http://www.harlemgodfather.com/earthakitt.mp3
"Madame Queen" Stephanie St. Clair
Stephanie St. Clair - 1886-1969
The Tiger from Marseilles
According to my husband, anyone who knew Stephanie St. Clair knew she was not going to just roll over for anybody.
That’s Madame Stephanie St. Clair if you please, or Madame Queen as her friends called her. Or as her enemies called her...the Tiger from Marseilles.
By 1932 Madame Queen had headed her medium-sized numbers operation for 10 years, and threats or no threats she was not going to obediently turn the reigns over to some Bronx bully, even if that bully was the notoriously bloodthirsty Dutch Schultz. “Ze God-damned Dutchman can keees my ass,” she hissed. “He zinks I’m some stupid nigga? I show him he zinks wrong!”
Records show the Queen was born in Marseilles an island in the East Caribbean in 1886 but had come to Harlem in 1912. The haughty and sophisticated Madame, however, told people that she was born in “European France,” and spoke flawless French, not patois, the pidgin french spoken by many in the Caribbean. “Moi? Je suis francaise,” she would say when people questioned her nationality. She could also speak Spanish, and when she went off on one of her famous tirades, the Madame spat curses in all three languages. Although she at times had the mouth of a sailor, Madame Queen prided herself on always being dressed like a lady. She was usually tastefully attired in silk dresses – silvery-gray was her favorite color – often topped off with a snazzy hat cocked to the side, or sometimes a stylish turban. Perfect attire to wear to the operas she frequently attended, but also quite suitable for the jazz and honky-tonk music played at the Harlem speak-easies that the Queen also frequented.
The statuesque beauty never spoke about how she had raised the capital to start her numbers operation back in 1922, but her detractors snidely reminded people that her title was, after all, Madame. They never made such derogatory statements in front of her, though, because the 5-foot 8-inch, athletically built brown-skinned hellfire was quick to kick off her expensive high-heels and go toe-to-toe with any man or woman insolent enough to insult her breeding and character. It did not matter how Madame Queen had gotten into the number business -- what mattered was that she was not leaving without a fight.
. . .
Madame Queen was not one of the big-leaguers, her operation only brought in about $100,000 a year. But it was enough to keep her in silk gowns, as well as enough for her to purchase and fabulously furnish a number of expensive brownstones and maintain a stable of fine cars as well as a flat in the ritzy Colonial Parkway Apartments on Edgecomb Avenue. It was also enough to earn her the distinction of being the largest female banker in Harlem.
But “ze Goddamned Dutch Schultz” threatened to end all of that. Somehow the Dutch had become aware of the cash that was flowing around Harlem and he wanted a share.
Shortly after midnight on Saturday, September 22,1928 numbers king Casper Holstein, one of only six Negro millionaires in Harlem, was kidnapped by four white men as he got out of his chauffeured limousine to visit a married woman in the block of 145th Street and Seventh Avenue. The men at first told him they were cops, but once inside the car Holstein was beaten with a blackjack, bound and gagged. Holstein’s chauffeur tried to follow the car but lost it in traffic. He then drove to the nearest police station to report the kidnapping.
The next afternoon employees at the Turk Club, a social club owned and operated by Holstein, received a call from the kidnappers demanding $17,000 for Holstein’s release. Apparently surprised that no one tried to negotiate the ransom amount down, the kidnappers called back and upped the ante to $50,000. A third call was placed to the Turk Club, and this time the kidnappers put Holstein on the telephone. After assuring Turk Club manager Denis Armstead that he was okay, Holstein said, “Tell the police to get off the case or all they’ll get is my dead body.”
The ransom was paid, and Holstein was released shortly after midnight the following night. He told police that he did not know his abductors, and denied that a ransom had been paid. The New York Times, tipped off by police, reported the story. It is commonly believed that one of the kidnappers was Vincent “Mad Dog” Coll, who was later a bitter enemy of Dutch Schultz, but at the time was in the Dutchman’s employ. Schultz now had proof that the numbers were not just a penny-ante racket. If Negroes could get their hands on $50,000 on a weekend – when financial institutions were closed – than that meant there was plenty more cash where that came from.
Dutch started sending his men to Harlem to tell the Negro numbers bankers that he was interested in joining their operation. In return, he told them, he would provide protection so that their operators would not be kidnapped, and also make sure that their operations would be left alone by the cops. Numbers bankers, however, already had their own protectors and they doubled up their bodyguards after the lightly-veiled threat by Schultz. Still, police officers who were already getting a healthy cut from the Negro bankers started making some arrests on Schultz’s behalf.
Madame began to complain to police brass that as long as she paid her ice she should be left alone. In December of 1931 she threatened to sue the Inter-State Tattler, a colored newspaper based in Harlem, when that paper published articles that she was trying to frame colored policemen. She wasn’t trying to frame anyone, she said, she just wanted to get the protection for which she was paying. She was also furious because the paper also intimated that she was involved in a sexual relationship with her female secretary.
But despite all of her troubles, the Madame managed to maintain her numbers operation, although on a smaller scale. Surprisingly many of her employees stuck with her despite the frequent episodes of violence. She had a way of motivating them, with money and with the challenge “I will stand up to ze Goddamned Dutchman and I am a lady. You are men and you will desert me now? What kind of men would desert a lady in a fight?” She encouraged other Negro numbers bankers to remain independent from Schultz’s Combination. “You cannot let some goddamned white man come and take over ze colored operations. What kind of men are you?” Some did try to resist the Jewish gangster, but eventually buckled under the heavy-pressure tactics carried out by Schultz’s white hoodlums and the Hewlett gang.
