Lost Twin Cities 2: Ballrooms and "Treasure Inn"

The year was 1941. America had yet to join the war, and in St. Paul Glenn Miller and his Orchestra played the grand opening of the new Prom Ballroom on University Avenue. Close to 6,000 people packed inside and another 3,000 had to be turned away. It was the age of the big band, when swing was king, and it seemed the Prom was the only place big enough to contain all the excitement!

The Twin Cities had many dance halls and night clubs, but it was the two luxurious ballrooms - the Prom and the Marigold - that attracted the big names and largest crowds. Over the years, there was Les Brown and his Band of Renown, Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey, Count Basie, Harry James and, of course, the champagne music-maker himself, Lawrence Welk.

Lawrence Welk not only got his start in the Twin Cities, but he brought together two people who would keep them dancing at the Prom for 35 years. Lois Best was Lawrence Welk's first Champagne Lady, and Jules Herman was in the brass section on trumpet.

The home for the Jules Herman Orchestra had a reputation as one of the finest ballrooms anywhere. The Prom was built like an airplane hangar with a dance floor -- a beautiful 9000 square foot, hard maple floor -- where the social grace of ballroom dance was practiced each and every week by thousands of dancers. The giant 35 foot stage, framed in blue light, cultivated a romantic setting.

Harry Given: "I learned one thing from Guy Lombardo -- at about 12:35 the needle went in, so to speak, and the music was geared to a romantic ending of the evening. And he wanted to be sure that the blue lights, borders, were turned down into a very romantic situation for the last 20 minutes of that dance. And when he finally got into his theme song, "Auld Lang Syne" or "Goodnight Sweetheart" at the end of that thing, people were euphoric. They didn't realize they were being used in sort of a romantic situation. And he said, you use this particular formula and you'll make lots and lots of friends."

Over in Minneapolis was the Prom's main competition. The Marigold Ballroom on Nicollet Avenue had been making friends since 1919, when it opened as the Marigold Gardens. It was so popular in the 1920s and 30s, that the Nicollet streetcars stopped right in front in the middle of the block to let off dancers. The sign read "Never Grow Old Dancing at the Marigold", and aside from all the big names, local bands like Cece Hurst and Norvy Mulligan, kept the regulars coming back for more. There were 300 couples in the "Cupid Club", that is, people who met at the Marigold and had such a good time, they danced all the way to the chapel!

The Prom and the Marigold had modern dancing three or four nights a week and one night of "Old Time" polka. To attract the "old time" crowds, Harry Given at the Prom was notorious for his wild promotions, including the time the Prom gave away a live baby!

When the Welfare Department learned of the contest they threatened to arrest Harry Given and revoke his dancing license. But on the night of the dance he called the names of an excited couple who came up on stage to accept the bassinet from a uniformed nurse. When they pulled back the covers, a piglet's snout stuck out. The Welfare Department was furious, but the crowd loved it.

Meanwhile, local jazz musicians were getting their start in the smaller clubs around the Twin Cities. In 1947, Dick Mann, Howard Brown and Claude Mason pitched in $200 each, tore out the downstairs rooms of an old house and opened the Treasure Inn on the North side of St. Paul. The black-owned club's life was brief but very full.

At the end of the war, a young saxophone player named Percy Hughes was in an Army Ground Forces Band, where he got to play with some of Duke Ellington and Count Basie's men. He then returned to the Twin Cities to front his own band, but it was not easy for black musicians in the 40's. The Treasure Inn however was a beginning.

The Treasure Inn's reputation for jazz and dancing grew. The guest stars read like a who's who of jazz... the great Oscar Pettiford on bass, Lester Young on saxophone, Prince Rogers-- senior, that is-- and Stan Kenton's boys would come out when they were in town.

Dick Mann: "But it wasn't too long before we were drawing as many whites as we were blacks. We got a big clientele from the University of Minnesota, Hamline University, Macalester -- all the college kids heard about the great jazz music we had out at the Treasure Inn and so they started flocking out to the place. Our biggest problem was keeping out the minors!"

The Treasure Inn soon had to turn people away on weekend nights. So many people came to dance that the floor had to be shored up four by fours to keep from caving in. After two and half years the club's popularity came to a sudden and violent end. An argument led to gunshots in the crowded club and one person died.

Percy Hughes: "There was an argument. And all of a sudden there were gunshots. And I remember kneeling behind, of all things, my music stand, which wouldn't stop a bullet. No way! And a dear friend of mine was killed. He was shot. And my heart just went out to Dick and Claude and Howard. But to see a club, black and white and everyone just enjoying, there's a beautiful message there. We need more messages like that right now."

In the fifties, the birth of rock-n-roll meant the beginning of the end for the big bands, and eventually, for the ballrooms. For a short period, the Prom had both big bands and rock-n-roll bands on the same nights. The older crowd would dance to their music while the teenagers took a break, then after a few songs, the bands and dancers changed places. But by the 1970s, dancing at the Prom dwindled to one night a week and Harry Given turned to full-time catering.

On May, 24th, 1975 the Marigold Ballroom held its last dance, and in September, the aging hall at the curve in Nicollet Avenue was torn down to make way for a new hotel. It was only a matter of time before the Prom would follow.

Jules Herman: "Well, it was hard to believe that it was really going to be the last night. It just didn't have that kind of a feeling, you know. It was very nostalgic and very sad, but you didn't think about that when you're playing. It seemed like another regular Sunday night, like this can't be the end. But when you played that last note it kind of sank in that it is the end."

On September 29th, 1987, the Prom kept its date with the wrecking ball. A small crowd gathered on University Avenue to say good-bye to the cavernous old building and share their memories of a bygone era.

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