“What’s the password?” a man asks, peeking his head out of the windowless brick building and into the wintry air.
“Uhhh…” I stammer, caught off guard. A password? There’s a password for the Cleveland Schvitz?
This place was secretive in its past life. It didn’t allow women, for the most part. Enduring social media comments still share the “first rule of the Schvitz.” (“You do not talk about the Schvitz.”)…