Authors: Vladimir Alexandrov
Suddenly the entire nightclub was in an uproar. One could hear people crying: “No! It cannot be! We must not let them!” Thomas was surrounded on all sides…. A couple of people came up to Thomas, bowed respectfully, and said something to him.
Thomas called a waiter, had him bring a tray, and using the same hand movements once again quieted the crowd. Then he said:
“We’ve decided to change the finale of the number that you will not see but will know. They will not die, they will get
married
. And now I will collect the money that you will give to save them.”
He first took the tray to the people who had been speaking to him. One hundred pound, fifty pound, and smaller banknotes were piled onto it.
After that we returned to the manager’s office. We had
forgotten
to knock before entering and as we went in we discovered the two lovers embracing. Placing the tray in front of them, we quickly withdrew.
What Adil witnessed was Frederick’s singular mix of calculation and kindness, which he seasoned, on this occasion, with a generous dollop of melodrama. Frederick was probably genuinely touched, but he also enhanced his reputation without having to spend a pound, embellished a dramatic story by inventing the lovers’ suicide pact, enthralled his audience with his own performance, and forged a bond with his clients that would keep them coming back for more.
Within a few months after opening Maxim, Frederick was able to tell Ravndal that business was “going very well,” but then he added—“taking present conditions into consideration.” His immediate
concern
was the economic crisis that was ravaging the city. But he also realized very clearly that he was in a tiny oasis surrounded by a swarm of threats and that his situation was still precarious from a variety of perspectives. Valli had not relented and continued to bombard the American and British diplomats with pleas that “you force my
husband
to show concern for his child and me,” to which he responded by sending some money. Several merchants were still unhappy with how slowly he was paying his bills. The Allied warships filling the Bosporus were a constant reminder of the menace that hung over
the city, as were the armed patrols by the Interallied Police on the city’s streets. After his experience of revolution and civil war in
Russia
, Frederick took the danger of widespread upheaval seriously, to the extent of stipulating that his contract with the bandleader Carter would be “annulled in case of Marshal law being declared or Maxim being closed by the authorities.”
Constantinople was also in a state of tumultuous change as its centuries-old social fabric unraveled under the occupation. The emasculation of the sultanate’s civic institutions, the influx of
hundreds
of thousands of indigent foreign and Turkish refugees, the soaring living expenses, the thousands of bellicose young men on leave from their ships and barracks—all led to an upsurge in everyday crime and public violence. People who were out late at night, like Zia Bey and his wife, tried to rush through the streets of Pera and especially Galata because they were not safe. Pickpockets preyed on passersby during the day (even Ravndal lost a pocket watch this way) while “second story men” shinnied up and down rain gutters to plunder residences when their owners were out. Businesses had to hire armed watchmen who spent the night striking the pavement with sticks at regular intervals to scare off thieves. Greek, British, and other Allied soldiers got drunk and started fights in the streets, making some residents reluctant even to venture out after dark. In Maxim one night, an Italian count started “a fracas” with a
Lieutenant
“Bubbles” Fisher of the U. S. Navy and drew a pistol from under his coat, but the lieutenant deftly disarmed him. Prostitution was rife and many desperate Russian women became streetwalkers. Ten thousand cocaine addicts in the city were estimated to consume ten kilos of the drug a day.
However, of all the threats that hung over Frederick, the most serious was in distant Washington, D.C. The blow fell early in 1922. In January, the State Department completed its review of his
passport
application, and Ravndal received the response on February 21. His assistant, John Randolph, needed only one sentence to inform
Frederick: “With reference to your application for a Department passport I have to advise that the Department of State has
disapproved
same, and this office accordingly is not disposed to accord you further protection as an American citizen.” Randolph also informed Berlin, which put an end to Valli’s hopes for a passport or for help against Frederick.
