Recalling Toronto's forgotten gay bars
HISTORY: Bars, clubs and hangouts played a unique role in gay and lesbian history in 20th-century Toronto
Story by Gordon Bowness
Xtra, Jan 4, 2010
So much of our history remains hidden. What’s been recorded — some memoirs, some activist history, oral recordings, Lynne Fernie and Aerlyn Weissmann’s film Forbidden Love — is very limited. There is a lived history, a social history that still needs a much fuller telling.
The bars (and unlicensed dance clubs and other hangouts) played a unique role in gay and lesbian history in 20th-century Toronto. They were rare public spaces for homosexuals to come together to schmooze, cruise, booze and stroke bruised egos.
Activists waving the gay rights flag on the front lines were crucial to the development of what we now take for granted: dignity, equality, freedom. But just as crucial was the camaraderie found in bars, the living example of ordinary gay men and lesbians to counter the homophobic teachings coursing through media and officialdom. Read activist Rick Bébout’s amazing online memoir, Promiscuous Affections: A Life in the Bar, to see how central these gay spaces could be.
We know the names of many long-gone bars — the Music Room, the Parkside, the Quest. But to borrow Donald Rumsfeld’s plangent phrase, there are numerous “unknown unknowns.” How many bars will we never hear about? How many more stories and characters did they house?
Memories fade. Photos get lost in the shuffle. Secrets are taken to the grave. We need to record what’s left of this history now before it is lost forever. It’s our legacy.
This is only the first in an ongoing series, and yet, such a tiny sample of interviews turned up the first-ever mention of a place called the White Chef. And who ever heard of the Golliwog Lounge? (With its recent move, I haven’t been able to access properly the Canadian Lesbian and Gay Archives collections, so I can’t confirm this — that work, too, is still to come.)
I hope these anecdotes will jog your memories and inspire you to share.
Belly up to the bar, order a drink and tell us a story — with a twist.
White Chef, (417 Yonge St), circa 1958
“I think my first memory of being attracted to women was Mary Martin in Peter Pan,” says Mimi Shulman, laughing. “Really, I just loved that. Tomboys. I was pretty fascinated with that whole idea of being attracted to women, girls. And I used to hang around the White Chef, a greasy spoon on Yonge St just south of College on the east side. All the women would hang around there with their pickup trucks and their motorcycles and their girlfriends. And I would stand across on Yonge by Eatons — I must have been 10 or 11 or 12 — and I just watched them, mesmerized. But I was too young to understand what drew me there so many weekends.”
Torontonian Mimi Shulman grew up in Leaside. She is a jeweller, mother and foster mother. The recently enrolled Ryerson student says she never lost her fascination with butch women.
Golliwog Lounge in the King Edward Hotel (37 King St E), 1962
“We used to call it our elegant night because it was very elegant,” says Frank DeTurse. “I met my first lover there.
“First of all you would go in and see who was at the piano, and you would sit where you could face them or on an angle. And it would just be the stares. You’d light your cigarette — in those days — and stare, start cracking a smile. And the next thing you know, if you connected, there’d be a drink. And that’s how you really connected. You’d think to yourself, ‘This is really good cause nobody knows what I’m doing.’ Little did we know everybody at the bar did."
Frank DeTurse was born in Toronto in 1939 and began working at age 16. He spent many years in Montreal and Saint John, returning to Toronto in 1980. He retired from Sick Children’s Hospital in 1994.
Letros Tavern (50 King St E), Halloween, 1961
“It was the most glamorous night of my life.”
His first time in drag, Neil Gilson won the 1961 Miss Letros competition in a showgirl outfit designed by his roommate.
“We stepped out of the taxi and the cab pulled away. And when it did there was a roar from the crowd that went up in front of the King Edward Hotel. And I overheard at least a half-dozen people say, ‘That’s not a guy, not with legs like that.’ And I thought, ‘Ooh, gee, that even makes me feel that much better.’
“Coming out with a huge bouquet of roses in my hand and having the newspaper, which was the Toronto Telegram at that time, taking photos like crazy and then putting them in the paper the next day. Oh my God, my five minutes of fame.”
Neil Gilson moved to Toronto from Hamilton in 1958. He sometimes used the name Jamie Collins when lip-synching and singing songs — in a suit and tie, not in drag. Gilson retired from Air Canada in 1985 and now keeps busy with community and church work.
