PART TWO:  THE INVESTIGATION

THE HAUNTING TRAGEDY OF THE UPSTAIRS LOUNGE
By Alyne A. Pustanio

Article, All Photos Copyright © 2010 by Alyne A. Pustanio

 

 

PART TWO:  THE INVESTIGATION

Beyond the Front Door:  The Stairway to The Upstairs Lounge photo

Copyright © 2010 by Alyne A. Pustanio

 

 

Investigation Overview

 

It was 2:00 a.m. in the humid early morning of Sunday, June 27^th and the temperature outside still read a scathing 95° as members of Louisiana State Paranormal Research Society pulled up to the intersection of Iberville and Chartres Streets for their investigation of the old Upstairs Lounge.

 

The offload of equipment began curbside as team founder Bernadine LeBlanc and I ducked into the noisy, smoke-filled dimness of the Jimani Bar in search of the man who held the key to one of the best-kept paranormal secrets in New Orleans: the old Upstairs Lounge.

 

“I’m comin’ up with ya,” said Mr. Eugene, a thin, gray-haired man with a face deeply-lined by years of living the New Orleans bar life.

 

We followed him out the bar and around the corner to the non-descript red door that stares blankly at the Iberville Street night-life, as it has done for 37 years since the night the Upstairs bar was consumed by flames.  Mr. Eugene rattled the key in the lock and the door gave way, opening outwards, revealing a darkened staircase just inside.  It was through this door, on the night of June 24^th 1973 that an angry bar patron tossed gasoline and a Molotov cocktail, causing the explosion that consumed the Upstairs bar, and 32 lives.

 

We stood by as Mr. Eugene felt around deftly for the stairwell light; soon everything was awash in a stark fluorescent glow.

 

Mr. Eugene led the way up to the second floor, the former location of the Upstairs lounge, now converted into business offices and a kitchen serving the Jimani bar downstairs.  Though the temperature read 95° outside, the second floor – closed for business for the night – was reading a heat index of 108°.

 

“Whoever said ghost hunting was glamorous?”  Bernadine sighed.

 

 

“Evidently, someone not from New Orleans!”  I replied.

The curious and the drunk gathered on Iberville Street blinking into the luminous light of the open doorway as the LSPR team hauled piece after piece of equipment into the oppressive upstairs heat.  Once all the equipment had been brought up and all the team members were inside, Mr. Eugene pulled the big red door shut and locked it securely.  The sounds were slightly ominous.            

 

Locked in for the remainder of the night, the team commenced its investigation of the old Upstairs Lounge.

 

Background to the Investigation

 

My interest in the 1973 Upstairs Lounge fire was kindled in May of this year I happened to be discussing locations in New Orleans that were genuinely haunted – not the hyped-up “haunts” peddled by the New Orleans tour companies, which consist mainly of notorious locations with interesting pasts taken into fakelore overdrive, fiction sold as fact.

 

No, my research being genuine, the locations and the facts surrounding them had to be genuine, as well.  That’s when I settled on The Upstairs Lounge.

 

It was at this time that I was introduced to a psychic medium, a former resident of New Orleans who, after living in Arizona for the past several years, had recently returned here.  It so happened that when I mentioned my research into the Upstairs to him, the aging psychic grabbed my hand and said to me, “Honey, after all these years I can’t believe you’re bringing me back to the Upstairs!”

 

Over the next several weeks we talked at length about the Upstairs tragedy:  He had been there that night, watching from the doorway of Candyland, a bar just across Iberville Street from the Upstairs.  Like others, he helped as he could, rushing to the assistance of anyone who made it out – only 15 people came out alive – or helping to keep the crowds back, and all the while sobbing as the cries of his friends dying in the Upstairs – those no one could help – came to him over the roar of the fire and the din of the emergency response.

 

“I knew them,” he told me.  “I knew all those people.  They were my friends,” he said, his voice faltering as he began to tick off the list of names of those lost in the fire.  “And Bud,” he said at last, “he was a good man.”

 

George “Bud” Matyi was a local entertainer who played at bars and restaurants around New Orleans.  Although he was “out” to his close friends, most people never knew that Bud was gay because at that time in New Orleans (1973) the gay community was still laboring under prejudice and hatred.  To be openly gay was like asking to be marked with a scarlet letter; in many, many instances it was literally asking for trouble as crimes against openly gay men and women were common and silently tolerated.