The letter to Ravndal was signed by Wilbur J. Carr, the number six man in the State Department. This was a fairly high position, and his response carried the weight and authority of the American government. What he said was hardly surprising, given Frederick’s comments on the application. Carr focused on
Frederick’s
admission that he did not intend to return to the United States because of his business interests abroad. He also made special mention of Frederick’s “living in a free-love relationship with the white woman whom he alleges to be his wife.” Carr’s final reason for “disapproving” Frederick’s application, however, was that “even should he be in a position to submit evidence of his alleged American birth, favorable consideration could not be given … because it is apparent from the foregoing statement of the circumstances in his case that he has abandoned whatever ties he may have had with the United States.”
For all of Frederick’s knowledge of the ways of the world, it is odd that he did not appear fully to grasp this “disapproval” and
believed
that something other than his skin color and long life abroad was the problem. He talked about the matter frankly with the young naval intelligence officer Robert Dunn, explaining that he had been denied a passport because he could not prove his American birth. When Dunn objected that providing a birth certificate would surely solve the problem, Frederick replied with a “resigned and wistful” expression on his face as he “bore with the ignorant Yankee”: “Say, Mista Dunn, you know jes’ as well as Ah does dat us niggers down in Mississipp’ ain’t never got no birth co-tificates.” Frederick was not above poking fun at himself with this kind of linguistic self-caricature
(and Dunn was not above recording it), but the point remains that he believed all he needed was proof of his American birth.
In the meantime, the start of the summer season was approaching and there was an important new development in the life of the city that Frederick was eager to exploit—an influx of American
tourists
. In early spring of 1922, Constantinople began to reemerge as a popular destination for cruise ships plying the Mediterranean. In March alone nearly three thousand tourists came ashore for a day or two, the largest number since before the war. Their gaily illuminated ships enlivened the drab Galata quay and were a striking contrast to the hulking gray warships lining the Bosporus. As the
prosperous-looking
tourists trooped through the city, they were followed with a calculating gaze by restaurateurs, antiquarians, souvenir peddlers, and Russians who still had jewelry, furs, or other valuables to sell.
High on the list of tourist attractions—in addition to taking a quick look at the wonders of ancient Stambul and picking up some souvenirs—was having a drink at a stylish place with music and
dancing
, something that had been legally denied at home for two years, since the start of Prohibition. American tourists quickly spread the word that Maxim was the fanciest nightclub in town, and for the next few years many of Frederick’s former countrymen made it an obligatory stop during their visits.
Most of the time Frederick limited himself to regaling the Americans with his trademark mix of personal attention, seductive atmosphere, haute cuisine, good liquor, excellent jazz, flashy acts, and a smooth dance floor. But on occasion he and his staff also put on a show that revealed his extravagant side, and played to the
tourists
’ naïveté and their if-this-is-Constantinople-it-must-be-Tuesday itinerary. Negley Farson, an American businessman and writer who had known Frederick in Moscow during the war and ran into him again in Constantinople, describes what sometimes happened.
When a big White Star liner came into Constantinople with a shipload of suddenly-wealthy American tourists on a round-
the-world
trip, all of Thomas’s Russian girl waitresses jumped into Turkish bloomers, and Thomas put on a fez, got out his prayer rug and prayed towards Mecca….
We had watched the American tourists being rushed around Constantinople all day in charabancs. They entered Maxim’s like a chorus themselves, rushed to the tables around the dancing floor and stared at the bloomered dancing girls.
“Very Turkish!” explained their guide-interpreter. “Just like a harem—what?”
Half an hour later he stood up and looked at his watch.
“Ladies and Gentlemen—this concludes our trip to Turkey. Ship sails in twenty minutes. Transportation is waiting for you outside the door. All aboard! All aboard for Jerusalem and the Holy Land—we will now follow the footsteps of the Master!” …
Thomas salaamed them out, bowing with pressed hands—“Good-bye, Effendi. Good-bye, Effendi!”—then he took off his fez and became a nice Mississippi Negro again.
Farson’s concluding epithet may sound condescending, but he
genuinely
admired Frederick and saw him as “very sophisticated.”