Letros Tavern, downstairs in the Nile Room (50 King St E), 1967
“As we walked through the door, I looked at the piano because I knew who the pianist was, “ Neil Gilson recalls. “And there was a guy standing by the piano. I just grabbed my two friends and said, ‘Do you see the boy standing by the piano? I’m going to have him or I will have no one, ever.’ So I walked straight up to him and very stupidly said, ‘What are you doing?’ Well it was obvious what he was doing; he was having a drink. And he said, ‘I’m drinking.’ And I said, ‘Oh. Why don’t you put down your drink and come home with me?’ He sort of looked and said, ‘Fuck off.’ I said, ‘Okay. Just remember my face. You’ve had your chance.’ And I never spoke to him again for about a year.”
But a year later, Neil ran into him — his name was Kevin — at his downstairs neighbours. They were all having drinks, and he asked to see Neil’s apartment. “So we went up the stairs; I showed him the apartment. We fell into each other’s arms and he never left until 26 years later. He was the most wonderful person you could possibly meet.”
Neil Gilson moved to Toronto from Hamilton in 1958. He sometimes used the name Jamie Collins when lip-synching and singing songs — in a suit and tie, not in drag. Gilson retired from Air Canada in 1985 and now keeps busy with community and church work.
Country Style Donuts (558 Yonge St), 1970s
“Yonge St was always good for cruising,” says Pearse Murray. “There are so many things that flood through your memory about the different times and the different decades. ’Cause in the ’70s, after the bars, the big place was the donut shop on Yonge St. That was the place to go after drinking, you know, because you drank so much you were hungry, right? Maybe you did a few joints, too. Who knows? It was just below Wellesley on the west side of the street. For years it was just a small little space in the front and everyone would go in there after the bar and have Dutchies and drink coffee and hopefully pick up somebody. Of course I used to have better luck at the corner of Wellesley and Yonge singing 'Maybe This Time.'”
Pearse Murray is a former realtor who now cohosts A Fabulous Morning, Proud FM’s gay history program that runs 9am on Saturdays and 8am on Sundays on 103.9 FM in Toronto.
Story by Gordon Bowness
Xtra, Jan 4, 2010
So much of our history remains hidden. What’s been recorded — some memoirs, some activist history, oral recordings, Lynne Fernie and Aerlyn Weissmann’s film Forbidden Love — is very limited. There is a lived history, a social history that still needs a much fuller telling.
The bars (and unlicensed dance clubs and other hangouts) played a unique role in gay and lesbian history in 20th-century Toronto. They were rare public spaces for homosexuals to come together to schmooze, cruise, booze and stroke bruised egos.
Activists waving the gay rights flag on the front lines were crucial to the development of what we now take for granted: dignity, equality, freedom. But just as crucial was the camaraderie found in bars, the living example of ordinary gay men and lesbians to counter the homophobic teachings coursing through media and officialdom. Read activist Rick Bébout’s amazing online memoir, Promiscuous Affections: A Life in the Bar, to see how central these gay spaces could be.
We know the names of many long-gone bars — the Music Room, the Parkside, the Quest. But to borrow Donald Rumsfeld’s plangent phrase, there are numerous “unknown unknowns.” How many bars will we never hear about? How many more stories and characters did they house?
Memories fade. Photos get lost in the shuffle. Secrets are taken to the grave. We need to record what’s left of this history now before it is lost forever. It’s our legacy.
This is only the first in an ongoing series, and yet, such a tiny sample of interviews turned up the first-ever mention of a place called the White Chef. And who ever heard of the Golliwog Lounge? (With its recent move, I haven’t been able to access properly the Canadian Lesbian and Gay Archives collections, so I can’t confirm this — that work, too, is still to come.)
I hope these anecdotes will jog your memories and inspire you to share.
Belly up to the bar, order a drink and tell us a story — with a twist.
White Chef, (417 Yonge St), circa 1958
“I think my first memory of being attracted to women was Mary Martin in Peter Pan,” says Mimi Shulman, laughing. “Really, I just loved that. Tomboys. I was pretty fascinated with that whole idea of being attracted to women, girls. And I used to hang around the White Chef, a greasy spoon on Yonge St just south of College on the east side. All the women would hang around there with their pickup trucks and their motorcycles and their girlfriends. And I would stand across on Yonge by Eatons — I must have been 10 or 11 or 12 — and I just watched them, mesmerized. But I was too young to understand what drew me there so many weekends.”
