Connecting Dots

This post is a bit of a departure from all the (uppercase) Gay Pride lately, but I need a diversion and, frankly, my reader could probably use one too.

As you may know, I enjoy the thrill of the vintage hunt, and late last winter I started picking up coffee mugs that had a distinctly 70s or 80s feel to them.  It seems random but don't forget - I had a huge tiki mug collection for like 15 years until I sold it last year.  One day a mug caught my eye, a beige one with a seventies graphic of a cat and the words "Le Chat" on it, which just made me think of "Le Car" and "Le Bag" and the whole "le" trend.  So I snagged it.

I ended up posting it to my Etsy vintage shop, but in the meantime I started using it and really became quite attached, so I was disappointed when it sold all-too-quickly.  It wasn't until later (when I started searching for a replacement) that I deciphered the signature on it and discovered it was part of a series of mugs that came out of a housewares store based in San Francisco in the 70s and 80s called Taylor & Ng.

I know I seem like a cynic most of the time, but when it comes to certain eras I actually get quite caught up, and that period in San Francisco is a real sweet spot for me.  I blame early exposure to the "Tales of the City" books. So I became slightly obsessed with the different mug designs by Taylor & Ng, and once I'd exhausted those Google image searches I tried to learn more about the company. What I learned made me love my lost mug even more.

The company Taylor & Ng was founded by Spaulding Taylor and Win Ng, an openly gay man born and raised in San Francisco's Chinatown.  The company produced housewares featuring whimsical illustrations by Win including mugs, trivets, linens and cookbooks that became enormously popular, and are quite collectible today.  They started with their own small shop and grew into a supplier for Macy's and other major department stores.  Additionally, they are credited with bringing the Chinese wok to the US and making it a common kitchen utensil.  (Those of you of a certain age will remember how popular the wok was when it burst onto the scene in the seventies!)

The company closed their store in 1985.  It is reported that Win spent the period after that focusing on his fine art.  Given that he died of complications from AIDS in 1991 at the age of 55, I'm guessing being diagnosed with HIV led to some rearranging of priorities.

On the one hand this is just another story of a gay man in San Francisco whose life was cut short by AIDS.  There are certainly enough of those.  But I suppose I was struck by the way that my impulse purchase at a thrift store led me to the story of a gay man completely unknown to me who left his gay world just as I was coming into my own gay world. And whose creations - as whimsical as they may be - live on for a new generation to discover.

I'm know I'm reading more into a mere coincidence than is really there, but sometimes I wonder if there isn't something that connects the dots for us, that draws us towards the things we really want to know.  It's certainly a New Age conjecture worthy of 1970s San Francisco.  In this instance, I'm kind of ok with that, because it brought me some knowledge that moved me, and it made me feel connected to an era I love.

And it brought me a different kind of gay pride. A lowercase one.

There is help.

A very useful service for those of you with little ones around the house! 

And by little ones I mean either gaybies OR inappropriately young boyfriends.

Hey, read this again

This winter I covered a topic that is particularly relevant for Gay Pride Month and I think you should revisit it. Supergay writes about OutWeek.



It's interesting to see where we were at Stonewall's 20th anniversary and where we are at 40. Who in the world would have thought we'd be close to having gay marriage in U.S. in our lifetimes? Crazy shit.

I highly recommend that you take a look at some of those old issues of OutWeek, it's fascinating reading.

Celebrate Modernity

Regular readers know I am a fan of modern design - I live in Lafayette Park, I stalked Hawkins Ferry in death, I love Detroit's modern shops. And I regularly attend the Preview Party for the Michigan Modernism Show! Which is tonight!



The Preview Party is a benefit for the Detroit Area Art Deco Society. It is held every year the Friday night before the opening of Michigan Modernism and is - basically - a private shopping event for people who love vintage modern design. In an atmosphere unsullied by the teeming masses you get first dibs at some of the most fantastic vintage modern items (while enjoying a glass of wine! I mean, if you get into stuff like that).

This year there is an added attraction - DAADS partnered with the Oakland Community College photography department and captured some great Deco structures in the city for display - and silent auction - at the event. Additionally awesome photographer (and super cool chick) Cybelle Codish has donated three photographs to the auction.

Cybelle Codish is an awesome photographer.

I always love the Preview Party because - first of all - I'm a giver. And I'm a seeker - I love to find cool stuff I've never seen before. And sometimes, I'm a shopper.

One thing I really enjoy about being a homosexual raised in the latter days of the 20th century is that an appreciation for good design is basically my birthright. A gay man not taking the time to become an aesthete is like Prince Charles not taking the time to knock off Queen Elizabeth and ascend to the throne. A squandered opportunity.

I'm a shopper. Sometimes.

I know for the young ones these days it's all about sports and picket fences and suburbia and blending in, but I prefer a more genteel and rarefied gay sensibility. You know, the one that got you beat up on the playground as a kid. It sucked then, but it made you a REALLY cool adult.

