From Gawker.com: "If you were a young, attractive, in-the-know Manhattan homosexual in the past 15 years, you've probably—no, definitely—been to Beige, the popular, swanky Tuesday night Gay-list party. Hate to break it to you, boys, but it's closing.
You will no longer be able to hob nob with celebrities, air kiss fashion people, or pose in your polo shirts pretending like you're too pretty to talk to anyone. The party, which started in 1994, is finally coming to an end after this coming Tuesday.
Promoter Erich Conrad, who has been throwing the party for longer than most of its attendees have been out of the closet, blames the closure on a condo building next door whose tenants have been complaining that the whispers, cackles, and cat calls from the open-air garden at B Bar are far too loud. "
Showing posts with label gay bars. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gay bars. Show all posts
Thursday, May 05, 2011
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Saturday, December 05, 2009
Landmark Pittsburgh Gay Bar - Pegaus Closes
"As Pegasus owner Scott Noxon prepares to close this Downtown landmark gay bar on Dec. 6, his fondest memories still seem to be from the time he was just a customer. In 1984, Noxon came out -- in both senses -- for the first time to Pegasus, just four years after it opened.
After work, he recalls, you could see political figures "and the heads of the largest corporations in suits meeting here.
"Nobody discussed who they saw here," he adds, sitting in a back office whose walls are still covered with signed souvenirs from American Idol contestants, adult-film stars, drag performers and Gov. Ed Rendell. "It's always been known as a safe place."
The entrance to the Liberty Avenue bar, marked only by a red Pegasus figure, leads down a set of steep stairs. But once you reach the bottom, the entire bar is visible: the alcohol-free section on the right, for the club's college-age patrons; the dance floor in the middle; and the main bar on the left, marked by a large crescent-moon statue with puckered red lips.
Expenses are "too high here, especially for a basement," Noxon says in explaining the bar's demise. Five years ago, he bought it from original owner David Morrow, who died earlier this year. Noxon also owns the North Side's Eagle, another fixture in the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) community here. The Eagle was closed temporarily over the summer.
"It was always a cause," he says of Pegasus's spot in local gay history. "But from what I see, we don't need it any more. We asked for acceptance. We got it." Numerous other bars and clubs in town welcome a gay clientele, he points out, and "The Internet has taken a bunch of our customers" as well. Still, the decision to close "was tough -- Rodney and I shed some tears over it."
Manager Rodney DeCecchis, the bar's longest employee at 15 years, isn't so sure places like Pegasus have become obsolete. "It's been a great place for youth" to come out and to meet other LGBT people, he says. "Seeing this place, hearing about it, has helped a lot of people," he adds.
"It was my first gay bar, from when I came out -- 1993," says Shawn Collins, who has been a DJ here since 2001. "When people from out of town think of a gay bar in Pittsburgh, they all know Pegasus. It's always everybody's first bar."
Pegasus has also been the first choice of local nonprofits trying to reach young LGBT people to promote a cause.
"Every new organization that would spring up would come to the bars and say, 'Would you donate to this? Would you donate to that?'" says Jim Fischerkeller, who began volunteering with Downtown's Gay and Lesbian Community Center in the 1970s, when it was just a phone line in someone's home, and was its chairperson from 2000 through 2005. "In the early days, I felt that the bar owners made a lot of money off of our community, and I thought they ought to give back. They certainly did." Pegasus in particular, he says, "had many shows [that] were fundraisers for different gay and lesbian organizations."
Most crucially, the Pitt Men's Study began its investigation into the causes and effects of AIDS in 1984 by recruiting male subjects from local gay bars, including Pegasus.
"Along with the other bars, it was a key player in getting AIDS research going in the city," says Anthony Silvestre, who was hired that year to head the recruitment effort and is today co-investigator of the study. "Maybe more important, it had a key role in education" about AIDS here before local officials got involved, he adds. "It was also at Pegasus that the first organizing committee was formed for the Pittsburgh AIDS Task Force" in 1985. He calls it the movement's "Independence Hall."
Today, Lyndsey Sickler uses Pegasus to offer oral HIV testing, free condoms and safe-sex advice to 18- to 25-year-olds as part of the LGBT organization Persad's Youth Empowerment Project. She's been at the bar twice a month since 1997. "Pegasus has been a staple venue for outreach services," she says. Noxon and DeCecchis, as well as original owner Morrow, "have always been willing to help out nonprofits, and the drag community."
"Any time we lose a site where kids gather, it's a loss to the program," says Persad head Betty Hill.
Pegasus' closing is a loss to Pittsburgh too, says Pittsburgh Cultural Trust spokesperson Veronica Corpuz. "They were a great asset in the Cultural District," she says.
Noxon and DeCecchis didn't always feel entirely welcome, they say. The Trust bought their building in 2003, replacing the street-level Condom World and an adult bookstore with Space art gallery. They also made Pegasus remove its large red-and-black Pegasus sign, which had hung over the sidewalk for years.
"Our sign at one point was quite famous," says DeCecchis. "We get 20, 30 phone calls a night: 'We can't find you. What happened to your sign?'"
"This has been tough to run a business without any way to advertise that you're here," adds Noxon. The Cultural Trust "said they wanted to sterilize -- I think they said sanitize -- the area" from its seamier days. (Corpuz says she doesn't know the history of the sign's removal.) Today, Space's smaller sign hangs from Pegasus's former signpost. "And [Space pays] no rent," Noxon says. "That was sort of a slap in the face to me."
Mostly, though, the good memories are all around them -- like the old sign, which now hangs in the bar.
"There's three giant Rubbermaid containers of shows and contests we had here, on VHS tapes," Noxon says. "It'd be awesome if we could find Christina Aguilera on one of them." Barroom legend has it that the pop star performed at Pegasus before her 1999 breakout album, though details are hard to substantiate.
Noxon plans to bring down the sign for The Staircase Lounge -- the place's name before Pegasus -- and display it inside during the bar's last week. He marvels at the gay celebrities who joined the crowd or performed here through the years, such as drag icon Divine, made famous in John Waters' movies.
"We had Rufus Wainwright here as a customer" after a 2008 concert, recalls DeCecchis. "It was fabulous."
"I don't think there'll be another bar like it," says doorman Terry Price, whose longevity at Pegasus rivals that of DeCecchis. "It always had a good cruising pattern" -- especially because the entire floorplan is visible the moment customers descend the stairs.
"It was like going to Hell," he says affectionately. "We were all having fun in Hell."
URL for this story: http://www.pittsburghcitypaper.wshttp://www.pittsburghcitypaper.ws/gyrobase/Content?oid=oid%3A72371"
After work, he recalls, you could see political figures "and the heads of the largest corporations in suits meeting here.
"Nobody discussed who they saw here," he adds, sitting in a back office whose walls are still covered with signed souvenirs from American Idol contestants, adult-film stars, drag performers and Gov. Ed Rendell. "It's always been known as a safe place."
The entrance to the Liberty Avenue bar, marked only by a red Pegasus figure, leads down a set of steep stairs. But once you reach the bottom, the entire bar is visible: the alcohol-free section on the right, for the club's college-age patrons; the dance floor in the middle; and the main bar on the left, marked by a large crescent-moon statue with puckered red lips.
Expenses are "too high here, especially for a basement," Noxon says in explaining the bar's demise. Five years ago, he bought it from original owner David Morrow, who died earlier this year. Noxon also owns the North Side's Eagle, another fixture in the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender (LGBT) community here. The Eagle was closed temporarily over the summer.
"It was always a cause," he says of Pegasus's spot in local gay history. "But from what I see, we don't need it any more. We asked for acceptance. We got it." Numerous other bars and clubs in town welcome a gay clientele, he points out, and "The Internet has taken a bunch of our customers" as well. Still, the decision to close "was tough -- Rodney and I shed some tears over it."
Manager Rodney DeCecchis, the bar's longest employee at 15 years, isn't so sure places like Pegasus have become obsolete. "It's been a great place for youth" to come out and to meet other LGBT people, he says. "Seeing this place, hearing about it, has helped a lot of people," he adds.
"It was my first gay bar, from when I came out -- 1993," says Shawn Collins, who has been a DJ here since 2001. "When people from out of town think of a gay bar in Pittsburgh, they all know Pegasus. It's always everybody's first bar."
Pegasus has also been the first choice of local nonprofits trying to reach young LGBT people to promote a cause.
"Every new organization that would spring up would come to the bars and say, 'Would you donate to this? Would you donate to that?'" says Jim Fischerkeller, who began volunteering with Downtown's Gay and Lesbian Community Center in the 1970s, when it was just a phone line in someone's home, and was its chairperson from 2000 through 2005. "In the early days, I felt that the bar owners made a lot of money off of our community, and I thought they ought to give back. They certainly did." Pegasus in particular, he says, "had many shows [that] were fundraisers for different gay and lesbian organizations."
Most crucially, the Pitt Men's Study began its investigation into the causes and effects of AIDS in 1984 by recruiting male subjects from local gay bars, including Pegasus.
"Along with the other bars, it was a key player in getting AIDS research going in the city," says Anthony Silvestre, who was hired that year to head the recruitment effort and is today co-investigator of the study. "Maybe more important, it had a key role in education" about AIDS here before local officials got involved, he adds. "It was also at Pegasus that the first organizing committee was formed for the Pittsburgh AIDS Task Force" in 1985. He calls it the movement's "Independence Hall."
Today, Lyndsey Sickler uses Pegasus to offer oral HIV testing, free condoms and safe-sex advice to 18- to 25-year-olds as part of the LGBT organization Persad's Youth Empowerment Project. She's been at the bar twice a month since 1997. "Pegasus has been a staple venue for outreach services," she says. Noxon and DeCecchis, as well as original owner Morrow, "have always been willing to help out nonprofits, and the drag community."
"Any time we lose a site where kids gather, it's a loss to the program," says Persad head Betty Hill.
Pegasus' closing is a loss to Pittsburgh too, says Pittsburgh Cultural Trust spokesperson Veronica Corpuz. "They were a great asset in the Cultural District," she says.
Noxon and DeCecchis didn't always feel entirely welcome, they say. The Trust bought their building in 2003, replacing the street-level Condom World and an adult bookstore with Space art gallery. They also made Pegasus remove its large red-and-black Pegasus sign, which had hung over the sidewalk for years.
