The Celebrity Club first opened its doors on November 18, 1949, making it one of the earliest integrated jazz clubs in New England. In its first year, it consisted of a small room with dining tables, a raised stage, and a dance floor, all of which were located on the first floor. The second floor acted as a space to rehearse or stay the night — a feature which, on account of segregation, proved invaluable to the many African American musicians who passed through the venue during its short tenure. July of 1950 saw a number of expansions and renovations, including a full kitchen, bar, private rooms, and enough space to fit the hundreds of guests that began to pour in to see the performances.

Adjacent to the club was Carl’s Diggins, an R&B record store run by disc jockey and early Celebrity Club announcer Carl Henry. Well-known performers often stayed for week-long stints — beyond that, the club thrived off of hosting smaller artists across the state. Black audiences in particular preferred to listen local, to the point that the club split in two: in the front were smaller acts that came with a majority-Black audience, while the back-of-house boasted big-name bands and a ratio of three white patrons for every Black patron. Local musicians also found regular work in the house band, with groups like the Ronnie Brown Trio and Art Pelosi’s Artones on call and ready to play whenever needed.

The club emerged from an abandoned two-story home at 56 Randall Street, wedged between the east side of Randall Square and the western boundary of Lippitt Hill — in other words, in the heart of one of Providence’s most notable Black enclaves. In the years it operated, the neighborhood was long past its prime, dotted with aging residential infrastructure, derelict industrial complexes, and tenement houses for a large population of laborers. These residents were united not by race, but by urban poverty. Nevertheless in its short tenure, the Celebrity Club brought a variety of prominent African American performers including Louis Armstrong, Count Basie, Sarah Vaughn, Nat King Cole, and Duke Ellington to a city that otherwise may never have crossed their radar. Their time at the club also linked them with local players, who could show these global acts everything Providence had to offer.

The success of the Celebrity Club can be attributed in large part to Paul Filippi, its founder, and the community that shaped him. Growing up in one of Lippitt Hill’s many white immigrant families, Filippi was no stranger to the Black audience that the club would eventually welcome. In fact, his motivation came from his interactions with people on either side of the color line that divided Providence’s jazz scene, and the limits of their respective experiences. Black entertainers were confined to speakeasies and venues within their neighborhoods, relegating them to obscurity. From the standpoint of the average Black listener, both the Black and white sides of jazz proved hard to engage with — up-and-comers were limited to small, crowded venues, while the more popular acts played for white-only venues. Conversely, all-white clubs saw fewer popular African American performers as time went on — they grew tired of partial accommodation and racial harassment. Sensing an opportunity to right these wrongs — and needing to return on investments he made from his hotel-porter salary — Filippi’s idea of the Celebrity Club was born. A combination of his natural charisma and a wealth of connections brought talent, both big-name and unknown, into the club. Good press, ranging from regular recordings for the radio to extensive news coverage, created a virtuous cycle that kept the club afloat for the better part of a decade.

When it comes to the Celebrity Club’s failure, however, it’s difficult to place the blame on just one factor. The largest cause for closure could be cited as conservative white disapproval and the police raids that came as a result. Oppositional residents, despite having no evidence, complained that the club was a front for drug trafficking, and prejudiced legal officials were more than happy to act on these baseless suspicions. Between 1954 and 1955, constant raids devastated the club. At its worst, on the night of January 5, 1955, the Celebrity Club saw over 80 patrons arrested on false charges in a single night; the supposed perpetrators — and those who faced the most punishment, corporal or criminal — were by and large African American. Subsequently, Black entertainers and patrons alike distanced themselves from the club out of fear for their safety. Meanwhile, well-off white audiences scattered as the venue found itself the subject of such a dramatic public scandal. This — combined with the cost the venue accrued with each fine levied by prejudiced officers — put it in dire financial straits.

But the raids alone didn’t lead to its closure. While the reputation as a hotspot for racial policing hit it the hardest, the final nail in the coffin came when jazz lost its popularity. The younger, more progressive white crowd abandoned the club in favor of venues that featured rock and roll or R&B artists, and the Celebrity Club simply couldn’t compete. 

By 1958, it was not a question of if the club would fail, but when. Filippi saw no choice but to sell.

New ownership could do little to save it. The late 1950s spelled the end of both Randall Square and Lippitt Hill, and that collapse wasn’t just symbolic — both neighborhoods were set to be demolished in favor of highway development, with the latter of the two being the site for its own redevelopment project.

While the Celebrity Club was a short-lived success, its contributions to Providence cannot be understated. Integrated dance halls, such as the Arcadia, emerged soon after, with their founders following in the footsteps of the late, great venue. From its rubble emerged countless fond memories to be recounted by the many it served: For musicians, the opportunity to get up-close and personal with all-time greats, to see their first moment in the limelight; for the average clubber, the absolute best in entertainment.

This entry was complied and written by 2024 PPS intern Mitzie Amare Johnson.