The palladium has a thousand stories.

THE PALLADIUM HAS A THOUSAND STORIES

BY MICHAEL TERRACE

PART 15

THE PARK PLAZA IN SPANISH HARLEM

Catered to a select group of latinos that liked to dance to the music of their borne culture.It was located on 110th street and 5th Ave in Spanish Harlem. Synonymous and a precursor to the Palladium Ballroom, the Park Plaza was quite different than the Palladium, it had no hollywood stars playing a roll of glamorous importance or the Italian Mafia beaming the dominance over their turf’s No! The Plaza had its own elegance, they carried the crest of their Spanish noble ancestor’s in their social way of living. Good manners, good dress and the kissing of the back of a Lady’s hand,was a point of ethics as a moral principle. The Plaza was ninety nine percent Spanish,encompassing, Puerto Ricans, Dominicans and some Cubans, the other one percent, were American white’s. They all came from with in the Christian community, between 110 Th. and 125th street. From 1938 up un-till 1948 the Plaza’s main dance was the Rumba, the danzon and the soul dance of romance, “The bolero”. It was closes to their existence, as it is to all Spanish people. Bolero’s are songs of passionate romantic love affair’s of the heart, poetic love’s between men and women, the mother’s of armor for her children and the earthy rooted love of country. The bolero’s have poetic signatures that bring tears to the eyes, each Spanish country his own. Spain has “Granada”, Argentina has “Mi Buenos aires credo”, Puerto Rico has “La Isla de encanto. and Cuba has Juan ta na merrra. Each one significant to their own country. All of these latin tints carry a special pride as newly Americanized citizenship, their are very mindful that many of them have a linkage from their great great grandfathers to the Santa Maria,the Pinta and the Nina ships that were sent by Queen Elizabeth from Spain. They proudly know that the Spanish were more than part of the discovery of America.

I alway joke around and say, “three boats full of Latinos came over with one Italian and he got more credit than the Spanish did. But no matter what country or state, every discovery was given a Spanish name.

Another discovering Italian I know also made a monumental discovery, he found The Park Plaza and put it in his heart with love,he placed the music in his vein’s and used it to dance to the boleros, the rumba and the conga. He view the light and the dark ladies of the Park Plaza artistically with verse, he always told me, “Women art a works of art, you must look at every one piercingly with loving care ,like a flower, enjoy the curves and design and hold them close when you dance. He’s a special guy with literary skills and a love for life at 92 he’s still rocking . Listen to an old professor as he sentimentally describes his inner feeling’s for the music and dance, that changed his life forever, a temple called the Park Plaza and a people, the Latinos he learnt to love.

Let me give a some verse with some Rice and Beans a little Mambo.

By Vincent Livelli

The Park Plaza crowd consisted of more women than men. I believe it was because during the great depression men had no jobs. Where as women were milliner’s ( women all wore hats)seamstress and dress makers with sewing machines. The mother and daughter duet was evident since girls were chaperoned,and came looking for a husband among men who could afford .25 cents price of admission. It was fertile ground. No long lines like the Palladium since people had no money to spend for entertainment . You could not hear the band outside in the street as you could at the Palladium. To hear latin music you had to stand by a fire house,that put a radio outside, ( Few people owned a radio) or at W 116th street. The entrance of the P.P ( Also known previously as the Golden Casino,) Women at the P.P. were either widows or mothers of young girls seeking husbands. You could see the difference in their dress.Widows had hats, many with feathers ( we saw some with paste imitation cherries) The daughters were very well costumed in the latest patterns since they as well as their mothers costumed made their dresses to show shapes.

I traveled to the Park Plaza searching for music of a certain flavor: Afro Cuban. I couldn’t dance a step, I didn’t know a soul, couldn’t understand a word, couldn’t play a note nor could I spare, during the Great Depression, the carfare and admission. At a time when there was little joy in the world, the music gave me the reasoning I needed to set off from Ft. Hamilton, Brooklyn, up to Harlem, when it was dangerous to do so.

