Greater Houston Weekly - Top Of The Week
Balinese Room lives on in photos, memories
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| The Balinese Room first opened in 1942 and many of America's top entertainers from the 1940s and 50s performed there. (photo by Patric Schneider) |
By Kim Hogstrom
Hurricane Ike took its toll on us all, robbing us of many things. Some lost time, some lost money and some lost property, but we all lost Galveston’s magnificent, mysterious Balinese Room.
In June of this year, two reporters from Greater Houston Weekly spent hours getting to know the legendary club to help tell its story. Today, we feel a responsibility to tell it to you so that you may tell others. After all, the story of the Balinese is all we have left.
So much a part of Houston’s history, the Balinese Room was constructed in the 1920s and stood on stilts 600 feet from the shore over the Gulf of Mexico. Despite having survived the ravages of time and several prior hurricanes, Ike mercilessly reduced the club to kindling and literally dumped it on Seawall Blvd. The magnificent old Balinese now lives only in our memories.
In the 1940s and 50s, Las Vegas was little more than a seedy G.I. stopover in the middle of the Nevada desert. All the glitz, glamour and gaming; all the indulgence, virtue and vice that would become Vegas, was first born in the Balinese. This Texas original was everything we associate with Las Vegas, before there was one.
The lineup of entertainers who performed here is unrivaled. Frank Sinatra, Jack Benny, Peggy Lee, Sophie Tucker, Bob Hope, and the Marx Brothers appeared at the notorious Balinese. Houstonians Glenn McCarthy and Howard Hughes spent numerous late nights carousing here.
When we visited the club in June, the interior was authentic in every way. Its 1940s bamboo walls, palm-tree columns, and campy décor were intact. The smoky murals of seductive women were original and the dressing rooms still contained the daybeds required for the entertainers’ “relaxation.”
It’s been rumored for years that the Balinese was owned by Galveston’s Mafia and routinely hosted illegal gambling. This is true, there was indeed gambling, and lots of it.
The front half of the Balinese functioned as an entertainment and dining area but the walled-off back half was a casino and hosted nearly every manner of illegal gambling.
Galveston locals tell of 60-plus consecutive raids on the club in 1956 by the Texas Rangers. None were successful, however. When the rangers arrived at the entrance on the seawall, a guard rang an alarm alerting the casino. By the time the lawmen had run the distance of the pier, dodged the crowd in the dining area and made it into the casino in the back, all evidence of gambling had disappeared.
Furthermore, the public participated in the protection of the casino from the law. When the rangers would enter the dining hall, it was practice for the patrons to stand and sing, “The Yellow Rose of Texas,” to distract and confuse the lawmen and buy time. It worked for years.
Blackjack and poker tables were systematically over-tuned and re-set with linen tablecloths, stemware and china. Poker chips were tossed in an oven in the kitchen, melted to a mound and dropped through at trapdoor to the surf.
Don’t believe it? During our investigation, we discovered two trap doors in the kitchen floor. The smallest one was directly in front of the main oven. The second one, beneath a kitchen preparation table, was larger … large enough to slip, say, a gaming table or full-grown adult into the boiling, churning surf visible below
Today, the carnage of the great Balinese remains in piles. Its owner, Scott Arnold, has published a note on the home page of the club’s web site, www.balineseroom.net discussing the future.
“I have received dozens of emails, texts and phone calls expressing heartfelt condolences,” he writes. “So many people have taken this as a personal loss, as of course, it is.
“Luckily, I have retained copies of many of the photos and other framed artifacts formerly located at the Balinese. A Texas Historical Commission representative is currently sifting the wreckage for any remaining architectural salvage.” We hope the official finds some.
And now you know the story. Please tell it to someone. You’ll be helping the Balinese live on.
In June of this year, two reporters from Greater Houston Weekly spent hours getting to know the legendary club to help tell its story. Today, we feel a responsibility to tell it to you so that you may tell others. After all, the story of the Balinese is all we have left.
So much a part of Houston’s history, the Balinese Room was constructed in the 1920s and stood on stilts 600 feet from the shore over the Gulf of Mexico. Despite having survived the ravages of time and several prior hurricanes, Ike mercilessly reduced the club to kindling and literally dumped it on Seawall Blvd. The magnificent old Balinese now lives only in our memories.
In the 1940s and 50s, Las Vegas was little more than a seedy G.I. stopover in the middle of the Nevada desert. All the glitz, glamour and gaming; all the indulgence, virtue and vice that would become Vegas, was first born in the Balinese. This Texas original was everything we associate with Las Vegas, before there was one.
The lineup of entertainers who performed here is unrivaled. Frank Sinatra, Jack Benny, Peggy Lee, Sophie Tucker, Bob Hope, and the Marx Brothers appeared at the notorious Balinese. Houstonians Glenn McCarthy and Howard Hughes spent numerous late nights carousing here.
When we visited the club in June, the interior was authentic in every way. Its 1940s bamboo walls, palm-tree columns, and campy décor were intact. The smoky murals of seductive women were original and the dressing rooms still contained the daybeds required for the entertainers’ “relaxation.”
It’s been rumored for years that the Balinese was owned by Galveston’s Mafia and routinely hosted illegal gambling. This is true, there was indeed gambling, and lots of it.
The front half of the Balinese functioned as an entertainment and dining area but the walled-off back half was a casino and hosted nearly every manner of illegal gambling.
Galveston locals tell of 60-plus consecutive raids on the club in 1956 by the Texas Rangers. None were successful, however. When the rangers arrived at the entrance on the seawall, a guard rang an alarm alerting the casino. By the time the lawmen had run the distance of the pier, dodged the crowd in the dining area and made it into the casino in the back, all evidence of gambling had disappeared.
Furthermore, the public participated in the protection of the casino from the law. When the rangers would enter the dining hall, it was practice for the patrons to stand and sing, “The Yellow Rose of Texas,” to distract and confuse the lawmen and buy time. It worked for years.
Blackjack and poker tables were systematically over-tuned and re-set with linen tablecloths, stemware and china. Poker chips were tossed in an oven in the kitchen, melted to a mound and dropped through at trapdoor to the surf.
Don’t believe it? During our investigation, we discovered two trap doors in the kitchen floor. The smallest one was directly in front of the main oven. The second one, beneath a kitchen preparation table, was larger … large enough to slip, say, a gaming table or full-grown adult into the boiling, churning surf visible below
Today, the carnage of the great Balinese remains in piles. Its owner, Scott Arnold, has published a note on the home page of the club’s web site, www.balineseroom.net discussing the future.
“I have received dozens of emails, texts and phone calls expressing heartfelt condolences,” he writes. “So many people have taken this as a personal loss, as of course, it is.
“Luckily, I have retained copies of many of the photos and other framed artifacts formerly located at the Balinese. A Texas Historical Commission representative is currently sifting the wreckage for any remaining architectural salvage.” We hope the official finds some.
And now you know the story. Please tell it to someone. You’ll be helping the Balinese live on.
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