He opened a drugstore called the "Rendezvous" at 26th and Troost and circumvented the law of the land by selling liquor for "medicinal purposes." More bottled-in-bond crossed the counter than aspirin. When the Volstead act was repealed in December 1933, Milton converted the "soda tap into a beer tap" and began his career as a more or less law-abiding saloon keeper.

Milton's first club of note was the Hey Hay Club, located at 4th and Cherry. Customers sat on bales of hay in what was once a hay and feed barn to hear the likes of Count Basie, Jo Jones, Lester Young and Ben Webster performing on a stage fashioned from a converted hay wagon.

Basie's "main, main man"

Milton and Basie forged a life-long friendship in that old barn. Years later, Basie would refer to Milton as his "main, main man" and visit him frequently at a bar that Milton would later own on Main Street. The two spent their afternoons together eating carry-out barbeque and reminiscing.

In 1934, Milton opened "Milton's" at Troost and Armour. Milton's became a Mecca for jazz fans, with patrons packed in to enjoy the risque jazz of Julia Lee. Pee Wee Hunt paid tribute to the club's popularity with his Capitol recording, "Meet Me at Milton's."

In the early spring of 1949, Julia Lee, Baby Lovett and Milton embarked on a brief national tour that included a performance at the White House for the annual dinner of the White House Correspondents' Association. Sharing drinks with Milton prior to the performance, President Truman asked the club owner if "whores still plied their trade on 14th Street."

Julia and Milton parted ways in 1950. She began a residency at the Cuban Room and Milton closed his club on Troost. The next year Milton opened Milton's Tap Room at 3241 Main. Forsaking live music, Milton installed a large (50-disk) jukebox and billed his new "joynt" as the "home of 100 entertainers," figuring a different artist could be featured on each side of every record in the juke.

The Tap Room was the quintessential "juke joynt," and Milton advertised it as a "swinging place for swinging people" that offered the "right drink at the right price." The matchbooks distributed from the bar were blank: no club name, no slogans, "so your old lady won't know where you went last night."

As the age of hi-fi (high fidelity) recorded sound dawned, Milton switched to records and, over the years, amassed a legendary collection of jazz LPs which played continuously over his state-of-the-art sound system. Next to the turntable was a sign: "No requests--Like man, it's free."

Milton Morris, "nothing but the coolest"

Many a jazz novice, including this author, received a first-class jazz education with their elbows on the bar, digging "nothing but the coolest sounds" at Milton's.

An intimate club that could "seat 10,000 people, 69 at a time," Milton's was cool, comfortable and dark. The interior, shaded by years of cigarette smoke, had faded to a midnight blue and dim lighting accentuated the continuous 3 a.m. ambiance.

Milton used to joke that he unscrewed another lightbulb every year so he "wouldn't have to paint the joynt." The wall facing the bar was decorated by primal, backlit, cutout panels of musical instruments and musicians.

Milton lorded over his domain from a small table just inside the door. Perched, owl-like on a barstool with his ever present Macanudo cigar and a scotch & water, he greeted, with a nod or wisecrack, the nightly parade of patrons: hustlers, writers, female impersonators, salesmen, strippers, musicians and other characters.

"Why Pay Taxes .... ?"

Someone once speculated, on the wall of the men's room, that Milton was a "figment of Damon Runyon's imagination."

A great storyteller, Milton held forth from his roost with tales of when "Kansas City was a swinging place." Intermingling fiction and fact, he created his own local jazz mythology--embellished with each retelling. Long-time Milton's bartender John Albertson has oft recalled that Milton "never let the truth get in the way of a good story."

Milton and his joynt are history now, but a fitting epitaph for the generous, humorous spirit of Milton can be found in his perpetual and poignant appeal to those who owed him money. It was a message that appeared, in numerous variations, almost daily among the personal ads of The Kansas City Times & Star and elsewhere:

I AIN'T MAD AT NOBODY!

IF	I've been out of line! I've given you credit! I've cashed a bad check for you!

No matter what the reason that I haven't
seen you, COME BACK HOME!
     ALL IS FORGIVEN!

Sources:

Ball, Nancy.

"The Much-Noted Milton Has Seen All the Best." Kansas City Star 6 March 1980.

Barnes, Harper.

Blue Monday. St. Louis: Patrice Press, 1991.

Brisbane, Arthur.

"A Robber Steals His Memories." Kansas City Times 3 August 1979.

Chrostowski, Keith.

"Vital Legacy of `30s Jazz Scene." Kansas City Times 11 July 1974.

The Last of the Blue Devils.

Videotape. Dir. Bruce Ricker. Mitchell Donian, producer. New York: Rhapsody Films, 1990.

Maloney, J. J.

"Kansas City's Harold Stassen: `Swinging State' His Plank." Kansas City Star 20 May 1975.

Ritter, Jess.

"Going Out." Column. Kansas City Times 14 March 1975.

Woodward, Steve and Bleys W. Rose.

"Outgunned Hopefuls Shoot at the Governor's Mansion." Kansas City Star 4 May 1980.

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