The Castro starts to grow up!
I just did the math. 1973 to 2021 is 58 years ago. Ouch! How times have changed.
Well here we are. Steve is learning Chinese at his job. Einar is flying around in an ambulance, and I’ve been hired at the upcoming Midnight Sun Bar.
Castro Street is starting to morph into a distinct gay neighborhood. The Castro look was starting to happen. Short haircuts, 501 shrink-to-fit jeans, butch plaid shirts, and construction boots. Not all at once, mind you. But little by little. Bleached white mustaches, little braided hair ques down the back of the neck. I might share the story of Charlie and I bleaching our mustaches white while hammered! Just trying to be original. It was a wonderful feeling of tribal identity. Our time, our safe place. There were only a couple of things that you had to leave the Castro for. Groceries, at the SafeWay on Market Street. And the Levi Store on Market Street. Just hop on a street car. The L Taraval, etc. At first, this was not a fashion statement. It was a developing Gay Idenity. Our little Free Republic of The Castro. The four square blocks of The Castro were the village. Eat your heart out, New York.
Let me emphasize. In 1973, San Francisco was not the open-armed welcoming place that it is now. Even in the Castro there were many people who were really unhappy with the influx of our tribe into their neighborhood. Well, as they say, money talks! Just about every business (merchants) on and off Castro started to bloom. The Deli could hardly keep up with the increase in business. The same for all the other non-gay merchants. Hey, who cares who’s sleeping with who. They were making more money than ever before. Even The Castro Theater was really up and running again. More to follow about that. And the Spaghetti restaurant right next door to it. Slowly, but surely. Gay-owned business other than bars started to open. For example, The Neon Chicken on 18th street. Right off Castro Street. Haute Cuisine. Gay-owned, gay-staffed and basically all gay coustomers. It was just the tip of the iceberg. Our gang spent many wonderful times eating there, and brunch too. Really The Castro was becoming a Gay Island in a sea of straights.
Planes, trains, buses and cars brought in wave after wave of intrepid young gay people. It was the big Gay magnet. Drawing us into the Promised Land. Go West, Together! The sky was the limit at that time. Try and imagine moving from all parts of the country, and Canada. It was a true feeling of liberation. We were the next wave. The flower children had come before us, (Haight Ashbury). We had an underlying purpose. We had been so oppressed for so many years. Driven out of work, the military, the State Department in the 1950s McCarthy witch hunts. Now it is our time. Finally breathing the air of freedom for the first time. We could finally be what we wanted to be, and fuck them if they didn’t like it!
Let’s step back to my employment at The Midnight Sun. The renovation begins. We cleaned out all the crap that made up the City Dump. No more fake trash. We deserved much better. The old underwear hanging from the walls and ceiling was gone. The inside of the room looked just huge. All the clutter was gone. What was left behind was a wonderful Art Deco bar in a huge open room. We painted the walls cream white. Hung some huge artsy quilts up on the walls. Of course, there were plans in the making to transform The Midnight Sun. Well it was better than nothing. The Sun was up and open for business. 12:00 noon till 2:00 a.m.
David Ford, the new owner was just a delight to work with. Not to mention, uber handsome. Yes, I had a huge crush on him. I was just his little puppy. He could do no wrong in my eyes. David and his ex, Jimmy had a masterplan to transform the Sun into a spaceship. So when we were not working at the bar, we were working in an artist warehouse. Sawing, nailing, painting all the parts that would come together for The New Midnight Sun. Jimmy had the entire project kind of laid out. All the measurements. The materials, the labor, the valiums to help the workforce from not losing their minds, during the process. I will tell ya. Friendships, couples and the Sun community came together while working together to produce all the parts for the bar transformation. Did I mention the huge mural that Jimmy would be painting? No, not yet. It really was a work of art.
Times were a bit tough. Not a huge amount of business at the bar. Several of the original bartenders left for greener pastures. Can’t blame them. Well, being the hard-working trooper that I was, I stayed the course. A real sense of camaraderie was developing. I would get home from work either covered in paint or saw dust. We had a goal to work for. To be honest, it was about taking Toad Hall down a couple of pegs. And eventually we did. Another story. Gay softball league.
This is a bit funny: when I had my interview for a job at the Sun, the co-owner, Stuart, who was day manager, asked me about my experience as a bartender. I had stated that I was a bartender at The 19 Bar in Minneapolis. Well, the truth, Ruth, is yes I was. But it was just a beer bar. The oldest Gay Bar in Minneapolis, gay from 1951, the year I was born. Tough fucking place. Stuart wanted to know if could make cocktails with fruit in them. The garnish etc. I fucking panicked. So I said, “Oh gosh, you know Minneapolis is way up north. So fresh fruit is just a bit hard to get up there,” hoping that would just pass over his head. Instead, he was on the floor laughing so hard, I thought he was having a seizure. I thought here comes my walking papers. Really I thought the Jig was up. Stu eventually stopped laughing. Fuck, well there goes this job. To my surprise, he said that was the funniest bartender story he had ever heard. Stu said welcome to the family. So began my love affair with The Midnight Sun.
