Looking at it made me flip through the catalog of memories I share with this club, not all good: Being held hostage in the Lismar til late in the night by one of their outer borough members on a psychotic, drunken tear. I talked myself out of hysteria in the mirror in the bathroom and went back out and calmed him down enough to be able to close the bar and leave with myself and the remainder of the patrons intact… Seeing innocent people get seriously hurt just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time…Getting choked for voicing my opinion too stridently during a brawl. Watching Donna jump on one of their backs in the middle of that same brawl. Getting hosed down with the soda gun at the Scrap Bar by one particularly loose cannon, only to get a sincerely apologetic visit at my job from the higher ups the next day. I think there were even flowers involved, and after that offender disappeared, not that I believe it had anything to do with me.
Hanging with my band, drinking beer on a stoop and watching Circus of Power play at the annual 4th of July party. Watching a Eurotrash asshole harass everyone in the Lismar and then get on one of the bikes out front. We all clapped as he went sailing through the air… Regularly hanging out after working my shift at the crappiest of all dives ever created (the Pit Stop) with one of the members I considered a real friend. He was a Viking bear of a man, but spoke gently to me about how my time behind the bar wouldn’t last forever. He never once hit on me and was the first one to arrive for the afore-mentioned official apology. I was very sad when he died in a motorcycle accident, as many of the ones I knew well have, and I never pass the club without thinking about how special he was. There are a couple of other members who I consider to be real friends, and there is something to be said for their old-dog, continued refusal to let go of the lifestyle. They’re a remnant of my old hood and I’m grateful for that.