procrastinator's Party at Guiseppe's Depot in the old train station a few years ago you that were club members may remember. The Giuseppe's of old on Cascade wasn't near as upscale, being mainly a pizza and 3.2 beer place of relaxed standards. Near the door is the cash register and a large cooler well provisioned with cheap 3.2 American beer. Come to think of it, micro brews and decent beers were unknown in those simpler times. Maybe simpler isn't always better. The cooler was a god send to 16 and 17 year olds. A quick dash in the door, grabbing 3 quarts of beer and leaving $2.00 on the counter (even though the beer was .50 cents a quart) earned you a thank you from an inattentive, harried waitress. Life was good. Three quarts of 3.2 beer would produce in a 17 year old a buzz worthy of the Broadmoor nobility with their fancy whiskeys.

Across the street from Giuseppe's was an old fashioned produce market run mostly by people of Italian decent and overseen by the mafia. The head Don was pictured as I mentioned earlier with Chief Bruce at Benny's. Now the place is the "justice center". Justice of a sort was handed out back then in a bit different manner. Well, Pauloise has regressed from being an over aged biker at Benny's to a 21 something at Duncan's to 17 something standing outside Giuseppe's clutching 3 bottles of ill gotten goods. Guess it's time to quit writing for this month and head to Palmer Park to see if I can still get a buzz on. We may take more tours of Colorado Springs as a club starting next year but this is laid out further in the events committee article elsewhere in this month's newsletter.
Pauloise

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