Memphis Blues

When Edward Hull Crump was mayor of Memphis 30 years ago, he clinched his grip on Memphis' heartstrings by refusing to enforce State Prohibition. During World War I, when the Army demanded abolition of the red-light district, the trulls quietly packed up and moved their business to shuttered houses on South Main Street, Vance Avenue, Mulberry Street and thereabouts. In the '305--third decade of his reign--Ed Crump continued to let Memphis go its primrose way. Memphis was sinful, all right, but it was never loud and raw about it. Memphis was the kind of town where the rich, old Second Presbyterian Church could transact its godly business within bottle's throw of a brothel, a saloon, a gambling joint and the Negroes' steamy Beale Street.

Last week Memphis had the cold-water blues. Gone from hotel lobbies were the expectant blondes. Brothels were closed; their staffs had fled. Bookies had shut up shop. Even bingo was outlawed. Tourist-camp proprietors conspicuously took the numbers of incoming automobiles, thus discouraging nocturnal disorder. Several city hirelings were fired, one because he had lived for years with a leading madam. A police sergeant on the vice squad was suspended, although he was a son-in-law of the chief of police.

Author of these Memphis blues was Ed Crump's new Police and Fire Commissioner Joe Boyle. Joe Boyle is pious, thorough, as independent as a hog on Mr. Crump's ice can be. "Boyle on the neck," his policemen call him. "Holy Joe." under-worldlings snort. "We are just enforcing the law," snaps Joe Boyle.

Astounded Memphians looked around for other reasons. Silvery Ed Crump is aging (64), weary, saddened by the recent deaths of his mother and one of his sons, anxious to be remembered as the good boss of a good town. Shriners, and American Newspaper Guildsmen (whom Mr. Crump testily invited to stay away), are to convene in Memphis this summer; the Boss presumably would rather bore the delegates than have them spread discreditable tales about Memphis morals.

One result of the cleanup was to drive gamblers to nearby De Soto County, Miss. Tall, smooth Bob Berryman trekked to De Soto, opened the Paddock (dining, dancing, gambling). A rival house was the Shanty. Memphis newspapers reported the Paddock gambling; the De Soto sheriff said he had never heard of it. Last fortnight the Shanty was raided and closed; the Paddock was not bothered. Word went about that Bob Berryman had talked with the sheriff, but the sheriff denied it. A second-string gambler and gorilla named John Phillips blustered that Bob Berryman was trying to be tsar of gaming in Memphis and environs. One night last week Bob Berryman chased John Phillips into a Memphis cafe, felled him with three shotgun charges and four bullets from a snub-nosed Colt. "It was over the night clubs down in Mississippi." moaned dying John Phillips. Holy Joe's policemen arrested Bob Berryman, charged him with murder. There was still life in Memphis, and the wages thereof.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.