So be a good gay and celebrate your birthright at the Michigan Modernism Preview tonight! Trust me, you won't be the only one.

[The Preview Party is from 7 to 10pm tonight, April 24, at the Southfield Civic Center. Tickets are $50 in advance and $65 at the door. More details here. Go!]

Guest Blogger: Backintheday

The winter weather horror continues unabated, there's continuing bad news about the economy, and my car is still in the shop. So if you're wondering why I haven't been blogging lately, there are a few reasons. Fortunately our friend Backintheday has stepped in with another tale of Detroit Gay Days Past! This time we get to hear about long-defunct drag bar Gagen's. Your gay education continues now ...


Gagen's: Wiggin' Out in the 70s

Imagine if you will, the world of a questioning youth nervously venturing out to see what tender mercies might await him beyond the walls of his beige bedroom in beige Harper Woods on a fall evening in 1973. Join him on his quest for the attentions of a quiet man who might resemble Gonzo from Trapper John M.D. or – dare one hope – be half as handsome as Adam West.

The only place this boy had heard of where an assignation of this type might have even the slightest chance of taking place was in a far-away land called Palmer Park. Specifically in a place called Gagen’s. ‘Round and ‘round the block he circled in his mother’s Dodge Dart, summoning the courage to enter this strange new world. ‘Round and ‘round his head spun visualizing the intimate setting he would encounter as he passed through the doors and into the arms of Ryan O’Neal, or at the very least Bobby Sherman.

Okay. So this “tender youth” was me. I said it was 1973.

That first night at Gagen's … after several beers I finally calmed down. And after a few more beers I went home with the man of my dreams. Who knew at the time that this Adonis was actually a hairdresser from Clawson with absolutely no finesse when it came to penetrating a nervous virgin - whose dream of tenderness in the arms of another man was shattered with a couple of extremely painful thrusts? Coming out lesson #1: true love and tricking are not the same thing. But, I digress…

Gagen’s was a drag bar that started out life as a straight supper club called Frank Gagen’s. And make no mistake about it, it was swanky! One big room with a bar along the right wall, and a raised dance floor at the rear with a stage behind it. The bulk of the space was filled with circular red leather banquettes; the ceiling over each was a concave circular depression covered in gold leaf and lit indirectly. Very moderne and very plush. By the time it had ceded to the reign of the queens, it was a little worn around the edges. A closer inspection of those red leather banquets revealed a fair amount of red carpet tape enlisted to keep it all together.


But the decor was only part of the magic. When you filter the experience through the lens of a terrified boy who had only lately been attempting what David Bowie had been urging (“Turn and face the strange." Ch-ch-changes indeed), it was like the club scenes in Baz Lurmann’s Moulin Rouge complete with whip pans, manic editing and breakneck sensory overload. A red and gold explosion of music, dance and theater.

And Sunday nights were smokin’ hot. The line-up included the likes of Buttons La Walker, Jennifer Foxx and Betty Clarke. Miss Clarke could be seen donning a forties style swimsuit and sipping a huge Cuba Libra while singing (well, lip-synching) “Rum and Coca Cola” by the Andrews Sisters – all the while roller skating through a crowd gone wild with the spectacle of it all. Hummin’ Helen “sang” Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” in a nightgown as she dragged out an ironing board, set it up, plugged into a head-full of curlers and proceeded to iron the very rag she wore.

Miss Betty Clark, an artist's remembrance.

One major show-stopper was Sharene Dennis “singing” a wicked version of “It Should Have Been Me” by Yvonne Fair, a wrathful, ghetto screed about watching your man walk down the aisle with another woman. As the song reached a fever pitch, Sharene moved into the audience, pulled a knife out of her purse and brandished it at the imaginary couple.

One night she got so worked up she tore the wig off her head and threw it on the floor. This unheard-of act of improvisation was too much for the aging emcee for whom illusion was paramount. With microphone in hand, he fired her on the spot. The rest of the girls recognized Miss Dennis’ actions for what they were – an uncontrollable act of passion fully in line with the sentiment of the song – and tore their wigs off in a show of solidarity. After all the screaming and crying was over the emcee was forced to apologize. Hell hath no fury..!

I worked with Hummin’ Helen (a.k.a. Bill) at the Roostertail while I was in college. He was a sly and amusing guy out of drag but a real handful in character. Through this connection I found myself escorting him to an awards show for female impersonators. The affair was every bit as elegant as its location would have you believe: The United Dairy Workers Hall in Highland Park. I was a bit embarrassed by it all. Watching drag behind closed doors at Gagen’s was one thing, but escorting a six foot tall glamour-puss with impressive deltoids and a fearsome baritone to a sold-out extravaganza in a cinderblock building alongside the railroad tracks was a bit much for my closeted suburban sensibilities.

