Gay bars were places of sanctuary where Gay men and women could gather according to their constitutional right of freedom of assembly without the constant judgmental gaze, comments, and verbal and physical attacks from Straight people and where they could dance among themselves and express natural affection. Back in the not so distant past, Gay bars were illegal in a lot of places and many were simply little better than an abandoned garage. The Stonewall Inn, in spite of touristy up-grades, was basically two empty rooms of what was once a stable as is attested to by the cistern in the corner of the back room covered with a board to serve as a table or a very wide and round chair.

There were no fancy glasses and shaded cocktail lamps.

 In some places, like New York City, it was illegal to serve an adult beverage to a known Homosexual, so the Gay bars that did exist skirted these rules and were often run by organized crime that cared little for the people only for the money. Catering to a Gay clientele in a city that forbade it was risky and often based on a certain arrangement with the local constabulary because of the money that crossed palms to keep eyes shut.

There was no reason for the Stonewall Inn raid that started the rebellion beyond a rumored missed payment to the 6th Precinct.

Over time and often because of being in a good financial and legal position to do so, some Gay bars were opened by Gay men, but these were often in the sketchier parts of the downtown area to which acceptable people did not go at night.

The height of rebellion was to open a Gay bar in a well-traveled, less objectionable area, but this usually at the fringe where the acceptable and unacceptable parts of a city met with uncertain boundaries. 

You know these areas now as the upscale, high-priced, Bohemian areas of bistros, exclusive restaurants, and a penchant to detest and exile the very people who made the area become what it has.

The more progressive a city, NYC, L.A,, Boston, the more likely someone would open a Gay bar in a more open, less sequestered area. Generally, the abandoned nature of the bar’s environment was a deterrent to those who wanted to screw around with the Gays by harassment both verbal and physical. Location was often a safety factor.

Like the greater society, the Gay Community had its little subcultures, so many Gay bars appealed to specific clientele. There were the general dance bars, those that catered to the leather and levi crowd, the Country Western crowd, the dance till you drop crowd, the Drag Queens and fans crowd, any segment of the population that would want to spend part of their evening at least with people within the community who shared the same interests as they flitted from bar to bar on a Saturday night.

In Long Beach California, one such bar, the Mine Shaft, which catered to all that the name implies, was a rather rough looking affair as the owner apparently was able to force the interior of a barn into a store front space so that the facade, floors, interior walls, and the ceiling supported by upright beams were rough barn board giving the illusion of being in an actual barn and conveyed the impression that this leather and levi bar was for the MEN.

In my day the clientele favored the more manly stereotypical Gays. The men were tough, they played pool seriously on the table with bleachers on three sides for spectators and players whose turns were yet to come up. There was no dance floor, and the lights were low. It was in the days when smoking was still allowed in bars and restaurants so the place always had the appropriate smokey haze. Its drinks were the size that would fit in perfectly if Gaston began his big song about his love, not of Belle, but in this case Bill. There was an undercurrent of Tom Of Finland but not in full swing.

Its look and reputation actually belied the reality of the people and ambiance inside. 

The clientele was friendly.

For a while. being not too far from my apartment, the bar was a perfect location. While I was accepting of all my fellow Gays, the choice between leather and lace was a clear one for me.

An unforeseen result of Gays owning bars back then and something that may not have initially been a consideration was who gets the bar upon the owner’s demise. Some states limited the inheritances of Gay men and women, and as blood was thicker than water any bequeathing of a cash cow to a Gay person could be challenged with the intended heir getting nothing. I have seen it with homes and multi-acreage ranches.

This often resulted, if there were partners but one held the majority shares, in the ownership of the bar going to a straight sibling who, in turn, would leave the bar to their off-spring when the time came.

The end result, not understanding the historical and communal nature of Gay bars reduced many to just being bars.

Using rental scooters as I was tired of walking, I went to the various still existing bars on the Broadway Gay Corridor, seeing what changes had occurred. Many changes, although minor, seemed to hint at the need to clean the places up, improve some of the unseemliness of the past, and present upbeat never a bad moment image. Things c necessary for the times were removed, so the booths for two that lined one wall of a bar often used for intimate conversations, first dates, and the occasional break up whose vehemence was controlled by being held in public are gone as they were seen by today’s clientele as too divisive.

As I approached the Mine Shaft, the last stop of the evening and the last bar before leaving town in the morning, I joked with the bouncer sitting on a stool outside the door wearing the leather and levis that used to define the place about some of the changes I had observed, and hoped this bar held to its history. Although he would not tell me exactly, he did tell me there were changes and I might not like them. For the sake of the effect of entering blind, he did not tell me what to expect.

I opened the door and what I first saw was reassuring. The area in the bar that you first encountered upon entering was just as I remembered it, rough look and all. However upon turning to look with nostalgia at the pool table area remembering the many people I watched play pool, I was shocked to see the pool table had been replaced by a dance floor over which hung a disco-ball, and one bank of bleachers had been replaced with a DJ booth with flashing lights.

I heard the dead groan through me.

What was most striking and, I must admit was initially disturbing, was the number of Heterosexual couples on that dance floor in a basic bar, a bar whose existence came about as a refuge from the very people who were now dancing in it.

 By-gones may certainly be by-gones, but it was still a bit of a shock as, even with the other bars which were occasionally frequented with Gay men’s Straight allies, in this bar it was totally out of place, if things were, of course, as they had been.

When I poked  my head out of the door to make a comment to the bouncer, he told me the Heterosexual couples’ dancing shocks the old timers who come to town for a visit or, like me, a reminiscence.

One thing did remain constant and unchanged. Richard.

Richard had been the young twenty-something (one assumes) when he was a barback in my day. For the intervening thirty years, he remained at the bar becoming more than just the barback although he continued to enjoy that as he can talk to customers as he washes glasses, bartenders are limited in conversation to those customers whose drink they are making.

 We did some comparisons with the old days and he recounted the progression of heirs after the original owner died, and, now being the bar owned by his Heterosexual granddaughter is just another bar devoid of history or any acknowledgment of it consciously or through just not knowing.

 It had become a “This used to be.”

 I finished my drink, called Richard over, and for the second time in thirty years shook his hand, wished him well, and headed for the door after promising to come back in another thirty years to say “so long” again.

 Although there was some disappointment with the loss of the place for what it had been, it was clear evidence that those who advocated for equality had done a good job provided those who benefited do not lose touch with their past.

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