skin in the game

Milwaukee Magazine - - Culture - Madi­son-based free­lancer Steven Pot­ter is a reg­u­lar con­trib­u­tor.




EARN­ING A FOR­TUNE – and lots of head­lines – IN THE



WITH THE CODE NAME “rus­sian laun­dry.”

A cou­ple dozen more women of vary­ing shapes, sizes and skin tones – who haven’t yet shed their push-up bras – work the room, draw­ing the at­ten­tion of men like metal to mag­nets. They go by stage names like Di­a­mond, Sa­van­nah, Cher­ish and Ma­hogany. Some wear a lot of makeup, oth­ers only a lit­tle. Their at­tire isn’t suit­able for out­side, no mat­ter the sea­son.

Strobe lights flash as the chest-rat­tling bass of fast-paced dance mu­sic floods the multi-level room. The air smells of al­co­hol, cologne, per­fume and some­thing else – per­haps lust. Un­der­foot is cus­tom-made car­pet with a logo re­peated ev­ery cou­ple of feet and dozens of times in ev­ery di­rec­tion. It says sim­ply, “Silk Ex­otic.”

The ladies not on stage are linked up with men at the bar and nearby ta­bles. The men are a mixed lot, their out­fits rang­ing from T-shirts and jeans to bow ties and slacks. Most are mid­dle-aged. Many are mar­ried.

Oc­ca­sion­ally, one of the men will sub­mit to a dancer’s sales pitch and the two will walk off hand-in-hand to the “fan­tasy couch room,” paus­ing briefly to check in with one of the many black-suited se­cu­rity guards, who collects pay­ment. In­side the se­cluded room, the cus­tomer gets treated in­di­vid­u­ally to her pelvic gy­ra­tions that last as long as he’d like at the rate of $20 per song. When he re­turns, a smile stretches across his face.

Keep­ing that smile on men’s faces, and cash leav­ing their wal­lets, isn’t solely the ladies’ job. Ul­ti­mately, the re­spon­si­bil­ity of keep­ing cus­tomers happy falls on Jon Fer­raro.

“We’re sell­ing a fan­tasy,” says Fer­raro, one of the club’s own­ers and its oper­a­tions man­ager. “Guys want a place where they can come and for­get about their wor­ries, and we pro­vide that. It’s en­ter­tain­ment.”

IN JUST OVER 13 YEARS, Fer­raro and his part­ners have built the first Silk Ex­otic Gen­tle­men’s Club lo­ca­tion in Mil­wau­kee into an em­pire, with other clubs in Juneau and just out­side Madi­son.

Fer­raro isn’t shy to point out how his up­scale clubs have changed the game in the state.

“We re­ally raised the bar in Mil­wau­kee, [and] we’re the trend­set­ter in Wis­con­sin,” he says, not­ing the clubs’ clean, pol­ished in­te­ri­ors and that his bounc­ers dress in suits.

“He’s got a good rep­u­ta­tion,” says Jim Hal­bach, who owns two clubs in the state and is also the Wis­con­sin chap­ter pres­i­dent of a na­tional trade group for strip club own­ers. “Re­ally, ev­ery­body’s jeal­ous of him be­cause he’s re­ally got a good club over there in Mil­wau­kee.”

Fer­raro says he’s un­en­cum­bered by the flesh he sees so reg­u­larly. “Af­ter do­ing this so long… it be­comes like wall­pa­per, you don’t even no­tice them,” he says. “You’re not dis­tracted, and it doesn’t do any­thing for you. You walk in there in busi­ness mode and you don’t even think about it. It be­comes nor­mal in a weird way.”

Among the chal­lenges he faces, some are as mun­dane as deal­ing with new dancers who make a lot of money one night then don’t show up the next. Other prob­lems are not so mi­nor, such as the news­pa­per re­ports last year about his al­leged in­volve­ment – which he stead­fastly de­nies – in a fed­eral money-laun­der­ing case in­volv­ing a for­mer part­ner.