"Our sign at one point was quite famous," says DeCecchis. "We get 20, 30 phone calls a night: 'We can't find you. What happened to your sign?'"
"This has been tough to run a business without any way to advertise that you're here," adds Noxon. The Cultural Trust "said they wanted to sterilize -- I think they said sanitize -- the area" from its seamier days. (Corpuz says she doesn't know the history of the sign's removal.) Today, Space's smaller sign hangs from Pegasus's former signpost. "And [Space pays] no rent," Noxon says. "That was sort of a slap in the face to me."
Mostly, though, the good memories are all around them -- like the old sign, which now hangs in the bar.
"There's three giant Rubbermaid containers of shows and contests we had here, on VHS tapes," Noxon says. "It'd be awesome if we could find Christina Aguilera on one of them." Barroom legend has it that the pop star performed at Pegasus before her 1999 breakout album, though details are hard to substantiate.
Noxon plans to bring down the sign for The Staircase Lounge -- the place's name before Pegasus -- and display it inside during the bar's last week. He marvels at the gay celebrities who joined the crowd or performed here through the years, such as drag icon Divine, made famous in John Waters' movies.
"We had Rufus Wainwright here as a customer" after a 2008 concert, recalls DeCecchis. "It was fabulous."
"I don't think there'll be another bar like it," says doorman Terry Price, whose longevity at Pegasus rivals that of DeCecchis. "It always had a good cruising pattern" -- especially because the entire floorplan is visible the moment customers descend the stairs.
"It was like going to Hell," he says affectionately. "We were all having fun in Hell."
URL for this story: http://www.pittsburghcitypaper.wshttp://www.pittsburghcitypaper.ws/gyrobase/Content?oid=oid%3A72371"
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Hanky Code for iphones
From Towleroad.com: "Twenty years after Keith Haring wrote in his journal that AIDS had marked the end of street pick-ups and seven years after Manhunt began, cruising is making a comeback in New York. A new breed of young gays I spoke to last week say they’re learning about the look-back, the stop, the double-look back, and the approach all over again. On the heels of this news comes word that the hanky code, the popular 70’s phenomenon where gay men placed one or more colored handkerchiefs in their left or right back pockets to indicate sexual preference, has been having a resurgence on the West Coast. Now Jonathan Leach and Karl Burkart, two entrepreneurs from California, have created an application for your iPhone that creates a virtual hanky that you can stick in your back pocket. I spoke to Jonathan last week to find out if this is the next wave in technological gay sex advancements, or a step in the wrong direction.
BUTT: How did you first get interested in the Hanky Code?
Jonathan: When I moved to Atlanta in 2004 there was a gay bay there called Fierce. I knew the owners and we had this fantastic group of friends that would go there Thursday and Friday nights. We got together and decided we were going to take back the hanky code. So we made posters with a graph of the hanky code explaining what all the colors meant and bought a ton of hankies and handed them out. The idea was that you would grab a person and mix and match your hankies and have fun. We ended up having hanky code night almost every Thursday for quite a while. They were just a lot of fun.
And this led to you creating the iPhone application?
Yeah, I tend to keep the bar flyers and also any posters and everything from the Hanky Code nights. One day I was taking a shower and I got out of the shower and I was looking at the wall and I saw the hanky code poster and I had just bought the iPhone. And I thought ‘I wonder if there’s any app for the hanky code?’ I went into my bedroom typed hanky code into the iTunes search and it showed up that there wasn’t a hanky code app. So I started thinking that maybe it was something I wanted to develop. I got together with my friend Karl and we spent the weekend just planning it out.
How does it work? Is it like Grindr?
Not really. Suppose you were at a bar and you saw someone with a real hanky in their back pocket, you could just pull up the app real quick, click on the color and it would give you the meaning. The app also will light up your screen with a picture of whatever hanky you are so the iPhone actually becomes the hanky. If you’re at a coffee shop or a restaurant somewhere and you’re working on your computer you can have your iPhone to the left or to the right of your computer or your coffee and guys walk by and the notice it and they’re like ‘hmm.’
How many different options/ colors are there in the Hanky Code?
The color options are limitless and go into things ranging from car keys to doilies. To start with the first version though, we selected about thirty or so of our favorite colors to get people use to it.
Can you explain a little bit of the history of the hanky code?
Oh it has a rich history. The hanky code began in the mid-to-late nineteenth century with male miners and cowboys in San Francisco who, because of a shortage of women to dance with, were forced to dance with other men, and so they used hankies in their back pocket to say that they would dance the male or female role in these square dances. Then it got picked up by gay men again in the 70’s and re-appropriated as a secret sex code. It was a way of putting yourself out there but in a safe category so that that straight people and police and the people that would be out to harm you wouldn’t understand it. It was a very important step in coming out of the closet.
So why bring it back now? Doesn’t having a secret code when people are coming out at more rapid rates kind of go backwards a little?
I think gay culture is going back into the closet, but more of a digital closet. With an app like this, people see the phone to the left or the right of you, they see your face, you know they understand the color or they can look it up. You’re not back in that digital closet. You’re not on Manhunt or somewhere looking at profiles in the privacy of your home. You’re out and you’re seen.
But with the hanky code, it seems to narrow down what sexual options are out there, and place walls in between different types of sexual fetishes. How will people who have multiple fetishes and desires be able to use the Hanky Code?
I don’t see it as categorizing preference at all. The hanky code offers the freedom of adding anything you can stuff into your pocket or tie around your neck to establish a preference. In the case of wanting to look for more than one thing, stuff your pockets as full as you want and advertise.. I think that most gay men can narrow it down to a few things in a pinch, and if they need more.. I guess they will just have to find jeans with a lot of back pockets.
Do you have any memorable hanky experiences of your own to share with us?
Oh yes, my favorite story about wearing hankies happened a few months after I moved to San Francisco. It was late on Sunday when I was gathering my clothes so that I could take them to the laundry mat. Before I left I noticed a pile of hankies in the corner of the closet that needed to be washed. I arrived at the laundromat, started doing my laundry, and noticed a guy across from me playing an arcade game and made eye contact. This continued well into the drying cycle and had progressed to the level of repositioning our cocks in order to offer small previews of size and length. By the time the buzzer on the dryer rang, we had already had our first conversation and were well into a foxy game of touch and stroke. Time was against me though as his laundry was finished and I still had to fold and pack mine up. Knowing this, he kindly offered to help and drive me home so that I did not have to brave the climb back up my street.
Opening the dryer, hankys of several colors and meanings flopped out and his eyes lit up. He asked which hanky was my favorite. I answered in all honesty that the brown lace worn right would be my choice. He asked what it meant. I answered ‘uncut if worn left’, ‘likes uncut if worn right’. He told me he could help me out with that given that he was Brazilian. Next thing I remember was opening the door to my apartment and showing him the way to my bedroom where I proceeded to check out his claim and indeed he pulled out one of the finest uncut specimens of the male penis I had ever seen. We romped for quite a while and as I walked him out I noticed it had just turned 1:30 a.m. and my laundry had still not been completed..
The Hanky Code iPhone app is available on Itunes, or at HankyCode.net.
Interview by Adam Baran"
BUTT: How did you first get interested in the Hanky Code?
Jonathan: When I moved to Atlanta in 2004 there was a gay bay there called Fierce. I knew the owners and we had this fantastic group of friends that would go there Thursday and Friday nights. We got together and decided we were going to take back the hanky code. So we made posters with a graph of the hanky code explaining what all the colors meant and bought a ton of hankies and handed them out. The idea was that you would grab a person and mix and match your hankies and have fun. We ended up having hanky code night almost every Thursday for quite a while. They were just a lot of fun.
And this led to you creating the iPhone application?
Yeah, I tend to keep the bar flyers and also any posters and everything from the Hanky Code nights. One day I was taking a shower and I got out of the shower and I was looking at the wall and I saw the hanky code poster and I had just bought the iPhone. And I thought ‘I wonder if there’s any app for the hanky code?’ I went into my bedroom typed hanky code into the iTunes search and it showed up that there wasn’t a hanky code app. So I started thinking that maybe it was something I wanted to develop. I got together with my friend Karl and we spent the weekend just planning it out.
How does it work? Is it like Grindr?
Not really. Suppose you were at a bar and you saw someone with a real hanky in their back pocket, you could just pull up the app real quick, click on the color and it would give you the meaning. The app also will light up your screen with a picture of whatever hanky you are so the iPhone actually becomes the hanky. If you’re at a coffee shop or a restaurant somewhere and you’re working on your computer you can have your iPhone to the left or to the right of your computer or your coffee and guys walk by and the notice it and they’re like ‘hmm.’
How many different options/ colors are there in the Hanky Code?
The color options are limitless and go into things ranging from car keys to doilies. To start with the first version though, we selected about thirty or so of our favorite colors to get people use to it.
Can you explain a little bit of the history of the hanky code?
Oh it has a rich history. The hanky code began in the mid-to-late nineteenth century with male miners and cowboys in San Francisco who, because of a shortage of women to dance with, were forced to dance with other men, and so they used hankies in their back pocket to say that they would dance the male or female role in these square dances. Then it got picked up by gay men again in the 70’s and re-appropriated as a secret sex code. It was a way of putting yourself out there but in a safe category so that that straight people and police and the people that would be out to harm you wouldn’t understand it. It was a very important step in coming out of the closet.
So why bring it back now? Doesn’t having a secret code when people are coming out at more rapid rates kind of go backwards a little?
I think gay culture is going back into the closet, but more of a digital closet. With an app like this, people see the phone to the left or the right of you, they see your face, you know they understand the color or they can look it up. You’re not back in that digital closet. You’re not on Manhunt or somewhere looking at profiles in the privacy of your home. You’re out and you’re seen.
But with the hanky code, it seems to narrow down what sexual options are out there, and place walls in between different types of sexual fetishes. How will people who have multiple fetishes and desires be able to use the Hanky Code?
I don’t see it as categorizing preference at all. The hanky code offers the freedom of adding anything you can stuff into your pocket or tie around your neck to establish a preference. In the case of wanting to look for more than one thing, stuff your pockets as full as you want and advertise.. I think that most gay men can narrow it down to a few things in a pinch, and if they need more.. I guess they will just have to find jeans with a lot of back pockets.
Do you have any memorable hanky experiences of your own to share with us?