 

But Bud Matyi took it in stride.  Playing piano at the Upstairs Lounge was just one of several gigs he had around the city, but one he liked the best because of the intimacy of being surrounded by friends in a comforting atmosphere.  Matyi also often played piano for the meetings of the displaced Metropolitan Community Church (MCC), the first gay-friendly church of its kind in New Orleans.  It so happened that on the night of the fire the MCC had just wrapped up a meeting and an all-you can-eat buffet special for church members and other patrons, and Bud had been one of the entertainers that night.

 

“Bud actually made it out,” the old psychic told me, tears coming to his eyes, “and he had helped a couple of people make it out.  But he went back in to help others escape.  He never came back out.  They found him dead under the piano with his arms wrapped around two other bodies.  That’s the way Bud was …” he trailed off.  And then, almost as an afterthought, he said, “But he’s still there.”

 

Discussions with another psychic who had also been there that fateful night, but who had done a walk-through of the building more than once in the intervening years, confirmed the assertion that the spirit of Bud Matyi still haunts the old Upstairs Lounge – along with several others.

 

It was then that I determined that an in-depth investigation of the old Upstairs had to be done as soon as possible.

 

As related in part one of this article, I reached out to Jimmy Massaci, Jr, the owner of the Jimani bar and the de-facto manager of the entire location.  His father, James Massaci, Sr,, had demonstrated a rare tolerance and acceptance in the early 70’s by allowing local gays to use the second story of his building for a bar and nightclub.  Massaci agreed to allow me full access to the building’s upper levels primarily because he would like his father’s legacy to be acknowledged, but also because, as he frankly admitted, “This place is haunted!”

 

An intriguing walk-through with Massaci that produced photographic evidence and identifiable cold spots further piqued my interest and the Louisiana State Paranormal Research Society was mobilized for a June investigation, scheduled as close to the anniversary date of the fire as possible.

 

 

But while the team and I awaited the date, and I did further investigation, something one of the psychics had said to me seemed to resonate very clearly:  “They just want to be remembered.” 

 

Massaci had said it, too, but in a different way.  “They’re forgotten over here,” he had said, “I mean, they [the gay community] have their bars and their lifestyle, and they have that big Decadence festival every year, but nobody ever remembers the ones who died here.  I mean they died up here,” he said, pointing around his office, “because they couldn’t do any of that openly.  And personally, I don’t think they’ll ever be at rest until the gay community does something to acknowledge that.”

 

Outside the blank red door of the old Upstairs, fixed into the aging flagstone, is bronze plaque that recalls the tragedy and lists the names of the dead along with the people who sponsored its placement.  I look at it and recall what Massaci had said about it. 

 

“That plaque out there,” he said, “I come back from vacation one day and I see this plaque in the ground and I asked my guys [in the Jimani bar] ‘Where the heck did that come from?’  And they told me that some group had come by and just put it there while I was on vacation.”  He held out his arms, “I mean, they don’t even bother to come inside and ask me, or involve me in any way, and it was my father who helped them so much – he was the only one who ever even put out a reward for the killer.”

 

Massaci’s point is well taken, and he is absolutely right.  Although there have been perfunctory memorials, such as a 2007 art show of photos and memorabilia from the Upstairs and other gay bars in that same area meant to focus more on the repression of the time than the tragedy itself, there is next to no official acknowledgement by the current gay community of the tragedy and sacrifice that occurred that summer night in 1973.

 

The bronze plaque obliquely refers to the fact that it was the Upstairs tragedy which brought the gay community in New Orleans out in pride and unity, to become what it is today; and yet, that community never, to my knowledge, gives credit to the dead – who in my mind are truly martyrs to the gay cause in New Orleans.

 

It was with this in mind that I approached this investigation.  The story of tragedy and sacrifice affected me on such a personal level that I made a promise, not just to those who survived and remember, but to those who are dead and remember, that I would tell their story to the public and by doing it appeal to the gay community of New Orleans that they adopt and remember the martyrs of the Upstairs lounge.

 

And I can say that, after spending the night in the remains of the Upstairs lounge, passing the dark watch through the “dead time” of 3 a.m. and beyond in the empty rooms and hallways of the old bar – and most especially judging by the evidence we found – the dead of the Upstairs truly are restless, truly are waiting to be acknowledged and embraced by the community they gave their lives to help create.  Only then will they be able to pass on and be at peace.

