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A generation who had police follow them into bathrooms and lure them into cuffs. It was and is a place of worship and protection, especially for an entire generation of humans who saw more struggle, frustration, misunderstanding, stereotypes, and challenges than any gay white dude nowadays could comprehend. The Broadway Bar-or any queer bar for that matter-is more than a bar. They covered the pool tables to make way for a ton of food, encouraged everyone and anyone to come in, eat, and even if they were strangers, take a glance at someone that was important to them. They were the queers who lived through a time I can't imagine, plagued by a lack of understanding and a survival-based need to hide���and they celebrated the life of a dead friend at the bar because the queer bars were their churches. Simultaneously lamenting and celebrating both a time and friend lost. There was the newly minted digital jukebox that someone was sorting through.īut there was an aura about the space that was distinctly different from my puke-and-rally Sunday Fundays: There stood older men and women and humans, styrofoam plates of food in one hand, cocktail in the other, arms affectionately around another if they had just one or the other. Of course there were the things I was used to, like Randy, a bartender lovingly mocked by the young and old for often being slow (but always extraordinarily kind).
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Well over fifteen years ago, I stepped into the Broadway Bar midday, my day-drinking-twenties at full peak, and walked into a Broadway I wasn't used to.