But chief among his prob­lems, Fer­raro says, is the re­cur­ring re­fusal by city al­der­men to grant him an op­er­at­ing per­mit for a new club in or near Down­town Mil­wau­kee.

He’s twice sued the city over it, win­ning the first law­suit in 2015. Early last sum­mer, the city paid Fer­raro and his part­ners nearly $1 mil­lion in dam­ages and lawyers’ fees in that case. The se­cond law­suit is on­go­ing.

AS A KID, FER­RARO FIG­URED HE WOULD work in the trades when he grew up. “I didn’t ex­cel in school,” he says. “The only thing I re­ally liked was math, so I thought maybe I’d be an elec­tri­cian.”

Born and raised in the city, Fer­raro – who’s as Ital­ian as his name and thick dark hair suggest – grew up an only child in a Bay View house built by his great-grand­fa­ther. He at­tended Im­mac­u­late Con­cep­tion Ele­men­tary and grad­u­ated from Bay View High School.

He first held a job at 14, work­ing at DeMari­nis Pizze­ria, the Menomonee Falls restau­rant his par­ents bought in the early ’90s.

“I came up wash­ing dishes, then cook­ing and bar­back­ing and bar­tend­ing,” he re­calls. “I learned the sys­tem from the bot­tom up, found out it was some­thing I liked to do and was good at it.” Then, some trade­mark mod­esty: “I was a nat­u­ral.”

Over the years, Fer­raro be­came friends with Joe Modl, owner of the bar game dis­tri­bu­tion com­pany North­ern Nov­elty, when he would come in to ser­vice the ma­chines at DeMari­nis.

“We were talk­ing one day and I told him I’d re­ally like to open a bar, so we lit­er­ally drew up a busi­ness plan on a Cousins Subs





nap­kin,” ex­plains Fer­raro.

That idea on a nap­kin be­came the Bada Bing So­cial Club, a gang­ster-themed bar on 68th and Ok­la­homa, opening in 2001 when Fer­raro was 25. Un­known at the time, the name they chose for the bar – taken from the fic­ti­tious strip club on The So­pra­nos – fore­shad­owed their fu­ture ven­tures.

“We ab­so­lutely crushed it there,” re­mem­bers Fer­raro. But the part­ners would soon move on to bet­ter things. While help­ing a North­ern Nov­elty client, Modl came across a copy of Ex­otic Dancer, a mag­a­zine for the strip club in­dus­try. He brought the idea of opening up such a club to Fer­raro.

“We talked to some peo­ple and found out it could be pretty lu­cra­tive, so we jumped in head first,” says Fer­raro, adding that their re­search in­cluded scout­ing out high-end clubs like Scores in Chicago. In March 2003, the part­ners found an old, shut­tered teen dance club on West Sil­ver Spring Drive just off In­ter­state 41, bought it and spent the next eight months over­haul­ing it. That Novem­ber, they opened the doors of Silk Ex­otic Mil­wau­kee.

A year later, they de­cided to sell Bada Bing. “We re­al­ized what the po­ten­tial was with Silk,” re­mem­bers Fer­raro. “I would lose more be­ing at Bada Bing by not be­ing at Silk and mak­ing sure that was right.”

The part­ners then made the de­ci­sion to ex­pand their brand. “I can’t sit still,” says Fer­raro, who al­ways speaks in short, quick sen­tences. “I en­joy build­ing, de­vel­op­ing and train­ing the staff and get­ting it open. Once it’s up and run­ning good, I’m ready to do the next spot.”

So, in 2006, they opened the se­cond Silk lo­ca­tion in the old Cock­tails and Dreams strip club in down­town Juneau, di­rectly across the street from the Dodge County Court­house. At a li­cens­ing hear­ing, the at­tor­ney rep­re­sent­ing the Silk part­ners was asked how sleepy, ru­ral Juneau and its 2,000 res­i­dents could sup­port a high-end club. “Peo­ple will not hes­i­tate to travel 30 to 40 min­utes [to the club],” he an­swered.

