Locals once called lower J Street, "Rowboat Row," because it had "Oars on either side." Not only were there women of easy virtue walking that street, but there were also "window girls" who worked out of "rooming houses," mostly at 2nd and L streets who tried to lure passerby while posing seductively in windows facing the street. If a man dared to turn down the opportunity to pass some time with a window girl, he might be subject to a torrent of verbal abuse regarding his manhood. That would usually be the worst of it. Still, some residents of the West End tired of such obnoxious behavior so often. Not being property owners, these residents didn't have much say about the matter. It was alleged that a man named Charles K. McClatchy was investigating for an editorial for his paper, the Sacramento Bee. In response to his questioning at the door of one brothel, a whore dumped her chamber pot on his head. If true, this incident would have helped to divide the property owners and other respected citizens in terms of what sort of vice would be tolerated.

Not as blatant and a bit more respectable, were the book makers. There were "books" located at several addresses in the West End. One could place a bet on any horse race in the nation. It was said that you could trust a bookie with your money far more than any bank. In the depression, banks were not as secure as they became, so a bookie could become quite respectable, just by being honest.

Other major enterprises were bootlegging and narcotics. There were also the usual, legal businesses commonly associated with a river city, but for the purpose of this article, the more legitimate the business, the less relevant it is to the story. Gambling was far more acceptable to citizens of both genders. A bookie's word was his bond. A book in the West End could operate with relatively minimal impact on the surrounding neighborhood.

Prostitution was very different. Brothels operated openly, obviously and in a gaudy manner. They could be seen soliciting pedestrians everywhere west of 12th Street and north of T, operating out of :"rooming houses" in the West End, particularly the previously-mentioned cross streets of 2nd and L streets, where it appeared that the madams and their workers had taken a firm hold. They would not have been so successful but for the cozy relationship with the police. It was not a simple matter of a beat cop taking a payoff for protection. It went much deeper than that. Relationships went back decades. An excellent example would be the story of William Gormley and the madam Fanny Brown. William F. Gormley was a sheriff-coroner. When Brown died, she left the bulk of her valuables to Gormley. At some point, Gormley left law enforcement to operate at least two mortuaries full-time. One was at 8th Street between I and J. In the 1920s, he opened a funeral home at 20th and M Streets (M is now Capitol) which bears his name to this day.

There were also too-often-repeated rumors about a cop who owned a rooming house in his wife's name where they ran a brothel. The question of how a man could afford a rooming house on a cop's salary was never asked. Property owners made huge profits from saloons, books and brothels. They never felt the adverse effects of their businesses because they never lived in the West End.

Those who did live in the West End were a mix of resident laborers, transient laborers and other less-than-legal employees. The transient laborers had very little influence on city policy. They only stayed until the next season started. Then it was off to ranches, farms, mines or lumber camps until they weren't needed anymore and were dismissed with their pay to wait for the next job. These people, mostly uneducated men, would use places such as Al Andler's Style Shop as banks. The merchants would hold their money for them. It is unknown how honest the merchants were with the workers, since, if they were not, the laborers had virtually no recourse.

A cop with a beat in the West End during the 1930s was like a kid in a candy store, or, more appropriately, an alcoholic at a bar. There were payoffs and "freebees" galore. Everyday brought something a little more interesting than routine police work. There was usually not much in the way of paperwork, since arrests were seldom needed to keep order. The cops worked for those who paid for the service. Everyone else didn't really count for much.

Still, there were residents of the West End who were getting fed up with the situation. When they'd pass through an area known for its' "rooming houses," the women in these houses sat in windows and were dressed so as to leave very little to the imagination.

Parents did not want to have to explain certain things to their young children. Enough was enough. "Bawdy houses" had truly reached a saturation point.

In December, 1936, police chief William Hallanan resigned rather than face a probe of some of his top officers. He told the papers only that he wanted to give his "nerves a rest." The papers dutifully printed his story and just as dutifully neglected to mention any news of a possible scandal.

By the time Hallanan left office, there were a lot of citizens who were demanding changes in the police department. Residents in and near the West End wanted to put an end to criminal enterprise there. They'd been fighting an uphill battle. At the time, the West End was a prized beat. A cop assigned to the area could count on payoffs that would supplement a meager salary considerably. There were bookies, bootleggers and madams who paid for protection and preferential treatment.

City manager James S. Dean took the matter of police corruption more seriously than others in city government. Unlike most officials, he didn't seem to have been in the pockets of the wealthy downtown property owners. (Most of whom had a huge stake in the success of the previously-mentioned illicit activities.) When Hallanan left, Dean went east, with the blessings of the public and his colleagues. He went in search of a new police chief. It was essential that whoever took the job not be from the area.

The reasoning was that a person with no ties to the community would be less likely to accept bribes, let criminals slide and otherwise become mired in the political sleaze that characterized Sacramento and other similar cities at the time. Dean wanted a genuine reformer. Other people in city government wanted a man who would create the impression that reforms were being put into play.

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