Now back up at 7 States Street. Aunt Einez is planning a full blow out Orthodox Christmas. I mean really, we are all Swedish. Well The Lutherans can be just a tad boring. Who actually knew. 7 States Street was a fantastic place to live in. It would eventually become the hive of many Castro neighborhood shenanigans.
Try and imagine. Underneath Castro Street and Market Street was going to be a major underground transfer station for the subway and metro. Just a huge hole in the ground. Covered with those huge metal plates over the construction sites. Huge piles of debri to walk through.
God help you if you may have had one too many. I am talking about getting home to 7 States Street after a Chili Con carne after bar closing feast at the Castro cafe. More crackers please! Never enough saltine crackers! You would get those little fuckers that had two crackers in them. They were about as much fun to open as an anti diarrhea pill, while you’re sitting on the can. With nothing sharp to cut it open. Oh sure, just peel back the corner and push. Really, who thinks this crap up. Is it Satan? HA! I will just say, thank the baby Jesus that I didn’t do it in spike heels. Trudging up Castro Street was bad enough. But crossing Market Street was a trip. What a mess. Many friends tripped on the rubble, crossing Castro and Market Street, on their way up to 7 States Street.
Back at the warehouse, we were making tremendous progress. Between pizza and beer breaks, the crew was very close to finishing the project. Getting ready to assemble it at The Sun. We had really pulled together as a team, and then some.
Then came the comet ‘Kahoutec.’ Many nights after bar closing time the whole crew would head over to the Pacific Heights beach area. Looking out to the ocean. No lights to block out the stars. We would bring a couple gallons of white wine with us, and whatever else we could get our hands on. We played a game, that was basically: the waves would go out, we would all run up towards them then head for the hills when the waves would come back in. Hey, young and gay. We were having a great time. So where was the comet?. Total no show. But who really cared. We had a lot of fun on the Kahoutec watch.
Back to the assembly of all the pieces and parts to turn The Midnight Sun into a Flash Gordon spaceship. There was never a dull moment. The bar was closed down for about five days. Down came the quilts! Thank god. I was so sick of hearing jokes about them. The transformation was now under way. It was chaos to begin with. Ladders and ramps all over the place.
Too many cooks can spoil the broth. Just transporting all the materials from the warehouse to the bar turned into a herculean task. We would put something up only to have Jimmy yelling, “That’s in the wrong place, take it down!” All the while, he was up on a ladder, trying to paint the mural. The crew had to flee the construction site sometimes just to keep our sanity. Run up to Toad Hall for a quick drink or three. Spread stories about what was going on at 506 Castro Street. Then back to work.
Paint was flying around. Drills buzzing, hammers pounding. The music was turned up to full blast. The Southern Comfort was flowing. David Ford was now hiding out in the vault. Well, 506 Castro was built as a bank to begin with. The back office was the old bank vault. Jimmy was pulling his hair out, while singing it’s Midnight at the Oasis, put your camels to sleeps! It became pretty obvious. We were getting burnt out. We needed some fresh bodies to help out. So I dragooned Steve and Einar into the club. They were sworn to secrecy and put to work.
Up and down Castro Street, people wanted to know what was going on at 506. The loud music, hammering, screaming people. A few of us had a breakdown outside the bar. Just another normal everyday gay construction project. David was probably thinking, oh fuck. I sunk all of my money into this project. Jimmy was not only the artist, the director and the camp counselor, but kept people from killing each other. It all finally started to come together. Jimmy finished the mural.The arches finally were in place. The final touches of painting and the new lighting system were finished. TA DA! Mission accomplished. We are all still friends. Charlie and I had struck up a relationship. The bar lights were turned down. The candles were lighted. The new music system was turned on. That was another Jimmy project. Gardenias were in bowls on the bar. Everything was dusted, swept and clean. David was coaxed out of the vault. He loved it, as we all did. It was really a work of art. Very unique.
So the crew and friends partied all night long. At sunrise we all went to The Nothing Special Bar for a Bloody Mary. Fuck it was 6 a.m. Eventually we all made it home with Monumental hangovers. We were just exhausted. Now the planning for the Grand Opening party got underway. David was going to throw a party to be remembered, and he did. I think? A little foggy after Charlie and I fell over the empty champagne boxes, laughing as we went down.
Going to leave off for now. More to follow. Spoiler alert: The Grand Opening, Orthodox Xmas.
Love and fond memories to all,
The Gay Elder.
Barnard Street Tattler 