Around this time, the part­ners con­verted un­used space in the Silk Mil­wau­kee build­ing into Jok­erz Com­edy Club and Show­time Sports Bar, a part­ner­ship with Mil­wau­kee’s mixed mar­tial arts cham­pion An­thony “Show­time” Pet­tis.

Now with two strip clubs and other venues un­der their belt, the Silk team – which, in ad­di­tion to Fer­raro and Modl, also in­cludes Scott Krahn – set their sights on an­other spot, opening the Silk Madi­son lo­ca­tion in Mid­dle­ton in 2009. “This place is just packed af­ter Bad­ger games,” says Fer­raro.

Opening a new club is never a sim­ple task. “With ev­ery lo­ca­tion we’ve opened, [there’s been] the fear of the un­known,” he says of res­i­dents and elected of­fi­cials who think that a strip club will wreck the neigh­bor­hood. “But af­ter a month or two or three, there’s no prob­lems, there’s no is­sues, you just kind of blend in,” he says, adding that his clubs have tight se­cu­rity and that pa­trons keep them­selves in check.

“Who wants to get a ticket for fight­ing at [a strip club]? No one wants their name in the news­pa­per for that,” says Fer­raro. “It’s not a good story to tell the wife.”


On New Year’s Eve in 2015, a gun was fired out­side the Mil­wau­kee club. In that case, rel­a­tives of a dancer came to pick her up. For some rea­son, the rel­a­tives sent a pit bull to at­tack the dancer, who ran back into the club. A se­cu­rity guard shot at the ground and scared the dog away. That se­cu­rity guard, how­ever, was not legally al­lowed to carry a firearm, as he had been con­victed of a felony just a cou­ple of weeks be­fore.

This in­ci­dent came to light in an al­co­hol li­cense re­newal for Silk in June of that year. Among those on the li­cense com­mit­tee, East Side Ald. Nik Ko­vac was not happy and grilled both Fer­raro and his lawyer Michael Whit­comb about it.

“If this was a bar in a neigh­bor­hood, we’d have a room full of neigh­bors talk­ing about this in­ci­dent and how they don’t feel safe,” Ko­vac said. “They have at­tack dogs and guns all be­cause of bar em­ploy­ees.”

Fer­raro, dressed in a gray dark suit and sway­ing a bit ner­vously, ex­plained that all em­ploy­ees in­volved were im­me­di­ately ter­mi­nated, but that didn’t ap­pease Ko­vac, who moved to sus­pend the club’s liquor li­cense. Ko­vac’s mo­tion failed and Silk’s li­cense was re­newed with a warn­ing.

Though im­por­tant, safety isn’t the pri­mary con­cern of the dancers – they’re here for the money.

“It gives me fi­nan­cial free­dom,” says one dancer, a mother of two who sub­tly but re­peat­edly tried to en­tice me into a lap dance. “With the money I make here work­ing two or three good nights when it’s busy, I can af­ford to spend the rest of the week with my kids. But I want to move on be­fore my kids get [old enough] to know I do this.”

Fer­raro says he has no trou­ble find­ing dancers. The night I’m there, two au­di­tioned, were hired on the spot and worked the rest of the night. “What other job at 18 years old can you make be­tween $100 and $1,000 a night? I can’t think where else you can make money like that where it’s le­gal,” he says.

Of the money the dancers make, a bit goes back to the club. Like your hair stylist who rents a chair at the sa­lon, the dancers are in­de­pen­dent con­trac­tors and pay a per­for­mance fee on a slid­ing scale. The ear­lier they come in, the less they pay. Per­for­mance fees can range from about $15 to $50 per night, they tell me. And of the $20 lap dances, the dancers keep $15.

The real pay­day for dancers, how­ever, isn’t on stage or the lap dances – it’s in the su­per-se­cluded “cham­pagne rooms” that sit off to the side and above the main stage area. It’s there where pa­trons with re­ally deep pock­ets, such as trav­el­ing CEOs or sports stars, drop thou­sands of dol­lars in mere hours.

