Ode to the MB
{ Ali Kane }
FOR THE FIRST DECADE of my life, Orson the Polar Bear was the sign that we’d arrived in Worcester. I remember being strapped in a car seat, on my way to daycare, church, or Grampie’s, when my parents would point to their right and wave. “Hi, Mr. Polar Bear,” the family would sing.
Some time in high school, I noticed another welcome sign just a mile or so further. To the left, peeking out from a building below, a rainbow flag would billow from its post, visible before the towers of Union Station. As a kid who didn’t yet know my own queerness, I only thought of it as a comforting sign of allyship while the movie soundtrack of “Rent” played in my earbuds from my pink iPod mini.
A few years later, I understood myself a bit deeper and those stripes would provide me a new comfort, as a symbol that there was a world out there that recognized me. Even if I was not yet prepared to share that secret with my family as we drove along, that flag waved at me with affirming acknowledgement.
I’d return to Worcester in 2018, officially calling it home. That was when I found myself on the sidewalk below that highway overpass I’d driven on so many times before. I’d passed that big red building just as frequently as I’d passed Orson; Water Street bagels were a Sunday morning church tradition. But now, the sky was dark, the bakeries, diners, and butchers were closed. An unassuming alcove, illuminated by one red bulb, would welcome me to Oz.
The MB Lounge is the oldest gay bar in Worcester - the only for several decades. It would be the litmus test, where my partner and I would have our second date on a quiet weekday night, conversation as free-flowing as the Blizzard of ‘78s - a brown ale named after an event my mother would frequently recollect.
Over the course of our relationship, the MB became the after-work watering hole. The meeting place as we emerged from the pandemic. The last stop after a day of adventuring.
The bartenders knew our name and we knew theirs. We’d meet new friends during trivia nights, and run into old ones as we tapped out early before the music turned up. We’d become the regulars who said “hello” to every new face, whether they were at their first gay bar or just passing through town. It felt right to end my Christmas Eve 2023 on Grafton Street, across from the nude Romanesque statue.
Queer spaces are sacred. Since January, our Sunday afternoons have been a little emptier. No other bartenders in town know our name. I miss the unexpected elevated cocktail and baked goods. Elsewhere, trivia and drag bingo are missing that secret ingredient. As the spring teases us, a fire escape seems like a lovely place to be. “It feels like an MB night,” I’ll think mournfully at least once a week, anticipating the end of this hiatus.
Yet, that rainbow flag still waves daily. What was once an anonymous symbol of inclusion, has transformed to represent the essential supply of camaraderie that lies below. A stalwart commitment to community. A reminder that we are not going anywhere.