Sam Azeke is running late, and he knows it. But that doesn’t stop the 33-year-old longtime Vegas resident and co-owner of FroZEN75 from getting the small under-21 dance club ready before any of his staff arrives.
“I’m just an average Joe,” Azeke, a father of two, says as he clears the club’s dance floor of the two dozen or so large, black freight containers he uses as concourses and security checkpoints in the back of the club.
But then again, even average Joes can end up in the spotlight sometimes.
And that’s the problem Azeke and his club have been facing in a Footloose-like battle with the city of Henderson and Councilman Jack Clark since Azeke started up the under-21 dance club 17 months ago. Concerns of drug use, noise and the threat of crime and violence moved the Henderson City Council April 1 to vote to outlaw such teenage dance clubs in the city, citing that they “seriously affect the social and moral well-being of the city and its residents.”
But what exactly is a social and moral threat to the citizens of Henderson?
Clark, a retired Metro police sergeant who spearheaded the ban, says that while there isn’t a specific “moral” threat to the community (he says the language in the ordinance was written by the city manager’s office), the major threat to the community comes out of the possibility of violence that could hit the club.
“All laws and safety are based on morals,” Clark says. “But ultimately FroZEN75 isn’t a moral issue. It’s a safety issue.”
Clark cites violence around the country at other under-21 dance clubs, as well as a 2005 shooting at the Henderson-based former concert hall Roadhouse Casino that left one dead as reasons why clubs like FroZEN75 should not be allowed to do business in the city of Henderson.
“I’m not trying to play morality police here,” Clark says. “But how far is it from fighting in a parking lot to someone pulling a gun? Unfortunately it’s not that far.”
Since his club’s opening, Azeke says that there have been two fights on or near the club’s premises, both of which were stopped before they escalated into full brawls.
“Our main thing is safety here,” says Tien Nguyen, who co-owns the club with Azeke. Nguyen says that the club and its security staff are as strict as they come, subjecting patrons to full vehicle and personal searches if they come in their own car and personal searches for those dropped off by parents or otherwise.
It is steps like these that Nguyen says are something kids aren’t being subjected to at the alternatives to clubs (house or desert parties, where supervision is little to nil), and he even invites parents to get involved.
“We let parents check this place out if they want to see it with their kids,” Nguyen says. “If you’re going to drop your kids off somewhere, parents should have the right to check the place out.”
But safety aside, the question of whether or not Henderson’s moral integrity is being harmed by clubs like FroZEN is another story.
According to UNLV urban sociology professor Robert Parker, the issue of morality is often used nefariously to justify passing laws when no other legitimate reason exists.
“Defining anything into morality and then defining it as possibly illegal is easy to do,” Parker says. “But [in a region like the Las Vegas area] it’s incredibly hypocritical to do as well.”
And in a valley where debauchery is sold as easily as candy or gasoline at a mini-mart, this isn’t the first time Henderson has banned questionable businesses from the city proper. Several years ago the city of Henderson moved to ban adult businesses and strip clubs from the community. Clark, who also supported those bans, says that such ordinances come out of the wish of the residents of Henderson to protect themselves and their property values from the threat of crime.
“Being a cop, where you see adult businesses, you see crime,” Clark says. “And our intent is to keep Henderson safe at all costs.”
But for Azeke and Nguyen, who are convinced that the city will find a way to shut them down soon, their club provides safety—and more—to hundreds of teenagers who find themselves tempted by drugs, crime and the violent world on the streets.
“We’re not here to try to teach people to be adults, and we’re not here to raise people’s kids,” Azeke says. “We’re here to provide them a venue to dance and have fun off the streets.”