Oh yes, my favorite story about wearing hankies happened a few months after I moved to San Francisco. It was late on Sunday when I was gathering my clothes so that I could take them to the laundry mat. Before I left I noticed a pile of hankies in the corner of the closet that needed to be washed. I arrived at the laundromat, started doing my laundry, and noticed a guy across from me playing an arcade game and made eye contact. This continued well into the drying cycle and had progressed to the level of repositioning our cocks in order to offer small previews of size and length. By the time the buzzer on the dryer rang, we had already had our first conversation and were well into a foxy game of touch and stroke. Time was against me though as his laundry was finished and I still had to fold and pack mine up. Knowing this, he kindly offered to help and drive me home so that I did not have to brave the climb back up my street.
Opening the dryer, hankys of several colors and meanings flopped out and his eyes lit up. He asked which hanky was my favorite. I answered in all honesty that the brown lace worn right would be my choice. He asked what it meant. I answered ‘uncut if worn left’, ‘likes uncut if worn right’. He told me he could help me out with that given that he was Brazilian. Next thing I remember was opening the door to my apartment and showing him the way to my bedroom where I proceeded to check out his claim and indeed he pulled out one of the finest uncut specimens of the male penis I had ever seen. We romped for quite a while and as I walked him out I noticed it had just turned 1:30 a.m. and my laundry had still not been completed..
The Hanky Code iPhone app is available on Itunes, or at HankyCode.net.
Interview by Adam Baran"
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Atlanta Eagle Bar Patrons Sue Police Over Raid
From Towleroad.com: "On behalf of 19 individuals forcibly searched and detained by Atlanta police on September 10 at the Atlanta Eagle gay bar, Lambda Legal is suing the City, the Chief of Police, and 48 officers, the group said in a press release:
"Dan Grossman, co–counsel in the case, has been working with victims of the raid since that night. "I’ve listened to dozens of stories from patrons who were mistreated by police at the Atlanta Eagle that night," said Grossman. 'The Atlanta Police Department is not above the law. They do not get to search and detain people who are not suspected of any crime.' On September 10, the Atlanta Police Department dispatched about twenty to thirty officers to the Atlanta Eagle, including its 'Red Dog Unit' dressed in SWAT team gear, but inside the bar the APD found no public sex, no drugs, or illegal weapons. During the raid, patrons of the bar were forced to lie facedown on the floor while background checks were run on everyone. Eagle bar patrons heard antigay slurs; were forced to lay in spilled beer and broken glass; and one was forced to lie on the floor even though he had injured his back in the Iraq War. Not a single patron was charged with any crime."
Said Supervising Senior Staff Attorney Greg Nevins: "The illegal activity going on in the Atlanta Eagle that night was committed by the APD. If it is APD procedure for elderly men and wounded veterans to be thrown to the floor and harassed simply for being in a bar having a drink after work, then the APD should change its procedures."
"Dan Grossman, co–counsel in the case, has been working with victims of the raid since that night. "I’ve listened to dozens of stories from patrons who were mistreated by police at the Atlanta Eagle that night," said Grossman. 'The Atlanta Police Department is not above the law. They do not get to search and detain people who are not suspected of any crime.' On September 10, the Atlanta Police Department dispatched about twenty to thirty officers to the Atlanta Eagle, including its 'Red Dog Unit' dressed in SWAT team gear, but inside the bar the APD found no public sex, no drugs, or illegal weapons. During the raid, patrons of the bar were forced to lie facedown on the floor while background checks were run on everyone. Eagle bar patrons heard antigay slurs; were forced to lay in spilled beer and broken glass; and one was forced to lie on the floor even though he had injured his back in the Iraq War. Not a single patron was charged with any crime."
Said Supervising Senior Staff Attorney Greg Nevins: "The illegal activity going on in the Atlanta Eagle that night was committed by the APD. If it is APD procedure for elderly men and wounded veterans to be thrown to the floor and harassed simply for being in a bar having a drink after work, then the APD should change its procedures."
Monday, November 16, 2009
Maine's Oldest Gay Bar Closes
October 10, 2009 from Mainetoday.com:
"LEWISTON -- As a gay teenager and young adult, Michael Martin had few places to turn to in Lewiston.
Sure, there were support groups and other organizations for young gay people, but they offered just once-a-week or once-a-month meetings. Not real camaraderie. Not community.
However, the Sportsman's Athletic Club did.
"When I was 15, I would hang out in front of the bar, which wasn't a good thing to do," said Martin, now 36 and manager of the place. "But it was the only spot. The only spot. And once I did turn 21, I was welcomed with open arms. They made you feel comfortable about yourself."
For more than 30 years, the gay bar on Bates Street has been an important part of life for many in the gay community. It was a place where they could find friends, dance with a same-sex partner without worry, be themselves. Outside the bar they might be harassed, bullied, told they were going to hell. At Sportsman's they were accepted.
And because of Sportsman's, the wider community started to accept them as well.
"I think it paved the way," Martin said.
But all of that will end tonight. Sportsman's, the longest running gay bar in the state, according to the former owner, is closing.
"We're calling it the curtain call," Martin said. "The end of an era to a legendary bar."
When Sportsman's opened on Lincoln Street in 1958 it was originally geared toward straight people. Roland Blais turned it into a gay bar when he bought it in the mid-1970s.
"They needed something gay up here," he said. "It was in demand. If something's in demand, you go for it for business. There's no place for gays to go. That way they can go to the gay bar and be themselves."
He moved the bar to Canal Street, then Bates Street. Over the years the bar became known for its mix of people -- both gay and straight -- and for both its cozy atmosphere and vibrant dance music.
"It's always been pretty much a homey type bar, very comfortable setting," Martin said. "But it can become very crazy, too. Usually after 9 o'clock at night when the younger crowd comes out and they want to dance and party. That's when things pick up and get loud."
But even early on, Sportsman's was more than just a place to grab a quiet drink or party to re-mixed pop music. The bar represented a community whose members, led by Blais, helped raise money for AIDS, took canoe trips, played volleyball and climbed Tumbledown mountain. In the early 1990s, Blais helped fight for equal rights for homosexuals in the city.
"This is America. This is supposed to be equal," Blais said.
In more recent years, bar patrons have traveled en masse to gay pride parades.
About four years ago Blais sold the bar to Marc Mason, who also owns the Acme Social Club in Lewiston. Blais had run Sportsman's for about 30 years. It was time, he said, to retire.
"I was burned out. I'm 71 years old. I'm not young anymore," he said.
Martin has managed the bar for the last four years. He said business has dropped over the years, that the economy has affected Sportsman's. The business has been sold. He believes the building is slated to be torn down.
Mason could not be reached for comment Friday.
The bar's closing was at first kept quiet. Martin said he wasn't comfortable with that, so he recently began telling patrons.
"These people have been dedicated to this place much too long to be shut out to the truth," Martin said. "I said 'No, enough's enough.' I think it's time they know so they can prepare themselves."
Martin expects a large crowd for the last night tonight, including a few patrons who started coming when Blais opened the place as a gay bar -- and are still regulars.
"I call them our ancients, and we treat them like gold," Martin said.
The bar will open at 6 p.m., an hour early, to accommodate the crowd. A New York DJ, who worked at the club in the 1980s, will perform that night. The bar will also host various performers, including its popular drag queens.
The bar will close at 1 a.m.
"It's going to be emotional," Martin said.
Martin believes homosexuals are more accepted now than they used to be -- and he credits Sportsman's for some of that -- but he also believes there's still a need for a place where young gay people can gather.
"One thing I've noticed, when one club closes another club usually opens. I can't say for fact that one will, but I'm hoping and praying for their sake," he said. "
"LEWISTON -- As a gay teenager and young adult, Michael Martin had few places to turn to in Lewiston.
Sure, there were support groups and other organizations for young gay people, but they offered just once-a-week or once-a-month meetings. Not real camaraderie. Not community.
However, the Sportsman's Athletic Club did.
"When I was 15, I would hang out in front of the bar, which wasn't a good thing to do," said Martin, now 36 and manager of the place. "But it was the only spot. The only spot. And once I did turn 21, I was welcomed with open arms. They made you feel comfortable about yourself."
For more than 30 years, the gay bar on Bates Street has been an important part of life for many in the gay community. It was a place where they could find friends, dance with a same-sex partner without worry, be themselves. Outside the bar they might be harassed, bullied, told they were going to hell. At Sportsman's they were accepted.
And because of Sportsman's, the wider community started to accept them as well.
"I think it paved the way," Martin said.
But all of that will end tonight. Sportsman's, the longest running gay bar in the state, according to the former owner, is closing.
"We're calling it the curtain call," Martin said. "The end of an era to a legendary bar."
When Sportsman's opened on Lincoln Street in 1958 it was originally geared toward straight people. Roland Blais turned it into a gay bar when he bought it in the mid-1970s.
"They needed something gay up here," he said. "It was in demand. If something's in demand, you go for it for business. There's no place for gays to go. That way they can go to the gay bar and be themselves."
He moved the bar to Canal Street, then Bates Street. Over the years the bar became known for its mix of people -- both gay and straight -- and for both its cozy atmosphere and vibrant dance music.
"It's always been pretty much a homey type bar, very comfortable setting," Martin said. "But it can become very crazy, too. Usually after 9 o'clock at night when the younger crowd comes out and they want to dance and party. That's when things pick up and get loud."
But even early on, Sportsman's was more than just a place to grab a quiet drink or party to re-mixed pop music. The bar represented a community whose members, led by Blais, helped raise money for AIDS, took canoe trips, played volleyball and climbed Tumbledown mountain. In the early 1990s, Blais helped fight for equal rights for homosexuals in the city.
"This is America. This is supposed to be equal," Blais said.
In more recent years, bar patrons have traveled en masse to gay pride parades.
About four years ago Blais sold the bar to Marc Mason, who also owns the Acme Social Club in Lewiston. Blais had run Sportsman's for about 30 years. It was time, he said, to retire.
"I was burned out. I'm 71 years old. I'm not young anymore," he said.
Martin has managed the bar for the last four years. He said business has dropped over the years, that the economy has affected Sportsman's. The business has been sold. He believes the building is slated to be torn down.
Mason could not be reached for comment Friday.
The bar's closing was at first kept quiet. Martin said he wasn't comfortable with that, so he recently began telling patrons.
