by Chris Bodenner
A reader writes:
I mark walking into Myrts in Calgary in 1982 as the moment I first truly felt joy in my life. I was fifteen. I had been moved to Canada against my will at age 9 and still felt like a fish out of water. I was being raised Catholic, but didn't relate to it. I felt totally out of place in my school, in my church, in my neighbourhood, even among most of my few friends. I loved to act, I loved to dance, and longed to be loved – by anyone.
That first night, sitting out on the back patio under the fairy lights with the drag queens who adopted me and told me their long, delicious names; trying my first test-tube shooter; seeing men – all those buff, beautiful men I couldn't have, it was like being in a sweet shop with no money – as sexual, gorgeous beings for the first time; catching my first whiff of poppers; dancing to Donna Summer as the disco balls wound down for the night at 3am;
It was one of the most staggering, cinematic, magic nights of my life. It expanded my narrow, strait-laced horizons by a million degrees. It was the first time in my life I felt truly loved and accepted (even when we weren't sniffing MDA through rolled-up gas station coupons). Some of the friends I made that night, and the friends who took me there, are still dear friends today. I can't begin to express my gratitude for the joy, love, fun and freedom the gay community brought into my life, and continues to bring.
I was a straight girl.
Another writes:
Love this thread! The bar that your Seattle reader speaks about is, I'm pretty sure, Tugs. When I first moved to Seattle from a smaller town in Washington state, I hung with a pretty scruffy punk scene back in the late '80s/early '90s. And among my friends, Tugs was fairly legendary as being a great place to hear music and where other outsider types were welcomed. By the time I moved to Seattle, Tugs had moved to Capitol Hill, and from all accounts, it was never the same as the original (we'd still go dancing there every so often after I came of age). Capitol Hill was the 'gay' neighborhood, but it's also where you lived if you were any flavor of outsider.
In Seattle back then, and as in my hometown of Spokane, there was a lot of overlap and interaction. We were all punkers, fags, weirdos, wavers, outcasts, goths, artists and/or freaks back then. Something about all hanging together and all that. And incidentally, thugs who would 'gay bash' didn't really make a distinction. (Some interesting Seattle gay bar history here.)
This thread also brings back my own memories of going to Re-Bar, one of the best (gay) dance bars in town in the '90s. Oh to be a woman and be able to dance all night with cute, well-dressed men who weren't trying to put the make on you!
Another:
I'm a woman who used to go to a gay bar in Madison, WI in the early 1990s to dance now and then with my best female friend. (It was called the New Bar, I think. It later burned down along with the classic rock venue Club de Wash and a great mellow restaurant, Cafe Palms, where a friend who would later become the head writer for the Onion used to work as a dishwasher.)
Although I wasn't super into most of the music they played (I was more of a indie rock/Goth/experimental/traditional folk music person), dancing in a gay bar was the ONE PLACE you could really let it all hang out, as a 24-year-old woman, and not be immediately hit on by 75 creeps. You could swing your hips and be as sexy as you wanted and no one would try to grab your butt, follow you into the parking lot, interrupt you, call you names, or try to buy you drinks. You could really be free and open and sexy and not be punished for it, as would be the case in most straight bars. I loved dancing at gay bars. I only wish the music wasn't so godawful.
The Dish 