related items
Sunday, June 28, marked the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall riots, considered a powderkeg event in the gay-rights movement. In the early hours of that morning in 1969, police raided the Stonewall Inn, and the bar's gay and lesbian patrons fought back against this bigoted brutality. Despite its violent and politically charged history, however, Stonewall was (and is) a pretty laid-back place. In the words of Tree, a gentle giant of a bartender who was at the bar on the night of the riots, it was "just a place to dance." Now it's a place to pull up for one of Tree's generous pours and some outrageous stories about the bar—and the neighborhood—when the mafia was boss and being gay could get you sent to jail. We took notes as he held court.
Tree, what's your real name?
I only have one name: Tree. Like Cher. My mail comes to "Tree."
What's it like working at the gay bar?
Well, it's a gay bar but everybody's welcome. We have straight people come in whose children or grandchildren are gay—they want to buy a T-shirt. We have people coming in saying, "My mother and father had their wedding reception here in 1956."
Bar patron: Tree, remember when we'd all go to Cookie Jar? On 14th Street? A gay girl bar? It was uncontrollable. It was.
No, that I don't know. But we all had our favorites. We had Mama's Chick ‘N' Rib, which was a gay coffee shop and restaurant. Right on Greenwich and Charles. Mama owned it—a Greek woman. And she'd go "My boys a-no do that. My boys good boys. None of this, my boys [makes blowjob hand gesture]." This was in the ‘60s.
Patron: Remember the old Crisco Disco?
That was my favorite. When you went in, there was an eight-story-high can of Crisco, and on top of it was your DJ. You could go in the VIP room and see Princess Caroline of Monaco lying on the floor, throwing up. Robin Williams was in the bathroom with three drag queens, doing drugs. I'm in the bathroom with Jan Michael Vincent, doing lines of coke. Grace Jones, Peter Frampton. Ethel Merman we brought in there. She loved the place!
Patron: Remember The Anvil? That was sort of a sick place.
Well, it had a show that was sick. People would sit on dildos; one queen would set himself on fire. The downstairs was a sex room. I always sat with my back to the room, because I didn't want to see anything. If Ruby Ribs was singing, I'd get up, but if anybody was, like, peeing on each other, I wouldn't even look. When The Anvil first opened, they had a guy hanging from chains. As you paid to go in, you either put a candle out on him, poured the candle wax on him or punched his ass or something. This was in the ‘50s and ‘60s.
You were here when the riots happened, right?
I was in here dancing with a friend, [but]... after a while we left because we couldn't get the good liquor they had hidden under the bar. So we went to Mama's Chick 'N' Rib and were all sitting around when somebody came in and told us what was going on in here. They were putting people in a paddy wagon, but the lock wasn't locked on so this guy named Charlie hit it out and everybody scattered. We broke the windows, we were throwing things at the cops. It was a different time. Two queens actually pulled a parking meter out of the ground with the concrete on the bottom and used it as a battering ram and broke the doors down. It was raided by headquarters—they were after the boys for money laundering.
They were after the bar's owners?
The bosses. The people who ran the bar. The precinct didn't want the raid—they were getting nice money for not being here. It was so stupid. Even some of the cops knew. They said, "Why did we raid a gay bar when [it helps us] know where everybody is? If we need to find somebody, we know what bar to go to." At the Ninth Circle Bar, we had a Christmas list of who got what money at Christmastime. And it was a legitimate bond for the cops. Bobby Fingers ran it. He was an old carny man. I got news for you: I miss those days.
Stonewall Inn
53 Christopher St. between Seventh Ave. and Waverly Pl.
212-448-2705
Photo by Kelly Neal
