HC: Can you comment on the current discussion among NYC dancers re. tips?

G: Tips have always been an issue, in every generation of dancers. It's the same argument over and over again. The first job I ever did was for "tips only." I was not being paid a salary. This was in a little place called "The Attic" - which was an actual attic over a country western bar somewhere in NJ around the Clifton area, I think. It was run by two women who didn't have a liquor license. They would sell ice, rent the patrons a glass, and customers brought their own liquor. They had a band, all the dancers worked for tips.

I wasn't planning to become a professional dancer. I was a hobbyist in love with the dance. I worked an office job and took classes at night. I'd gone to "The Attic" to see my teacher dance and was dancing with friends wearing my street clothes. The owner asked me to come and dance the next weekend, and I thought she was out of her mind... I really didn't know anything yet. Which I proved to myself when I performed ... I was so nervous I couldn't hear what was happening in the music. I wasn't qualified. I didn't understand the show format, but I was pretty, and I had a body and personality... and I pulled in $160 in tips that night.

Because I was in a state of shock my entire performance I left the floor too early. I'll never forget the look on the oud player's face as I left him holding his oud and just exited the stage. I was a blank, but apparently I must have done something passable, because I had pulled in all this money in tips, which is what I was working for. (After that performance I didn't set foot on stage for another two years. I started taking classes five nights a week, Saturdays and workshops on Sundays when there was one.)

So I put my money in my pocket and I am about to go home when the drummer comes into the dressing room and asks me for a cut of the tips. "I am working for tips, what are you working for?" And we got into this huge argument, because I had no idea how things worked. I could take my money and go home, and everyone would hate me, or split the tips...but I had no idea how you divided up the tips. So I took out what I wanted, and then I gave each of the band members $10. I came out and I had these bills rolled up; I sauntered up to the stage while they were playing, kissed each one on the cheek as I slipped the money into their shirt pockets, one by one.

The funny part was that the drummer with whom I had this huge argument (it was a big scene!) became one of my most favorite people to work with: I showed up at the Ibis a couple of years later, and he was the drummer!

You know, I've always got along well with the musicians because I learned very early on that if you "demand," they don't like it. There is a whole different way of dealing with things when you are in the Middle Eastern atmosphere. So, basically, it was, "Oh, you play what YOU want to play for me! If YOU are happy with what you are playing, I'll get the best show." And then I just kept my fingers crossed. And it turned out that when I was at Ibis, and I was a steady dancer, I got really good music. There were a few dancers that got the top choices. And we never picked music for ourselves. Hamouda, the Maestro, was incredible in matching dancers to music. And this was at the time when the format had changed to Egyptian. The perception today is that Mahmoud Reda came to New York, and we all became "Egyptian." But there was a whole Egyptian thing going on based on the Cairo cabaret dancers like Nahed Sabry, Hannan, Nadia Hamdi, Nagwa Fouad and Suhair Zaki, before Reda came to New York.

HC: How were tips handled at the Ibis?

G: There was already an established crew of dancers when I came to Ibis. I was the new kid on the block, a country bumpkin from New Jersey, and scared to death. One of the dancers said, "What's wrong with you?" "I'm nervous." "Well, haven't you ever danced before?" I had been dancing for 5 years, but this was THE "Ibis," it was Manhattan, and I was a rock-n-roll chick from NJ. I'll never forget that dancer. When I came back to the dressing room after my show she looked at me and said :" You HAVE danced before! "

When I started at Ibis there was already turmoil about the tips. We are talking '78-'79. You got whatever they handed to you after the show: you assumed you were getting a fair share. But people were complaining because tips were being stolen. It was an everyday occurrence that someone among the musicians (this was going on at all the clubs, not just Ibis) would be stuffing larger bills in the back of the amplifiers -- into the hollow part in the back -- they would just bend down, scoop up a handful, and throw it into the back of the amplifier! The other thing some would do is get the money in a pile and put a mike stand over it, so that the base of the mike stand covered the money. I've seen waiters put gum or tape on the soles of their shoes and walk across the floor and pick up money that way. There was even a manager at a well known NJ Greek club who would steal tips from the dancers and the musicians as well. We were working in a situation where tips were the bulk of the pay.

Ibis paid $40- $50 for two shows, and 20 minutes per show was the minimum, the show could go on much longer. But you would walk out with a couple hundred dollars in tips on any given night depending on what customers were there. You would build up a following. People would have come anyway, but if they especially liked a particular dancer they would come the night she was dancing. There were three dancers on a night each performing two shows and the club was open seven days a week.

