THOUGHTS OF A STRIPPER: A Mother's Story

It really did make me sad and mad when they tore all the go-go places down on twelfth street in Kansas City, Missouri. There was a whole block of them lined up next to each other from Central to Wyandotte. This is where I got my start as a stripper. It was like they were tearing down my history.

I worked a factory job in a garment factory in Sugar Creek, Missouri in the daytime and a waitress job on the weekends. At night, I would come downtown to twelfth street and go from bar to bar asking if they needed a go-go dancer for the night. I would get paid $10.00 for this if they let me dance.

It was scary to me; but I am glad I did it. I got really scared one time when a man walked up to me on the street where the go-go joints were and said, "Can I eat your pussy?" I got used to those remarks over the years.

They tore the go-go joints down; so they could build a fancy hotel in their place - The Vista. I always said, "I hope it goes broke". I do not know for sure; but I heard it did. I sure to hope so.

I am a very opened minded person - more than most people I know. But I encountered some dancers on the road who would sell their bodies to men to help support their husbands and boyfriends. I am not saying I never did this either; but all my money wnet to my kids. Maybe some would argue that that was my life and the husbands and the boyfriends that some of the strippers gave their trick money to - were their lives. I just feel that selling one's budy is humiliating enough to do it out of necessity let alone giving it to a man, espicially, one who is making no effort to work and is living off the woman.

The first time I ever encountered this type of "arrangement" was when I worked at a club in Kansas City, Missouri. I was really green. The owner's wife was a stripper. Her daughter became one later. His wife would leave the club with men during business hours (between shows). I asked her where she went. She told me she went to bed with these men for money. I asked her if her husband knew. She told me he did. She seemed not really bitter but hard. I did not understand that then; but I do now. I have, myself, became hard over the years in certain aspects, especially, when it comes to men. I used a lot of men back then. That is one thing I am not sorry about.

Another incident really shocked me concerning strippers selling their bodies and having a husband or a boyfriend. A really pretty young stripper who I worked with would take the men to her motel room and turn tricks while her so-called "man" waited in the bathroom. Since then, I have bacome more wiser. Her "man" probably got his thrills from watching.

There was one dancer that I really did feel sorry for. Her "man" would take all her money from dancing. She was broke all the time. To get money, she would trun tricks without her "man" knowing and sew the money in the hemline of her gowns. I felt sorry for her; but, at least, she was smart enough to not give the money to the "jerk" living off her.

It makes me sad to think about the dancer back then who let men use her in such manners as mentioned above. The ones she had sex with were not the worst culprits. They used her but paid her what she asked. It was a business deal. The worst user of her body was the one man who should have been helping her instead of having her sell her body for his benefit. These men were truly worst than the ones who paid the money.

One time in Detroit, I got my purse stolen right off my arm while I was talking to my Mother on the phone. My purse was more like an overnight bag - small suitcase looking.

I was across the street from the theater where I was dancing at as a stripper - the Wood-Six Burlesk Theater on Woodward at a little grocery store on the coner. I was standing right inside the glass door area right before you go into another door to the store. I had my back to the outside door talking to my Mother on the telephone.

I had my purse on my shoulder. I felt a tug on my purse. I paid no attention. I thought, for some reason, it was some of the guys I worked with across the street teasing me. I kept talking without turning around. I felt a few more small tugs and then all at once, I felt myself being knocked up next to the glass wall. I looked and saw only the strap of my purse hanging down. He had ripped the purse from the strap. I had been knocked up next to the wall in the process.

I ran out and saw him running down the sidewalk and duck in an alley. He had on a brown jacket. This was the only way I could have identified him. I could only recognize his back with a brown jacket.

Lucky for me I had on high-heeled boots; so I could not chase him. He would have probably killed me if I had followed him in the alley. I just stood on the corner screaming at him.

I went across the street and told the projectionist what happened. He came out with me. We crossed the street and saw him coming out of the alley. We ran over to him. The projectionist had an ice pick. He told the guy to give me back my purse. Of course, he denied it all. He said, "I don't know what you're talkin' about, lady". The projectionist told me, "Just give me the word. I'll stick him". I told him not to beause I could not say 100% that it was him. I had not seen his face.

As we walked back to the theater, we saw a police car. We told them what had happened. They did not act surprised. In their matter-of-fact-"Ho-Hum" attitude they said, "Yeh! We saw you talking to him".

Sometimes I watch a movie of someone about to be attacked. The person had plenty of time to do something to get away or to defend themselves, but does not move. I think, ?Why doesn't she move? Why doesn't she do something? She could do it now! She could escape or do her attacker harm!? The fact is that in some real-life experiences a person is too scared to move. I know this because I went through it one time.

I was driving down Western Avenue toward Blue Island in Chicago. I was on my way to dance as a stripper at Flapper's Peep show on Blue Island. The traffic was back-up at a stop light. I did not realize I was parked in the traffic in a bad area of Chicago. But I was soon to find this out.

I had my window down with the radio on enjoying the nice afternoon. My purse was on the seat. All at once, a young, tall slender-looking black guy reached in the window and grabbed my purse. At that point, he could have done anything to me. I was so scared. All I did was sit there and scream. I could not move. He took off running toward a big apartment complex. Which I found out later was the projects of Chicago.

I saw a police car on the corner. I went and told the policeman what happened. He had a ?ho-hum? sort of attitude. I told him I knew which building he ran into. He asked me if I could identify him. I said, ?No, but I know what kind of shirt he has on?. He said, ?Oh! Those guys change shirts all the time?. He would not help me at all.

By now, I was more mad then scared. I thought I would just try to find him myself. I drove up to the location where he had stolen my purse, turned right and drove around the apartment complex. Lo and behold! To my surprise there he was lounging on the grass! He looked up and saw me and started running. I was following him in my car down streets I did not know. He ducked into another building. I was too mad by now to realize that I was in his territory and did not use enough reasoning to think, ?What am I going to do with him if I catch him?? I was not smart enough to know that if I had stopped and overcame him that his friends would overcome me. He would have been too strong for me to restrain anyway. I was too dumb to know that no matter what I could do, I would not get my purse back. This was his neighborhood. I did not realize what danger I was putting myself in. Lucky for me he never stopped. He probably would not have ran; but he probably was wondering if I had a gun on me. Since I was bold enough to chase him, he probably thought I had some kind of equalizer on me.

While I was chasing him in my car, my tire went flat. I thought, ?I'm sure not going to change it here. I'm getting out of this neighborhood!? By now, I was beginning to really realize the danger I had put myself into. This danger was much worse than getting my purse stolen.

I rode the car on the flat and got out of his neighborhood and decided I would just ride it on the flat tire until I got to work. I was now back at the point where the crime had been committed once again waiting for the light to change ? only this time full of frustration with a flat tire ? unlike when I was sitting there relaxed enjoying the day with my radio on before he stole my purse. As I was sitting waiting for the light to change, the policeman who I had asked for help pulled beside me and decided to add a little salt to my wound as he said while observing my tire, ?This just isn't your day ? is it??

No, it was not my day. But I learned a lot that day. The police who took my report when I got to work told me to always put my purse out-of-sight. I told them that maybe I should have had my window rolled up. They said he would have probably busted my window anyway to get my purse. And then I would have a window to replace besides all the other trouble. They tried to make me feel it was my fault. But I did learn many things that day the hard way ? just as I have done so in the past during several incidents. I, also, learned that the policeman is not always your friend.