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  The Evolution

  The bar and lounge, formerly known as Denny’s Irish House, was renamed as Gil’s Irish House. The façade of the establishment was red brick with a section of thick block glass. Two windows, with exterior grills to prevent break-ins, were draped with dark red curtains hung on the inside of the bar. When the bar was open for business, orange neon signs for Ballantine Ale and Miller beer would shine brightly in both windows. The green canopy above the outside entrance was altered with a neat patch affixed over the old name.

  Now that Gil had solely concentrated on the lounge business, new activities began to evolve. Previously a watering hole for local blue collar workers, the business now began to expand its attractions. First, porno videos were introduced on Wednesday nights. When that feature became boring and predictable, Gil brought in a topless dancer that performed at the same time the movie played. Soon enough the word spread, drawing new customers. Wednesday night attendance began to surpass all other days of the week combined. Popular demand cried out for more, until dancers were eventually showcased every night. The entertainment filled the club beyond its legal capacity of 150 persons. Now, instead of a local tavern, Gilmore’s was the spot where pretty, young black women stripped down to their panties.

  Things had taken a major shift. Englebert Humperdink’s “After the Lovin’” was replaced by Madonna’s “Like a Virgin.” The clientele that had consisted of white, Latino and black factory workers was now made up of white-collar workers, sports celebrities and all-night partygoers. The hours of Gil’s Irish House were once 11am to 8pm. Now, the club opened at 12 noon and closed at 4 AM. Naturally, prostitution worked its way into the fold as Gil made a musty-smelling back room available to close friends and customers. To no one’s surprise that was a big hit. Gil began to rent the room for $20 per half hour so that anyone (including police officers, firemen and sports stars) could take their pick of private dancers to the back room. The individual dancer charged a separate amount for her services. Depending upon the girl, and if she was good at what she did, a romp in the back room could cost $50 to $200. Gil also got a percentage of that from the dancers.

  Essentially, Gilmore’s had become the area’s ultimate innercity brothel—a money machine that featured live dancers, porn videos on the big screen and a back room for sex. Worth its weight in gold, the club attracted Army personnel who traveled from North Carolina; it attracted players of various New York sports teams after their various games; and, of course, the local patrons simply ate it up. It was an excitement that was ever-peaking and never ending.

  As fate would have it, too much of a good thing became a problem. There were very few parking spaces available by the roadside, and cars were often parked recklessly along the sidewalks and in the driveways and on the lawns of nearby residents. After a long night men would also leave the club intoxicated and flagrant, loudly reviewing the evening’s highlights at 2 and 3 am. Many customers made it a routine to urinate against trees, fences, hedges and other people’s vehicles. Apparently, stepping out into the night air to relieve their bladders was sort of a signature to suit the animal in them. And the restroom inside the club was too good for that.

  As a small bar, the Gilmore enterprise never really raised eyebrows. People grew up in the neighborhood to accept it as a landmark of sorts. If anything, locals were accepting of the operation just as they were the trees and street signs. But never did the neighborhood expect such a dramatic change in clientele, in traffic and the overall growth; how the business grew so fast. Nobody was prepared for this big fish in their small pond. The spill-over from Gilmore’s affected homes for blocks, whether it was noise, urine odor, or empty beer cans tossed in the front yard. Things seemed to get that much worse on weekends and holidays.

  All told, Gil could not keep those homeowners at bay. Customers who happened to live in the neighborhood accepted the excitement. But others merely dialed 911 when their tempers hit high. In response, police attacked wrongly parked cars with parking tickets. And because Mt. Vernon didn’t have a towing or impounding routine like the big city did, the city’s only alternative was high penalties. At the time, $30 and $40 tickets were considered high, and that was for double and triple parked cars.

