Needless to say, it wasn’t long before the authorities began monitoring what was going on at Fe-Be’s. Beginning in 1967, the Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control (ABC) held several meetings about the activities of staff and guests at Fe-Be’s. In 1969, the ABC accused the bar of “conduct contrary to public morals,” including close physical contact between men below the waist. At another hearing, when Geist was accused of having sex toys on the premises, he claimed (somewhat hilariously) that they were simply being used as novelty drink stirrers.
When the bar closed for a year in 1970, the community Geist and Kissinger had so lovingly built gathered around Fe-Be’s, with other venues holding fundraisers and offering vocal support. The bar revived in December 1971 and continued until 1986. Ultimately, it wasn’t the legal review that brought Fe-Be’s down; It was the toll the AIDS epidemic had on the San Francisco gay community. Kissinger died in 1988, Geist in 1998.
Fe-Be’s life lives on today through the Leather David. When Geist and Kissinger first opened the bar, they commissioned artist Mike Caffee to create a version of Michaelangelo’s famous sculpture transformed into a gay biker. Caffee’s vision later adorned a range of merchandise items. When Fe-Be’s closed and the Paradise Lounge moved in, Leather David stayed behind. Versions of Caffee’s cheesy masterpiece can now be found in bars as far away as Melbourne, Australia.
Black Cat Cafe
A brochure from the Black Cat Cafe, a historic bar at 710 Montgomery that existed between 1933 and 1963. (Leah Millis/San Francisco Chronicle via Getty Images)
Once described by Allen Ginsberg as “America’s largest gay bar,” Black Cat Café began life as a bohemian hangout in 1933, just steps from what is now the Transamerica Pyramid.
In the early 40’s, when the venue was taken over by Sol Stouman, the Black Cat began fearlessly devoting themselves to all things gay. Stouman was a straight man, but having survived the Holocaust, he knew the importance of safe spaces. It was something the already subversive crowd in the bar wholeheartedly welcomed. Ginsberg once commented, “It was completely open… Everybody went there, straight and homosexual… All the gay scream queens came, the straight dudes in gray flannel suits, longshoremen.” All the poets went there.”
No one was under any illusions about the ethos of the Black Cat and its visitors. Legendary LGBTQ+ rights activist José Sarria performed regularly there as a drag coach when he was young, after starting out as a black cat waiter. Sarria loved interpreting “God Save the Queen” with revised lyrics – instead he sang “God save us nellie queens”. He also performed a version of the opera “Carmen” in which he ran away from the pursuing police officers.
Like the Silver Rail, the Black Cat underwent extensive legal scrutiny from the late 1940s and was deemed “messy”. When Stouman had his liquor license suspended indefinitely in 1949 because “individuals with known homosexual tendencies frequented these premises and used these premises as a meeting place,” Stouman fought back — all the way to the California Supreme Court. And in 1951 he won.
The court concluded:
Several people were arrested [at the Black Cat], some for vagrancy and others for “enacting homosexual acts,” but there was no evidence that any of those arrested had been convicted. There was no evidence of illegal or immoral conduct on the premises… Visiting a public restaurant and bar by homosexuals…without evidence of committing illegal or immoral acts on the premises…is not sufficient to establish a violation.
The Black Cat Café continued to operate for another decade, although harassment from local police remained a problem for the venue for the remainder of its days.
The gangway
If there was ever a gay bar that should have existed forever, it’s Gangway, first established in 1910. San Francisco’s oldest continuously operating gay bar, as of 2018, had weathered Prohibition, anti-LGBTQ+ legislation and the AIDS crisis — an amazing run that ended with a simple liquor license transfer.