G: We fought back the best we knew how. Although "stuffing" tips was not really part of the Ibis, familiar customers were allowed to approach the dancers and place tips in her costume. Whenever a large bill was placed on a dancer you could almost hear the musicians eyes clicking to record the event. They would follow us to the dressing room to get all the tips that were stuffed and demand the large bills, and sometimes dancers were accused unfairly of holding back. So, you balanced it out -- most times you gave up the bill, but sometimes you let them "slip" into the lining of your costume.

When the customers became aware of what was happening -- after all, they could see the musician run off the stage to follow us as soon as we were done with the show -- they started to tip us with large bills after our show before we got to the dressing room. That started a whole new uproar: if the customer gave us the tip after we left the stage they obviously meant it to be for the dancer only. But no! If we were in costume we had to share the tip. So, of course, we asked those customers to tip us after we had changed back to our street clothes ... and they did!! That really ticked off the musicians.

At that time we had over 20 clubs to work at, not little hole-in-the wall restaurants either. You had Ibis and Darwish, the top supper clubs, and you had top-tier restaurants, like Cedars of Lebanon or Beirut. Then you had the smaller places. The clubs that exist today don't even make the "smaller places" list. And people still fought over the tips.

At Ibis we went on strike, we caused a lot of havoc, and finally ended up initiating the "basket system." One of the girls brought in a beautiful beribboned basket. The basket would sit on stage in full view of everyone including the audience. The money that was collected before the dancer's show was the musicians' money -- and all the money that was thrown on the dancers was swept up after each show and went in the basket. The exception to the rule was if a customer came up to the bandstand and threw money on the band while the dancer was performing. What landed and stayed on the bandstand was the musicians' and what landed on the floor went into the basket. When customers came up to the bandstand during a show they usually threw the tips directly on the musicians, so most of it stayed on the bandstand anyway.

The band's argument was that it was the singers and the musicians who pulled in the bulk of the money, "We can run this club without you, we don't need dancers!" But we are American women, we are brazen! We fought back and proved our point. After we introduced the basket, the musicians realized that we were raking in a lot more tip money than they were. We didn't want to be greedy, and very graciously agreed to share the tips equitably. Half the musicians were brand-new from Egypt: the club would sign their work papers, and pay them next to nothing. We didn't mind sharing with them we just didn't want to be cheated, taken advantage of or disrespected.

Musicians have a reputation that if they are mad at you they won't play a good show, but most don't do that intentionally; by playing badly they make themselves look bad, and no musician wants to look bad. However, a musician can be so annoyed with you, that he won't be able to play his best or care if he does.

HC: Tell us the story of the strike.

G: We were having lots of meetings with the house and with the musicians to create a solution. We were threatening to go on strike, but what actually happened is that we aggravated the Maestro (the leader of the band) so much that he fired us. He said "okay, get out!" and so we all stood up and we left. But he overstepped himself, he didn't have the authority to do that: he actually put the club in a bad position, because all the best dancers just left.

There is a whole crew of dancers from that era who only got in because we left. There is a very well-established dancer with whom I worked on many projects over the years, but my introduction to her way back when was that she was running around New York saying, " I took Gamila's place at the Ibis." "Excuse me, honey, you are dancing in my SLOT, you didn't take my PLACE!" When we walked, all the dancers who were waiting to get into the club, came in and worked, but they weren't us, and so, in a matter of 10 days or so we were working back at the club again -- with the basket on the bandstand.

We had a very loyal base of customers and they didn't like that we were fired, and we played it up. Some dancers actually did leave. Because there was Darvish downtown: why should they be putting up with this? Many of us were working at Darvish in between Ibis shows anyway (even though we weren't supposed to -- competing clubs and all that).

After the "strike" the division of tips was: the house got a share because it was involved in the tipping process; a bus boy is sweeping up the dollar bills and putting them in the basket, a bartender is giving the singles out that can be thrown on the dancers, and the house puts $300 on the customers' credit card and gives 300 singles out of the cash register. Each musician and dancer got a full share (later when the number of shows per night was cut down the dancer performing two shows got a full share, and those performing one show got a half share). The oud player got two shares because he did two jobs -- played and sang. One musician and one dancer would count the tips and divide the shares at the end of the night. We'd hold dancers tips for each other if someone had to leave before the tips were counted. Through the years this system worked so well that we were eventually able to confidently trust our fair shares would be held for us (in sealed envelopes) by the bartender!

Comments
Latifa
Gamila, habibi, what beautiful photos! I would know that gorgeous smile anywhere. I'm so glad you're documenting your clubs years -- very interesting stuff!! Latifa

TamraHenna
This is such an interesting article for several reasons: one, it really underscores how little our wages have changed over the years (a travesty, really), second, it seems that the tip and wage issue has always been an issue, and third, because I can really feel the energy of the scene through Gamila's reminiscinces. Thanks, Gamila, for these articles, it makes me wish I'd been there!