True to form, Helen got loaded, fought with the other girls, and passed out in my car on the way back to her apartment. Much to my horror, I realized my tank was on empty. At two in the morning I found myself coasting into a service station somewhere in the vicinity of Hamilton and Grand Boulevard. I could only pray that my date would remain comatose in the passenger seat – bouffant bobbing, dress up around her knees, bucket between her legs.

The attendant, a polite African American gentleman of a certain age, couldn’t help but notice my stylish powder blue tuxedo (I forgot to mention that?) and the uncertain mess slumped next to me and said, in an embarrassed attempt to make sense of the scene, “My, my. That sure is a pretty lady you got with you.” To which the “pretty lady” lifting her head up in a sudden burst of consciousness replied basso profondo, “FAAAAAAAACKYOU!!” before collapsing once again into a swarm of organza. All in all, a lovely evening.

It’s no secret what killed drag. In a word: disco. I remember the night we decamped from Gagen’s and walked a few doors west to check out the opening of a new place called Menjo’s. Menjo’s would go on to have a few drag shows now and then to spice things up but it was definitely not about drag. Eventually Gagen’s went on to gain greater fame as Bookie’s Club 870, the premier punk club in Detroit. But by then the place had been stripped out and painted black. I guess all that deco decay had no place in a new wave world.

Somewhere along the way the place burned to the ground. Maybe it’s for the best. The building, like the entertainers it housed, might best be thought of as some great illusion the likes of which Detroit hasn’t seen since.

OutWeek

As we continue our celebration of Gay Outrage Month, I thought it would be nice to take a look back at some of the other gay outrage we have enjoyed over the years.

Let's go back in time to Gay New York, late 1980's. The AIDS crisis is reaching its pinnacle. ACT UP and Queer Nation have both come on the scene. One member of ACT UP decides that the "mainstream" (well, as mainstream as it was) gay press was not representing this new, more radical approach to activism. He teams up with a guy who wants to advertise his gay phone sex businesses and voila, OutWeek was formed.

Started on the 20th anniversary of Stonewall. Are you almost ready for Stonewall 40?

OutWeek only published for two years but it was incredibly influential. It is most famous for starting the "outing" movement, which began in Michelangelo Signorile's "Gossip Watch" column, but it also routinely broke major news stories. It really achieved national notoriety when it outed Malcolm Forbes in a cover story just after his death.

No context was given for this list, but everyone knew what they were talking about. They may have
been somewhat indiscriminate in casting their net, but they called some of those pretty early.

We will out you after you die, if not before.

OutWeek only lasted two years, but it changed gay journalism. After its publication the Advocate officially became a magazine for lesbians and gay men, for example. And gay activism, which previously could have a hard time getting media coverage, gained a permanent place in the public image of the gay community.

Because Jesus loves us, the entire run of OutWeek magazine is available online in PDF format. Take a look through them - they are ALL great reading! And a little bit of a cultural time capsule too, as you can see in these ads.

One upon a time most gays met in person, but even back then you could
still dial up on your 2400 baud modem and chat on the BBS!
It turns out it really was the new frontier in gay communications. Who knew?

There's always room for the fabulous in gay journalism. Then? A fabulous store.
Now? We know her better as the woman who created the looks on Sex and the City.

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Let's Get Political

Now that we are in final stretch of election season, at least until next spring and then next fall and then the following year (the fun never ends), I thought I'd take a moment to discuss one of the challenges facing the LGBT community in Michigan this year.

As we have seen, all real progress in terms of gay and lesbian civil rights in Michigan happens on the local level. Ann Arbor and East Lansing were, along with San Francisco, the first cities in the country to pass gay rights ordinances back in 1972. Detroit added protection for gays and lesbians in the 1974 City Charter. That was a pretty good start.

A gay rights march in the 70s. Admire the solidarity, not the hair.

But then there were the Reagan 80's and AIDS and the rise of the culture wars and things kind of stagnated, and really in Michigan regressed. In the last ten years we've seen fights over gay rights-related ballot initiatives in Traverse City, Kalamazoo, Huntington Woods, Ypsilanti, Royal Oak, Ferndale, and Lansing (among others). Ypsilanti had an impressive victory on their inititative, a result of a ton of hard work. Ferndale took, what, three tries? And Royal Oak was never able to get one passed. The completely not-impressive list of cities in Michigan with ordinances protecting gays and lesbians can be found here.

Of course then the anti-gay marriage amendment came up for a vote and we were served up a heapin' helpin' of homophobia by the good voters of Michigan, and then Attorney General Mike Cox twisted the knife culminating in the Michigan Supreme Court decision completely prohibiting (and removing) any partnership benefits for gay employees of public institutions. So now U of M gets to try and recruit to academic talent to a backwater.

Now this is just a little overview. But basically, most of Michigan's population views us as less than wholly human. The truth is ugly.

So we are back to fighting at the local level, which brings me to the point of this post. Hamtramck, our own little hip melting pot city-in-a-city, has a Human Rights Ordinance on the ballot this November.

