By Trevor Boffone
Editor’s note: This is part two in a three-part series on teaching Houston’s queer history.
When I moved to Houston in 2012, there was no question about where I would be living. As far as I was concerned, Montrose was everything. Conversation over. During my childhood visits to Houston, my dad would drive the scenic route from our Galleria-area hotel to downtown. As we rode down Westheimer Road, I’d stare out the window as we passed Dunlavy Street, Waugh Drive, Montrose Boulevard, and Taft Street, romanticizing what it would be like if dad just stopped the car. As an adult moving to Texas, I wanted to decide when and where the car stopped.
Little did I know that Montrose was changing. While Montrose is still a veritable gayborhood, there is no doubt that the neighborhood is a mere shadow of its former self. The fact that Montrose is moving away from being predominately queer to a more diverse area speaks to both the evolution of Houston and to the community organizing that enabled wider acceptance of the LGBTQ community. Even so, many queer millennials aren’t aware of Montrose, nor do they experience the neighborhood in the same way that queer people did back in its heyday. While the community has certainly changed, Montrose still exists. It’s just a matter of finding it, tapping into it, becoming involved, and experiencing that powerful feeling of queer community.
In my second year of teaching Intro to LGBT Studies at the University of Houston (as I mentioned in the first installment of this “Teaching Queer Houston” series), I set out to build a course that not only introduced students to the past, present, and future of local queer history, but a class that immersed them in this history. To engage the students in Montrose’s past and present, I created a lesson focused on mind mapping. Mind maps are diagrams used to organize information in a visual way. I asked my students to read two articles before coming to class: “There Goes the Gayborhood” by Scott James of the New York Times and “Montrose is Dead. Long Live Montrose?” by John Nova Lomax of Texas Monthly. While there is much published content about Montrose and gayborhoods in general, I find that these two articles cover the most bases. They also visited JD Doyle’s Houston LGBT History website to fill in any gaps.
To begin, I led students through a mind mapping activity in which we placed “There Goes the Gayborhood” as the central concept. As a class, we came up with the main themes surrounding the disappearance of gayborhoods—culture, economy, discrimination, and gentrification. Students then worked in groups of three to fill in their mind maps with details from the article.
For example, the students noted how the main force driving changes in gayborhoods is economic. Gayborhoods tended to establish themselves in marginalized or neglected areas where LGBTQ people could easily find homes and start private businesses. Gayborhoods required less capital. As a result, queer people improved the communities and made them desirable places to live.
After 15 minutes, students shared their maps. Then, we moved from a general mind map about gayborhoods to a specific one about Montrose. Using a different pen color, students expanded their mind maps to represent Montrose, while also recognizing larger trends that affect other queer communities. In regards to economic influences on Montrose, students noted how 77006 is now the sixth most expensive zip code in Texas and that the average one-bedroom apartment averages $800+ per month. Many students discussed the Houston oil boom from 2008 until 2014, which brought increased gentrification and higher property taxes to the area, thus pricing out residents. In terms of gentrification, many of Montrose’s cultural landmarks are gone. Iconic gay bar Mary’s is now high-end coffee house Blacksmith Coffee. Felix Mexican Restaurant is now expensive sushi restaurant Uchi. Once booming lesbian bar Chances is now the hip haunt Underbelly. Late-night Ruchi’s Taquería and quirky jewelry boutique Fly High Little Bunny were demolished and replaced with a CVS. The eclectic Space City! and Texas Junk Company are gone, with more Urban Living townhomes rising every day. The neighborhood has even taken on the moniker “Mattrose” due to the excess amount of mattress stores saturating the area.
Even so, during our class discussion, my students recognized the beauty that still exists in Montrose. For my queer students, Montrose is one of the only places in Houston that is visibly welcoming to them. From the Pride sidewalks at Westheimer and Taft to the rainbow flags flying high above Fairview and Stanford, for many queer folks in Southeast Texas, the neighborhood is a beacon of hope and home. Houston Pride may have moved downtown in 2015, but there is still pride lining these streets. They might not call Mary’s home, but they frequent the Eagle, JR’s, and Ripcord. They read OutSmart and have coffee dates at Agora. They take selfies in front of the Pride Wall. They, too, call Montrose home.
At the end of our exercises, there was consensus from my students: Montrose is still a veritable gayborhood, even if it has transformed in recent years. I suppose John Nova Lomax’s thoughts ring true: “Montrose is dead. Long live Montrose!”
