Developers have long eyed The Woodward’s location as neighboring businesses sold out to make room for new builds. Over 60 years of gay history literally up in smoke, and all that’s left now are the memories. An indiscriminate fire rushed through The Woodward and left behind little in its wake. As the old song says, that’s the day the music died.
The Woodward was truly one of the last ones standing. The Continental downtown, Regi Thompson’s Regine’s off the Park, Zippers, Tony Miller’s Off Broadway East on, obviously, the east side of town. As a reporter and photographer for “Between The Lines,” I’ve taken hundreds of photos of partygoers at The Woodward, each capturing a moment of joy and freedom.īesides The Woodward, I spent time in many other LGBTQ+ clubs popular with our community’s Black faction through the years. I attended lots and lots of Hotter Than July – Detroit Black Gay Pride parties at The Woodward. After that, it was a regular hang spot for us. Soon enough, Cupid worked her magic, and James was bringing me to The Woodward to meet his best friend, Dione. I had only met him once previously and was thrilled to run into him for a second time. I remember seeing my boyfriend James at The Woodward before he was even that. The Woodward was Jayla’s favorite bar, mostly because the crowd was much closer to her age than mine, and the men were hot. Then we’d start the painstaking journey of squeezing through the crowd to get outside.
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We’d stake out a position against the wall and stay until the bar was just too full to be comfortable. the place was a sardine sweatbox.įor a time, I went regularly with my niece Jayla. The crowds were intense and the temperature in the club? Well, Nelly said it best when he said “It’s gettin’ hot in herre.” By 1:30 a.m. The Woodward was, during this period, very Black. That was all we needed to guarantee a good time.
We’d pool our money and make sure we both had enough to get in and have one Blue Motherfucker each. There was a period when my friend Martone and I were both down on our financial luck. The only time I ever drank more than that, well … that’s a memory best not shared here. But if you could get past them, a warm and pleasant sensation was awaiting you. The first few sips tasted as if you were drinking paint thinner. My drink was The Woodward’s infamous Blue Motherfucker. Nowhere do they make drinks like in Detroit institutions like “The Woo,” as it was often called, and Gigi’s. Oh, the drinks at The Woodward! I’ve traveled the country and gone to more gay bars than I can count. That was back in 2005, and I and several other of Damon’s friends have continued to gather at The Woodward most years since then to buy Damon a birthday drink. I remember when my good judy, Damon, turned 33, and I congratulated him on reaching the Christ year. All I knew was that it was a great place for a Happy Hour conversation in one of the big booths in the backroom. I had no idea of its history as the oldest gay bar in the city when I first started going back in the ‘90s. That means I’ve been going to The Woodward Bar & Grill for about half of my life.