Last week we discussed how delving into a variety of sources can fill out narrative holes for sites that lack attention from historians. This week, I want to continue the theme of expanding knowledge of an expansion of spaces that attracted and celebrated Black life. For week 5, I mentioned a shift from more informal juke joints to upscale venues such as Club Eaton. However, my research throughout the week reveals there was no “before and after” shift as I previously thought.
Both existed side-by-side—geared toward a specific clientele, but often patronized by all. Prior, I believed the upscale venues were the sole sites for Circuit performers but often, they could be found at juke joints as well. Bobby Rush, the "self-described 'king' of the Chitlin' Circuit" remembers "The juke joint, man, that's all there was...I didn't know anything about what they call 'upscale' place ... I didn't know anything about nothin' but juke joints. I thought that was it." Such performances brought people from all walks of life together to celebrate Black artistry, culture, and community. (USA Today)
To continue expanding knowledge of expanding spaces for Black culture, I want to investigate how upscale venues coexisted alongside more “downscale” venues (hereafter, termed “vernacular” to avoid any potential assignation of inferiority compared to the upscale venue). Juke joints catered primarily to people from more working-class backgrounds, often agricultural workers. While everyone was welcome at juke joints, their sometimes raucous, rowdy environments and bad reputations often deterred many from visiting them. There was likely a lack of venues which catered to African Americans from middle and upper-class backgrounds.
While the societal environment or motivations in beginning the club remain unclear to me at present, the club’s creator Condor Merritt likely saw a hole in the market which he could fill. In 1952, Merritt—leveraging his salary as an agricultural laborer into a diverse series of enterprises, including bootlegging and gambling operations, and increasingly larger investments—opened Club Eaton as an upscale jazz venue. (Orlando Sentinel, July 3, 1987) Ms. Bea Martin, long-time Goldsboro resident in Sanford, remembers the site’s clientele consisting of lawyers, judges, teachers, and principals. Patronizing the upscale establishment required looking the part. Club Eaton followed a dress code—coats and ties for men, dresses for women. (Orlando Sentinel, July 3, 1987) This dress code is evident in photos shared in the previous weeks. It is a tradition that persisted to the site’s second phase, Mr. B’s, and its third, Heroes.
Filling another need in the market, many upscale venues offered room accommodations either on site or adjacent, such as Club Eaton or the South Street Casino (now the Wells’Built Museum) in Orlando. In the Jim Crow South, convenient accommodations offered a peace of mind, alleviating much of the stress that came from (often unfruitful) searching for places to sleep at night—a dangerous prospect for black people in the era of “sun-down towns.” Otherwise, if no accommodations were available for rent to black people or if performers could not afford accommodations, they would stay in the homes of local community members.
In 1954, the IRS indicted Merritt for tax fraud. By 1955, he leased the club to William Bozeman. (Orlando Evening Star, March 3, 1955) Bozeman operated the club before the property was transferred in 1983 to Elijah Bing, former principal of Marshall High School in Plant City and owner of the Rainbow Bar and Grill. Bing and his son Harry then began the process of renovating the venue into the new Mr. B’s, an upscale entertainment venue and a social/community event space.
Citing integration as the reason for Club Eaton's decline, Harry Bing's motivation for taking ownership of the club is reminiscent of the site's origins. Conceding that "the Rainbow Club isn't for everyone," his new venue sought "to fill a void for entertainment facilities for black people in Central Florida." His renovations were geared toward "restor[ing] some of [its] life by turning the club into a place where white-collar workers can come and listen to or dance to contemporary music and jazz." The upstairs was renovated to create a multifunctional space—at times, a more private, intimate jazz club setting; other times, a meeting room for community and civic events. Its fare, mixed drinks and hot hors d'oeuvres, differed from that of the nearby Rainbow which consisted of more casual "snacks and packaged drinks." After extensive renovations, the Bings opened Mr. B’s in 1985.
The relationship between Mr. B’s and the Rainbow reflects how juke joints and upscale venues existed side-by-side. From his statements, it is obvious that the two existed as different social environments with spaces defined by social interactions. Throughout the week, the vibe of Mr. B’s was that of a small neighborhood bar; on weekends, its hours extended into 4am and rear dance rooms were opened to accommodate dancing and larger crowds. Harry Bing’s interviews point to the function of the upscale venue as a place to see and be seen at your finest. Conversely, behavior at juke joints was often at the opposite of the spectrum. Newspaper articles about juke joints throughout Central Florida sometimes involve accounts of passing out on sawdust piles, stabbings, and murders. Of the Rainbow's clientele, Bing identifies their demographic qualities as 20 to 28 year old "blue-collar John Travolta type[s]" who "work hard all day and escapism is important to them."
As we chart the narrative of the site, its unique and defining qualities persist throughout—evidencing how integral the venue was to Black community life in Central Florida. Echoing sentiments from Bill Cooke, assistant to the mayor of Eatonville Ron Rogers stated, "People would come from miles around to Club Eaton. Anywhere in Central Florida when the town of Eatonville was mentioned, people would know it was the home of Club Eaton.”
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