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Montrose Voice, No. 85, June 11, 1982
File 023
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Montrose Voice, No. 85, June 11, 1982 - File 023. 1982-06-11. University of Houston Libraries. University of Houston Digital Library. Web. December 16, 2017. http://digital.lib.uh.edu/collection/montrose/item/107/show/100.

Disclaimer: This is a general citation for reference purposes. Please consult the most recent edition of your style manual for the proper formatting of the type of source you are citing. If the date given in the citation does not match the date on the digital item, use the more accurate date below the digital item.

(1982-06-11). Montrose Voice, No. 85, June 11, 1982 - File 023. Montrose Voice. University of Houston Libraries. Retrieved from http://digital.lib.uh.edu/collection/montrose/item/107/show/100

Disclaimer: This is a general citation for reference purposes. Please consult the most recent edition of your style manual for the proper formatting of the type of source you are citing. If the date given in the citation does not match the date on the digital item, use the more accurate date below the digital item.

Montrose Voice, No. 85, June 11, 1982 - File 023, 1982-06-11, Montrose Voice, University of Houston Libraries, accessed December 16, 2017, http://digital.lib.uh.edu/collection/montrose/item/107/show/100.

Disclaimer: This is a general citation for reference purposes. Please consult the most recent edition of your style manual for the proper formatting of the type of source you are citing. If the date given in the citation does not match the date on the digital item, use the more accurate date below the digital item.

