A tiny out-of-the-way Manhattan theatre had a visit from the police fortnight ago. Inside, an African opera was playing, half-naked bucks stomping the stage and pretty dark-skinned girls wriggling excitedly. But the police were not disturbed by the stage doings, nor by the fact that the producers had radical leanings and called themselves "workers." Trouble was that the 23rd Street Unity Theatre, a small rude hall which used to be a beauty shop, had a licensed capacity for only 150 persons whereas 300 spectators were squeezing inside nightly, crowding the aisles and hard,...
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