Madam: A Biography of Polly Adler

April 16 was the natal day of Pearl “Polly” Adler (1900-1962); it seemed the most apt date for this review of Debby Applegate’s 2021 book Madam: The Biography of Polly Adler, Icon of the Jazz Age.

Adler’s career as America’s (one time) best known madam began just over a century ago, when she was 20 years old. No apparent relation to the famous acting family, she’d come to the U.S. from Belarus on her own at the age of 13, working in factories in Brooklyn and Springfield, Massachusetts before a room-mate’s boyfriend “turned” her. She might have remained just another call girl if not for an extraordinary business acumen combined with a winning personality, both of which brought her to the top of the world’s oldest profession.

Those of us (most of us) not old enough to have read about her in newspaper columns are most likely to know about Adler by way of the 1964 bio-pic, based on her 1953 autobiography, A House is Not a Home, in which she was portrayed by Shelley Winters with a cast that includes Robert Taylor, Cesar Romero, Kaye Ballard, Broderick Crawford,Mickey Shaughnessy, Jesse White, and J. Pat O’Malley, with Raquel Welch and Edy Williams in early roles as prostitutes. The film was written and directed by Russell Rouse, who’d previously done related pictures like Wicked Woman (1953) and New York Confidential (1955), with the jaw-dropping The Oscar (1966) just ahead of him. Others may be familiar with the film’s theme song, written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David and performed by Dionne Warwick and later covered by Luther Vandross in 1981.

Applegate’s book attempts to serve a dual function as both a biography of an accomplished and colorful person, as well as a political and social portrait of New York during Adler’s times. For this reviewer, it proves to be too much the latter, though I’m not certain I’d be much interested in a book that was more biographically focused, either. After all, Adler was a Madam, and not Madame Curie. Her life’s work was literally defined by ill repute. Yet achieving mainstream fame in an underworld occupation is itself noteworthy. The illegality and widespread disapproval of Adler’s profession had historically meant little to no celebrity for those who practiced it. But she had come into her own during Prohibition, a time when bad law converted most Americans into criminals practically overnight, and when mass media was pioneering entirely new categories of celebrity. Her bordello serviced famous clientele, and even employed a couple of future stars. Weaving such people into the tapestry of the book is clearly one of its intended attractions. Some of Adler’s more surprising patrons include George S. Kaufman and Robert Benchley. The hypocritical columnist Walter Winchell plays a pivotal role, as does gangster Dutch Schultz. You’ll also find names dropped like Clayton, Jackson and Durante;Texas Guinan, Mayor Jimmy Walker; the Marx Brothers; and Oscar Levant. As for two of her call girls who later became famous: Libby Holman and Dorothy Lamour. And Adler herself of course! Not just on account of the bio-pic; we were gratified to learn from the book that she enhanced her legend by appearing onstage in the Ziegfeld Follies of 1931.

I was distressed to see Milton Berle’s name included with those of Benny Rubin, Lou Holtz, and George Jessel on a list of “forgotten comedians” who dipped their wicks at Polly’s resort. In his way, Berle is easily as important to show business history as much better remembered figures like Elvis Presley. Prior to Berle, television was a thing people watched wrestling matches on at the corner bar. Berle literally popularized a medium that transformed the world and now tumbleweeds blow across his memory? I’m not saying Applegate is incorrect in having described Berle in this diminished way, as I have received many anecdotal proofs that his Q Rating is not what it once was. But I do find the fact of it distressing. If the book helps introduce younger people to such figures for the first time, it will be serving a very valuable function. But for those well familiar with classic show biz history, the parade of bold-faced names will not be especially enlightening.

The newest revelations for me in the book had to do with party politics and gangster culture. The book is probably most useful as a resource on those topics. Adler herself comes across almost as a touchstone for talking about everyone else. That’s a shame, I think. Without being judgy about sex work, I think a better book would focus on the plight of a working class immigrant woman, and the social forces that compelled her to follow an illicit occupation because so few opportunities were available to females. It’s implicitly baked into the premise, but the book rapidly loses focus in its zeal to capture the entire culture. Also, while well researched, Applegate’s book frequently takes on a Runyonesque voice that reveals an enchantment with her topic I don’t particularly share. I’ve never been a fan of the glamorizing of gangsters who are, by definition, the worst people the human race has to offer: thieves, robbers, extortionists, and murderers. Anything historians and writers can do to explode and tarnish the celebrity of such people ought to be done with clarity and — to use a favorite word of those mob-busting Kennedys — vigor. I don’t claim Adler was a monster herself, but she was certainly in bed with such people, in more ways than one.

I do however look forward to checking out Applegate’s previous book, the Pulitzer prize winning The Most Famous Man in America: The Biography of Henry Ward Beecher (2007).