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Title Montrose Voice, No. 85, June 11, 1982
Contributor
  • McClurg, Henry
Publisher Community Publishing Company
Date June 11, 1982
Language English
Subject
  • LGBTQ community
  • LGBTQ people
  • Gay liberation movement
Place
  • Houston, Texas
Genre
  • newspapers
Type
  • Text
Identifier OCLC: 22329406
Rights In Copyright: This item is protected by copyright. Copyright to this resource is held by the creator or current rights holder, and the resource is provided here for educational purposes. It may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without permission of the copyright owner. Users assume full responsibility for any infringement of copyright or related rights.
Note This item was digitized from materials loaned by the Gulf Coast Archive and Museum (GCAM).
Item Description
Title File 023
Transcript 22 MONTROSE VOICE/June 11, 1932 Montrose Live 'Prufrock's Montage' opens tonight By Billie Duncan The world premiere of Keith McGregor's fifth play, Prufrock's Montage, takes place tonight, June 11. at Chocolate Bayou Theater, 1823 Lamar. The play is a comedy that is based in Pru frock's Tavern, which was a well- known intellectual hang-out in the Tils located at 423 Westheimer. According to McGregor, the play is written as if the bar still exists today and concerns a former customer of the bar who returns with his wife (who is attending a business meeting) and winds up using his return visit to the bar as a setting for his memories and his wish-they-weres. McGregor is a former member of the Pru frock's group himself, and has designed the set as a re-creation ofthe bar. Other former customers have loaned the theater personal memorabilia and funi- ture that used to be in the actual place. Among the former Prufrockians who have lent assistance is Dorothy Schwarz, who was the owner of Prufrock's land of the Round Table, which was in the next block). The play is directed by Leonard T. Wagner, the artistic director of (Chocolate Bayou Theater, and it will run through -July 1(1. A personal observation: Prufrock's Memories By Billie Duncan All the metaphors of T.S. Elliot's "Love- song of J. Alfred Prufrock" managed to come to life in the bar that bore its name from 1969 to 1978 when it finally was consumed by flames to gather dust until it became a pet shop. How fitting. The first time I went in Prufrock's I didn't know when bar closing time was. I didn't know what the different brands of beer were. I had no idea what to order in the way of wine. I found the place because I had been outside of it once while a friend of mine went in to see if a friend of hers was there. I remembered where it was. That was exceedingly important, because there was no sign at that time outside of the old vine-covered house on Westheimer that formed the shelter forthe minds and activities that were the bar. If someone didn't lead you by the hand, the place was impossible to find. I walked past the overstuffed chairs and sofas in the front room to the small room that had part of the bar and room for two .Scene from "Prufrock's Montage. chess tables. The main chess and bridge room was through a large open doorway. Edith Piaf was singing on the jukebox. "What would you like?" "Oh, I'll have a glass of wine." "What kind?" "L'h. Well, uh ... I'm not sure. I guess I'll have what I usually have." "What do you usually have?" "Uh ..." The questions were getting tougher. "Pink." "Pink?" "Yeah." You said it. Go with it. "Pink." "Okay." He poured me a glass of Ali- anca Rose. "That will be 80t." I handed over a hard-earned dollar and got 20C change. I kept it. I seriously didn't know that tipping was part of the trip. When my terror at being in a bar all on my own subsided a bit, I looked around. No one seemed to notice that I was there. Soon a guy who did not seem to notice that I was there walked up to the bar and ordered a beer (55<C). "Hi. How you doing." "Fine." "I see you like Alianca." "It's what I always order here," The con- versation went on. Ultimately, we got Keith McGregor, playwright; Dorothy Schwarz, around to dicussing the relative ments of ■"" _ D «„_,,. ,., _, _ j „ Emily Dickinson and Lawrence Eerlingh- former Owner of Pruf rOCk * S I & producer etti. I was the Dickinson fan. Leonard T . vVagner . Soon another guy who did not seem to notice that I was there walked up and entered the conversation. "You're both full of shit. There is no great American poet and if there were one it sure wouldn't be Ferlinghetti or Emily for-Christ's sake Dickinson." I thought of my other favorite poet. "What about Edgar Allen Poe?" They both lookd at me as if I had lost my mind. "Poe "Yeah." Don't mess with the poet after whom I named my teddy bear. "Yeah, Poe. Okay, so his rhythms might drive some so-called modern poets up the wall, but he had a great sense of sound in his verses and he told a story. And he knew what he wanted to say before he started out, not like most of the writers now who just write whatever comes to mind and don't care anything about rhythm, sounds, images, stories. All they do is write sentances and break them into shorter lines on the page and call it poetry." "Would you like another glass of wine?" "I'd love one. Do they have something that's not so sweet?" I didn't win the argument, but I won acceptance. I proved that I knew how to argue. Intellectual argument was the basis ofthe pick-up game at Prufrock's. But the pick-up game was not the only game that was played at Prufrock's. There was the martial arts/Eastern philosophy game that was played by many, including Doug, who decided he was ready to move to a greater plane in 1977 and calmly blew his brains out. There was the love and marriage game that was played by Don and Debbie who got married and bought a restaurant across the street. They are now split and don't have the restaurant. There was the spy game thai was played by Richard who drew beautiful pictures and tried to recover from having worked undercover for the government and was found shot to death with a stolen police revolver. It was called a suicide. There was the drug game played by just about everyone, including Steve who was found dead in a service station men's room with a needle still in his arm in 1974. There was the pool hustler game that was played to perfection by Leo who was only tall enough to see over the edge of the table, but who (when he set his mind to it) could beat any comer. Of course, that was after the pool table replaced the chess and bridge tables in the middle room in 1976, and the chess and card games were moved to the front porch and back room. Prufrock's went through as many changes as the people who inhabited it. In the years in which I was associated with Pru frock's (as a customer, bartender, entertainer, manager), one ofthe most frequent comments I heard was, "This place has sure changed. I used to come here, but this isn't the Prufrock's I knew." Well, a bar is people, and thedenizensof Prufrock's shifted with the vagaries of time—although some of them were well on their way to making a career on a barstool and would have been happily content to grow old in that elevated position. Spending time in one bar gives a person a chance to see where the hums on the street get their start. Like Milo. Milo was one of the brightest minds in the early Prufrock's, but he was already worrying his friends with his drinking by 197,'}. when I took off for the safety of San Francisco after my divorce. When I returned in 1976 to help Dorothy (Schwarz, the owner) change the club to "country/western" and put in live music, Dorothy picked me up at the station, bought me lunch and took me to the bar. As we walked down the drive from her parking space in the back, we passed an old wino. Dorothy said, "Hello. Milo," and kept walking. I was stunned. "That was Milo?" "Yes. We don't let him in the bar anymore." But by then Milo was content to sit out in front of Dr. Butler's office on the comer
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