It wasn't my imagination, and it's one of the most improbable gatherings ever.  It was at the grandest motel in Tucumcari, New Mexico (back then), on the north side of the main highway, and the office and reception areas were jammed with people, shoulder to shoulder,  standing room only.  The crowd included Bob Hope, three Catholic Archbishops (Chicago, Los Angeles and Santa Fe), Les Brown's Band of Renown, a few local VIPs and myself.  There was no piano for impromptu music by the band, so somebody went to the bus to fetch my guitar, and I was urged to sing, to entertain the crowd.  This was usual, as we'd just come back from nine countries in Europe, Bob's annual Christmas trip to visit the military.  The band members yelled out, "Sing Rosie's," and I didn't think that was a good idea, considering that we had three prominent clergy in the mob scene, but I looked to Bob for guidance, and he shrugged his shoulders, which I read as 'why not?'  He knew the song, even sang along on occasion. It also helped that the Archbishops all had cocktail glasses, and one was smoking a cigarette.  The stupid song was a part of my nightclub act, basically, what a jingle would sound like if bordellos were allowed to advertise on the radio: 'Just outside the County line, there's a big red neon sign, sayin' Everybody's welcome; come on in!  You can take your troubles there, and come out without a care...It's a little place called Rosie's House of Sin...'  Then the sing-along chorus: 'House of Sin, House of Sin...'  It was at this point that the three Archbishops all turned their faces to the wall, meaning, I'm certain, 'We want NO part of this evil filth!'  I quickly segued into a more acceptable ditty, but the damage had been done. I was totally embarrassed, and Bob, of course, thought it was funny.  The three Archbishops didn't turn back towards me until halfway through my replacement song.  I have come to believe their actions constituted 'Turning the other cheek...'   
It's humorous to me how far society has come in just 59 years.  I'm not certain that it's been an improvement, but my silly song is quite tame by today's standards.
Cheers! RS  

P.S. This is a good example of the ‘folk process.’ When I wrote this song in either late 1956 or early ’57, there was no VISA Card. My lyric made use of the only plastic then available: Diners’ Club Card. This was a piece of my Special Material, strictly off-limits to other performers, but as tape recorders got smaller, exclusive intellectual property virtually disappeared. My copyrights didn’t seem to matter.