As you might ex­pect, drinks at Silk are some­what pricey. Bot­tles of beer will run you around $5 or more, and cock­tails are be­tween $6 and $8. “Sure it’s a bit more, but that helps keep the riffraff out,” says a bar­tender.

And pa­trons are will­ing to pay it. “I don’t mind pay­ing the cover or the drinks be­ing more,” says one bald­ing, mid­dle-aged and mar­ried cus­tomer as he takes a drag off a New­port cig­a­rette in the en­closed court­yard area out­side. “It’s like a spe­cial oc­ca­sion to get a night out here. My friend’s wife took his kids and that never hap­pens, so we’re here. The views are worth it,” he says, adding a warn­ing: “But bring plenty of cash be­cause the ATM fee is $10.”

As we’re about to head in­side, a man in his mid-20s passes us to re­join his friends out­side. They scream “BRODY!” as he walks up in recog­ni­tion of his re­turn from a lap dance. Asked if the spe­cial treat­ment he got was worth the cost, Brody, who’s blush­ing a bit, replies, “Oh yeah, def­i­nitely.”

The ex­tra costs and style of en­ter­tain­ment aren’t the only dif­fer­ences be­tween Silk and other night­clubs. There are dif­fer­ent rules here. For one, there are no pho­tos taken in­side the club, as the DJ an­nounces reg­u­larly. An­other is that women, even a group of them, can’t come in with­out male coun­ter­parts.

“Some women want to come in and they’re just look­ing to have a good time,” says gen­eral man­ager Perry Welk. “But there are also other women who come in look­ing for their hus­bands be­cause they think he’s do­ing some­thing he shouldn’t be do­ing. So, we ask that the fe­male cus­tomers who come in are es­corted by a male com­pan­ion.”

Also, while they’re en­cour­aged to get to know cus­tomers, dancers can­not give out their phone num­bers. For­mer Silk dancer Marta Maria Mal­don­ado learned that rule the hard way and was fired for vi­o­lat­ing it in Novem­ber 2016 af­ter three years at the club.

She says she would give out her num­ber spar­ingly and only to draw in busi­ness. For those who she had num­bers for, “when it was slow, I would text them to come visit and they would come,” says the mother of two who now takes her act to Chicago and Mi­ami.

AF­TER BE­ING DE­NIED LI­CENSES FOR liquor and nude danc­ing at a cou­ple of dif­fer­ent lo­ca­tions, Fer­raro filed his first law­suit against the city in 2010.

As that law­suit made its way through court, he and his part­ners pressed on, ap­ply­ing for new li­censes at new lo­ca­tions, only to again and again be re­buffed by the coun­cil’s li­cens­ing com­mit­tee. Coun­cil mem­bers cited strong op­po­si­tion from res­i­dents and busi­ness own­ers at hours-long pro­posal hear­ings for their con­tin­ued re­fusals.

While the ini­tial lit­i­ga­tion was still in process, Fer­raro filed an­other law­suit in 2012, with sim­i­lar rea­son­ing, over the new­est set of li­cense ap­pli­ca­tion de­nials. His ar­gu­ment in the law­suits is that the city’s con­stant de­nials in­fringe on his First Amend­ment and civil rights to open a busi­ness of his choos­ing.

In 2015, a fed­eral judge ruled in the first law­suit that Mil­wau­kee’s or­di­nance was un­con­sti­tu­tional, and a jury awarded the Silk part­ners $435,000 in dam­ages. Af­ter ne­go­ti­a­tions over at­tor­neys’ fees, the City of Mil­wau­kee cut a check for about $968,000 to Fer­raro’s team.

The deputy at­tor­ney de­fend­ing the City of Mil­wau­kee, Adam Stephens, says the or­di­nances at is­sue in Fer­raro’s first law­suit were to blame for the loss. “It was a com­pletely an­ti­quated or­di­nance that re­ally wasn’t used in any sub­stan­tive way,” says Stephens, adding that in 2012 the city re-wrote and up­dated its or­di­nances and he’s cer­tain the city will pre­vail against the se­cond law­suit.

