A curious and unexpected effect of being back in Phoenix has been the appearance of ghosts. Not the horror movie variety, but rather memories of persons, places and things long gone. I'm not talking about memories of my life in Phoenix post San Francisco and pre Denver, but stuff from my 20s!
I had to run out to my new employer's occupational health office to get screened and vaccinated prior to starting work several times over the past couple weeks, and the route takes me past the locations of three of my favorite gay bars from the late 70s and early 80s: Bullwinkle, The Forum, and Hotbods. Of course, none of those places are still in business, but the mere act of driving past conjures up so many good memories of the evenings I spent in them. Driving past The Forum, I am reminded of meeting friends Mike and Michael (and running into an acquaintance from high school whom I previously hadn't a clue that we played on the same team), and the DJ George, who I often bumped into at lunch at the McDonalds (that used to be on the northeast corner of 16th Street and Camelback vs. its current location on the southeast) where we'd discuss the week's latest disco releases over our fries and Big Macs. The Forum was where—to the strains of St. Tropez's Violation, I first slow-danced with another man.
Bullwinkle, and later Hotbods were where my friend Steve worked. I remember many evenings spent at the latter venue in the DJ booth with him (at least until the pharmaceuticals he's taken started flowing). It was the place where Dennis (my first partner) and I would drive two hours from Tucson to spend a Saturday night dancing—and then turn around and drive two hours back home after they turned the lights up.
Ah, youth.
Then there are the two audio equipment stores where I used to hang out: Jerry's and Bruce's—neither of which are still open, and in fact haven't been in years—but nonetheless elicit memories of my first major purchase on credit and where I went every six months to get my stylus examined under a microscope for signs of wear. (No, not that stylus, you bitches!)
There are plenty of other examples of these 30 year old memories being dredged up, but I won't bore you. The question I have to ask however is why? Why here, why now? I don't remember this happening when I moved back from San Francisco in '02…
I suppose moving back to a place from whence you came makes ghosts inevitable.
Perhaps doing new and adventuresome things may help exorcise the bad ones.
When I lived in Phx. in 1971 (also a short time in '84, but that is another story), our bars were Casa De Roma, owned by Sammy and Bill, Diamond Lil's, the first place I danced all night with men freely, Sportsman's Lodge or Lounge (I can't remember, they had after hours on Friday and Saturday), and near Tempe was the Nu Town Saloon. They had butch guys and beer bust and burgers on Sunday.
I have only good memories of those days.