Freep.com offers the following summary: "The Hamtramck City Council passed the ordinance in June, but opponents gathered enough signatures to place it on the Nov. 4 ballot in hopes of appealing it. The ordinance prohibits discrimination in housing, employment and city contracting for several groups, but its inclusion of gays and transgendered people has stirred up controversy."

So now the ordinance is on the ballot and you've got vocal opponents like the priests at Hamtramck's three Catholic churches taking the "no special rights" stance against this "dangerous threat" to the community. (Um, hi priests ... ?)

But you've also got groups like Hamtramck United Against Discrimination fighting for passage of the ordinance. And sure, while people still reserve the street parking spot in front of their houses with chairs (and woe to anyone who might disregard that placeholder) this is a city with a crazy amount of ethnic diversity AND an openly gay City Council member, so it seems like the population might be ready to say, ok, fair is fair.

(credit to flickr accounts brian_brooks, mihai radu baluta, ifmuth
and shannonrossalbers for the Hamtramck photos)

But it's still a fight. If you are a Hamtramck voter, be sure to vote yes to pass the ordinance. If you know a Hamtramck voter, be sure to encourage them to vote yes. And if you can, make a donation to Hamtramck United on their website. Hamtramck is everything we seem to love in an urban neighborhood - hip, dense, diverse, quirky, full of history and centrally-located. I think it's appropriate for "tolerant" to be officially added to that list.

Every little bit helps, and for the time being it seems all we are going to have are these grassroots victories. But baby steps will still get us where we are going, so do what you can to get the gay rights Baby Huey up and tottering around in Michigan. Today Hamtramck, tomorrow the whole friggin' state.
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Band Fags!

Since we are on the topic of Hazel Park, there is a fun book that came out this year by a locally-grown writer named Frank Anthony Polito called Band Fags. It's a coming-of-age story of a young ... band fag ... set in 1980's Hazel Park.


Frank was kind enough to send me an advance copy this spring and I read it and was going to write about it then, but the summer crap-fest started and I was distracted by my own ennui. But now Frank is coming to do a reading at the Barnes & Noble in Royal Oak so it's the perfect time to revisit the book!

As much as Band Fags is a gay coming-of-age story, it's also a true 80s slice-of-life story. Frank spares no detail - not one - in creating the 80s feel. He name-drops products and cultural artifacts like Andy Warhol name-drops celebrities in the Warhol Diaries.

For anyone familiar with the Detroit are there is the added bonus of a familiar setting - or familiar-ish, if you didn't spend a lot of time in "Hazeltucky." When he describes the intersection where the protagonist (I guess technically it's fiction) got dropped off by his friends or the gay bar they snuck off to on Woodward in Palmer Park ... you know exactly what he means.

Band Fags isn't coming-of-age in the Best Little Boy in the World vein, but it's sweet and cute and a fun read. And the author is very attractive so you may enjoy going to the reading just to scope him out. And you can listen to him tomorrow morning on Detroit Today to hear what he has to say about the book.

It's a Band Fag start to the weekend! How perfect!

Details:

Band Fags reading and book signing
Saturday, September 27 at Barnes & Noble in Royal Oak, 500 S. Main Street
4pm

Band Fags author Frank Anthony Polito on Detroit Today
Friday, September 26 on WDET, 101.9 FM
10:30am


[PS - If you have not read The Best Little Boy in the World, I highly recommend checking it out. It was the seminal figuring-out-your-sexuality book for a generation, written pseudononymously by famous money man Andrew Tobias (who eventually "came out" as the author). Check out Edmund White's A Boy's Own Story too, another gay modern classic. And since I'm telling you what to read, check out Kevin Sessums excellent Mississippi Sissy too, a more serious contemporary growing-up-gay story.]

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Guest Blogger: Backintheday

Our friend Backintheday has checked in with another tale from times past. This time he shares a little history of The Woodward Bar in New Center - opened in 1951 and either the oldest gay bar in Michigan or the USA, depending on the person you are talking to.


“TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT” – Andy Karagas and The Woodward Bar



The Woodward Bar sits on a rather forlorn block of Woodward Avenue just south of Grand Boulevard. Back in the day things weren’t a whole lot different. By day, straights from General Motors headquarters and the Fisher building walked in off Woodward for a drink and a burger during their lunch hour. By night, an unmarked door off the alley was the point of entry. While you might think that such a covert entrance must have had “shame” written in neon overhead, it felt more like the door to a secret realm of possibilities – straights need not apply.

I started going there around 1974. I’d like to tell you I was under-aged but I’m trying to be unflinchingly honest in my writing. I can at least say that, in the wisdom of the enlightened politicians of that era, the drinking age in Michigan had been lowered to 18. And, I believe it’s safe to say, I was Chicken.



