MIAMI—A METHODIST MINING CAMP

HEYWOOD BROUN

One Winter's eve I stood behind the red rope of a Miami night club. The proprietor was full of apologies. "I'd like to oblige an old friend, Mr. Brown," he said, "but you see how it is. Every table is taken. Some of them have been reserved for weeks. Perhaps after the floor show is over I can slip you into some corner. Right now it's impossible. In fact, we could fill a room twice as big."

"That's fine," I told him with as much heartiness as I could muster. "I'm glad to see your business booming like this."

The proprietor's face was lighted by a happy smile. He leaned forward and grew confidential. "Mr. Braun," he whispered, "if it keeps up like this all week we won't lose more than $8,000."

That's very good for Miami. Indeed this so-called playground spot of America is the first community in the country to conduct a vast laboratory experiment in the abolition of the profit motive. Perhaps it would be a little more precise to explain the economic status of Miami life as a preTownsendite endeavor. The capitalist, or the highly trained technician, is allowed to make money but he may not retain it. Indeed the requirement as to spending is far more rigorous than that proposed by Dr. Townsend who would allow the beneficiaries of his system one month in which to rid themselves of $200. Anybody who could not get rid of such a small sum in one night would be looked upon with high disfavor in Miami.

The floating population, at least, lives by being taken in by each other's gambling racket. Thus, a man who makes money at the race track in the afternoon is expected to lose it in the evening in betting on the greyhounds. The owner of the dog track and the lucky canine connoisseurs are under the moral obligation to patronize a wheel that very night and go broke in Starring numbers seven or eleven or whatever others may take their fancy. The man who runs the gambling house takes his profits in turn and gives them to a real estate broker. The broker buys more real estate until the crash comes and then everybody starts from scratch all over again.

But though Chance is the unknown goddess worshipped in every street and byway of Miami it would be a mistake to think of this animated sandbar paradise as a mining camp. When the mood is on, Miami can boast a greater number of gambling resorts than any other city in the world, but it also has in proportion to its population a greater incidence of churches. Here is Babylon with Baptist trimmings. For a time the children of darkness got along mighty well with the children of light.

This was accomplished largely through the church page in one of the local Sunday papers. One day my telephone rang and awakened me. I was cross because on the night before I had lost more than my quota at a show place which in those days knew roulette. The voice at the other end of the wire began by saying, "You are a distinguished visitor to Miami."

"You didn't wake me at noon to tell me that," I answered both conceitedly and rudely.

"No," said the voice, "but we wanted to know whether you would not be interested in contributing twenty-five dollars to the page which we run every Saturday informing people where they may go to church on Sunday."

Being choleric and also insufficiently alkaline at the moment, I exploded. I went into a denunciation of all clergymen and particularly those of the evangelical denominations. Why did they sit supine, I wanted to know, in the face of the fact that gambling was being conducted openly in the city of Miami. If a single crusader among the lot of them had done his duty it would have been impossible for me to lose $48.50 backing the middle dozen. Did these men of the cloth fail to realize their responsibility to the youth of America?

Quite obviously they did fail. They had neglected to protect me against my baser nature. Instead of preaching against the vice of gambling they had indulged themselves solely in flaming discourse against the Moabites and other ancient peoples now extinct. If they wanted money for their church page let them go to the men who turned the wheels, the men whom they had protected by their silence. And with that I hung up and did not wait for an answer.

It was fortunate I did so for the retort might have been a crushing one. They had already taken my tip. By chance I picked up the Go To Church page and there, in one corner, was an advertisement which said simply, "With the compliments of a friend — Deauville."

And I was the man who failed to break the bank at the "Deauville." This very ornate building, set upon Miami Beach, illustrates in its own career some of the wild vagaries of life in Florida. I am not acquainted with its early history but when I first knew it the place boasted a beautiful swimming pool, a good restaurant and a lively casino. I am told that the swimming and the food were excellent. It was my misfortune not to win although I played often and early. I hasten to add that this was a couple of seasons ago before I broke with the old life.

A Miami seascape, painted by Heywood Broun, and several photographs showing the wintertime resort at its shapeliest, sunniest, and sportiest

And speaking of breaking, my funds had run so low that I actually had begun to worry about my ticket back to New York where I had a job in being. But in my trips about the tables I observed that in moderation the dealer went upon the rule that the customer was always right. Upon several occasions I saw players, and I blush to say that they were for the most part ladies, who most palpably cheated the house. For instance, if number 7 came up, it was not exceptional for a dowager to protest as her chip was raked off 17. "I distinctly told you I wanted to play seven," the lady would say whereupon the dealer would reply, "I'm so sorry, Madame," and hand her the original dollar and thirtyfive additional ones. And so I went to the friendly proprietor and said, "Frank, what's the rule here? How many times can a customer cheat the house?"