  However, customers continued to do as they pleased, parking however they wanted. The tickets were not a deterrent. No match for the pleasure customers experienced. So the police were forced to step it up. They raided the club. They did shakedowns and even arrested dancers once or twice for “inappropriate attire.” But in Gilmore’s to show as much skin as possible was the “attire.” And yet, business was as strong as usual the next day. Customers weren’t the least bit intimidated by the attempts. And since the club had local policemen who worked on staff, these scare tactics were all but disregarded. Besides, Mt. Vernon was only 4 square miles, and everybody knew everybody who was anybody. Truth be told, since half of the police force were backroom clients themselves, the city couldn’t withstand the scandal that could surface. At the least, wives would find out where their husbands had been for all those long nights that were said to be spent doing overtime.

  And yet, the club continued to bump and grind. A typical night inside of Gilmore’s promoted the aura of sex. Dimmed lighting. Gyrating music. Musty air. Nicotine was built up on the wood paneling and ceilings as if it was intended varnish. But it added a particular element of authenticity. The chairs and stools that were either broken or breaking—more authenticity. The plywood stage with the cheesy linoleum surface was rickety and squeaky. Mirrors throughout the club (and especially behind the dancers on stage) were cracked and exposed enough for 2nd and 3rd degree cuts. Still, more authenticity. But this was all of what made Gilmore’s the real thing. That raw, undeniable climate of smut and lust, with the young, shapely, sexy women at the center of it all. The whole picture was just one big adventure.

  Since the local law enforcement was partly under the club’s influence, and no significant penalty was in place, further action was pursued. The State Liquor Authority (S.L.A.) began to make visits. This was a subtle, quiet approach in addressing the lawlessness of Gilmore’s; but effective and mighty for sure. It was the word on the streets that Gilmore’s provided a nightly ritual of illicit activities. The hype that came with it all made for a great diversion for S.L.A. agents to go and visit the club to observe the outrageous claims of neighbors. Since S.L.A. was the authority which granted permission to sell alcoholic beverages, the investigators were essentially the rightful individuals to police such matters. And it just so happened that S.L.A. investigators were present on one of the many evenings when things at Gilmore’s got a little out of hand; although it was perfectly normal for patrons in the busy venue to touch and fondle the dancers. Everything in this environment was okay, so long as it felt good. Yet while the risqué activities proceeded, they were also serving to build new standards for amendments to antique liquor laws. It was an untold history in the world of adult entertainment, but in those circles of thrill-seeking men, the art and the term of lap-dancing began right there in Mt. Vernon. This rough, full clothed version of simulated sex, (where dancers sat on the patron’s lap gyrating until friction became fantasy; where a drought turned into a drip) was actually what S.L.A. reps came to witness. But to their surprise, there were events that were even more awakening.

  A bachelor party of 12 was celebrating late into the night. Party animals all of them. The group and the groom occupied the whole front row of chairs. Loud. Frolic. Intense. The club was so busy that the stage seemed to extend into the immediate audience. Everyone, including the bachelor’s friends and the club’s regulars, were immersed in the anticipation of just how far all of the excitement would go. The group continuously tossed singles, fives and tens at the feet of different dancers who came to the stage for their 20-minute sets. The more lewd the dancers became, the more expressive her actions, the more provocative she was, the more money she got. The scene was a seduction for dancers to do whatever, however. Sometim
e around 1am, after Juicy was introduced to the stage to join 4 other dancers, the group hollered in excitement. The bachelor’s entourage enticed Juicy to “put it on” the groom with a wave of their 20-dollar bills. Already sliding her bare feet through a modest pile of singles, Juicy agreed. She approached the blushing husband-to-be in a seductive wiggle, eventually swinging her body around until her back was facing him. With his chair and knees flush against the foot-high stage, the bachelor found his face in a unique position. Juicy backed up until her perfectly round, brown cheeks and the split of her ass hugged his face. A tremendous ROAR! followed as the club’s standing-room-only crowd howled in appreciation. The thundering oneness of voices could be heard for blocks as the groom’s nose and tongue disappeared between Juicy’s cheeks for close to two minutes.

