patronage of St. Payola."

Normally, a publicly licensed bar is required by law to serve prospective customers without discrimination as to race, creed or color. Other than that, the owner or one of the attendants have virtually arbitrary authority as to service of anyone.

THE OLD "86"

It was at my present location that I had my first experience of being given the "86," or rejected as a patron of a bar. On arrival here, where members of my family had been long time residents, I made it a practice to entertain friends in the very few good places out of the neighborhood. I selected a few places in the neighborhood for lone, "drop-in" patronage for the sake of convenience and accessibility. Usually I went only once or twice a week, having about a half dozen bottles of beer in an evening. Within six months I heard of myself being described as a drunk. Some of the neighborhood customers also were carrying lying tales back to my family. This latter may have been occasioned by the fact that I was usually alone, but basically it was because I hesitated to bring decent people into these places.

Here, I had my first experience with being asked to leave a place as a customer. I had become friendly with the bartender in a casual way. He was a young man, separated from his wife. He frequently told his customers about intercourse with women. I had not thought of him as homosexual.

On meeting him in another spot one night, I found him involved in a fight where the police had been called. He was drunk. I got him out, into his car before the police arrived and to the home of a friend for coffee. On the trip back, he drove

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drunkenly, exposed his private parts, and assulted me. He did not succeed, however. He let me out at my house. and promptly wrecked his car by running into a ditch in front of it. I called a tow truck and got him on his way.

I went to his establishment a few more times and was publicly told by him that my patronage was no longer wanted. Whether pique or shame prompted this, I will never know. I was deprived of the best and most convenient place nearby for a year or more until he left. I have never had any trouble there since that time.

ONLY ASSES MAKE PASSES

This incident led me to undertake an informal investigation concerning public drinking in the area. I selected two taverns and a nightclub in the neighborhood. Sandy Jug, with its handsome young bartender, Joe, was one. Little Joe's, with its Kenny was the second. The Western Club, with a variety of attendants and a very informal atmosphere was the third. I began by behaving very circumspectly, never undertaking a sexual advance of any kind, being casually friendly with all people who wished to be, and trying to maintain good if impersonal relations with the bartenders. Usually, but not always, I was alone. Simultaneously, I became a drop-in customer at the most noted Gay bar in town.

Within four months many customers at Sandy Jug assumed that Joe and I were not only the closest of friends, but were living together on a homosexual basis. Joe, himself, decided that I had fallen in love with him and had asked me if this were not true in front of two other male customers. When an intoxicated cusComer asked me for a lift home one

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