"These people have been dedicated to this place much too long to be shut out to the truth," Martin said. "I said 'No, enough's enough.' I think it's time they know so they can prepare themselves."
Martin expects a large crowd for the last night tonight, including a few patrons who started coming when Blais opened the place as a gay bar -- and are still regulars.
"I call them our ancients, and we treat them like gold," Martin said.
The bar will open at 6 p.m., an hour early, to accommodate the crowd. A New York DJ, who worked at the club in the 1980s, will perform that night. The bar will also host various performers, including its popular drag queens.
The bar will close at 1 a.m.
"It's going to be emotional," Martin said.
Martin believes homosexuals are more accepted now than they used to be -- and he credits Sportsman's for some of that -- but he also believes there's still a need for a place where young gay people can gather.
"One thing I've noticed, when one club closes another club usually opens. I can't say for fact that one will, but I'm hoping and praying for their sake," he said. "
NPR: Gay Bars Facing a New Reality
From NPR Marketplace April 25, 2008:
"2TEXT OF STORY
KAI RYSSDAL: At this point in the recession, or slowdown, or whatever you want to call it, you're probably familiar with the term "business cycle." Business and businesses have life cycles just like everything else. Demand creates new opportunities, and then when that demand dries up businesses die.
Every year, Fortune Magazine releases a list of 10 businesses it thinks are facing extinction. Some of this year's casualties? Record stores, crop dusting and telemarketing. Oh, and gay bars, too. That one caught our eye because gay business in general is booming.
Stacey Vanek Smith has more.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
STACEY VANEK-SMITH: It's a busy weekend night at a gay bar in Los Angeles. . .
Actor Jason Dottley says gay bars don't just cater to a gay clientele anymore. The scene has become a lot more mixed.
Jason Dottley: It's an indication of open-mindedness. I think it's a sign of progress.
But that progress has a left some older gay bars sounding like this . . . [sound of ocean waves crashing].
The Boom Boom Room opened in Laguna Beach in 1947. It used to be a favorite hangout of Rock Hudson's. But today the windows of the white, art-deco facade are papered over.
Fred Karger started coming here in 1973.
Fred Karger: It's a magical place. It had a little, kind of loungey bar, and it had pool tables. They'd have this wonderful cabaret show on Wednesday nights.
The new owner plans to tear down the Boom Boom Room and build a luxury hotel.
Gay bars all over the country have met similar fates: New York's Roxy, The Avalon in Boston, The Pendulum in San Francisco. But here's the weird thing: Gay business is booming. Gay spending power in the U.S. is worth an estimated $750 billion.
So why are gay bars having so much trouble? Marketing expert Jerry McHugh says part of it is generational.
Jerry McHugh: Generation X people and Generation Y people are less concerned about gay-exclusive socialization, and they're more interested in a more-diverse environment.
McHugh says for gay boomers, bars used to function like community centers.
McHugh: When I came out it was the early 90s, and it was really helpful to go to these places.
Boston Globe writer Robert David Sullivan says a few years ago he noticed the number of gay bars in Boston had been cut in half. He says it was strange because they had been such a cornerstone of the gay social scene.
Robert David Sullivan: It was sort of structured that you could meet people that way, and you could say things and not censor yourself.
Sullivan says today young, gay men and women use the Internet, not bars, to meet people. And the older generation has graduated from late-night bar hopping to a mellow meal out.
Of course, a lot of gay bars aren't disappearing, they're just becoming more mixed. Take The Abbey in West Hollywood. It's an institution on L.A.'s gay scene. But on a weekday afternoon, there are as many straight neighborhood families as there are single gay men. Owner David Cooley says the gay-bar business model worked 10 years ago, but not anymore.
David Cooley: If you would say to me, "David, let's open up a gay bar." I wouldn't be investing.
Cooley is investing in gay-friendly bars. He's opening an Abbey in Chicago and plans to expand to other cities. He says all of the spots will be mixed -- that's where the future is.
Cooley: Once in a while, I'll get a customer say: "The Abbey's becoming so straight." And my response is: "Isn't that wonderful? Isn't that what we've been working for all these years?"
Bar owners George Butler and Randall Lambright disagree. They own the Savoy Orlando and Paradise Orlando in Florida. Butler says a mixed scene might work in places like New York and San Francisco, but in most of the country, the need for gay bars still exists.
GEORGE BUTLER: I don't think we're quite at the point where the gay clientele is comfortable sitting in a chain restaurant or bar where they can still hold hands or kiss.
Co-owner Randall Lambright says many of the older gay bars have closed because they just don't meet the high standards of gay customers anymore.
Randall Lambright: I can remember when gay bars were basically back-alley -- dark and not very inviting. And I think the clubs that are around are definitely more upscale.
Lambright says if the quality's there, the market for gay bars is still strong. He says the demand for exclusively gay spots hasn't gone away, it's just evolved.
In Los Angeles, I'm Stacey Vanek-Smith for Marketplace"
008: "
"2TEXT OF STORY
KAI RYSSDAL: At this point in the recession, or slowdown, or whatever you want to call it, you're probably familiar with the term "business cycle." Business and businesses have life cycles just like everything else. Demand creates new opportunities, and then when that demand dries up businesses die.
Every year, Fortune Magazine releases a list of 10 businesses it thinks are facing extinction. Some of this year's casualties? Record stores, crop dusting and telemarketing. Oh, and gay bars, too. That one caught our eye because gay business in general is booming.
Stacey Vanek Smith has more.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
STACEY VANEK-SMITH: It's a busy weekend night at a gay bar in Los Angeles. . .
Actor Jason Dottley says gay bars don't just cater to a gay clientele anymore. The scene has become a lot more mixed.
Jason Dottley: It's an indication of open-mindedness. I think it's a sign of progress.
But that progress has a left some older gay bars sounding like this . . . [sound of ocean waves crashing].
The Boom Boom Room opened in Laguna Beach in 1947. It used to be a favorite hangout of Rock Hudson's. But today the windows of the white, art-deco facade are papered over.
Fred Karger started coming here in 1973.
Fred Karger: It's a magical place. It had a little, kind of loungey bar, and it had pool tables. They'd have this wonderful cabaret show on Wednesday nights.
The new owner plans to tear down the Boom Boom Room and build a luxury hotel.
Gay bars all over the country have met similar fates: New York's Roxy, The Avalon in Boston, The Pendulum in San Francisco. But here's the weird thing: Gay business is booming. Gay spending power in the U.S. is worth an estimated $750 billion.
So why are gay bars having so much trouble? Marketing expert Jerry McHugh says part of it is generational.
Jerry McHugh: Generation X people and Generation Y people are less concerned about gay-exclusive socialization, and they're more interested in a more-diverse environment.
McHugh says for gay boomers, bars used to function like community centers.
McHugh: When I came out it was the early 90s, and it was really helpful to go to these places.
Boston Globe writer Robert David Sullivan says a few years ago he noticed the number of gay bars in Boston had been cut in half. He says it was strange because they had been such a cornerstone of the gay social scene.
Robert David Sullivan: It was sort of structured that you could meet people that way, and you could say things and not censor yourself.
Sullivan says today young, gay men and women use the Internet, not bars, to meet people. And the older generation has graduated from late-night bar hopping to a mellow meal out.
Of course, a lot of gay bars aren't disappearing, they're just becoming more mixed. Take The Abbey in West Hollywood. It's an institution on L.A.'s gay scene. But on a weekday afternoon, there are as many straight neighborhood families as there are single gay men. Owner David Cooley says the gay-bar business model worked 10 years ago, but not anymore.
David Cooley: If you would say to me, "David, let's open up a gay bar." I wouldn't be investing.
Cooley is investing in gay-friendly bars. He's opening an Abbey in Chicago and plans to expand to other cities. He says all of the spots will be mixed -- that's where the future is.
Cooley: Once in a while, I'll get a customer say: "The Abbey's becoming so straight." And my response is: "Isn't that wonderful? Isn't that what we've been working for all these years?"
Bar owners George Butler and Randall Lambright disagree. They own the Savoy Orlando and Paradise Orlando in Florida. Butler says a mixed scene might work in places like New York and San Francisco, but in most of the country, the need for gay bars still exists.
GEORGE BUTLER: I don't think we're quite at the point where the gay clientele is comfortable sitting in a chain restaurant or bar where they can still hold hands or kiss.
Co-owner Randall Lambright says many of the older gay bars have closed because they just don't meet the high standards of gay customers anymore.
Randall Lambright: I can remember when gay bars were basically back-alley -- dark and not very inviting. And I think the clubs that are around are definitely more upscale.
Lambright says if the quality's there, the market for gay bars is still strong. He says the demand for exclusively gay spots hasn't gone away, it's just evolved.
In Los Angeles, I'm Stacey Vanek-Smith for Marketplace"
008: "
Gay Bars Facing Losses, Attract Straight Customers
From Alaska on adn.com:
"By JULIA O'MALLEY
jomalley@adn.com
(03/21/09 00:02:01)
In Mad Myrna's drag dressing room, where a J-Lo song wound out among the wigs and gowns on a recent Friday evening, Isanoel Pinson leaned into the mirror, pursed his lips a little and smeared foundation on his forehead.
Pinson, who is in his 40s, started performing drag just after he emigrated to Anchorage from the Philippines in the early '80s. His first haunt was an old bar called the Jade Room. These days the crowds that come to his shows couldn't be more different than they were back then.
"Oh. My. God," he said, applying a ribbon of glue to a false eyelash. "Before is all like gay, gay, gay. Now would you believe? Our audience is all straight people. Couples!"
Myrna's has been home to a drag show for a decade, and straight people have long been part of the audience. But on some Friday nights lately, gay patrons have thinned dramatically, replaced by military couples, bachelorette parties and curious young professionals. It's part of a national trend.
From San Francisco to Pittsburgh, Boston to Nashville, gay bars are closing their doors and shuttering drag shows, citing lack of patrons.
There are plenty of theories why clientele is changing at Myrna's. People are making connections on the Internet. Growing social acceptance means there are few establishments were gays don't feel comfortable. Simply put, the need for gay bars is fading.
"I have this feeling now that it's like 'mission accomplished,' " said Mike Richardson, board president of the Imperial Court of All Alaska, one of the state's oldest gay organizations.
"We really don't need safety in numbers."