Upon entering, the door would slam in announcement of the latest arrival. And emerging from a short darkness into the main bar, one found the entire place eager to see who it was. My entrance and that of any number of the younger crowd would provoke Andy Karagas, the fifty-something Greek-American owner to shout out in his gravely voice “HOT NUMBER!” I always met this greeting with a wan smile. I was young and nervous and leery of attention (all the while, fiercely wanting to be desired). As the years went on, Andy’s cry of “HOT NUMBER” began to carry less and less enthusiasm. Whether he became tired of his own schtick or I became less and less a hot number won’t be debated here but his great personality never wavered. We all loved Andy.

Another famous line of his was “TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT” which he’d bellow at any random moment giving us all a sort of cheer of encouragement. And on the weekends a middle-aged waitress called out “ANYBODY WANNA?” then paused before finishing up in a quieter tone with “drink?” thus clarifying her intentions. She had the kind of hair that earned her the nickname “The Governor” after Ann Richards, governor of Texas and the proud owner of a sky high, Lone Star State beehive.

If all this sounds corny, it was. They knew it and we knew it. And that’s what made it so great. In the typically overheated, sexually charged atmosphere of any gay bar full of horny little twenty year olds, a little comedy goes a long way in defusing the tension.

"Hot number!"

As much as Andy made you feel welcome, he also knew the draw of a handsome boy behind the bar. And there were more than a few over the years. The one that will always stay in my mind was Robbie. Robbie of the long curly hair long after anyone had long hair. Robbie of the angelic face and languid eyes. Robbie of the gentle but completely masculine demeanor. When I first crossed the threshold of The Woodward, I knew if he was gay than it was okay to be gay. And all I could think of when Andy yelled in my direction “HOT NUMBER” was “Did you hear that Robbie? Did you? I’m a hot number!” Never mind that the phrase was repeated over and over with every new arrival.

At the age of nineteen, I was drinking Old Grand Dad bourbon and water because my dad drank Old Grand Dad and water. And I can tell you that at The Woodward they were 90¢ a piece because I sat in Robbie’s section staring, love-sick across the bar drinking one after the other until I had ten dimes in change lined up in front of me. At which point, unproposed to, I left him with that whopping tip and pointed myself in the direction of the car. Night after night this played out but I was never able to convince my Adonis to rescue me from my “well of loneliness.” Years later I saw him naked at the gym in Royal Oak. I confess I pleasured myself in the whirlpool.

Back then I fell in love every other day. But of all the boys I felt completely lovesick over, few came close to Robbie. Living life fully means puppy love, infatuations and having your heart broken, and – even though it’s unbelievable at the time – getting over it and moving on. While writing this, I inquired about Robbie through old friends only to find out that he died a few years back. He couldn’t have been more than 50.

By the looks of its web site, The Woodward lives on today catering to a gay African-American crowd. The bar itself was never anything special, just two narrow rooms and a few tables – it was Andy and his crew that made the magic happen. It would be great to think that on any given night, the current owner is giving some insecure little newbie a shout out of “HOT NUMBER”, and letting him think for just a moment, “Hey. Maybe I am!”

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Speaking of 70's gay activism

The clip of Anita Bryant in the "Milk" trailer got me digging, and I found this awesome clip of gays protesting her anti-gay crusade in the 70's. By throwing a pie in her face.

You have to admit, once upon a time the gays did their protesting with panache.

And if you don't know who Anita Bryant is or her significance to the gay rights movement then shame on you. And click here.

"Four self-proclaimed homosexuals from Minneapolis interrupted the proceedings..."

Oh, and in the "Karma's a Bitch" department (currently represented by spokesmodel Sarah Palin, who cut programs for disabled children and pregnant teens), one of Bryant's sons turned out gay. Allegedly.

Sometimes I can just tell that God has an awesome sense of humor. And He/She loves the gay.

An important heads-up

This is not really locally gay-related, but I thought it was really noteworthy. The movie trailer for "Milk" has been posted, you can check it out here. It looks like the film will be great.


The significance of Harvey Milk in the gay rights and entire civil rights movement cannot be understated. If you are not familiar with him, you need to do a little googling. If you are gay and not familiar with him, shame on you.

Looks like we'll get the movie here sometime in December. Excellent!
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The old 'hood

I've mentioned here and there how the Palmer Park neighborhood used to be the old gay 'hood back in the 70's and 80's (and better yet, readers have chimed in with additional info). Recently I came across this flickr photoset with pictures of the buildings in that area.

There are some really sensational buildings in that McNichols/Woodward area. If you can't make the drive through yourself - and with summer in full bloom there's no better time - then this will be a nice substitute.

View the photoset here

Guest Blogger: Backintheday

Meeting cool new like-minded people has been a great unanticipated benefit of writing this blog.

Today's guest blogger lived in Detroit for years but is now on the west coast. One of the topics we've discussed in our e-mails has been the history of gay bars in Detroit, and I asked him to share some of his memories from back in the day.

In his first undertaking he shares a little history on the now-defunct Detroit eastside gay bar The Deck, which was located right at Jefferson and Alter on the Grosse Pointe/Detroit border.


