"Who's there? The gruff man barked from behind the long dark screen that covered the front of the house. This fat man who guarded his house like a bulldog.

"Me" I answered meekly. "Just me."

It couldn't have been an "us." But there was no us.  Having just moved to this small town in the Hudson Valley, and just starting to teach, I knew no one. Especially no one gay.

Asking me 'who was there' was funny because Paul could see me all the time. The lights outside shined on me like a Hollywood starlet on the red carpet,  but  because of the dim interior and the blackened screen, I couldn't see him. But I heard him and that was intimidating enough.

"I guess you've all right," Paul mumbled to himself. "Come on in." He unlocked the screen door and let me through.  Then he lead me to a big wooden front door and unlocked it  too so I could pass. The sound of music and joyous  screaming  and laughing bombarded me as I entered the front hallway.

I had never been to a gay bar before.

So this was what a gay bar was like.

 I was at  The Townhouse, the only gay bar within forty miles...and the biggest dump within fifty. I gingerly entered and ordered a drink at the front bar Then I proceeded to  enter the darkened front room. where I heard the music.  One hundred men and women were dancing. But not together. Each sex stayed on their own side of the room.

 I had never seen any of this before, For me, this was a treat. Teaching school in a small town thirty miles away, I could hardly let anyone else know I was gay. I finally talked myself into making the ninety minute drive through back roads,  away from my fair city. Who could possibly find out I was there?

 This Saturday night,  I  would  let loose. I would dance and sing. I would finally be myself.

I was dancing alone in the corner, too shy to ask anyone to dance.

 Suddenly, the music came to a grinding halt. I could hear the scratch as the needle ran across the record. Were we being raided?

Nope.

A five foot tall woman in a housedress came running out of the backroom. She looked about sixty years. A tough hard sixty. Her house dress appeared to be twice as old.  As the  owner of the bar, she seemed like a real class act.

"Stop stamping your feet when you dance you guys!" she yelled. "Do you hear me ?This is an old house. It has  a weak floor.You wanna end up in the basement?"

There was a collective "No" from the crowd.

"Well then quit stamping your feet when you dance or I'll throw the lot of yous out."

We knew this was an idle threat. She made her living from the the drinks we bought.

As if to apologize for yelling at us about the floor, she made a loud crackling  announcement on the old mike resting on a bar stool. "There are now cheese and crackers on the bar" She repeated herself. "Cheese and crackers on the bar. Help yourself." then she and her housedress  disappeared into the backroom.

Several times, the music would stop and she would and yell at the patrons for stomping on her weak floor. "Stop stamping your feet," she yelled. But I didn't care.

 I wasn't interested in her moldy cheese and crackers. I wasn't afraid  that stopping my feet would land me in the basement.  I was dancing to the beat of the loud music and  experiencing my first  gay bar, ninety minues away from my rigidly stright existence.

I was there to have a good time.

And I did.

******

Monday. Back at high school.

I was standing at the blackboard trying to teach a class of seniors the  wonders of the color wheel.

A hand went up in the back of the room." What was it about the color wheel that Bobby didn't understand?" I asked myself.  At nineteen and still a senior in high school, Bobby was far from my brightest student.

"You have a question, Bobby?" I asked innocently.

" Yeah, he replied, "Mr. Katz, " Bobby yelled from the back." Have you ever heard of a place called The Townhouse?"

I must have turned all shades of red. Every shade on the color wheel.

I tried to regain my composure. "Why no," I lied. "What kind of place is that?" I prayed the conversation would go no further.

"Oh never mind," he answered. "I just thought you might know what  that was."

******

After class, I asked Bobby to stay. "What was that about The Townhouse?" I asked.

"I saw you there last Friday," he replied. "Looks like you were having a pretty good time."

"Bobby," I whispered, "This is definitely uncool. I could lose my job." I pleaded, "Please don't say anything to anyone else."

"I won't," my student answered. "On one condition, he smiled.
Next week you promise to dance with me."

"Agreed," I said, relieved that this situation had resolved itself.

******

It was the following Saturday. After passing inspection from Paul, the bouncer, and being escorted inside, Bobby met me at the door. "I believe you owe me a dance." he said .

But we didn't dance.

He led me across the dance floor to a group of men standing in a circle.

"Steve Katz," I was surprised he used my first name. "I'd like you introduce you to Fred, our Spanish teacher. And Bill and Tim, the Science and Math teachers at our school also said hello. "And," Bobby said," putting his hand across the shoulder of  a man who had his back turned to us, "I think you know Principal Wilson." the principal smiled and shook my hand. "Nancy, the gym teacher is over there if you want to say hi," Bobby added.

I was wrong.

 I wasn't the only gay man in the universe. And that was a revelation.

 There were other people like me. People who wanted to meet, have a good time, and be with people who shared their identity.

I returned every week for years. Meeting people from all occupations and lifestyles who cherished their Saturday nights. I made many new friends and had many new experiences from finding this ramshackle house in the woods.

But I never ate Betty's cheese and crackers.

And I never fell through the floor.

But I kept on dancing and dancing.

 My new life had begun.