The Basement Formulas
The basement smelled of coal dust and old books and something that might have been cabbage. It was not a pleasant smell, but Samuel Monroe had grown accustomed to it over the two years since he started the salon. On this particular Tuesday evening in October 1925, twelve people sat around a long table in the basement of a rowhouse on 135th Street. Twelve people—some black, some white, some who...
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