Olywa Days of Change I had never seen such a beautiful place as the western side of the Cascades. I drove to Olympia, little and peaceful. I found Marilyn living in a small old house with a big chicken coop. I slept in the chicken coop which was also Marilyn’s studio. Now the spot has a Big Lots store on it. The land where the mall is now, across West 9th Street, was acres of Scotch broom.
After a few minutes, though, the tone changed, and the music stopped. The owner, who was at the club that night, cut us off from the bar and ordered us to leave, telling us that we’d be arrested if we returned. We were shocked—as were several people at the bar, who looked at us with a mixture of curiosity and discomfort. We refused to budge from the dance floor and demanded an explanation. The owner said he had the right to refuse service to anyone he pleased. “If you let certain types or elements, take over a place,” he later told the Daily Olympian, “you’re going to be hurting.”
Without consciously knowing it, I had moved two thousand miles away from my family to come out—it was other gay people I was looking for. Once I admitted that to myself, it seemed like Olympia was crawling with lesbians. In my daily flight path of looking for work and trying to meet people, I often circled by Laura’s store downtown, the Rainbow Grocery. I have no idea how she identified, but her store sure seemed to draw a lot of lesbians. They all seemed so much older and wiser, as everyone older than nineteen seems to an eighteen-year-old.
Tom Anderson Oral History Memoir By Kris Tucker We encourage readers to use the form below to make comments and suggestions. Disclaimer