Thomas stopped speaking and looked all around.
The initial response of Maxim’s audience was confusion and consternation at this strange story. “What’s it to us?” some wondered aloud. But then Frederick replied: “Just this much: in ten minutes, they will be dead. My regards to you, ladies and gentlemen!”
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.