Myrna's had to get creative to attract new customers to fill in where the old ones used to be, said manager Jeff "Myrna" Wood. Over the last few years, that has meant retooling the drag show to appeal to a wider audience. And now the venerable gay bar depends at least in part on the dollars of straight customers to keep its doors open.
As Wood likes to say, gay or straight, "everybody's money is green."
QUEEN OF QUEENS
The clock ticks toward 9 p.m., Paige Langit arrives in the dressing room with her mother, Donna Langit, carrying bags of costumes.
Langit is 28. Lounge singer and comedienne, she's the sexy, bossy, busty co-host of the show. She's also a registered Republican with a boyfriend. She stands in front of the mirror in a pink bra, teasing her hair and caking on purple eye shadow. A queen named Mariquita squeezes in next to her, pawing through a make-up bag.
Langit is the face of the new scene. The drag show, once the exclusive domain of gay men and transgender women, has morphed into a variety show -- kinky and freaky -- with something for everyone, from burlesque to torch singing, along with a diverse stable of queens.
A singer and actress since her teens, Langit started performing at Myrna's in her early 20s after one of the drag queens saw her sing karaoke. She had a couple of gay friends in high school but had no experience with drag.
"I didn't know anything about the transgender community," she said, but enjoyed the personalities she encountered at the bar. "It was like, 'Oh great -- a group of people who like to perform.' "
Drag is mainly about exaggerated femininity, Langit says. Once she has her hair and make-up and magenta high-heels on, she feels a bit like a drag queen too.
People in the audience wonder if she's a lesbian or if she's a "real" woman. All that ambiguity is part of what makes the show interesting, she says.
SOLDIERS IN THE AUDIENCE
Lights dimmed, cocktails flowing and tables full, music pounds out of the speakers in Myrna's show hall. Scott "Daphne DoAll LaChores" Koeller, the other drag show co-host, is dressed in a red Sarah Palin-esque suit, enormous ratty blonde wig and matronly glasses. He takes the stage, warming the audience with a monologue full of double-entendre one-liners.
Then Langit makes her entrance, sashaying into the spotlight in a tight pink top and white leggings, bubble gun in hand. An old cross-dresser and a young lady-- a drag version of Regis and Kelly -- their witty, bawdy banter serves as the backbone for the show, bridging generations and sexuality.
Koeller makes a joke referencing a decades old commercial. Langit tilts her head to the side, her face blank.
"I'll YouTube it," she says.
Soon an old-time burlesque dancer in a bustier and ruffled panties weaves through the audience starting her act. Then comes the lithe, shirtless male go-go dancer. Then the Karaoke crooner in a brown v-neck sweater. The room is full of whistles and belly laughs. There's a soldier in dress uniform and his wife in the front row.
Today's audience is usually couples or single women, Wood said.
"The girls want to go see the drag queens," he said. "Women are more tolerant than guys are."
"You can always tell the straight people," says Koeller, "because they're the ones who come on time."
Iesha Jones, 32, who is not gay, has become a regular at Myrna's. She started coming years ago because she had a friend in the show. She likes that the bar doesn't have a "meat market" feel, she said.
"It's like OK, I'm here for the show," she said. "I know I'm not going to get hit on by guys."
The straight men are almost always with women. In general men who come alone are "highly questionable" as a dating prospect, she said. Though it's not entirely impossible to meet someone.
"Occasionally you get a lot of soldiers. I did meet a guy who just got back from Iraq."
Members of the older generation might raise an eyebrow that she's spending time at a gay bar, she said. But people her age don't think it's strange and most of her friends would be comfortable joining her. There are a number of bars in Anchorage with an integrated gay-straight social scene, she said.
THE NEW SHOW
Backstage not everyone is happy. But then they wouldn't be drag queens without a little drama. Pinson, affixing a 3-foot-wide Afro wig, clicks his tongue, looking at the clock. The new acts take forever. He complains in Tagalog to Joebie Fernandez, a diminutive, smooth-skinned queen, who's sorting through a tackle box of earrings. There are eye rolls all around.
The class of drag queens once at the center of the show are aging -- most are at least 40 -- and like a fading order of nuns whose convents are closing, fewer among the younger generation are stepping into their size 13 pumps.
Some worry drag has become so mainstream, it may have lost its edge, so the younger generation isn't as interested. And, with fewer bars, there's fewer places for new queens to learn the craft.
That's what makes Trevor "Ashley" Council unique. At 24, he's the youngest of the queens by at least 10 years. On his hands and knees, he's pulling shoes out of a suitcase, naming each style as he examines them: "French Whore. French Whore. Hooker Shoe."
"I'm a boy during the day and girl on Friday nights and for special events," he says.
He stands in front of the mirror in a black dress, fluffs his wig and flashes a set of perfect white teeth. He's doesn't know what gay bars used to be like but likes the way they are now.
"I think the people who go there are the kind who are straight and more accepting of gay people," he said. "It's nice to be around those kind of people."
Out on the main floor, bass from the speakers vibrates the drinks on the bar. Pinson waits off stage for her Gloria Gaynor number. Fernandez, in a leather bikini and dangling earrings, steps out to face the audience, opening a huge set of gold lamé wings into a whirl of lights.
And at least for now, the show goes on."
"By JULIA O'MALLEY
jomalley@adn.com
(03/21/09 00:02:01)
In Mad Myrna's drag dressing room, where a J-Lo song wound out among the wigs and gowns on a recent Friday evening, Isanoel Pinson leaned into the mirror, pursed his lips a little and smeared foundation on his forehead.
Pinson, who is in his 40s, started performing drag just after he emigrated to Anchorage from the Philippines in the early '80s. His first haunt was an old bar called the Jade Room. These days the crowds that come to his shows couldn't be more different than they were back then.
"Oh. My. God," he said, applying a ribbon of glue to a false eyelash. "Before is all like gay, gay, gay. Now would you believe? Our audience is all straight people. Couples!"
Myrna's has been home to a drag show for a decade, and straight people have long been part of the audience. But on some Friday nights lately, gay patrons have thinned dramatically, replaced by military couples, bachelorette parties and curious young professionals. It's part of a national trend.
From San Francisco to Pittsburgh, Boston to Nashville, gay bars are closing their doors and shuttering drag shows, citing lack of patrons.
There are plenty of theories why clientele is changing at Myrna's. People are making connections on the Internet. Growing social acceptance means there are few establishments were gays don't feel comfortable. Simply put, the need for gay bars is fading.
"I have this feeling now that it's like 'mission accomplished,' " said Mike Richardson, board president of the Imperial Court of All Alaska, one of the state's oldest gay organizations.
"We really don't need safety in numbers."
Myrna's had to get creative to attract new customers to fill in where the old ones used to be, said manager Jeff "Myrna" Wood. Over the last few years, that has meant retooling the drag show to appeal to a wider audience. And now the venerable gay bar depends at least in part on the dollars of straight customers to keep its doors open.
As Wood likes to say, gay or straight, "everybody's money is green."
QUEEN OF QUEENS
The clock ticks toward 9 p.m., Paige Langit arrives in the dressing room with her mother, Donna Langit, carrying bags of costumes.
Langit is 28. Lounge singer and comedienne, she's the sexy, bossy, busty co-host of the show. She's also a registered Republican with a boyfriend. She stands in front of the mirror in a pink bra, teasing her hair and caking on purple eye shadow. A queen named Mariquita squeezes in next to her, pawing through a make-up bag.
Langit is the face of the new scene. The drag show, once the exclusive domain of gay men and transgender women, has morphed into a variety show -- kinky and freaky -- with something for everyone, from burlesque to torch singing, along with a diverse stable of queens.
A singer and actress since her teens, Langit started performing at Myrna's in her early 20s after one of the drag queens saw her sing karaoke. She had a couple of gay friends in high school but had no experience with drag.
"I didn't know anything about the transgender community," she said, but enjoyed the personalities she encountered at the bar. "It was like, 'Oh great -- a group of people who like to perform.' "
Drag is mainly about exaggerated femininity, Langit says. Once she has her hair and make-up and magenta high-heels on, she feels a bit like a drag queen too.
People in the audience wonder if she's a lesbian or if she's a "real" woman. All that ambiguity is part of what makes the show interesting, she says.
SOLDIERS IN THE AUDIENCE
Lights dimmed, cocktails flowing and tables full, music pounds out of the speakers in Myrna's show hall. Scott "Daphne DoAll LaChores" Koeller, the other drag show co-host, is dressed in a red Sarah Palin-esque suit, enormous ratty blonde wig and matronly glasses. He takes the stage, warming the audience with a monologue full of double-entendre one-liners.
Then Langit makes her entrance, sashaying into the spotlight in a tight pink top and white leggings, bubble gun in hand. An old cross-dresser and a young lady-- a drag version of Regis and Kelly -- their witty, bawdy banter serves as the backbone for the show, bridging generations and sexuality.
Koeller makes a joke referencing a decades old commercial. Langit tilts her head to the side, her face blank.
"I'll YouTube it," she says.
Soon an old-time burlesque dancer in a bustier and ruffled panties weaves through the audience starting her act. Then comes the lithe, shirtless male go-go dancer. Then the Karaoke crooner in a brown v-neck sweater. The room is full of whistles and belly laughs. There's a soldier in dress uniform and his wife in the front row.
Today's audience is usually couples or single women, Wood said.
"The girls want to go see the drag queens," he said. "Women are more tolerant than guys are."
"You can always tell the straight people," says Koeller, "because they're the ones who come on time."
Iesha Jones, 32, who is not gay, has become a regular at Myrna's. She started coming years ago because she had a friend in the show. She likes that the bar doesn't have a "meat market" feel, she said.
"It's like OK, I'm here for the show," she said. "I know I'm not going to get hit on by guys."
The straight men are almost always with women. In general men who come alone are "highly questionable" as a dating prospect, she said. Though it's not entirely impossible to meet someone.
"Occasionally you get a lot of soldiers. I did meet a guy who just got back from Iraq."
Members of the older generation might raise an eyebrow that she's spending time at a gay bar, she said. But people her age don't think it's strange and most of her friends would be comfortable joining her. There are a number of bars in Anchorage with an integrated gay-straight social scene, she said.
