A friend and I were drinking down at the Western one night when closing time rolled around and we had to leave. We were still feeling pretty high-spirited so we drove around looking for an after-hours place we'd heard about. We'd never been there because it was in the Flats, the black and Mexican side of town and white people generally didn't go there.
We were having fun, fish-tailing around on the gravel streets (kind of reminded me of home) and when we found the place I cranked the wheel over, locked up the brakes and slid sideways to a stop right by the front door.
There wasn't a white man in sight. We were getting some pretty hard looks but we paid no attention to that as we jumped out of the truck and strolled into the bar.
It wasn't really a bar as such; it was just somebody's house with a pool table in the front room, a chest refrigerator full of boot-leg beer and some black-lights. We found the man who was taking the money for the beer and put some quarters on the table for a game of pool. At the end of the night we rolled on home and didn't think anything of it.
A couple of nights later we went back. We had a good time and we ended up going over there pretty regular. The fact that we never, ever saw any other whites drinking over there registered in the back of my mind, but I never thought anything of it until one night another white man showed up.
After a bit, several of the regulars sidled up to him. A few words were exchanged, things got a little heated and they dragged him out in the parking lot and beat the shit out of him. He barely made it to his car and they were kicking and pounding on it as he careened out of the parking lot and made his escape.
He'd been somewhat obnoxious, to where I figured he would have received the same treatment at a white bar, but then they came back in saying something along the lines of, “That cracker think he be drinkin' ovah heah?” and telling the two men who'd brought him in, “Don' be bringin' no honkeys ovah." I asked the bartender, who we'd gotten to be on pretty good terms with by then, what the deal was. “Well,” he said, “Th'ain't no whites 'lowed ovah heah.”
I thought about it a minute, then asked him, “Well, what about us?” (we'd been drinking there for about a month by then). “How come you never said anything to us?”
“Well,” he said and there were several heads nodding in agreement, “The way you two rolled in here, we figured you were either b-a-a-d or crazy. Either way, we didn't want to be fuckin' witchu!”
I think they were just pulling our legs.
Last edited by JustcallmeEd; 05-14-2014 at 11:02 AM..