However, many of the American tourists differed from Farson because they brought with them the same attitudes Frederick had encountered when dealing with the diplomats in Constantinople and bureaucrats in Washington; the difference was that none of the tourists had any doubts about Frederick’s origins and all were happy to buy his drinks. Southerners’ reactions were invariably the most flagrant. Mrs. Lila Edwards Harper, a fifty-year-old matron from Montgomery, Alabama, spent a month in Constantinople and talked with Frederick at some length. Once she returned home, she could not wait to tell others what she saw and heard. “Everyone in
Constantinople
knows Fred Thomas,” she gushed. “He is a good polite negro,
rolling in wealth, and an admirable host. His career is an amazing story, worse than fiction.” Mrs. Harper was struck primarily by two things: Frederick’s rags-to-riches story, which he recounted to her in detail (including the fact that he encountered no “color line” in Russia); and that his waitresses were Russian noblewomen who had been his “most fashionable patrons” in Moscow. “Nobody avoids them on account of their misfortune,” she commented, with what is actually rather mean-spirited surprise: “I’ve seen the English consul dance with the waitress who served his dinner. She was a countess in the old days.”
Frederick treated Mrs. Harper the same way he did all his
patrons
. But because she viewed him through the lens of her white southern narcissism, she took his polish and charm as personal
tributes
: “Thomas is from Mississippi and was as hugely pleased at
meeting
a Southern woman from America as he could be…. Nobody objects to the fact that the manager of the restaurant is a negro.” She added: “He’s one of the dozen or so negroes in Constantinople. They are never presumptuous. I saw Thomas sitting at a table with one of his Russian lady dancers, but that was the only unusual sight I saw. The diners find him a likable, obliging negro.” Mrs. Harper makes it sound as if dealing with people like her was what made Frederick know his natural place. In fact, knowing how to deal with her type is what helped him become rich again, and that was his best revenge.
Frederick was friendly by disposition and also charmed his
customers
for the simple reason that this was usually the easiest way to get what he wanted from them. But there were limits, and he was no Pollyanna. The numerous military men in Constantinople could be especially difficult to handle, owing to the way that alcohol and the proximity of attractive women fueled their aggressiveness. The English were the worst offenders—because of their numbers in Pera, because they were armed in contrast to the other Allies, and because of their arrogance. Captain Daniel Mannix, a seasoned American naval officer newly arrived in Constantinople, witnessed this
unsavory
concoction at Maxim one evening. He was curious about the place and its “American Negro” owner because he had heard that Frederick “had done a lot for other refugees and was generally liked and respected.” A short while after settling in at a table with friends, Mannix noticed that two drunken Englishmen were abusing a
Russian
waiter for some reason. Suddenly, one of them leaned forward and hit the Russian in the face, but the waiter only stepped away. Then the Englishman reached out and hit him again, and this time the waiter responded with a blow of his own.
Instantly both Englishmen went into a perfect spasm of fury, yelling and waving their fists in a frenzy of rage. By now Thomas had come up and he asked mildly what the trouble was. One of the men, shaking his fist in Thomas’ face, screamed, “He struck an ENGLISHMAN!” Thomas replied grimly, “You shake your fist in my face again and I’ll strike another.” The Englishman recoiled in open-mouthed astonishment while his friend turned to stare at Thomas unbelievingly. A few seconds later both left the cafe, still seemingly in a daze.
Mannix saw the Englishmen’s behavior as a shocking expression of their sense of national inviolability. But Frederick was neither impressed nor cowed, and in characteristic fashion came to his employee’s defense. He also knew that this would not damage his
relations
with the British authorities, because of Maxim’s popularity with the representatives of all the Allied powers.
Even Admiral Bristol, the most senior American in the city, patronized Maxim, especially for dancing. The music and
entertainment
there were always Western European and Russian. But on one memorable evening Bristol presided over a special party that included Turkish folk music and dancing that Frederick had arranged with the help of the young journalist Adil. The performer was known as “Champion Osman, the Tambura-Player”; he was a master of the
“bağlama,” a long-necked, traditional stringed instrument, and the “Zeybek,” a martial folk dance peculiar to western Anatolia. When Adil brought him to Maxim, Frederick’s initial reaction to the big, slow-moving old man, with his handlebar mustache, thick fingers, and eyeglasses, was skeptical. But after Osman changed into his costume, Adil was relieved to see that Frederick’s face broke into a broad smile at the transformation that the diffident old man had undergone.