Torontonian Mimi Shulman grew up in Leaside. She is a jeweller, mother and foster mother. The recently enrolled Ryerson student says she never lost her fascination with butch women.
Golliwog Lounge in the King Edward Hotel (37 King St E), 1962
“We used to call it our elegant night because it was very elegant,” says Frank DeTurse. “I met my first lover there.
“First of all you would go in and see who was at the piano, and you would sit where you could face them or on an angle. And it would just be the stares. You’d light your cigarette — in those days — and stare, start cracking a smile. And the next thing you know, if you connected, there’d be a drink. And that’s how you really connected. You’d think to yourself, ‘This is really good cause nobody knows what I’m doing.’ Little did we know everybody at the bar did."
Frank DeTurse was born in Toronto in 1939 and began working at age 16. He spent many years in Montreal and Saint John, returning to Toronto in 1980. He retired from Sick Children’s Hospital in 1994.
Letros Tavern (50 King St E), Halloween, 1961
“It was the most glamorous night of my life.”
His first time in drag, Neil Gilson won the 1961 Miss Letros competition in a showgirl outfit designed by his roommate.
“We stepped out of the taxi and the cab pulled away. And when it did there was a roar from the crowd that went up in front of the King Edward Hotel. And I overheard at least a half-dozen people say, ‘That’s not a guy, not with legs like that.’ And I thought, ‘Ooh, gee, that even makes me feel that much better.’
“Coming out with a huge bouquet of roses in my hand and having the newspaper, which was the Toronto Telegram at that time, taking photos like crazy and then putting them in the paper the next day. Oh my God, my five minutes of fame.”
Neil Gilson moved to Toronto from Hamilton in 1958. He sometimes used the name Jamie Collins when lip-synching and singing songs — in a suit and tie, not in drag. Gilson retired from Air Canada in 1985 and now keeps busy with community and church work.
Letros Tavern, downstairs in the Nile Room (50 King St E), 1967
“As we walked through the door, I looked at the piano because I knew who the pianist was, “ Neil Gilson recalls. “And there was a guy standing by the piano. I just grabbed my two friends and said, ‘Do you see the boy standing by the piano? I’m going to have him or I will have no one, ever.’ So I walked straight up to him and very stupidly said, ‘What are you doing?’ Well it was obvious what he was doing; he was having a drink. And he said, ‘I’m drinking.’ And I said, ‘Oh. Why don’t you put down your drink and come home with me?’ He sort of looked and said, ‘Fuck off.’ I said, ‘Okay. Just remember my face. You’ve had your chance.’ And I never spoke to him again for about a year.”
But a year later, Neil ran into him — his name was Kevin — at his downstairs neighbours. They were all having drinks, and he asked to see Neil’s apartment. “So we went up the stairs; I showed him the apartment. We fell into each other’s arms and he never left until 26 years later. He was the most wonderful person you could possibly meet.”
Neil Gilson moved to Toronto from Hamilton in 1958. He sometimes used the name Jamie Collins when lip-synching and singing songs — in a suit and tie, not in drag. Gilson retired from Air Canada in 1985 and now keeps busy with community and church work.
Country Style Donuts (558 Yonge St), 1970s
“Yonge St was always good for cruising,” says Pearse Murray. “There are so many things that flood through your memory about the different times and the different decades. ’Cause in the ’70s, after the bars, the big place was the donut shop on Yonge St. That was the place to go after drinking, you know, because you drank so much you were hungry, right? Maybe you did a few joints, too. Who knows? It was just below Wellesley on the west side of the street. For years it was just a small little space in the front and everyone would go in there after the bar and have Dutchies and drink coffee and hopefully pick up somebody. Of course I used to have better luck at the corner of Wellesley and Yonge singing 'Maybe This Time.'”
Pearse Murray is a former realtor who now cohosts A Fabulous Morning, Proud FM’s gay history program that runs 9am on Saturdays and 8am on Sundays on 103.9 FM in Toronto.