THE NEW SHOW
Backstage not everyone is happy. But then they wouldn't be drag queens without a little drama. Pinson, affixing a 3-foot-wide Afro wig, clicks his tongue, looking at the clock. The new acts take forever. He complains in Tagalog to Joebie Fernandez, a diminutive, smooth-skinned queen, who's sorting through a tackle box of earrings. There are eye rolls all around.
The class of drag queens once at the center of the show are aging -- most are at least 40 -- and like a fading order of nuns whose convents are closing, fewer among the younger generation are stepping into their size 13 pumps.
Some worry drag has become so mainstream, it may have lost its edge, so the younger generation isn't as interested. And, with fewer bars, there's fewer places for new queens to learn the craft.
That's what makes Trevor "Ashley" Council unique. At 24, he's the youngest of the queens by at least 10 years. On his hands and knees, he's pulling shoes out of a suitcase, naming each style as he examines them: "French Whore. French Whore. Hooker Shoe."
"I'm a boy during the day and girl on Friday nights and for special events," he says.
He stands in front of the mirror in a black dress, fluffs his wig and flashes a set of perfect white teeth. He's doesn't know what gay bars used to be like but likes the way they are now.
"I think the people who go there are the kind who are straight and more accepting of gay people," he said. "It's nice to be around those kind of people."
Out on the main floor, bass from the speakers vibrates the drinks on the bar. Pinson waits off stage for her Gloria Gaynor number. Fernandez, in a leather bikini and dangling earrings, steps out to face the audience, opening a huge set of gold lamé wings into a whirl of lights.
And at least for now, the show goes on."
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Gay bars of Boston are disappearing, and what it says about the future of city life
From Boston Globe:
Last call
Why the gay bars of Boston are disappearing, and what it says about the future of city life
By Robert David Sullivan | December 2, 2007
THE FIRST THING I ever did to identify myself as a gay man - before coming out to a friend or relative, before putting a rainbow-flag pin on my jacket - was to walk into a gay bar. This was not so unusual in the early 1990s, when few gay men identified as such before they left high school. Some of us needed to walk around the block four or five times before finally pushing open a dimly lit, unmarked door.
At the time, there were plenty of dimly lit doors in Boston. The Napoleon Club was a piano bar near Park Square that attracted theater students and older men who left big tips on small glasses of red wine. A few blocks away, Luxor was a video bar for younger guys; nearby were Buddies (all ages) and Chaps, a dance club where dressing conservatively meant keeping your shirt on. In other parts of town, there were Sporters, a friendly Beacon Hill dive, and Playland, a Combat Zone bar known for its sketchy clientele, banged-up piano, and year-round Christmas lights. In all, there were 16 gay bars in Boston and Cambridge, according to Pink Pages directories from 1993 and 1994.
Today, that number has been cut to less than half. None of the bars I've mentioned are still in business, and most of the city's seven remaining gay-every-night bars have sparse customers for most of the week. (Lesbian bars were never numerous to begin with.) The gay population may have political clout and the right to marry in Massachusetts, but it has fewer and fewer public spaces to call its own.
The disappearance of places like Buddies and Chaps may sound like a problem limited to gay men, but it is part of a much larger trend reshaping American cities. As gay bars vanish, so go bookstores, diners, and all kinds of spaces that once allowed "blissful public congregation," as sociologist Ray Oldenburg described their function in his 1989 book "The Great Good Place."
In New York, the Jewish deli - a staple of the city's identity - has all but vanished. In the Boston area, many of Harvard Square's bookstores, Kenmore Square's student eateries, and myriad other places that guaranteed a diverse urban experience have closed their doors, replaced by a far more uniform lineup of bank branches, chain stores, and upscale restaurants.
This change is a serious challenge to the city, which has historically been defined by the breadth and variety of its street-level experience - and the wide diversity of people it threw together. "City air makes free," a saying that dates to medieval times, was a favorite of urban-studies pioneer Jane Jacobs. But as a wide range of gay bars dwindles to a handful of survivors - and the city's diners, indie bookstores, and dive bars yield to high rents and shifting patterns of commerce - that air is becoming the province of an increasingly narrow set of people.
Oldenburg calls public gathering spots a "third place" where we can temporarily step out of our household and workplace roles. Besides taverns, he cites drugstores (the kind with soda fountains), pool halls, and barber shops as examples. But if you were a gay man in the late 20th century, the place with all the qualities of an ideal third space was the gay bar.
For many closeted gays, bars were the only places where they could safely be themselves. They were also a nexus for political organizing and charitable work, they promoted safer-sex education after the onset of AIDS, and they served as a welcome mat for gay newcomers to a city.
"When I was in college, I'd go out to a few different bars with my friends every week," says gay novelist Wayne Hoffman, who came to Boston in the late '80s and now lives in New York. "It was a chance for us to socialize off campus, meet new people - including new boyfriends - and figure out how we fit into the larger gay world. The bars opened up a whole world of possibilities for me."
For decades gay bars kept a low profile (unmarked doors, blackened windows), and were often run by mobsters or underworld figures, since more respectable businessmen weren't crazy about the prospect of frequent police raids. The general population was either unaware of them or saw them as sinister.
But in 1969, New York police raided the Stonewall Inn, a rather boisterous Greenwich Village bar, and the gay patrons unexpectedly fought back. The resulting riot helped to turn bars into flag-bearers for gay culture, and "Stonewall" itself began to be used in the names of gay and lesbian political organizations (the Stonewall Democrats, for example) as shorthand for "don't push us around."
When gays moved out of the shadows during the '70s, then began settling in certain areas of major cities (like the South End in Boston), gay bars evolved. Some became respected neighborhood institutions, offering meeting space to social groups, sponsoring softball teams and arts festivals, distributing condoms and health information, and buying ads in local newspapers. By the mid-1980s, they were a major force in turning Gay Pride holidays into citywide celebrations, sponsoring eye-catching parade floats and raucous block parties.
But at the same time, larger trends in American life were massing that would soon sweep these bars away.
One was the rising price of urban real estate. Gay bars traditionally appeared in marginal neighborhoods, or in predominately gay neighborhoods, with cheap rents and accommodating (or indifferent) neighbors. As those areas have progressively been developed with high-end housing, bars have struggled to pay their rent, and neighborhood groups have been increasingly hostile toward anything that creates noise or attracts idlers. The same forces have stripped such neighborhoods of other iconic businesses, such as fringe theaters and free and low-admission art spaces.
Meanwhile, the gay population is becoming more dispersed. As gay men feel more comfortable coming out to family, neighbors, and co-workers, they may also feel more comfortable living in small cities or towns rather than in the "gay ghettos" of large cities. As a result, it's much harder for a neighborhood gay bar to attract a steady clientele.
Perhaps the most important change, however, is the Internet. When Internet access became widespread in the mid-1990s, gay chat rooms on America Online and other subscription services quickly attracted a crowd. More elaborate sites such as Gay.com quickly followed, usurping gay bars' most important function: a place for men to meet each other.
At the time of the Stonewall riots, "gay people had to go out to a bar to meet other gay men," at least if they didn't want to go to more dangerous cruising areas such as parks and men's rooms, says Michael Bronski, Dartmouth College professor and author of "The Pleasure Principle: Sex, Backlash, and the Struggle for Gay Freedom."
There are several gay chat sites where a month's membership can cost as little as the price of one cocktail at Club Cafe - and on a recent Saturday night, one of them listed nearly 600 Boston-area members online. The site claims 600,000 members nationwide.
As a result of these changes, there are stories of gay bars closing all over the country. Since the early '90s, New York has lost its two biggest leather bars (the Spike and the Lure), as well as piano bars (the Five Oaks and Pegasus) and martini lounges (the popular but short-lived Hell). In Laguna Beach, Calif., the first city in America to elect an openly gay mayor, one of the two biggest gay bars closed this spring, and the other has been purchased by a developer who wants to tear it down. And the oldest gay bar in Pittsburgh (ironically, the setting for the TV series "Queer as Folk") closed earlier this year, after Carnegie Mellon University purchased its building.
Gay bars are just one kind of business struggling to survive in what is, to use the phrase popularized by Chris Anderson in his book of the same name, the age of "the long tail." That phrase refers to an economy in which the Internet can make even low-demand products profitable. Until the Internet, large cities offered the closest thing to a long tail economy. Thanks to Cambridge's concentration of intellectual shoppers, for instance, Harvard Square had stores full of the most obscure books, magazines, and records you could think of buying. The students in Kenmore Square kept cheap eateries, music clubs, and record stores alive; the South End's gay population once supported not just bars, but also inexpensive card-and-gift shops (such as Tommy Tish), a sex-toy shop with the feel of an old-fashioned general store (the Marquis de Sade), and a gay bookstore.
Now the classic example of a long tail business is online retailer Amazon.com, which stocks close to a million book titles - including more gay novels and intellectual books than any local store could offer. As long tail businesses migrate to the Internet, cities like Boston are being skinned alive.
Businesses like bookstores, video stores, and gay bars can no longer afford to occupy valuable real estate when their goods or services are more easily and cheaply delivered electronically. As these businesses disappear from Boston streets, they're usually replaced by more profitable land uses, such as office towers and high-end restaurants. The result is a variant of the "tragedy of the commons": Hotels, condo complexes, and other upscale businesses market themselves as part of a vibrant city, but they can also make it more difficult to maintain that vibrancy. (The ground floors of new office and housing buildings are often reserved for retail use, but CVS and other chain stores usually snap up the space.) These high-end businesses attract new residents and consumers to urban neighborhoods, but when they aren't balanced by other types of economic activity, the result can be a sterile streetscape rather than a diverse ecosystem.
This development would have disappointed William H. Whyte, the sociologist who may be rivaled only by Jane Jacobs in the cogency and passion of his arguments for active city life. Albert LaFarge, editor of "The Essential William H. Whyte," says that the ideal urban neighborhood from Whyte's point of view is fueled by "the intensity and unpredictability of different people using the same space for their own reasons, and often contradictory ones, but all respecting the goals of vibrancy and function."
If a place like the South End accommodates fewer and fewer of these reasons for a person to be there, says LaFarge, it not longer meets the definition of a successful urban neighborhood.
Gay neighborhoods in New York and San Francisco are reportedly undergoing the same transformation as in the South End, but there is at least one exception to this trend. In Philadelphia, the city has encouraged the development of its "Gayborhood," a nine-block part of downtown, by adding rainbow flags to street signs, and the city's tourism board has an aggressive campaign targeted at gay travelers. Jeff Guaracino of the Greater Philadelphia Tourism Marketing Corp. says that the Gayborhood provides "a very good economic return for the city. Businesses are making a profit there."
