When people have a place to gather and exchange ideas safely, they can create a community. The participants inspire, encourage and support each other’s endeavors to improve the world, or their little corner of it.
Queer women for decades had that experience at a bar in the SoHud neighborhood in the University District. Now, two of the former patrons hope to revive that sense of community and support they once found at a lesbian bar that is the subject of a new documentary called “Free Beer Tomorrow.”
The sign on the bar reads Summit Station. But the LGBTQ+ people that gathered there had a special name for the spot on Summit Street between Alden and East Oakland avenues.
“We called it Jack's, and I just thought that was like the code name, because Jack's was never anywhere that I knew on the building,” said LuSter Singleton, who uses he/they pronouns, and identified as a lesbian while hanging out at the bar in the ‘80s and ‘90s.
He and Julia Applegate are the directors and producers of the documentary.
A go-go bar that went by the name Jack’s was at the location decades before Singleton and Applegate started hanging out there. It was already developing a reputation as a safe place for women.
The documentary’s name comes from a sign that hung outside the bar, advertising "free beer tomorrow."
The film uses more than 50 interviews to tell the story of the community. The directors plan to show it at film festivals in the coming season, and it's expected to be released to the public around Pride Month next year.
The bar was open every day of the year, because the then-owner Petie Brown wanted to give people a place they could call home as they faced discrimination from their families, their workplaces and the world-at-large.
Petie was an out lesbian who initially worked at the bar in the 1970s while she also worked as a trumpet player.
“People knew she was behind the bar. And so people came because they knew if she was working that night, they were going to be safe. And then the other owners were like, ‘hey, this is bringing in a crowd. You know, we're lesbian friendly, women friendly,’” Applegate said.
Petie bought the bar and ran it from the 1980s until it closed in 2008.
“It was for the ladies. And it was just quietly that way,” Singleton said.
The patrons helped each other find jobs and start businesses.
“(In the Reagan years), a lot of women were becoming contractors and things like that. You could go in Summit and find a job if you needed to. That was going on all the time,” Singleton said.
Thursdays were a big night at the bar. Singleton would come in with friends from Zanesville as women's softball leagues let out and the players gathered, Singleton said.
Some of the couples that met there are still together 40 years later.
When a patron heard another person was struggling, others would find out what they needed.
“If somebody found out you needed help, it would show up. Like if I overheard that maybe you didn't have bedding for your kid, I might bring it to the bar and leave it there and say, ‘hey, I heard so-and-so (needed something). And that's how it would work. It was no big, gigantic deal. And you didn't want embarrass anybody. And that's the kind of thing we’d do,” Singleton said.
Applegate said there were few community services organizations responding to the needs of women and children in the 60s and 70s when the bar became a gathering place for women under the owner before Brown took over.
Patrons organized resources for the community and help for domestic violence victims.
“We take for granted all these social services, but they were not in place, what, 70 years ago, right when this bar and these women were doing this work. They are the ones that did the work, because it was the right thing to do with their elbow grease and their heart,” Applegate said.
The work grew into nonprofits that were eventually adopted by larger organizations, like the domestic violence shelter still operating in central Ohio called Choices.
Applegate said the women who lead these efforts are often forgotten.
“This work happened because people were taking care of each other, and a lot of those people were lesbians taking care of their other lesbian or just feminist women. I mean, they did that work,” Applegate said.
Gatherings at the bar weren’t necessarily fueled by alcohol. Women could take self defense classes there or to talk to a lawyer. Some of the women suffered legal consequences because of their sexuality.
“Your husband could decide that he was going to take the kids from you for no other reason than because you had a girlfriend,” Singleton said. “We started seeing women become lawyers and open their own practices and share information about what you had to do to make sure that you didn't lose everything. Or if you did, somebody could help you until you could get on your feet,” Singleton said.
And as ironic as it may sound, some of the patrons realized they were drinking too much together in their search for community.
“And so they talked to Cleeta, who was the owner before, and said, ‘hey, you know, we recognize that your business is about selling beer and alcohol, but we can't drink, but this is our home and so can we come here and have our meetings.’ She said, ‘yeah,’” Applegate said.
Those customers bought pop instead of beer.
“They saw a problem, they fixed it. They saw a need, they created something to fill the need. I think that's kind of what's happened with this film,” Applegate said.
The location is now the Summit Music Hall and under different, but LGBTQ+ friendly management. They still host a monthly event for lesbians. The idea for the documentary was sparked when Singleton and Applegate led an effort last year to place a historical marker at the bar.
“We learned there were two markers in the whole state of Ohio out of 1,700 that had anything to do with queer history,” Applegate said.
Singleton said they wanted to make sure queer history isn't left out of Ohio's history books.
“I've always had the desire to create visibility that I didn't have growing up,” Singleton said.
Applegate and Singleton said they hope the film will inspire a new generation to create a space like this in Columbus again, to continue Jack’s legacy.
“Keeping people distracted is a technique. And it is a tool of the groups that are in power. They want us distracted. They don't want us coming together. Because if we come together, we're stronger. So keeping us broken, keeping us distracted is a way to keep marginalized people from gaining, from embodying and holding the power that we have,” Applegate said.