  But that evening, and on through the ensuing months, that ROAR! proved to be the sound that rocked Gilmore’s. Juicy and Gil were arrested that night. They spent the night in jail until the judge permitted them free on bail the next morning. Furthermore, the club’s license was revoked. But Gilmore was relentless. He reopened the club the very next day and it was business as usual. Instead of liquor, he sold soda, water and “no-beer,” a beer-flavored beverage that had less than 10% alcohol content. For the same $4-per-drink price, customers would unconsciously gulp down the alternative to booze and act just as intoxicated as if it were 80-proof vodka. After all, it was the main attraction that was intoxicating. Dancers now had liberty to perform all-nude, drawing even bigger crowds, despite the loss of liquor privileges. It was during the subsequent months that Gil realized that his club, his concept would survive virtually anywhere.

  Expansion

  The time had come for a location change. The pressure from the city of Mt. Vernon was mounting. The local paper maintained headlines that seemed to focus on the descent of the area’s most successful black businessman. Gil was steadfast, however, keeping his long hours and routine unchanged. The face-between-the-cheeks incident resulted in a small fine and a suspended jail sentence for Gil and Juicy. But now, without the S.L.A. jurisdiction, without liquor sales, and with the rights and freedoms of speech to protect nude dancing, Gilmore’s was now back to square one—under the laws and jurisdiction of the locals. The state had exhausted its every procedure in attempts to close the club, but Gilmore’s was no longer an SLA problem.

  “Redneck town—redneck laws.” Gil would often complain while in the company of his close comrades. And the ill feelings were definitely reflected in the deficiency in the club’s income. The difference in revenue was close to three or four thousand dollars a week. But again, this didn’t stop the cash flow altogether. What was a problem most overlooked was the future of Gilmore’s.

  Mt. Vernon’s officials were faced with a big question: what was legal and what was not legal about the local tavern turned strip club? There was no law that could prevent an all-nude, liquorless business. Not yet. But for Gil, there was an undercurrent of concern. What would the city come up with next? How much longer would this type of entertainment prevail in the small residential town? While Gilmore’s went on to test the city and their continued police raids with his First Amendment right, he was nonetheless thinking of staying one step ahead of his adversities.

  “Dad, we need to get out of this bullshit town,” argued young Douglass, who was now 27, full of rebellion and energy. “The mayor is a hypocrite. Sneaking in here with sunglasses. Thinking we don’t notice. He’s probably Juicy’s best customer! The neighbors smile in our face by day and press the panic button by night. And Dad, we need more room. There’s always a line outside.” On Friday and Saturday evenings especially, anyone on line would usually have to wait for a person to exit for there to be enough room for a new customer. It wasn’t so much a legal capacity issue (because that number was always exceeded). There was simply nowhere to stand.

  “Besides, Dad, this place is falling apart.”

  Douglass Jr. had been to many nightclubs by his mid 20’s. Many more, in fact, than his father would ever care to visit. The elder Gilmore was focused on one thing; opening and closing his doors and making sure there were enough dancers and drinks. To him, nothing else mattered. But in the meantime, his son’s vision was an expanded one. He was introduced to the club scene by his neighbor Steven Juliano, a veteran of the nightclub business. By watching Steve’s hard-nosed business savvy, Douglass learned and experienced a lifetime of seasoning within a very short time. He’d witnessed first-hand what a successful clubowner did as a routine. He was behind the scenes to record the unmentionable, as well as on the outside looking in as a clubgoer. There were business decisions that made sense and there were losses that made sense too. As Steven’s apprentice, Douglass Jr. absorbed it all. And it was that invaluable experience that led Douglass to make those suggestions to his dad. He was so persuasive about it that Gil agreed to consider moving the club. Both father and son knew that the business had grown into a monster. A big whale of an idea confined to a fish tank. To survive and grow, the club had to be relocated away from the suburbs and into the New York City jurisdiction where healthy competition was welcome. Most importantly, in New York City, with its red-light districts, accepted prostitution and infamous sex clubs, such a business was nothing but common.