The Deck – 1979

There have been national articles written about the Detroit-Grosse Pointe border. Perhaps no other place in America so graphically displays the disparity between the haves and the have-nots. It was even more so in the 70’s when property values in the Pointes were secure and Detroit’s East side was a virtual no man’s land. Sitting on the corner of Alter Road and Jefferson Avenue, tucked just inside this no man’s land was The Deck. I worked as a bartender there around 1979 before I hit the “big time” – T.N.T. and later, Menjo’s.

The Deck welcomes you! Well, welcomed you.

The Deck was a long-standing neighborhood joint. An old brick building, it had a long narrow room with a wooden bar and a row of small tables along the side. The front door had a one-way glass window and a buzzer controlled entry. Don, the owner, had “dolled the place up” with lattice over the windows and wallpaper with a sort of “forest floor” theme, but he couldn’t really hide its blue-collar origins. In the back it was a bit wider and opened up to a pretty nice little patio area. There were a few apartments overhead where Don “entertained” and Pete, the manager lived.

The Bar had settled into life as a place where straight locals, mostly retired, could gather around 3 o’clock and drink cheap shells of beer until the first of the gay clientele started to arrive off the buses they rode from their jobs downtown. The day crowd was pretty good-natured about the gays. The old married couples would look at each other and say “Time to pack it up, darling” and off they’d go, wobbling down the street to their apartments up and down Alter Road.

Miss Beverly had been a sales lady at Jacobson’s. Don had worked at “Dodge’s” while his wife Marge kept house. And Chuck was a 55 year old alcoholic stock boy at the party store two doors down. Even though it was more expensive, he drank his first beer of the day out of a bottle because his hands shook too much to hold a shell. They all looked forward to an appearance from Jean, the local bookie, as she made her rounds up and down Jefferson conducting business in the local watering holes.

Interior circa 1979

Week nights were never too crowded. A mix of Grosse Pointe boys and blue-collar East Side guys. This mix always seemed to tantalize. The blue-collar group turned on by a pair of khakis and a Polo shirt and the Grosse Pointers looking for a working class hero.

On the weekend the place was jammed with Topsiders, Brooks Brothers and Izod. Ralph Lauren had recently reinvented the preppy look with his Polo wear and the insular world of the Ivy League had never seemed so accessible. At the same time, while not exactly “out” gays were certainly feeling a sense of community with each other.

Being the only gay bar in the area meant that if you lived on the East side and were just cracking open the closet door, you’d probably do it by checking out The Deck. As a bartender there, I witnessed many an otherwise quiet weeknight when a somewhat terrified young guy would sit nervously apart from the rest of the customers and order a drink. It didn’t take long before he was sitting in front of half a dozen drinks paid for by a hopeful group of regulars. If he made it out of there alive it was on the arm of some old player who knew best how to pluck a chicken.

One quiet night a young Grosse Pointe kid came in and asked for a middle-aged regular by name. I told him I hadn’t seen him that night, thus unwittingly outing him. The kid replied in a fury “Well, I’m his son and I knew he came here. Tell him not to come home anymore.”

Like most gay bars, the place had its day and then it passed. There were attempts to extend its popularity – drag shows, piano players, Sunday brunch. But after its short stint as the “in” place, it settled into life as a cozy neighborhood hangout. This life too must have run its course, the last time I was in Detroit, The Deck was just another boarded up building waiting for whatever comes next.

The Deck today.

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Is it a gay thing?

Is there some switch that just flips at some point and you all of a sudden like Judy Garland?

This morning I was rummaging through some old LP's I've had laying around (long-playing records, not Little People) and came across "Judy at Carnegie Hall."

And that was that.

This monophonic microgroove recording is playable on monophonic and stereo phonographs. It cannot become obsolete. It will continue to be a source of outstanding sound reproduction, providing the finest monophonic performance from any phonograph.

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Pulp Friction

Long before the days of the internet, the Logo Network, Will and Grace or even Blueboy magazine, there was the lascivious world of paperback sleaze. A guy had to get his gay fix somehow.

The site Gay on the Range has an amazing collection of cover scans of these books from the 60's (and earlier). Have yourself a good chuckle and check them out.

It's like Grosse Pointe Gay except the wives aren't drunk.

A NYT review! Oh I miss the gay underworld...

Don't they have a custodian for that job?

All the drama! All the intrigue! All the pre-lubing!

I'm off to New York, kids, have a great weekend!

"House Beautiful" is right!

After I wrote about Hawkins Ferry and his impact on the overall fabulousness of SE Michigan, I heard from a couple readers who had some additional info on him. One regular reader tipped me off to the fact that Ferry's home had been published in House Beautiful back in 1969, and was even so kind as to give me a mimeograph of a page of it that had the house floorplans.

Obviously that was not enough for me and I had to see the entire feature, and recently my ebay searching bore fruit. Turns out Hawkins not only had a feature, he was the cover story. Naturally. Man, I've got a lot of catching up to do.

All this AND a feature called "Swing to Leather!"