I found what I was searching for the moment I heard the Happy Boys orchestra, while paying my twenty-five cent admission. The ticket window was grilled, like a Bronx bodega’s cashier. The only bandstand was a lighted area as I sought a chair near an exit sign. The ladies, young and old, were lined up facing the young and old men, all sitting on the rows of chairs along the walls. For the first few numbers that the band played, I felt no need to do other than sit and listen, filled with satisfaction at having found what I needed and had accomplished.

I was not destined to remain a wallflower for long, for after my second visit, I was approached by a girl who came and asked me to dance, something unheard of at the time. I wisely declined, feeling foolish—but better to feel foolish than to look foolish on the floor. What I needed now was the ability to dance rumba. On my third visit a tall black fellow came up to me. “I see you sitting—why don’t you dance?” “I don’t know how,” I answered him. “Show him how,” he said to his partner.

So it was that Rene and Estella, the top Afro-Cuban dance team perhaps of all time, got me dancing. That brief encounter was the first step that led me around the world on cruise ships, to hotels, nightclubs, dance studios and lectures, carrying Afro-Cuban rumba with me for others to learn. To popularize it was what became necessary, to pass its joyous content on to others.

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There was no band stand or microphones at the Park Plaza, no amplifiers or spotlights, though alarm bells were visible in two opposite corners to signal to the bouncer where to hurry to in the room in case of need. Nor was there fire-safety equipment evident. The fire exit led to an alleyway that was shared with the neighboring Teatro Hispano and its fire exit, both leading onto Fifth Avenue.

The Happy Boys band, with Diorite Santiago singing, did not take long breaks. Their two-minute numbers allowed frequent changes of partners. Particularly favorite pieces would be repeated. To tease dancers, the band employed a mock break, resulting in chairs being thrown to the middle of the floor—in jest, not in anger. (This display of bogus protest was inspired by barroom fights popular in cowboy movies of the 1930s.) The music resumed with prostrate suppliants rising up off the floor to continue dancing.

As one of the only sources of gaiety during 30% unemployment in America, the Park Plaza’s rumba world was vital. At a time when, elsewhere, you would be asked to “Please leave the dance floor” if your dancing was considered indiscreet, here these behaviors were encouraged as an ingredient of joyful exuberance. The hiropo, that titillating, sexy, verbal innuendo of everyday Cuba, manifested itself in the physical activity on the dance floor, like intimate paintings springing to life.

Four iron columns supported the ceiling. The one in the far darkest corner served, in addition to holding up the ceiling, to provide support for the girl while her partner pressed into her, grinding away at her body while the music accompanied a clandestine, sexual-outburst performance. Couples would take turns using this structure for gratification. This was not acceptable behavior, nor was it condemned—it was conveniently ignored.

When the management of the Park Plaza installed a very large upright fan, the admission went up to thirty-five cents. It was set at the top of the stairway that led up from the basement, where the toilets and men’s latrines were located. Currents of air carrying male and female pheromones floated over the dance area. In this way ethereal substances, sex steroids, were blended into the suggestive lyrics, the flirtations in progress, the orchestral vibrations, the sweet-smelling tobacco, libido Latino, overlapping perfumes floating in the congested intimacy of a room one-third the size of the Palladium, filled to the brim with sensuality.

The large fan added spice to the feverish environment, increasing body temperatures to the maximum. The latrine windows were open to allow cold air to enter the building. A communal urinal there, like a trough found on animal farms, served to allow a constant flow of water that kept the pipes from freezing in winter.

No one lingered long, for the glare of the white tile walls disturbed one’s mood. You returned at the sound of the first note of the rumba to the darkness of the dance floor, the music and your partner, buttoning up as you ran. If someone were to yell “Fire!” the dancing would continue until flames might be seen.

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