Growing up in the mid-cape area of Cape Cod, in the 1980's, there was one gay bar, The Mallory Dock. Even as a kid, I knew what is was. I remember being in the back of the family station wagon, driving by the Mallory Dock and seeing a full parking lot. I always wondered what it must be like inside. I imagined shirtless sweaty men on the dance floor, clandestine hook-ups in the men's room, and imagined authentic friendships being made on the patios. As a closeted little queer kid in the 80's I dreamed of the day I would be able to enter that community.
Shortly after I got my driver's license, on a Sunday afternoon, I was driving by, the parking lot had about a dozen cars, so I thought I'd go and take a peek. The Mallory Dock was a small gay bar in a small tourist town, there was no door man, but I was clocked right away as being under 21 (I actually think I was 16). A very kind, bartender, about 60 years old, in very tight Levi's, a white crew neck t-shirt under a black leather vest, asked if I had ID. I lied and said I forgot it. He could tell I was not old enough to be there, but he was very kind when he said I'd have to go home and get my ID if I were to be in the bar. He had a thick mustache, a throwback then to the late 70's, and a sympathetic smile. I think he knew I was searching for something, some connection, a sense of belonging. I was just too soon, and I would have to wait a few more years.
In the few moments I was inside the bar, I finally got to see what it was like on the inside. It was dark, to the left of the entrance there was a payphone on the wall. Beyond that, there was a small bar and a few bar tables scattered around, and then there was a door that led out to a back patio. To the right of the entrance was a doorway that led to the dance floor and behind the dance floor on the left wall was a bar. This was a Sunday in the off-season, the music was on, dance lights streamed across the floor and up the walls in synch with the music, but there wasn't a soul on the dance floor. The only patrons I could see were a handful of men, most of them older, sitting at the bar in the small bar side. On the dance floor side there wasn't even a bartender and that bar was dark.
I was there maybe 90 seconds before being clocked by the bar tender, and I made my way back to my truck.
I was 29 years old before I ever stepped foot back into the Mallory Dock. By then I had been to some of the biggest gay clubs in the world, Warsaw in Miami, Sodom in Athens, Greece, The Abbey in LA, and my favorite, Heaven in London, I had also spent almost every summer in Provincetown, and lots of time San Francisco. When I stepped back into the Mallory Dock, it was exactly what I remembered it being and exactly what you would expect. A small town dive gay bar, dark without windows, dated decor, and a really bad sound system, it was perfect. It was exactly what every small town should have. Just a laid back place for the area queers to go hang out on a Friday night and just be themselves and exhale. A place to meet a friend for a drink, meet a new friend while having a drink, dance shirtless to a Britney dance mix, or get your dick sucked in a bathroom stall.
For that year, being back on Cape Cod, the Mallory Dock, this crappy little hole in the wall dive bar became my space for an escape, a place I could go once or twice a week, be surrounded by gay people and just feel connected to my community for a few hours. I don't know how many hours I spent sitting on that back patio, smoking cigarettes and laughing until 1:00am, always staying until close. Living in a place that didn't have at least that, at least a crappy little dive bar, it would have been unbearable. It'd be like being that 16 year old kid all over again, just aching to connect with someone else like me, or to just share a space.
I met Roberto right after my 30th birthday, shortly after that we moved to Maine (the first time) By the time we went back to visit the Cape, Mallory Dock had closed. This bar that had been in existence for as far back as I could remember, was gone. I was no longer connected to that community but it hits me that some young queer guy, growing up in my hometown, won't have that place to go to when they are ready to join the community. No teen is going to pass by that dive bar and know that, inside that building, there might be people like him. Everyone is being relegated to the internet and apps for a simulation of connection and community. For those in these small towns, its a desert of gay spaces. It makes me sad that there is a whole culture that these young men will never know, and they won't even know that they are missing out on something. Being accepted in "straight" spaces is great, but it does not replace having spaces of our own. It does not replace that feeling of stepping out of the rest of the world and into one of our own.
If you are lucky enough to live in an area with a gay space, go. Support it, being in this business is never easy, there are lots of things vying for our attention, our time, our money, be sure to allocate some for your local, hole in the wall gay bar. We all have to find community where we can, and once we find it we have to nurture it and keep it thriving. In the upcoming years we may be back to relying on our communities more than ever.
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