At the pub­lic hear­ings, con­cerns from the pub­lic about Fer­raro’s club li­cense ap­pli­ca­tions have cen­tered on “neg­a­tive sec­ondary ef­fects [a club may bring], like traf­fic, park­ing, crowd con­trol, trash, noise, lit­ter,” says Stephens. Fer­raro is op­ti­mistic he’ll some­day open a Silk lo­ca­tion in Down­town Mil­wau­kee but knows if and when that hap­pens, the club will be un­der close watch.

“If some­one slips on a ba­nana peel a block away, we’ll prob­a­bly get blamed for it,” he says. “We know go­ing in that we have to run it clean, and we’re not scared of that be­cause that’s what we do, that’s how we run all of our clubs.”

Among the al­der­men cit­ing res­i­dent and busi­ness con­cerns for not al­low­ing a Down­town strip club, there re­mains one who be­lieves the city should – and will even­tu­ally – al­low it.

“A Down­town club is go­ing to hap­pen even­tu­ally, it’s just a mat­ter of when. I think the is­sue right now is who’s go­ing to run it,” says Ald. Mark Borkowski, who took of­fice af­ter both law­suits were filed and adds that he would’ve voted in fa­vor of al­low­ing a Down­town club run by Fer­raro. “Jon and his team clearly had the in­side track be­cause of a lot of leg­work that they all have done and they have Silk … but things have changed.”

THOSE “THINGS” THAT ALD. BORKOWSKI IS re­fer­ring to are last year’s news re­ports that Fer­raro was al­legedly con­nected to – and even pos­si­bly in­dicted in – a money laun­der­ing case in Cal­i­for­nia.

Ac­cord­ing to sto­ries in the Mil­wau­kee Jour­nal Sen­tinel in Au­gust 2016, Fer­raro’s cell phone mes­sages were tracked and he was in­dicted in an FBI in­ves­ti­ga­tion that con­victed a num­ber of strip club own­ers, in­clud­ing a man Fer­raro once part­nered with to open a now-closed club in Las Ve­gas. The in­ves­ti­ga­tion’s larger tar­get, the Jour­nal Sen­tinel and other me­dia re­ported, was the Rus­sian mob.

Among other things, the Jour­nal Sen­tinel ar­ti­cles spec­u­lated that Fer­raro may be a de­fen­dant listed not by name but only as “un­der seal” in court doc­u­ments re­lated to the in­ves­ti­ga­tion, which was called “Rus­sian Laun­dry.” “The Jour­nal Sen­tinel could not ver­ify the de­fen­dant listed as ‘un­der seal’ is Fer­raro or de­ter­mine why his name does not ap­pear on the docket in the Cal­i­for­nia case,” one ar­ti­cle states. It goes on to say that “it’s un­clear from the records if Fer­raro was ar­rested with the oth­ers.”

Mil­wau­kee Mag­a­zine could not in­de­pen­dently ver­ify any of the claims made in the Jour­nal Sen­tinel re­ports, as the court doc­u­ments the news­pa­per cited have now been re-sealed. Fur­ther, no one in­volved in the case would dis­cuss it.

When asked if Fer­raro was in­dicted or was the de­fen­dant listed as “un­der seal,” pub­lic in­for­ma­tion of­fi­cer Abra­ham Sim­mons of the North­ern Cal­i­for­nia district U.S. At­tor­ney’s of­fice, which pros­e­cuted this case, replied, “I don’t know, and I couldn’t say even if I did.”

Sim­mons sent Mil­wau­kee Mag­a­zine the case’s court docket, a doc­u­ment track­ing the time­line of the case through court pro­ceed­ings, which showed that all of the de­fen­dants in the case, ex­cept the un­der-seal “De­fen­dant (6),” had been sen­tenced. When asked if or when the case would be con­cluded, Sim­mons replied, “[It] looks like it’s al­most done.” Later calls to Sim­mons to in­quire fur­ther about the case were not re­turned.

