"We Don't Like Change."

That is what my sister, Peter Barry, imperiously snapped over the phone this morning from the safety and glory of Newport.

I have received so many emails over the last two days that I can no longer be silent. The famous and extremely popular Palace bar called by some the "outside bar" is, indeed, closing. I have not been attending the weekend events for some time in knowledge of all this, and not wanting to talk about the rumors. It seemed the more I distanced myself from the place, the less likely I would continue dancing in the ballroom of vague replies; it was just not my style. Still, this past--and last--Sunday in that bar was a glorious day of clear summer skies and throngs of hard-drinking sexy guys and gals. Although nothing was final, the message was out and everyone got together for one, last afternoon.

We still have the other bar with it's magnificent patio and are opening another, smaller, private one in the rear, but we are losing a gay monument that for over fifteen years provided the only popular bar for gays and their friends on the famed Ocean Drive. I have avoided writing about The Palace because I have not been in attendence very much and it seemed so much easier to remain so as we all drifted apart. And, although I have no doubt we will all continue to work at making that bar "The Happy Place" for Officer Brian and so many others, it is like having the beach towel pulled out from under you.

For a year and one half, Boris, myself, and--most importantly, the customers--toiled to create feelings of security, cohesion, and identity. And we succeeded; it was a carefree group of well-heeled, if flip-flopped, gay men and women that drank, danced, and lived that last Sunday in the world as we knew it. Will we try again? Who knows.

All eras come to and end; they move ahead and transform into better things. That is what we are trying to believe will happen now.