Chicago Sun-Times

March 24, 1996

Columnist, Mary A. Mitchell

I can't go by 47^th Street without stopping by the Palm Tavern. Last time I was there was about two weeks ago. Gerri Oliver, the feisty and extremely gracious owner of the place, was bundled up in a winter coat trying to fight off the cold.

Seems that the pipes had burst during a cold snap, and a repairman had made matters worse. This night, Gerri was running one of those industrial-strength kerosene heaters that spit out enough fumes to make your head swim.

My husband couldn't imagine why I wanted to stop by at all. Palm Tavern, 446 E. 47th St. isn't exactly the kind of place people drive miles to visit. It's deserted and dank, and Gerri's cats stroll across the old bar like they own the joint.

But ever since a friend introduced me to the tavern several years ago, I'm drawn back by its history. Palm Tavern is one of the few places remaining that truly captures the aura of Black Chicago.

For thousands of black entertainers who performed at the original Regal Theater on 47th Street, Palm Tavern was the gathering place. Jazz greats Count Basie and Duke Ellington have gone through those doors.

Gerri, 75, has painstakingly preserved this era through her collection of photographs, memorabilia, tapes and scraps of paper tucked away in the cash register like currency.

In those days, it was a real juke joint -- always hopping with folks looking to have a good time. During the '30s and '40s and even the early '50s these were the people who had money but not the color to go downtown to the white clubs. Instead, they spent their money right there on 47th Street.

Once the veil of segregation lifted a bit, many black people stopped supporting or appreciating places like the Palm Tavern. Yet we curse and sputter about the fact that now most of the business in predominantly black areas are owned by non-blacks.

We spread our money around posh Michigan Avenue, party at trendy white-owned nightclubs, dine in exclusive downtown restaurants because we can. What we seem to have forgotten in all this is that some things aren't about what we can do, it's about what we ought to be doing.

It's an issue that people in Philly are apparently grappling with. Recently, after African-American consumers discovered that owners of a restaurant touting a black history theme were white, they withdrew their business. The owners claimed that they couldn't find black investors. Black leaders claimed the owners didn't give them enough time to come up with such investors.

Either way, the restaurant was forced out of business. What's tragic about this is the same thing I find appalling about what's happened to the Palm Tavern. Where was the black support for either venture?

What was once an eloquent meeting place bas been allowed to fall on hard times. Instead of cleaning up the streets around the Palm Tavern, we allowed lowlifes to take them over. Instead of demanding that the local politicians get the job done, we gave them a pass. Instead, of keeping the place viable with our patronage, we ran away.

Palm Tavern isn't just a bar. It's a piece of our history.

Gerri bought the place in 1956 from James E. Knight, a Chicago businessman who bought it in 1933. Over the years, the tavern has mirrored the demise of 47th Street. Customers stopped coming long ago after crackheads and drug dealers took over. But Gerri stayed.

"Who wants to come down here? Gerri once said. "You're afraid to park your car. You're afraid you might get hit in the head. I don 't blame people from staying away. But it's sad. All those people who used to at least stop by take their money elsewhere. That's why we are like we are today."

Only the late Harold Washington remembered, Gerri said. In 1983, it was Palm Tavern that hosted Washington's historic grassroots fund-raiser. The place was so jam-packed, people had to line up in the street waiting to get in. Politicians, movers and shakers, ordinary citizens came to Palm Tavern. For a few hours, it was like the old days.

After 40 years of trying to keep the place going, I wonder why Gerri doesn't just give up. I suppose she can't. Like an aging curator of a museum filled with treasures, Gerri stands her post. She'd like to move on, but she'll be damned before she turns the place over to a group of white investors who are sure to show up if and when 47^th Street is revitalized.

"I just want to find some young progressive black man to buy the place, " Gerri told me. "I want to keep this place in black hands. It is a part of our history."