  With his dad’s firm “go,” Douglass hunted block by block, district by district, until he discovered a hot property just a mile away. It didn’t matter that the location had 2 auto body shops, side-by-side, and that it was fully operational. Douglass Jr. saw past that. He had a vision and a dream to be fulfilled.

  Conveniently, the proposed property was on the same truck route as the old location. Furthermore, since the new location was positioned just over the county line in the Bronx, the property was geographically a part of the New York City jurisdiction. So with all things considered, and armed with his father’s blessing, Douglass Jr. approached the proprietors of 1440 Boston Road.

  “Hi, I’m . . . I’m interested to know if you’d be selling this property anytime soon.” Part inquiry, part suggestive, Douglass Jr. was focused and convinced as he addressed the body shop owners.

  “Huh?” The twenty-something Italian man returned a twisted expression.

  “Your garage. I’d like to know if you want to sell.” Douglass’s vision was straightforward as a matter of fact. Meanwhile, the shop owner was sarcastic. Reviewing the request as if it came from a panhandler. But young Gilmore overlooked the cold reception and because he was direct and intentional, the proprietor invited Douglass to return with an offer. Within two days Douglass typed up an offer to lease-option the property for $2,000 per month. The length of the lease was 2 years, time enough to re-invent the wheel. Renovations. Marketing and reestablishing market position. Time enough to get back a cash flow and to raise $800,000 for the full purchase price of the property. The price could’ve been one million dollars, or even a million five. Either extreme would have been kosher with the Gilmores. They knew what the potential of their idea was. They knew that the new location was equal to the largest pot of gold they’d ever know. And of course the sellers imagined that the offer was just as crazy as the people making it. But they didn’t hesitate to go along with the deal.

  Boston Post Road was a local truck route that ran parallel to Interstate 95, the multi-billion dollar throughway which stretched from New England to Florida. At any moment, day or night, cars and trucks would take an off ramp exit to fill up on gas, food or rest. The exit closest to the new club site was named Conner Street. Major franchises were already profiting from the traffic. Others were beginning to expand. McDonald’s was the largest attraction along the throughway, with a 24-hour drive-thru and a newly added indoor playground. Directly across the street from the golden arches was a Dunkin’ Donuts franchise. Naturally, where there are donuts, there are also police. So the area consequently projected some sense of security (even if only due to the high traffic) during the evening and early morning hours.

  On another corner was a
n immense transmission franchise. And across the street, next door to the projected club, there was a 16-pump, 24-hour gas station. Altogether these elements meant one thing for certain and two things for sure: traffic and cash.

  The Rocco family owned the property where the auto body work was done. They discussed the particulars and quickly agreed to Gilmore’s terms. And as quickly as the key to the property changed hands, enterprising young Gilmore was an explosion of newfound energy, removing piles of debris left in the shop. Trunk covers, axles, grease. You name it. Douglass was gung-ho and highly motivated for the new challenge, building a nightclub. Meanwhile, Gil began to spread the word amongst his regulars. The Mt. Vernon location was still thriving. Even more so because of its forthcoming and encouraging move. The convenience store which Gil once operated was doing well for the family that took over. They upgraded and improved the business often. The business flourished enough for them to see promise in owning the entire Mt. Vernon property. Since there was already speculation of an interest in purchasing the lot, Gil didn’t have to go looking for a buyer when it came time to relocate. So just like that, Gil sold the stores and the apartments above it, as well as the bar that started it all, for a lump sum of $100,000. It was enough money for the move and for the renovations of the new establishment: Gilmore’s Fool’s Paradise. This is what Gil labored years for. His equity. His enterprise. His future.

  The transaction was expected to go smoothly. At most, once the property changed hands, the Gilmores anticipated that the business would digest a 2 to 3 week loss in revenue. But this was accepted as a rest period. A little time to breathe. A well-deserved but short vacation. However, as time would tell, nothing worth attaining . . . nothing so huge and powerful can be achieved without struggle or challenges. And those struggles and challenges were awaiting the Gilmores from the day they took over the Boston Road property.