Making a profit, of course, isn't always the same as serving a community's needs. Gay bars seem to be doing well in resort areas such as Palm Springs and Provincetown, but they're more vacation party spots than true third spaces for locals.
The fate of the Jewish delicatessen in New York is a reminder that "theme park" gay bars would be no substitute for what we've lost in Boston. Thousands of delis have disappeared from New York since the 1930s. Many of the dozen or so survivors seem to be thriving, but the tourist-oriented Carnegie and Stage delis, with their long lines and rapid turnover of tables, don't bear much resemblance to the classic model. At a panel discussion called "Jewish Cuisine and the Evolution of the Jewish Deli," held this summer and reported on by The New York Times, food historian Joel Denker described the delis of the '50s and '60s as having "this sort of yeasty combination of intellectuals, writers, and leftists, sitting together over tea and cottage cheese and fruit, talking about the issues of the day."
Sitting and talking for hours at a time. Sadly, that's not considered an efficient use of space during today's supposed revival of city life.
Boston's gay community is adapting to its scaled-down bar scene, but there's still a sense of something missing. There are probably more spiritual groups, youth programs, and health resources than ever in the gay community, but none of them really fit the definition of a third space where one can drop in and hang out. "There was a whole group of friends who I would only ever see at the Napoleon Club," says Rick Park, a Boston-based actor, "and when it closed, they all disappeared."
You can see the change for the worse in the city's annual Gay Pride celebration. Years ago, the highlights of the parade were the outrageous parade floats, featuring drag queens and go-go boys, sponsored by gay bars. Now those delightfully pointless displays are outnumbered by contingents of waving employees from banks and utility companies in matching T-shirts. It's a positive development that so many people are out at work, to be sure, but the parade has become a lot less fun for gay and straight spectators alike.
A few weeks ago I attended a panel discussion sponsored by the History Project, which maintains archives on Boston's gay and lesbian history. A lesbian of a certain age, reflecting on the changes in the gay community since the Stonewall rebellion, said with rueful irony that "life may be easier now, but it might have been more exciting then."
That sounded a little bit like Red Sox fans complaining that they liked watching the team more when it was laboring under an 86-year curse. But I knew what she was talking about. So does Abe Rybeck, artistic director of the gay-themed Theater Offensive. He no longer considers himself a bar regular - there's too much to do running a theater company and participating in other activities - but he says that he would feel their disappearance.
"I went to Fritz to watch a World Series game this year," he says, "and it was fun to be in a room with a bunch of gay men enjoying a sports event in the way gay men would. In their minds, they were all going home with Jacoby Ellsbury. I was glad I could watch the game with my people."
Robert David Sullivan is the managing editor of CommonWealth magazine and primary writer of the blog Beyond Red & Blue (at massinc.org). The History Project (historyproject.org), which maintains archives on Boston's gay and lesbian history, provided much of the information in this article.
Last call
Why the gay bars of Boston are disappearing, and what it says about the future of city life
By Robert David Sullivan | December 2, 2007
THE FIRST THING I ever did to identify myself as a gay man - before coming out to a friend or relative, before putting a rainbow-flag pin on my jacket - was to walk into a gay bar. This was not so unusual in the early 1990s, when few gay men identified as such before they left high school. Some of us needed to walk around the block four or five times before finally pushing open a dimly lit, unmarked door.
At the time, there were plenty of dimly lit doors in Boston. The Napoleon Club was a piano bar near Park Square that attracted theater students and older men who left big tips on small glasses of red wine. A few blocks away, Luxor was a video bar for younger guys; nearby were Buddies (all ages) and Chaps, a dance club where dressing conservatively meant keeping your shirt on. In other parts of town, there were Sporters, a friendly Beacon Hill dive, and Playland, a Combat Zone bar known for its sketchy clientele, banged-up piano, and year-round Christmas lights. In all, there were 16 gay bars in Boston and Cambridge, according to Pink Pages directories from 1993 and 1994.
Today, that number has been cut to less than half. None of the bars I've mentioned are still in business, and most of the city's seven remaining gay-every-night bars have sparse customers for most of the week. (Lesbian bars were never numerous to begin with.) The gay population may have political clout and the right to marry in Massachusetts, but it has fewer and fewer public spaces to call its own.
The disappearance of places like Buddies and Chaps may sound like a problem limited to gay men, but it is part of a much larger trend reshaping American cities. As gay bars vanish, so go bookstores, diners, and all kinds of spaces that once allowed "blissful public congregation," as sociologist Ray Oldenburg described their function in his 1989 book "The Great Good Place."
In New York, the Jewish deli - a staple of the city's identity - has all but vanished. In the Boston area, many of Harvard Square's bookstores, Kenmore Square's student eateries, and myriad other places that guaranteed a diverse urban experience have closed their doors, replaced by a far more uniform lineup of bank branches, chain stores, and upscale restaurants.
This change is a serious challenge to the city, which has historically been defined by the breadth and variety of its street-level experience - and the wide diversity of people it threw together. "City air makes free," a saying that dates to medieval times, was a favorite of urban-studies pioneer Jane Jacobs. But as a wide range of gay bars dwindles to a handful of survivors - and the city's diners, indie bookstores, and dive bars yield to high rents and shifting patterns of commerce - that air is becoming the province of an increasingly narrow set of people.
Oldenburg calls public gathering spots a "third place" where we can temporarily step out of our household and workplace roles. Besides taverns, he cites drugstores (the kind with soda fountains), pool halls, and barber shops as examples. But if you were a gay man in the late 20th century, the place with all the qualities of an ideal third space was the gay bar.
For many closeted gays, bars were the only places where they could safely be themselves. They were also a nexus for political organizing and charitable work, they promoted safer-sex education after the onset of AIDS, and they served as a welcome mat for gay newcomers to a city.
"When I was in college, I'd go out to a few different bars with my friends every week," says gay novelist Wayne Hoffman, who came to Boston in the late '80s and now lives in New York. "It was a chance for us to socialize off campus, meet new people - including new boyfriends - and figure out how we fit into the larger gay world. The bars opened up a whole world of possibilities for me."
For decades gay bars kept a low profile (unmarked doors, blackened windows), and were often run by mobsters or underworld figures, since more respectable businessmen weren't crazy about the prospect of frequent police raids. The general population was either unaware of them or saw them as sinister.
But in 1969, New York police raided the Stonewall Inn, a rather boisterous Greenwich Village bar, and the gay patrons unexpectedly fought back. The resulting riot helped to turn bars into flag-bearers for gay culture, and "Stonewall" itself began to be used in the names of gay and lesbian political organizations (the Stonewall Democrats, for example) as shorthand for "don't push us around."
When gays moved out of the shadows during the '70s, then began settling in certain areas of major cities (like the South End in Boston), gay bars evolved. Some became respected neighborhood institutions, offering meeting space to social groups, sponsoring softball teams and arts festivals, distributing condoms and health information, and buying ads in local newspapers. By the mid-1980s, they were a major force in turning Gay Pride holidays into citywide celebrations, sponsoring eye-catching parade floats and raucous block parties.
But at the same time, larger trends in American life were massing that would soon sweep these bars away.
One was the rising price of urban real estate. Gay bars traditionally appeared in marginal neighborhoods, or in predominately gay neighborhoods, with cheap rents and accommodating (or indifferent) neighbors. As those areas have progressively been developed with high-end housing, bars have struggled to pay their rent, and neighborhood groups have been increasingly hostile toward anything that creates noise or attracts idlers. The same forces have stripped such neighborhoods of other iconic businesses, such as fringe theaters and free and low-admission art spaces.
Meanwhile, the gay population is becoming more dispersed. As gay men feel more comfortable coming out to family, neighbors, and co-workers, they may also feel more comfortable living in small cities or towns rather than in the "gay ghettos" of large cities. As a result, it's much harder for a neighborhood gay bar to attract a steady clientele.
Perhaps the most important change, however, is the Internet. When Internet access became widespread in the mid-1990s, gay chat rooms on America Online and other subscription services quickly attracted a crowd. More elaborate sites such as Gay.com quickly followed, usurping gay bars' most important function: a place for men to meet each other.
At the time of the Stonewall riots, "gay people had to go out to a bar to meet other gay men," at least if they didn't want to go to more dangerous cruising areas such as parks and men's rooms, says Michael Bronski, Dartmouth College professor and author of "The Pleasure Principle: Sex, Backlash, and the Struggle for Gay Freedom."
There are several gay chat sites where a month's membership can cost as little as the price of one cocktail at Club Cafe - and on a recent Saturday night, one of them listed nearly 600 Boston-area members online. The site claims 600,000 members nationwide.
As a result of these changes, there are stories of gay bars closing all over the country. Since the early '90s, New York has lost its two biggest leather bars (the Spike and the Lure), as well as piano bars (the Five Oaks and Pegasus) and martini lounges (the popular but short-lived Hell). In Laguna Beach, Calif., the first city in America to elect an openly gay mayor, one of the two biggest gay bars closed this spring, and the other has been purchased by a developer who wants to tear it down. And the oldest gay bar in Pittsburgh (ironically, the setting for the TV series "Queer as Folk") closed earlier this year, after Carnegie Mellon University purchased its building.
Gay bars are just one kind of business struggling to survive in what is, to use the phrase popularized by Chris Anderson in his book of the same name, the age of "the long tail." That phrase refers to an economy in which the Internet can make even low-demand products profitable. Until the Internet, large cities offered the closest thing to a long tail economy. Thanks to Cambridge's concentration of intellectual shoppers, for instance, Harvard Square had stores full of the most obscure books, magazines, and records you could think of buying. The students in Kenmore Square kept cheap eateries, music clubs, and record stores alive; the South End's gay population once supported not just bars, but also inexpensive card-and-gift shops (such as Tommy Tish), a sex-toy shop with the feel of an old-fashioned general store (the Marquis de Sade), and a gay bookstore.
Now the classic example of a long tail business is online retailer Amazon.com, which stocks close to a million book titles - including more gay novels and intellectual books than any local store could offer. As long tail businesses migrate to the Internet, cities like Boston are being skinned alive.