Fer­raro de­nies any in­volve­ment and wishes the whole thing would dis­ap­pear. “I re­ally don’t want to talk about that at all. I don’t want to re­visit that,” he says. “It’s caused a lot of headaches and prob­lems and calls from peo­ple – banks call­ing me – and look, I’m not in­dicted.”

“Pretty much, I had a club in Ve­gas with a part­ner and the part­ner got in trou­ble and they kind of played some games and dragged my name through a bunch of shit,” he con­tin­ues. “They men­tioned my name but it’s my [for­mer] part­ner [who] is the one who got in­dicted and is the one who’s in prison right now.”

When pressed for more de­tails, Fer­raro ends the con­ver­sa­tion, cit­ing pos­si­ble forth­com­ing lit­i­ga­tion in­volv­ing the case or news­pa­per ar­ti­cles. “My at­tor­ney is work­ing on it,” he says, re­fus­ing to ex­plain fur­ther.

As far as the money-laun­der­ing case af­fect­ing Fer­raro’s fu­ture Down­town club ap­pli­ca­tions, deputy city at­tor­ney Stephens says only a con­vic­tion could af­fect li­censes and re­newals. “An ar­rest or a charge is not suf­fi­cient to deny a li­cense,” he says.

FER­RARO OF­TEN FINDS THE NEED to blow off a lit­tle steam, and tries to hit the gym for kick­box­ing prac­tice al­most ev­ery day.

“It gets your mind off things for awhile to get in the ring,” he says. “I’ll do some spar­ring [and] box­ing to clear my head.”

Away from the flesh and noise of his busi­ness life, he shares a $760,000 house in the Tay­lor Woods sub­di­vi­sion of Menomonee Falls with his pit bull ter­rier, Alice. In the garage, he’s got a Cadil­lac Es­calade and a Maserati.

Las Ve­gas is his fa­vorite get­away. “It’s the city that no mat­ter what you want at any time of the day, you can have it,” he says. “There is no time there.”

On some of his out-of-state trips, Fer­raro meets up with Phil Hell­muth, a world poker cham­pion he met at the card ta­bles more than a decade ago. Hell­muth de­scribes him­self as “fa­mous for never cheat­ing on my wife.” And Fer­raro? He’s “very sin­gle,” Hell­muth says. Nev­er­the­less, the two have a close bond built on friendly com­pe­ti­tion. Re­cently, Hell­muth in­vited Fer­raro to join him on the set of the high-stakes crime drama Bil­lions as an ex­tra. “Be­ing on the set for 17-hour days is not that glam­orous, and for what we got paid, you’re bet­ter off work­ing at Taco Bell,” jokes Fer­raro.

Whether it’s swim­ming races in the pool, bet­ting on golf or play­ing cards, Hell­muth says Fer­raro is a man of his word who pays his debts: “He does what he says he’s go­ing to do. If he says, ‘I’m go­ing to meet you in Chicago next week,’ he’s there.”

AS SATUR­DAY NIGHT BE­COMES Sun­day morn­ing, a count­down clock ap­pears on the stage’s main screen alert­ing the few cus­tomers left that clos­ing time draws near. The staff moves around quickly tidy­ing up, push­ing in chairs and wip­ing down ta­bles.

Hav­ing spent hours bal­anc­ing in high heels, the dancers are spent. Many of them make the rounds one more time, ask­ing the re­main­ing men for tips. Some of the dancers carry clutches or small bags bulging with cash.

“You tired, honey?” one of the dancers asks me. I nod. “Me too, but I’ve still got to drive home to Illi­nois,” she says. Of course, I ask if her long drive is worth it. “Usu­ally,” she an­swers, ad­just­ing her tight-fit­ting, bright pink bra and match­ing un­der­wear. She’s clearly ready to change into some­thing more com­fort­able. “It wasn’t too busy tonight, but other nights will make up for it.”

As I close up my note­book and take one more glance around, she gives me a wink. “Make sure you come back soon,” she says. “And bring your friends.”

Jon Fer­raro in Silk Ex­otic, the busi­ness he knows best, tak­ing a brief break

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