Alexander Pompez, the well-known and well-liked “El Cubano,” was one of the bankers who tried to hold out, but after numerous visits by Schultz thugs, and two “escorted visits” to see the Dutchman he too finally capitulated. But still the Queen held on -- even though Schultz’s men were now shooting up her spots on a regular basis and putting the word out that since she would not cooperate they were planning to “put her on the spot.” In other words, to kill her. One time the elegant Madame Queen had to hide in a coal bin in the basement of one of her spots to escape Schultz’s thugs.
Then in July 1932 one of Schultz’s men, Max Renney, approached Catherine Odlum, an attorney and a good friend of Madame Queen. He offered Odlum $500 to lure the Queen to Odlum’s apartment so that he could kill her. When Odlum refused he revised his request, and promised that if Odlum could get the Queen to come Odlum’s apartment building he would do the stabbing in the hallway rather than in the apartment. Odlum pretended consent, but quickly ran back to the Queen to inform her of the plot.
The two women then went to the Detectives Division of the 32nd precinct to swear out a complaint against Renney and Schultz, but the sergeant there said he could not do anything. The Queen accused him of being one of the men on the Dutch’s payroll and reminded him that she also paid ice. The sergeant told her there was nothing he could do, but if she wanted to she could go to the Washington Heights Magistrate’s Court to possibly get the warrants. Not too many known number bankers would willing go into court for any reason, but not too many known number bankers were like the Queen. On September 15 the Queen and Odlum appeared before Judge Louis Brodsky seeking an arrest warrant for Max Renney.
But Brodsky, after listening to the two women, expressed disbelief in the seriousness of the affair. The Queen, in true character, flew into a rage. “Zat’s why there is so much crime in zees United States,” she screamed. Then, with a disdainful gesture and head held high, she walked away from the Bench and towards the courtroom exit.
“Come back here, you,” called the judge. “Don’t you walk out on me . . . and never mind all this crime in the United States.” The bailiff rushed over to the Queen who was forced to return to the Bench. After a dressing down from Brodsky the Queen told the judge that if he were afraid to send the police make the arrest she herself would be willing to go into “Renney’s bedroom” to do the deed herself if Brodsky would only give her the proper documentation to do so. The exasperated judge denied the application.
That same day the two women appeared before Chief Magistrate James E. MacDonald to apply for a bench warrant for the arrest of Schultz himself. “Dutch’s men know I am ze only one in Harlem who can take back from their boss the racket he stole from my colored friends,” she told the astonished judge. “And zey know I’m getting ready to go into action. That’s why zey want me knifed.” But MacDonald also turned her down.
Undaunted, the Queen went to City Hall the following day and demanded to see Mayor Joseph V. McKee. When told he was unavailable she brushed past the clerks and secretaries and headed straight for the Mayor’s private office. She was intercepted by McKee’s police aide, Lt. James Harten who told the woman that the Mayor was in the midst of a conference of more pressing matters, but that he, Harten, would see to it that the Harlem police would protect her.
A few days after her unsatisfying trip to City Hall, Madame Queen had her chauffeur drive her to the offices of The Amsterdam News to complain to reporters about the treatment she was receiving from legal authorities. Finding the journalists only mildly interested in her story, she then went to 125th Street and Seventh Avenue. It was one of the corners where people normally gathered to while away hours listening to the soap-box preachers and wait for the daily number to come out. She climbed out of her expensive limousine and started berating the people for doing business with number bankers under Dutch Schultz’s control. “Hees stores are taking $10,000 a day out of Harlem,” she told them. “Zey pay hits, yes. But zen zey send out men to hold you up a block away and take away ze money. I know what I’m talking about.”
She promised that the white racketeer was going to get put out of Harlem, even if she had to personally put a picket at every one of his number spots from 125th to 155th streets. “Who does he zink he ees?” she hissed. Then snapped her fingers and answered her own question. “He’s Nobody! I’m going to show him something and he better get out of Harlem before I begin.”
There were some people there who thought the Queen was crazy, after all she had gone to the police, she had gone to the courts, and she had gone to City Hall, and it was evident that she would be getting no support from any of those quarters. And feisty and admired as Madame Queen was in Harlem, she was still just one woman. But Madame Stephanie St. Clair had a secret weapon. She knew what she was saying when she said she was getting ready to go into action even if nobody else knew. Since July she had been in touch with one person who she knew was always ready for a fight, and resented as much as she did white people trying to take something from Negroes. She knew that in the following month, in October, that person was coming back to Harlem. She knew that after 2 1/2 years in prison, Bumpy Johnson was getting out of Sing Sing. And she knew that the Dutchman was in trouble.
From the upcoming book Harlem Godfather: The Rap on My Husband, Ellsworth "Bumpy" Johnson (copyright 2007 - Mayme Johnson)
Why I'm Writing This Book (aka Frank Lucas is a jerk!)
About the Author - Mayme Johnson
"Madame Queen" Stephanie St. Clair
Karen E. Quinones & Bumpy (why Karen agreed to co-author)
Bumpy Johnson
Ellsworth "Bumpy" John
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
Hoodlum, Cotton Club, American Gangster
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Bumpy Johnson