Well it looks like the shi'ite has really hit the fan at Dunkin' Donuts in downtown Beirut, Lebanon. According to the Daily Star, the Beirut branches of the British donut chain are allegedly refusing to serve people who break 'norms.' That would be us.
According to a Lebanese Dunkin' Donut spokesperson, gay men 'talk loudly and invade other customers' privacy.'
It conjures up the vision of some Lebanese drag queen wearing a diamante studded burqua and yashmak belting out 'Hello Dolly' and using an Orange Mango Fruit Coolatta as a microphone.
An anonymous Dunkin' Donuts employee also said that if homosexuals want to challenge the government and come out they shouldn't use a donut shop as a battleground.
I suppose some Lebanese Queer group could run in screaming: 'We're here, we're queer and we'd like a dozen Bavarian Kremes, three Strawberry Frosted and a Glazed Chocolate Cruller … .' It's hardly a 'battleground' by Beirut standards.
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I found this on a Web site: 'When you ask for their opinion, a true friend will always tell you the truth.'
What a load of crap!! A true friend is someone who will lie through their teeth and tell you what you want to hear. So I was a little shocked when I recently asked three 'friends,' 'Going by my character, if I was a dog, what kind of dog do you think I'd be,' they all answered the same thing … a pit bull. What a crock of shit.
I was thinking I was more of a standard poodle. You know, majestic, butch, but with a hint of femininity in the form of an amusing perm. A pit bull for Chrissakes!!
Of course, the three 'friends' who said that happen to all be hung like chihuahuas …
Not that I'm one to gossip.
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Am I the only person who looks back on their teen years and cringes? Hair down to my waist, velvet bell bottoms, organic gardening, gurus and green tambourines … I'm gonna vomit.
Silly, fun times but they're OVER!! So anything that even faintly smells of incense and those innocent hippie days is a fair target as far as I'm concerned.
Then I read this headline in the Times-Union: 'An idealist behind Easton Mountain, a retreat for gay men in Washington County.'
' … (Blah blah blah) … John Stasio wanted to be a priest … change the world … (etc. etc.) … . Today, Stasio, 38, carries that same vision as the founder of Easton Mountain, a retreat center and community of gay men based in Washington County near Greenwich on the grounds of a defunct nudist camp known as the Phoenix.
'What we're doing is part ashram, part commune, part monastery,' says Stasio.
Let me take a break here. I'm not really making fun of people who want to take a break from their corporate jobs and spend a weekend talking to turnips … no really, I'm not. But when the 'retreat' boasts of having 'organic gardens, a pool, an elaborate treehouse and a hot tub … .'
… OK, I'm having a problem with the 'elaborate treehouse.' I mean, who the hell wants to go away for the weekend and sit in a fucking treehouse? Where's the fun in that?
Maybe I've lost touch with my earth roots, maybe a 'fire circle' might bring meaning to my life, but I've got a sneaking suspicion the Easton Mountain retreat is too organic to have a microwave oven …
… and I don't go anyplace where they don't have a microwave oven.
Chicago Whispers
Someone recently left this message on my voicemail: 'The first gay bar that I went to in Chicago was called the 12 O'clock Club. I went in as a total stranger to Chicago and wound up meeting somebody. Does anybody remember the Wind Up, Carousel or Punchinello's, I'd love to hear from them.'
The Carousel …
I don't know much about the Carousel, other than it closed in the '40s, but Charles B., who I interviewed a few years back, remembered a singer there called Lucrezia: 'I knew Lucrezia very well,' he said, 'Lucrezia could have been on top of the world, but she wouldn't listen to anybody. There was a club with class, it was mixed, and it was on Oak and Dearborn, Ann and Sal ran it and downstairs was gay, upstairs was sort of mixed, and Lucrezia worked there for a long time ... until it was closed. The last time I saw Lucrezia, I recognized her ... About 20 years ago ... I was on a State Street bus going north, and who was sitting across from me but Lucrezia. She was the understudy in South Pacific doing Bloody Mary. She was from New England. I'll tell you who tried to help Lucrezia a lot was Victor Borge. They were very close friends. She was a singer, she was a chanteuse. She played the piano and she sang.'
The night the Windup closed …
On Jan. 9, 1949 Captain Thomas Harrison and six vice cops from the E. Chicago Ave. station raided the Windup Lounge at 669 N. State St.
Here's the story of Frank W., a bartender who was working there that night.
'Captain Harrison came a little after midnight and went around talking to a few people. I was running the '26' dice table that night and he came over and asked me to write my name on a slip of paper, saying he wanted to 'be sure he had it.' I did so, and then I signaled one of the floor men over to ask what was going on. He pointed out that we had been under arrest for over an hour—this was about 1.30 a.m.—and that plainclothes officers on the door were letting people in, but not letting anyone leave. We were taken to the station in 'black marias' and it was a very messy night for all. The newspapers had photographers covering the front door as we were led out one by one to the wagons, and it was terrifying. All of the other Near North Side gay bars closed when they heard what was happening, and the patrons and employees came over to see what was going on.
'The gay bars were owned and operated by people with family or business connections with the Mafia, and one of the 'powers that be' at the Windup was 'Greasy Thumb' Guzik who had been the bookkeeper for Al Capone, and had kept Capone's books in his head, so legend said. The Mafia were good bosses as long as you behaved.'
The Windup Lounge was actually run by the Allegretti brothers, Jimmy and Tony, and Tony's wife Florence Ramsey, all members of the Guzik-Capone gang.
That night 87 men were arrested, and the next morning the headline on the front page of the Chicago Tribune read: 'File Charges Against 87 in Vice Net.'
One observer of the case said: 'One by one the men appeared before Judge John Griffin. News photographers were standing at the front, and to the side of the judge's bench, another group were standing at the back. When the cameras were raised at the front, the arrested men looked back to avoid being photographed, and then the newsmen at the back would snap away, and as they turned, the cameras at the front would get them.'
All the charges were dropped, but everyone's name had already been printed in the paper, so careers were lost, families split up and some people even committed suicide.
Frank W., a bartender on the night of the Windup raid, escaped his day in court when his family paid off the cops and got him released.
If you have memories to share, contact Sukie de la Croix at Windy City Times. You can leave a message on his voicemail at 773-871-7610. He collects memories and interviews over the phone, in person, or via e-mail
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