A weekly web column by Roger A. Baylor.
Two weeks ago, the Warehouse Bar abruptly closed its doors. To put it mildly, this outcome was unexpected, given what seemed to be overwhelming positives during the period of its resurgence.
In fact, the establishment’s short-lived reinvention as an overtly, all-closets-barred LGBT bar truly was the talk of the town. When NA Confidential mentioned the Warehouse, the ratings in terms of blog and Facebook page views and shares ventured into numerical stratospheres never previously witnessed.
The local chain newspaper’s SoIn supplement did a whole story on the phenomenon, in which the bar’s two managers reported huge revenue increases. Comments and feedback came from far and wide, posted by people seeing something new and interesting about New Albany, perhaps for the very first time.
But the most gratifying reactions came from several of my younger acquaintances, who merely shrugged, yawningly attributing the Warehouse’s LGBT makeover to no higher motives than a mercantile desire to place customers in seats: “Duh. They turned it into a gay bar to make money.”
Just let that sink in for a moment.
Without so much as referencing the judgmental social baggage carried for so long and annoyingly by their grandparents, to the effect that there might be something intrinsically evil, immoral or threatening about an LGBT bar located within stumbling distance of Bob Caesar’s pastry shop, what they found noteworthy was a business embracing the profit motive by catering to a neglected market.
Talk about revolutionary!
Arguably the most fascinating aspect of the Warehouse’s no-frills reinvention overnight, from an indistinct bar with virtually nothing of originality to distinguish it from any number of other area licensees into a must-visit shooting star attracting more visitors to New Albany than any number of civically-endorsed weekend one-offs, is what it actually cost to facilitate the transformation.
Basically, it cost nothing.
The bricks, mortar and fixtures were the same as before. In terms of reinvestment capital, the only need was an attitudinal shift – a difference incalculable in dollars and cents. In effect, this was nothing more than a statement of intent to customers: You are as you are, so come as you are. Be who you are. No biggie. Nothing more, nothing less.
Simple dignity, accompanied by a beer or cocktail. What a concept.
It really shouldn’t be difficult, should it?
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I’ve never thought about these issues very much as they pertain to business, probably because I’ve always taken for granted that my own personal goal of better beer was egalitarian and inclusive, allowing folks patronizing my own two establishments the freedom to be what they are, too, with further fanfare unnecessary beyond the better beer itself.
However, I may have been mistaken in this assumption. Better beer’s higher unit costs always nagged me, and then a few months ago I was taken down another notch when it was reported to me that an anti-gay slur was uttered by a customer at the Grant Line location.
Unfortunately, staff didn’t hear it, and the perpetrator could not be identified. That’s too bad. If I’d have been on hand, heard the comment and had the opportunity, someone’s boorish butt would have been unceremoniously removed from the premises and asked not to return.
Of course, neither our workers nor the company’s ownership sanctions such doltishness, and yet this incident remains bothersome to me, probably because it illustrates how elusive simple human dignity can be, even when one tries his best to espouse an atmosphere for it.
At any rate, the Warehouse’s managers put out a literal flag of welcome, and customers came streaming through the door. The story should end happily, but it hasn’t, at least not as of this writing. The reason for this appears to be the sad fact of the managers being merely managers, and not actual owners.
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The actual owner of the Warehouse as a business entity, who purchased it on contract from Matt McMahan and was renting the space from Matt, apparently made the decision to close it. He turned in the keys to Matt, skipped the contract and gave it back, even though business was much better off as an LGBT bar than it had been before.
It appears likely that his reason for doing so testifies to the existence, hitherto unknown, of Americans who genuinely do value personal principle over profit, although in this case, a better way of phrasing it might be “value personal prejudice over profit.”
At least that’s the way the story was told to me; after all, a homophobe might not be the best choice of LGBT bar owner. I looked at his Facebook profile, and staring back at me was a white, bearded, presumably heterosexual male of 55, wearing a Duck Dynasty shirt. Faster than it takes for John Rosenbarger to emit noxious lies, I felt the familiar, all-embracing revulsion toward ignorant, clueless, thoughtless white guys of that approximate age.
Of my age, that is, because I’m 54, and guys like this are an embarrassment, and a veritable albatross around the necks of the rest of us, not just here, but in the entire nation. To me, the sooner my cohort is outnumbered, the better.
To be sure, I’m operating on second-hand testimony. However, it would be entirely believable to me if the former Warehouse owner in question would say aloud: “Sheeee-it, boys, I only did it because I knew it would fail, and when it didn’t – well, I’m not about to let a bunch of faggots help me succeed!”
Make no mistake: He didn’t say this, at least not for attribution, but I’ve heard words to this effect so often in my life, as spewing from white male morons my general age, that it has left an indelibly negative impression.
Let’s just be happy this one is gone.
I’m not sure what will happen next. Whether at the Warehouse or elsewhere, it has been proven that an LGBT bar is viable in New Albany. Like any bar, it would need to be well-managed, and maybe more than any other bar, the regulars would double as active stakeholders worthy of consultation. I had coffee with Matt yesterday, and he seems amenable to such a course.
Get a nice Pale Ale on tap, and the sky’s the limit … even in this town.
