A 1972 article in the Chicago Sun-Times noted federal indictments of police Capt. Clarence E. Braasch, former commander of the East Chicago Avenue District, and 23 policemen who had served under him as vice investigators, for taking kickbacks from bar owners. A second article reported the names of bars that the indictment alleged were shakedown victims of the cops between 1966 and 1970. A number of gay bars were included in the list, among them the Gold Coast, the Baton Lounge, the Haig, the Inner Circle on Wells, the King's Ransom, New Jamie's, the Normandy, and Togetherness.
The old mayor, Richard J. Daley, had bowed to pressure from reformers in 1960 when he had hired a new superintendent of police, O.W. Wilson, who was supposed to clean house in the department. James B. Conlisk Jr. served as superintendent after Wilson retired in 1967 and was in office during the West Side riots and Democratic National Convention police riots of 1968. Corruption was the norm in the city; no one believed that, if they really wanted to, the brass couldn't find evidence of what most bar patrons knew.
When bars were busted ( in the days when attorneys were not allowed to advertise ) it was common for district cops ( who got a percentage ) to hand out business cards for attorneys who knew how to get arrestees off for a fee.
But that was only half the battle. The other side of doing business in Chicago in those days was dealing with the wiseguys. If you were 'in the know' you could tell which bars were 'connected' to the mob ( translate: didn't want trouble, like having the bar busted up ) by what brand of beer was on tap, what company had the towel and toilet-paper concession, whose jukebox was installed.
Others had their hands out, too; there were the ward heelers, legmen for the ward bosses and aldermen. Ignore them, and inspectors from departments you never heard of would find violations and close a bar. Chicago has always had a helluva record for corruption, and it's only in recent memory that so many politicians and court officers have found their way to jail.
'The situation would not have become the profitable venture that [ it ] apparently was had bars and other establishments refused to go along with the pay-off system in the first place. This break-through now should liberate everyone-bars, bar employees and individual gays-to assert their right to pursue their happiness unmolested by authorities. Anyone who is bothered unlawfully, either by false arrest or extortion attempt should say 'never again,'' stated Chicago gay activist Jim Bradford in the Mattachine Midwest Newsletter for January 1973.
Gays were outside the mainstream. It wasn't until the spring of 1972 when kids from Gay Liberation and Mattachine old-timers demanded dancing in the bars ( it wasn't illegal ) , drinks that weren't watered, safety, and even brighter lights-that things began to change.
They called for bar boycotts and held a dance at the old Coliseum. The establishment tried to block that, too: permit problems, insurance hassles. But attorney Renee Hanover stepped in, insurance was obtained from a Black-owned company, and 2,000 gays ( and what may have seemed like almost as many cops ) came to the party. Challenging the economic base of the system opened the door to change all down the line.