"Just twice, Mr. B.," said the proprietor. "After that we crack down. But why do you ask?"

I told him that my interest was journalistic and fortunately it never became necessary for me to resort to anything unethical as a rich uncle died leaving me $5,000 which enabled me to stay three more days in Miami. It is just as well that the legacy was not $10,000 for the life was beginning to get me.

Just before I left I gave the proprietor a long lecture on the way to run a gambling house. He did not take my tip and so he no longer controls Deauville. It was my idea that he should hire some scenic designer with a knowledge of lighting. I recommended Robert Edmond Jones. At this time the casino was separated from the restaurant by about fifty yards and in so long a stretch a man may change his mind. I wanted them side by side separated by a glass partition lightly curtained. Before the entranced eyes of the diners I wanted to have the long shadows of the players dance. This would implant in the mind of the cognac drinker the word "roulette."

Moreover at a distance everybody around a table seems to be winning. "There's a fortune in it for us, Frank," I exclaimed. "This man has finished dinner. He hasn't quite made up his mind to play and he hasn't quite decided against it. The shadows do the trick and by a matter of four additional steps he is in the casino and we've got him hooked."

The idea was never acted upon and I saved $200 out of the legacy and got back to New York. Whatever profits Deauville made they did not stick to Frank. The next season the place changed its name and became an unsuccessful night club. It was not a profound change. It merely moved from being Deauville Casino into being called Beautiful Deauville. Most Floridians think that wonders can be done with an adjective. This one failed to help and next the building was the MacFadden Health Institute. Now it's for rent all over again. I wonder where I could get hold of Robert Edmond Jones.

Of course, the gambling situation in Miami is always touch and go. Of late it has been chiefly go. Something has gone wrong with the touch system. Of course, when gambling comes, mobs trail along. There was no great objection to this a few years ago as long as the boys remained reasonably friendly. But then they got to shooting each other. Very tactlessly they shot two or three Miami mobsters. That hurt local pride and in recent years most of the roulette has been under cover and not very flourishing.

It is perfectly legal to bet on the horses although only at the track and only through the pari-mutuel machines. Dog racing is conducted in the same way. Hialeah is perhaps one of the most beautiful race courses in America and is, as far as I know, the only track which includes flamingoes among its decorations. Unfortunately nobody has ever been able to devise any system for betting on the flamingoes and they are gradually losing popularity. Indeed they show it. When first imported they were a bright pink but now they have a sort of prison pallor. Some say that they do not get the right kind of shrimp but I think they are fading because nobody loves them. The most which can be said for the flamingoes is that they never wander on the track and impede the horses. Personally I would not object very much if they did because the horses on which I bet seem quite able to impede themselves. On many occasions I think it would give the bettor a good deal of ego-satisfaction if he could say, "I would have cashed a big bet easy in the fourth race on Stone Martin if it hadn't been for those damn flamingoes."

Tropical Park is smaller than Hialeah and less beautiful. It has no flamingoes but you can see the horses better.

Speaking of aesthetic things, the architecture of Miami and of Miami Beach follows the system of rugged individualism. There has been no five year or even five minute plan. The builders seem to behave impulsively. When in doubt the architect goes Moorish. But it isn't always pure Moorish. Often you get a Moor who has been knocked around a little by Richard the Lion Hearted in one of the crusades and heard a Methodist revival. He is almost persuaded. This has a most unfortunate effect on the architecture.

There is golf at Miami, including the Miami Biltmore course which I mean some day to conquer. It will take a spell of training. The first hole is five hundred yards long and for me that is an afternoon of golf. You can fish for sailfish if you want to but, like roulette, that is also a matter of touch and go. I rather think the racketters have got hold of the fish and are advising them to stick it out for bigger and better bait. My own testimony would be that they will not be satisfied with anything less than the regular blue plate luncheon.

The best thing about Miami is the sea outside and the sky above. Both these are done in perfect taste and as yet the gangsters have not even scratched the surface. Miami is vulgar, noisy, ugly and frantic and you and I can certainly have more fun there than in any spot in all the world.