The Regulars 

Page 4 of 5

Though it's hard for a hetero girl like me to see, there is a difference between Badlands and Toad Hall: the brand of gay men at each place. Dan prefers Badlands and its multitude of twinks (gay slang for young, thin, boyish dudes free of body hair), while Mike digs baby bears (smaller versions of the big, hairy, pot-bellied men known as "bears" in the gay world) and people of color. "Put this in your story, m'lady," Dan said as if he were unveiling a new car to someone on Match Game. "NASA wants 'Faster, better, cheaper.' I want 'Thinner, smoother, younger.'"

"Yecchhh," Mike said. "I hate Badlands." We all agreed that it was a good thing that they had totally different taste in men. It cut down on the competition.

I sat with them at Toad Hall and watched as man after man came in. Mike and Dan rated each one on a fuckability scale. When men do this with women, I of course find it disgusting. But when gay guys do it, heck, it's kind of charming. Still, night after night of loud music and, let's face it, a certain level of shallowness — I wondered whether gay bars ever got old.

"Why don't you ever drink at home?" I asked Mike. He looked at me as if I were nuts. "Why drink at home when I can go have fun out here?" he said. "I have the money. I might as well spend it."

In Mike's Castro, it's live fast and drink young. He's a regular, all right, but one of dozens. If he stopped coming out every night, the bar would keep hummin' along just fine.

"Tell her that you order grapefruit drinks because a certain someone hates grapefruit juice and therefore will not drink your drink," interjected Dan, staring into a fake TelePrompTer somewhere in the distance.

"Shut up, Didj," Mike said, rolling his eyes.

Some bars have such a close relationship with their regulars that the bars are never the same after they are gone.

The Bonanza is a corner dive situated in the middle of an industrial area in the Bayview. Most of its regulars are blue-collar guys who work nearby in warehouses or machine shops.

There is little or no foot traffic at the corner of Toland and Evans streets, where the bar sits, and only the 19 bus goes by. A place like this needs all the customers it can get, and has to adopt interesting business plans to keep 'em coming in. For Bonanza, this means every Friday night is Lingerie Night. A big banner across the roof advertises the weekly event.

The inside of Bonanza is much larger than the outside suggests. The main room has the feel of a Midwestern tavern, with beer signs, paneling, and the dank smell of cigarette smoke. In the back is the pool room, where spirited daily tournaments are held. Lysa, one of the main bartenders, has been here for 28 years, though she barely looks 35. She is the consummate hostess, greeting everyone like old friends. I was no exception.

I told her I was looking for the place's main regular, its "Norm from Cheers." She mused for a few minutes and told me about the Mm-hmm Boys, a group of guys who hang out at the other end of the bar and say "mm-hmm" a lot. A sample exchange:

"It's hot out there today."

"Mm-hmm. And muggy."

"Mm-hmm."

"It's too bad you weren't in here a few years back," Lysa added. "Our real Norm died two years ago. He was a real character."

And so began my forensic investigation of Bob Wheeler, Bonanza's famed regular, who died in 2007, seemingly from complications of alcoholism and heavy smoking. Lysa said that the doctor had told Bob a year before he died that if he stopped doing all that stuff, he might have a chance. But Bob apparently said "Fuck it," and kept on drinking a case of Tanqueray a week.

"We kept his Bay Meadows tumbler full at all times," said Ed Estrada, who used to work at Bonanza when Bob came in. "We either topped it off with more ice or more gin, all day long. He was a real storyteller. He loved to talk."

Bob's voice was apparently froggy from all his hard living. He had a bit of a belly, though he was a rather slight man, standing at about 5-feet-6. He made his living as a kitchen appliance repairman; his shop was around the corner. He loved to organize trips for all the regulars to places like Reno or the race track.

"He was a jovial kind of guy," Ed said. "Always the first one to jump up and start singing on karaoke nights. Very old-fashioned, stuck in the '60s, but in a Republican way." Probably the only thing "hippie" about Bob was that he shaved and got a haircut only once a year.

According to Ed, after Bob died, the bar took on a dreary vibe and some folks stopped coming. "People would come in just to see him," he said. "He was the life force of the place. Right before he died and was in the hospital on his last legs, I quit. It just wasn't the same there anymore. The whole morale of the place plummeted." Apparently, Bob Wheeler was like the Dude's rug in The Big Lebowski: He really tied the place together.

I showed up at Bonanza on a Friday. I wanted to see what Lingerie Night was all about, and I also wanted to see what the post-Bob scene was. Though it was the end of the work week, there were only about seven men in the place when I arrived. A woman in her 40s sashayed by in a bra and panties. She was also wearing control-top pantyhose that extended above and below the underwear. Another young woman in a bra and panties also had nylon stockings pulled up to her bellybutton.