Businesses like bookstores, video stores, and gay bars can no longer afford to occupy valuable real estate when their goods or services are more easily and cheaply delivered electronically. As these businesses disappear from Boston streets, they're usually replaced by more profitable land uses, such as office towers and high-end restaurants. The result is a variant of the "tragedy of the commons": Hotels, condo complexes, and other upscale businesses market themselves as part of a vibrant city, but they can also make it more difficult to maintain that vibrancy. (The ground floors of new office and housing buildings are often reserved for retail use, but CVS and other chain stores usually snap up the space.) These high-end businesses attract new residents and consumers to urban neighborhoods, but when they aren't balanced by other types of economic activity, the result can be a sterile streetscape rather than a diverse ecosystem.
This development would have disappointed William H. Whyte, the sociologist who may be rivaled only by Jane Jacobs in the cogency and passion of his arguments for active city life. Albert LaFarge, editor of "The Essential William H. Whyte," says that the ideal urban neighborhood from Whyte's point of view is fueled by "the intensity and unpredictability of different people using the same space for their own reasons, and often contradictory ones, but all respecting the goals of vibrancy and function."
If a place like the South End accommodates fewer and fewer of these reasons for a person to be there, says LaFarge, it not longer meets the definition of a successful urban neighborhood.
Gay neighborhoods in New York and San Francisco are reportedly undergoing the same transformation as in the South End, but there is at least one exception to this trend. In Philadelphia, the city has encouraged the development of its "Gayborhood," a nine-block part of downtown, by adding rainbow flags to street signs, and the city's tourism board has an aggressive campaign targeted at gay travelers. Jeff Guaracino of the Greater Philadelphia Tourism Marketing Corp. says that the Gayborhood provides "a very good economic return for the city. Businesses are making a profit there."
Making a profit, of course, isn't always the same as serving a community's needs. Gay bars seem to be doing well in resort areas such as Palm Springs and Provincetown, but they're more vacation party spots than true third spaces for locals.
The fate of the Jewish delicatessen in New York is a reminder that "theme park" gay bars would be no substitute for what we've lost in Boston. Thousands of delis have disappeared from New York since the 1930s. Many of the dozen or so survivors seem to be thriving, but the tourist-oriented Carnegie and Stage delis, with their long lines and rapid turnover of tables, don't bear much resemblance to the classic model. At a panel discussion called "Jewish Cuisine and the Evolution of the Jewish Deli," held this summer and reported on by The New York Times, food historian Joel Denker described the delis of the '50s and '60s as having "this sort of yeasty combination of intellectuals, writers, and leftists, sitting together over tea and cottage cheese and fruit, talking about the issues of the day."
Sitting and talking for hours at a time. Sadly, that's not considered an efficient use of space during today's supposed revival of city life.
Boston's gay community is adapting to its scaled-down bar scene, but there's still a sense of something missing. There are probably more spiritual groups, youth programs, and health resources than ever in the gay community, but none of them really fit the definition of a third space where one can drop in and hang out. "There was a whole group of friends who I would only ever see at the Napoleon Club," says Rick Park, a Boston-based actor, "and when it closed, they all disappeared."
You can see the change for the worse in the city's annual Gay Pride celebration. Years ago, the highlights of the parade were the outrageous parade floats, featuring drag queens and go-go boys, sponsored by gay bars. Now those delightfully pointless displays are outnumbered by contingents of waving employees from banks and utility companies in matching T-shirts. It's a positive development that so many people are out at work, to be sure, but the parade has become a lot less fun for gay and straight spectators alike.
A few weeks ago I attended a panel discussion sponsored by the History Project, which maintains archives on Boston's gay and lesbian history. A lesbian of a certain age, reflecting on the changes in the gay community since the Stonewall rebellion, said with rueful irony that "life may be easier now, but it might have been more exciting then."
That sounded a little bit like Red Sox fans complaining that they liked watching the team more when it was laboring under an 86-year curse. But I knew what she was talking about. So does Abe Rybeck, artistic director of the gay-themed Theater Offensive. He no longer considers himself a bar regular - there's too much to do running a theater company and participating in other activities - but he says that he would feel their disappearance.
"I went to Fritz to watch a World Series game this year," he says, "and it was fun to be in a room with a bunch of gay men enjoying a sports event in the way gay men would. In their minds, they were all going home with Jacoby Ellsbury. I was glad I could watch the game with my people."
Robert David Sullivan is the managing editor of CommonWealth magazine and primary writer of the blog Beyond Red & Blue (at massinc.org). The History Project (historyproject.org), which maintains archives on Boston's gay and lesbian history, provided much of the information in this article.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
A Message From the Owner - Major Announcement About the Future of Faces on Fourth Street
Thank you to everyone who ever visited Faces on Fourth Street over the last 30 years. Thank you to everyone who filled our dance floor until dawn, who drank with us, laughed with us, celebrated with us, fell in love with us, and sometimes cried with us. Faces has been both famous and infamous for 30 years. The last 14 years, I had the privilege of owning a part of our history. While it was often hard work and long hours, I am grateful to everyone who included me and Faces in their lives. I loved throwing the parties. I loved the music. I loved the video stars, recording artists, and DJs that I was able to get to know. I loved the incredibly talented DJs and drag queens from our local community who made Faces their home. I loved the late night decadence. I loved the thousands of wonderful customers who took the time to get to know me and my staff. I loved the conversations over cocktails about everything from politics to sex. You and your friends made the last 14 years one hell of a ride. After we closed at the end of April 2007, I took some time off. I worked to try to pay our old bills, kept the building secure, tried to keep up on St. Louis nightlife, and asked you for your feedback. I read your comments from our on line survey, sharing them with friends, advisors, and family. Considering the fact that we were forced to close because of cash flow issues, your positive comments were a nice surprise. We continue to get emails and IMs asking when we are reopening, frequently begging us to reopen. Some have admitted that they did not realize what they had at Faces until it was gone.
My answer has been pretty consistent. I appreciate all of your positive comments and I really did not know what our plans were. Personally, 2007 was a bad year. I had borrowed heavily to keep the bar going, and I was forced to sell property at a deep discount just to try to repay debts. What little money was left from sales went to start to repay people who had helped us, but at the end of the day, there wasn't enough to pay everyone. In a different economy, there would have been enough to cover all our debts and reopen. Despite this setback, we continued to discuss plans to remodel and reopen. The idea of reopening under my management became even more distant in the last few weeks.
In the last few weeks, someone cut the power lines to the building to steal the copper from our electric meter. How they did it without being electocuted is a mystery. Before we could replace it, they managed to break into the building and began systematically to gut the building. While not damaged beyond repair, they cut out copper pipes to and from our boiler, they cut out copper water pipes, they even smashed toilets to get the copper pipe and valves. We have been maintaining the building, keeping it secure, and alarmed since we closed. We could have easily cleaned, painted, and reopened in a matter of days. Now, the damage done in the last few weeks make that dream unrealistic.
The building is secure again. We have removed the equipment to keep it safe. We don't feel that we have the capital necessary to make repairs, remodel, redecorate, and reopen. It breaks my heart to say the only way to pay off all our debts and make necessary repairs is to offer the club for lease. We hope to offer someone with new ideas the opportunity to repair and reopen Faces. I want Faces to reopen as much as you do. I want it to reopen as a gay bar. Your on line survey responses have confirmed that there is a demand for Faces to return. I will help anyone willing to make that happen.
An observation - disturbing recent events in St. Louis gay nightlife seem to point to a continued downturn in the clubs. Manchester Street favorite, Freddie's was forced to close recently with plans to remodel and re-open in the spring. EXP Magazine, long the source of St. Louis' gay bar news recently suspended publication, leaving St. Louis without a gay bar magazine. Both events are sad. My heart goes out to the owner and staff of Freddie's as well as EXP owner/editor Jeff Balk. We had a long friendship with EXP and Jeff deserves credit for much of our early success as well as for his contributions to our community. We always enjoyed Freddie's and have a special place in our heart for their nationally known and incredibly talented DJ Danny Morris. We wish them the best and hope this is the end of the bad news for St. Louis gay bars.
Thank you for your support and kind words.
Craig
My answer has been pretty consistent. I appreciate all of your positive comments and I really did not know what our plans were. Personally, 2007 was a bad year. I had borrowed heavily to keep the bar going, and I was forced to sell property at a deep discount just to try to repay debts. What little money was left from sales went to start to repay people who had helped us, but at the end of the day, there wasn't enough to pay everyone. In a different economy, there would have been enough to cover all our debts and reopen. Despite this setback, we continued to discuss plans to remodel and reopen. The idea of reopening under my management became even more distant in the last few weeks.
In the last few weeks, someone cut the power lines to the building to steal the copper from our electric meter. How they did it without being electocuted is a mystery. Before we could replace it, they managed to break into the building and began systematically to gut the building. While not damaged beyond repair, they cut out copper pipes to and from our boiler, they cut out copper water pipes, they even smashed toilets to get the copper pipe and valves. We have been maintaining the building, keeping it secure, and alarmed since we closed. We could have easily cleaned, painted, and reopened in a matter of days. Now, the damage done in the last few weeks make that dream unrealistic.
The building is secure again. We have removed the equipment to keep it safe. We don't feel that we have the capital necessary to make repairs, remodel, redecorate, and reopen. It breaks my heart to say the only way to pay off all our debts and make necessary repairs is to offer the club for lease. We hope to offer someone with new ideas the opportunity to repair and reopen Faces. I want Faces to reopen as much as you do. I want it to reopen as a gay bar. Your on line survey responses have confirmed that there is a demand for Faces to return. I will help anyone willing to make that happen.
An observation - disturbing recent events in St. Louis gay nightlife seem to point to a continued downturn in the clubs. Manchester Street favorite, Freddie's was forced to close recently with plans to remodel and re-open in the spring. EXP Magazine, long the source of St. Louis' gay bar news recently suspended publication, leaving St. Louis without a gay bar magazine. Both events are sad. My heart goes out to the owner and staff of Freddie's as well as EXP owner/editor Jeff Balk. We had a long friendship with EXP and Jeff deserves credit for much of our early success as well as for his contributions to our community. We always enjoyed Freddie's and have a special place in our heart for their nationally known and incredibly talented DJ Danny Morris. We wish them the best and hope this is the end of the bad news for St. Louis gay bars.
Thank you for your support and kind words.
Craig
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