Yesterday June Thomas wrote an essay on whether or not the gay bar is a dying institution: "They make me feel old. But I feel bad about abandoning them... Gay bars are my cultural patrimony and my political heritage." Today, she asks eleven writers to remember their first happy-scary-dreary visit. Among them are Alison Bechdel, J.D. McClatchy, Susie Bright, Simon Doonan, Dan Savage, Mart Crowley, Pam Spaulding, and the unerring human wonder called David Rakoff who says:
"...I came fairly late to gay bars, since I came fairly late to alcohol, not until my mid-20s, when job hatred medically required that I develop a taste for spirits. Before then, I loathed booze—beer in particular—and lived in fear of the abandon it augured. Gay bars were a perfect storm of liquor's fetter-loosening powers of disinhibition and the scrutiny of men; things most desired and therefore most dangerous.
"... Intermittently smoking, fake-sipping my beer, and employing the old stage trick of becoming invisible by simply not moving, I probably stayed all of 45 minutes. I understood even then that this was a boil that needed lancing. It would be easier the next time, and the time after that, until eventually it became so devoid of importance that the experience of going out to a gay bar would be virtually indistinguishable from the experience of not going out to a gay bar, which, of course, is exactly what happened."
(I must undergo hypnosis to remember if my first was Badlands or J.R.s. At least I know my all-time best experience started at Le Palace and moved on to Queen in Paris and my second best was opening night of Junior Vasquez's Arena.)
Gay Bar Week continues through Friday at Slate. Photo from New York's pride gallery.
Julius, NYC, shakin' in my boots.
Stonewall Inn, less scared, in spite of the pre-1969 surroundings.
After that, the floodgates were opened.
Posted by: Sandy | June 28, 2011 at 03:47 AM