About a bar.
This morning. “Little Jim’s last day open is Tuesday.” Wait, what? What happened. I text my friend Roger who’s worked there for probably ten years. He confirmed, ‘Yeah, our last day open is Tuesday.’ Damn. I promise, this is not a post about a bar… it’s simply the set on a sitcom or drama -it depends on the day. It serves a purpose. Little Jim’s is every bit the dive bar, to its true definition. Perhaps even a little scary at times when I first started going there. It was the first gay bar on Halsted Street 45 years ago. It’s an institution on that block. It’s the first bar I’ll take friends visiting. Not cause it’s impressive in anyway, but because it does/has meant something to me. This isn’t about a bar. In the end, this is about the boys…. Part two.
I don’t know why I went to Jim’s the first time I did. At that time, I was young, maybe 24 or 25, and I wasn’t even really out. My friend Dan and I would frequent a bunch of the bars in Boystown on the weekends. They mostly felt the same. I constantly felt the same -overwhelmed and insecure. I don’t fit in with these people. I’m about 25lbs over goal weight before I should be allowed in here. At the time, I felt too old to be there. Now, I really am too old. It’s a younger man’s game. One night, in March of 2009, we walked into Little Jim’s though. We got there early enough and got a seat at the bar. I remember almost every detail about that night. I remember who the bartender was, the music that played, the time I got there, the time I left, and the conversation I had on the ride home.
That night, as it got later, the bar filled up. It was a late-night bar, so the crowds didn’t arrive till later. I was still learning what was what. A bit after midnight, Roger walked up to the bar, right next to the stool I was sitting on, and ordered a drink. Some song was playing on TouchTunes or whatever they used ten years ago. In my attempt to make small talk, ‘I wonder who played this shit…’ ‘It was me, I played this song.’ I see… we’ve been friends ever since.
Little Jim’s didn’t change the trajectory of my life, but meeting Roger that night did. I met Julio for the first time at Little Jim’s. I recently got a haircut from him, ‘I don’t even remember when we met.’ I do, you waltzed into Little Jim’s at 2am, didn’t say a word to me, and just started dancing with Roger. I was so annoyed. Him and I have been competing for attention ever since -in the best way possible. I don’t remember when I met Alfonso, but it’s not my fault. He didn’t even friend me on Facebook for five years after that. I don’t think he liked me till five years later, honestly. You have to earn Alfonso’s trust. I’m glad I got there.
Meeting Roger that night gave me the other two, and between the three of them, they loved the gay into me. They helped shape who I am as a gay man. They gave me a community, and they helped me fit in. They made me feel welcome. They told me when I was funny, and Julio reminded me when I was not. Over the years, we have spent way too many nights at Little Jim’s, and some of my best memories will be of these boys and that bar. Holidays, good news, bad news, new boyfriends, break-ups… Little Jim’s was always there. It felt than, and is does now, like home. I’ll be the first person to shit on gay bars. They still annoy me. But I love Little Jim’s.
A few years ago, a wrote a piece on my friend Amy, and what her friendship has meant to me. How it shaped me. Shortly after, my friend text me, ‘read your love letter to Amy. It was perfect.” I was confused. Love letter? It was just my thoughts. Looking back on it though, that’s exactly what it was. This is my love letter to these boys, and that bar, and all these years we’ve spent together. They’ve gone too fast, but have meant so much. On a cold night at Little Jim’s in March of 2009, my life changed, and I didn’t even know it. I am a better person because of Roger, Alfonso and Julio… and I hope that even in a small way I have returned that favor to them. I have not been out on a Tuesday in a long time, but tomorrow night, I’ll show up at Jim’s for its last night, and Roger’s last shift, and like every time I walk in there reflect on how lucky I am for these guys and that place, and everything we have shared sitting on those stools. In so many ways, life unfolded right there, and I think it’s no coincidence their last night is the last night of Pride month. I’m proud of who I am because of these guys. Happy Pride, Chicago. With love, Henry.
P.S. Fun fact, fucking Roger asked me to send him a face pic the next morning because he was blacked out and didn’t remember what I looked like…