In 1973, an anti-gay arsonist set fire to a New Orleans gay lounge and killed 32 people. When police raids ended, hate crimes did not. Through the late 1960s, routine police raids meant gay bar patrons could be threatened with fines, jail time, and possibly job loss or social annihilation if outed by authorities.
Whether it’s Stonewall or the Stud, gay bars have been considered LGBTQ “safe spaces” - a term scholar and activist Moira Kenney attributes to the gay liberation movement of the 1960s and 1970s.īut “safe” is a misnomer. Should we rebuild these once-sacred spaces or create something new? Now, as the world reopens and we clamor for community, queer people face a conundrum. Sometime between the birth of dating apps, marriage equality, and gayborhood gentrification, traditional gay bars became inessential. In the late 1980s, there were roughly 200 lesbian bars across the country. According to sociologist Greggor Mattson, 37 percent of US gay bars closed between 20. The immediate cause of these deaths might be COVID-19, but gay bars were on life support before the pandemic began. Little Jim’s, a Chicago mainstay known as the Cheers of Boystown, shuttered after forty-five years in business. Washington DC’s Eagle flew the coop last May Atlanta’s Eagle followed suit in November. Los Angeles bid farewell to Gym Bar, Flaming Saddles, Rage, Gold Coast, and the 52-year-old Oil Can Harry’s. NYC lost institutions like 9th Avenue Saloon and Therapy. It was one of the oldest LGBTQ establishments in the United States.Īmerica’s gay bar graveyard has amassed a sobering amount of headstones in the past year. Bartenders started slinging drinks from The Stud’s latest SOMA location in 1987. The bar began operating in 1966, one year before the original Stonewall Inn opened its doors across the country. What followed was an hours-long funeral - not for a person, but for The Stud - a beloved San Francisco gay bar forced to close during the pandemic.