Samuel Kenswil 8447, and other addresses

Barney’s Beanery opened in 1927 on Route 66. In this tract of unincorporated Los Angeles County such itinerant elements as the homosexual coagulated. It came to be known as West Hollywood. At some point a sign was hung above the bar at Barney’s amongst the taps reading FAGOTS - STAY OUT. With brief interruptions, the sign was up until 1985, when it was permanently removed by those who can’t be described as patrons or owners of the establishment. The circumstances of these events are kibbitzed about by those who remain to do so.

Possible facts (some provable):

• The sign was hung by the owner in the 30s, 40s, or 1953 in response to some sodomy in the men’s room and/or due to police pressure regarding said issue.
• Matchbooks were available also stating FAGOTS - STAY OUT. - The owner was not homophobic (per the current owner).
• The owner was homophobic (per the homos). - Pickets, sip-ins, and the like occured in and outside of the establishment.
• Sheriffs intervened in a dispute at one such conflict after which, by activist or police pressure, the sign was removed and hung again about six times.
• Upon its incorporation as a city, West Hollywood’s first lesbian mayor, along with members of city council and a band of activists, took down the sign in 1985.
• Or, the sign was taken down by the second owner after a threat of a $500-per-day fine to be levied under the new city’s antidiscrimination ordinance.
• A press conference was held.
• In the 21st century the third owner’s publicist had a photo op in the local paper of record with an activist-reverend in the establishment eating chilli. I can’t find the photo.

On view in 8447, and other addresses is a reproduction of the sign, a original matchbook, reproductions of the matchbook, a matchbook collection, found photographs, taken photographs, and a mantle. Permanently removed from their original context, the items commanding FAGOTS to STAY OUT re-enter a state of display for us to deal with again. Barney’s was a flashpoint of local political concern. Business owners have often taken it upon themselves to be the fussy over- determiners of who gets to buy their little beans. In this case, the potential of buggery and attendant cop drama threatened the bottom line. The sign was an attempt at enforcing who could engage in the semi-private space of commerce. The sign doesn’t exactly regulate based on the wily concept of ‘sexual preference.’ The unincorporated character comes to unincorporated county as therunaway-sailor-hippie-soldier-unemployed-unemployable and, reaching critical mass, becomes the fagot. This surplus population conducts lewd, unsanitary, and vagrant activities, which are met by and defined through morals, etiquette, and law from families-merchants-cops. Empowered by law and private citizens, the newly enabled government entity removed the sign in order to open up market participation and widen the town square.

In any case, the intent of the sign was a topic of discussion by regulars and irregulars. The self-elected bohemiacs of Laurel Canyon, et. al. felt the sign to be a tongue-in-cheek nod to the bar-n-grill’s authenticity as a dive. By the time of its removal, public opinion seemed to err on the side of it being a jokey relic. Maybe the misspelling helped in this perception from the bar’s liberal denizenry, the missing G like a hole where the funny leaks out.

Unlike the sign, the souvenir matchbook comes with you, advertising your memory of a business, and moves the threshold of the command to STAY OUT beyond the bounds of its initial home. On a fluke, I found this one. It was $4 and the only one available online. It has a method of display fitting for its scarcity, commemorating itself in repetition. The matchbooks were many, and through their dispersal are seemingly nowhere—used up, thrown out, or somewhere in someone’s house. In my family home there was a bowl of matchbooks on our fireplace. The height of a mantle is nearly that of a bar counter. The family home reproduces its own architecture, expanding outside of itself and into the public, where it’s brought to bear on those in excess of it. The privacy norms of the home are built in the shared sphere of the market. The hearth—the cliché arch-architecture of the home—is friendly with the structure of business, and completes the circle of the matchbooks’ journey.

During the making of this show, I mentioned the matchbook to my mom. “Oh yeah,” she said. “I think we had one.”