It's a great spread and you get to see all the awesome furniture (hi, have a little Knoll) and art. I LOVE that he had a Giacometti in the living room, and in one photo you can see the awesome Bertoia sculpture "The Comet" that was only recently removed from the house by the Detroit Institute of Arts for restoration. And those upstairs porches outside the bedrooms are a verrrry nice touch.

Because I am a giver, I have taken the time to scan in the feature and I am posting it here. House Beautiful of that time was oversized and my scanner is normal-sized, so I had to perform unspeakable acts on the spine of that magazine and piece together two scans per page to get it, so please forgive the occasional obvious line where two images were joined. It looked fine in my graphics program but something about the conversion to jpg messed it up. Deal.

Each picture links to a larger version, and if you would like a hi-res PDF of the feature you can download it here (it is 30MB).
 
Ooooo and I got a little gossip too. I found out that Hawkins indeed had a boyfriend, a fellow who was Grosse Pointe gay. I have his name, but if you want it you'll have to ask realllllly nicely.

Looking for some hot DAADS?

If you are gay then there is a very good chance you are into classic modern design. Urbane gays in the '80's were some of the earliest revivers of mid-century modern as an aesthetic choice, way before there was a bona fide resurgence. I hesitate to say we spearheaded the revival ... but only for a moment. When people were giving away Heywood-Wakefield dining tables and Bertoia Diamond Chairs and Eames Loungers, gays were taking them in and making them a part of their faboo new decor.

A Donelan cartoon that appeared in the Advocate back in the eighties.

Of course back then it was called "retro" and the aesthetics pretty closely mirrored those of the original period, with maybe a slight emphasis on the camp element of it all. Well we've come a long way, baby. Classic modern (as it is now called) is everywhere, and not only has it been revived, it's been assimilated, reinterpreted, restyled and ripped off. It's now a standard decorating element in any sophisticated decor.

The Detroit area has a few stores that specialize in vintage modern, notably Vertu in Royal Oak (just a few doors down from Pronto, if you need a landmark) and Xavier's 20th on Michigan Avenue in Corktown (just a little ways down from Slows, if you need a landmark). These places are great, but if you want a bigger, world-class selection of premium, hard-to-find, exclusive modern design then you have to check out the Michigan Modernism Exposition, which is next weekend at the Southfield Civic Center. And there is no better way to do that than at the Friday Night Preview Party, which as it turns out is also a benefit for the Detroit Area Art Deco Society.

Oh the good times I've had at the charity preview! And by good times I actually mean having a few drinks and then undertaking some frenzied scouting and lusting and purchasing of awesome classic modern things. It's been a few years since I've attended, but I used to go every year with one of my best friends who, as it turns out, is also an inveterate shopper.

The thing is, you have to go to the Preview Party to see the best stuff. Judging from our purchasing alone, by Saturday morning some amazing pieces were already removed from the selling floor. One year she bought this unbelievable orange and yellow Higgins Glass three-pendant ceiling fixture that I still pray she leaves to me should, God forbid, anything happen to her. Another year she bought some uber-glam Coppola e Toppo costume jewelry that not only looked great on her, but served me very well one year for a drag Halloween. And I snagged my Bertoia slat bench there (for a song, really) that is coveted by more than one friend.

That's the much-loved Bertoia bench there, underneath the memories.

But it's not just the buying that makes it great. Walking around, a glass of wine in hand, and discovering amazing things you've never seen before is the real treat. And sometimes finding out that cute little antelope sculpture you bought at Treasure Mart in Ann Arbor for $4.80 (discounted 20% because it had been there two months) was actually a Frederick Weinberg piece worth about $200 is exciting too.

Now I get invites to a lot of charity events and I've kind of gotten to the point where "it's for a good cause" really doesn't rope me in anymore. I need it to be fun, or interesting, or compelling in some way. So despite the fact that the charity preview is, in fact, for a good cause (read more about DAADS on their website), I can whole-heartedly recommend it as time and money well spent. It's Friday, April 18 from 7 to 10pm, $50 if you buy in advance, there are wine and hors d'oeuvres included, and jazzy live entertainment to boot.

Oh and did I forget to mention? It is always swarming with homosexualists.

So instead of just sitting around workin' your hole next Friday night, why don't you get out for a little once-a-year fabulous that could, ultimately, provide you with something to take home for a little year-round fabulous?

Simply Sandra

The centerpiece of the Supergay Holiday Getaway was New Year’s Eve … Sandra Bernhard at the historic Castro Theater. Goin' gay all the way into 2008!

Sandy has been near and dear to my heart since the summer of ’89, when I somehow picked up the cassette of her one-woman show “Without You I’m Nothing” at Tower Records while on a summer internship in Washington, DC (unfortunately that was the extent of my picking up that summer). It was a new kind of comedy, unlike anything else I’d encountered before – that emotive, evocative, intellectual storytelling where the point was to engage as well as entertain. It changed my life! And it changed the life of my friends at college the following year as we made it the soundtrack of our late-night drives to Good Harbor Beach in Gloucester, Mass.