 

 

VISIT HERE NOW FOR PART THREE

 

THE REVEAL – THE RESTLESS DEAD

 

Copyright © 2010 by Alyne A. Pustanio

 

The Upstairs Lounge Commerative Plaque ~ A Memorial Plaque Fund was set-up through the Vieux Carre Metropolitan Community Church.

 

The Upstairs Lounge at Iberville and Chartres Streets. was the site of the deadliest fire in New Orleans' history. Thirty-two victims died, numerous individuals were injured.

On Wednesday, June 24, 1998, members of the Gay and Gay friendly community meet together to remember and celebrate the lives of these victims. In 1973, only one member of the New Orleans' clergy, The Rev. William Richardson of St. George's Episcopal Church, was brave and GOD loving enough to immediately hold a service for the victims of this horriffic event and their families. Almost a week later, St. Mark's United Methodist Church allowed Rev. Perry to hold a memorial service. In 1998, representatives from varied religions and Christian denominations took part in the Memorial Service held at the Royal Sonesta Hotel Grand Ball Room. Gathering with the Gay community to celebrate the lives of those who perished were The Rev. Carole Cotton Winn, District Superintentant of the United Methodist Church, Senior Rabbi Edward Paul Cohn of Temple Sinai, Rev. Kay Thomas from Grace Fellowship in Christ Jesus, The Honorable Troy Carter, City Councilman, and thirty-two members of the New Orleans' community who represented the thirty-two persons who died in the fire.

The Rev. Troy Perry, founder of the Universal Fellowship of Metropolitan Community Churches, rushed to New Orleans in 1973 to assist with the healing of a community. Rev. Perry returned to New Orleans to speak at the Memorial Service. He also held television and radio interviews to address the questions of the events surrounding the fire and the place of the Christian church in the Gay community.

New Orleans Councilman Troy Carter, District C, lead a Jazz Funeral to the site where flowers were placed for each of the 32 dead. A plaque will be place at the site at a later time.

Organizers of the event, The Rev. Dexter Brecht, Pastor of New Orleans' Vieux Carre Metropolitan Community Church and Toni J. P. Pizanie, Chair of The Mayor's Advisory Committee on Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Issues, wish to thank those who supported the event.

 

THE LIST OF FATALITIES:

Partners, Joe William Bailey & Clarence Josephy McCloskey, Jr. perished together. McCloskey's sisters and two neices attended the Memorial Service. His neice, Susan, represented McCloskey in the Jazz Funeral.

Duane George "Mitch" Mitchell, assistance pastor at MCC, died trying to save his partner, Louis Horace Broussard.

Mrs. Willie Inez Warren died with her sons, Eddie Hosea Warren and James Curtis Warren.

Pastor of the MCC, Rev. William R. Larson, formerly a Methodist lay minister.

Dr. Perry Lane Waters, Jr., a Jefferson Parish dentist. Several victims were his patients and were identified by his x-rays.

Douglas Maxwell Williams

Leon Richard Maples, a visitor from Florida.

George Steven (Bud) Matyi, A rising young songwriter, perfomer and singer who had recently appeared on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. His Body was Identified and buried through the help of his personal manger and his wife. The Cornman Family of New Orleans.

Larry Stratton

Reginald Adams, Jr., MCC member, formerly a Jesuit Scholastic. Partner of entertainer Regina Adams.

James Walls Hambrick Horace "Skip" Getchell, MCC member.

Joseph Henry Adams

Herbert Dean Cooley, Upstairs Lounge bartender and MCC member.

Professional pianist, David Stuart Gary.

Guy D. Anderson

Luther Boggs

Donald Walter Dunbar

John Thomas Golding, Sr., member of MCC Pastor's Advisory Group.

Professional linguist, Adam Roland Fontenot, survived by Douglas "Buddy" Rasmussen, who led a group to safety.

Gerald Hoyt Gordon

Kenneth Paul Harrington, Federal Government employee.

Glenn Richard "Dick" Green, Navy veteran.

Robert "Bob" Lumpkin

Four men were buried in Potter's Field, Ferris LeBlanc, Unknown White Male, Unknown White Male, Unknown White Male, the City refused to release these bodies to the MCC for burial because they could not be identified.