Rascal's

I used to do shows in a bar called Rascal’s. I was much younger then. Many people referred to it as “little Rascals” in Wichita Falls. It was the only bar in town and the first one I had ever step foot in. I was 19 and a freshman in college. The social group on campus has arranged for a college night. The arrangement had been made with Rick and Carlos the owners. They were partners and opened this bar on Indiana Street. I was told it was once a restaurant. It had parquet wood floors and black walls. There was a front entrance and a back entrance that was used on the week nights. It was a good bar set up with a large front dance floor and back bar/lounge area. There was a game room in the middle of this down town building. There was a paved parking lot on the side of the building so a queen would not mess up her shoes on gravel or mud. I remember the night we all went to college night. We had met at MAC’s house. She was a lesbian who was the head of our student lead group. M.A.C. was her initials so every one called her Mac. She looked like a short man with boyish features and a mullet under her rainbow pride ball cap. She was out and proud. She was instrumental in allowing us new kids to be out and proud too. Sometimes the best way to lead is by example. MAC kicked down the closet door and said “follow me I know the way”. We all carpooled to the bar. I had only seen the outside, but had never actually been inside. The group arrived and made our way to the front entrance. We were met inside by a man in a wheel chair. I later found out his name was “Blue”. He was the door man who checked ID’s and took money. He had a white beard and wore a white shirt, black leather vest and a black cowboy hat. He seemed odd but spoke with a soft friendly voice. He sent someone to get the owner, when we walked in. Our group was very young and innocent looking. It was a dead giveaway that we were under age. The owner, Rick, made is way to the front. He advised “Blue” the door man, to give us all wrist bands. They knew we were coming and wanted to be sure that no one under age would be served alcohol. If anyone was caught, our group would not be welcome again and I am sure MAC would have kicked our ass. We finally made our way to a large party table that was set up on the corner of the dance floor. I admit it was very uncomfortable. Regular patrons just stared at us like we were on a field trip. I looked around a saw people laughing and sipping drinks. The music was provided by the DJ, Carlos. He was the other owner. From his perch in the DJ booth, he could keep an eye on the place and jump down to break up a fight when necessary. He played a mix of hip hop, pop and country. After all it was the only bar in town and catered to a diverse clientele. The hip hop people would quickly leave the floor when a two-step country song came on. Most of us college students sip our non-alcoholic sodas and watched people dance. We only ventured a few times to visit the restroom. I just sat there with my jacket in my lap while male couples spun around the floor in pairs I had never seen before. It was the first time I had ever seen men dancing together. I had never danced with a man or held a man’s hand. I had never thought I would. Secretly, I wanted to know what that would be like, but it would be a few more years before I would have anyone ask me. I was a virgin in several ways. I had no sexual experience, had never been to a bar, had never drank a beer and never danced with a man. I was shy and hardly spoke, unless directly spoken too. I was observing a whole new world that I knew nothing about. We ended our night at 1 am and I drove back to the dorms on campus. I didn’t I sleep much. I could not help but reflect on the people I had seen at Rascal’s. Who were they? What kind of people were they? Do they have real lives? Are they out? Are they accepted? I had a million questions and no one to talk with about my experience. Our college night was just a one-time adventure, but eventually I would return. Within a year, I had met my cousin’s friends who were dressing in drag. I soon started too and realized that being in drag was a great disguise for going to the gay bar. I was just one of the girls. Eventually I became a regular contestant in the open talent night shows at Rascals. They made us get dressed in the bar office. It was little more than a big closet. I would try to mimic the performances of the other girls. I tried to move like they did. I wanted be emotional like they did. I also tried to gesture in a way that would win the audiences approval. I didn’t always win. It was good practice and allowed me to learn. We were raw but it was fun. I probably looked like a boy in a dress, but really, that is what I was. For the first year I didn’t even have a bra. I had two Nerf foam ball stuffed in to a tube top under my clothes. We would sometimes go around the corner to the straight bar. We only went in groups. We were pushing our limits of what would be tolerated. No one would bother a herd of drag queens as long as you didn’t try to use the bathroom. We were not crazy, after all. We would stand and sip our cocktails and talk. Then leave without making any waves. Sometimes a straight boy would smile. But that was as far as it went. Sometimes we would lie and say we were from Dallas when actually we were from Rascal’s around the corner. My drag mother pictures of me from back then and maybe one day I will share them. The first night a Rascal’s changed my life and made me wonder what the world could be if I was gay and did drag.