A scene from "Without You I'm Nothing," the movie.

Over the years Sandra wore many faces …

Madonna’s BFF, Madonna’s ex-BFF, angry ambiguous lesbian, angry affirmed lesbian ... she carved out her own niche in the world of comedy cabaret and she owned it. At a show during the Ann Arbor Summer Festival back in ’05 (never underestimate the power of the Ann Arbor Summer Festival), where she was fine-tuning her upcoming show and return to excellence “Everything Bad & Beautiful,” she had transformed into a mature woman open about her sexuality, speaking about her girlfriend and daughter, proclaiming her opinions about the world in which we live, and still being outrageous and touching and sexy. Has a woman with less to offer aesthetically ever been so confident in her sexual appeal? Other than your whorey mom, I say no.

Sandra live is not quite the same as Sandra on tape. She gets angry. She tells screaming fans in the audience to shut up ...

“Sandra!!!!” they screamed.

“That isn’t pretty” she replied.

She occasionally lets her rants get the best of her, but always in that jaded, put-out kind of way that makes it seem like your sister bitching. Seeing her be annoyed is half the fun.

Naturally, Sandra had something to say about the gays … “You used to be out partying all night, and now you’re moving to the suburbs” she said with a sneer to the crowd of gays in their 40’s and 50’s . She talked about the drift toward conformity, here in the gay ghetto that once represented the exact opposite. And where was the spirit of Sylvester in the gay world today? (As if to confirm that absence, after the show one of the guys I was there with asked who Sylvester was. Seriously!) The crowd chuckled, of course, but the truth of that did hit a little close to home, as evidenced by conversations overheard after the show.

It wasn’t all politics and annoyance, though. Sandy entertained and interpreted songs her way, starting with “U and UR Hand” by Pink, singing an homage to the San Francisco of old, and ending the night with her now-classic interpretation of Prince’s “Little Red Corvette.”

She doesn’t always win fans with her shows, but if you don’t mind a little confrontation, then there is no better entertainment than Sandra Bernhard. She will confront you and comfort you at the same time, and for the gay community, there is no one better at truly reflecting the cultural zeitgeist than our own Sandy.

Hell on Wheels

Here is a special piece of gay history for you. It's Cher's first professional MTV-style video (pre-MTV by the way), and also part of the soundtrack to the movie "Roller Boogie." Cher roller skates at over 100 mph! You're gonna love it.

Field Report: The Caucus Club

The Caucus Club may seem an usual restaurant for exploration as a gay spot, but its inclusion is really almost mandatory, for reasons I'll get to in a minute.

The Caucus Club is one of Detroit's old-time classics. It opened in 1952 and pretty much hasn't changed an iota since. Located on the ground floor of the fabulous Penobscot Building (south entrance), it has a clubby, piano bar kind of vibe. It actually does, in fact, have a piano, although I believe it generally goes unplayed.



I've been to the Caucus Club only a handful of times, the first this spring on the same night I went to the last Sass dance party and most recently for lunch today. It has all the nostalgic appeal you'd hope, including vintage 40's light fixtures over the tables in the bar, circular booths, waiters who have been there since the beginning of time. And the food is really great - since Union Street cut their awesome Salade Nicoise from the menu (I hate them now) I've been looking for something equally good, and the one here possibly exceeds it. Not to mention the espresso is brewed on a stovetop espresso pot, not a machine brewer.

And let's not forget cocktails! The drinks are great, old school, and they have all the top shelf brands you expect and deserve. There is something about the vibe, though, that demands minimally-diluted liquor, so don't bother with anything but a martini or a bullshot.

The clientele, at least at lunch, is typically downtown business-y. Not in the way the Detroit Athletic Club is, but more in the real downtown worker way. I can only illustrate this by describing the tables near me today, which included a late-middle-aged businessman with a slightly younger woman, a guy in a bowtie, and a trio of middle-aged chain smoking women. No pretense, no excessive formality, just real Detroit folks who won't eat at Jimmy John's.

As for the gay, well there weren't any other gay people there that I was aware of during any of my visits. But the Caucus Club holds a very special spot in gay history because it is the place where Barbra Streisand got her first break. As their website states:

"The Caucus Club has had many celebrities cross its door. The most famous would have to be Barbra Streisand who sang in the back room in 1961. Brought here from New York, the Caucus Club was one of Streisand first paying jobs. She was young and inexperienced performer. "Watching her was like watching the first brush strokes in a picture, she was creating herself," said owner Les Gruber. Streisand left Detroit for an appearance on the Tonight Show with Jack Parr, and the rest is history!"

History indeed. If you are looking for a place to go with friends that has charm, class, character and is a part of your gay heritage, I cannot recommend this place enough. It is, frankly, ripe for a gay takeover as a swanky little piano bar. All we'd need is a decent performer. Hey Barbra ... ?