Starting a new gay bar would normally be an unforgivable breach of loyalty in Armstrong's handbook, but since George's caters to a crowd Armstrong didn't target, Armstrong approved. "Charles thought gays don't like sports," Konar explains. "He didn't think that's where the money is." The two parted with a handshake and a kiss, and Konar credits Armstrong with teaching him everything he knows about the bar business. This month for the first time, George's liquor sales exceeded those of both South Beach and Meteor, per Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission records. "Bless his heart," Armstrong says. "I wish all my employees went on to become millionaires."
Many others left on a sourer note. David Williamson, who's 48 ("But with gay people, it's like a million," he says), spent ten years working at the Montrose Mining Company. Williamson, along with many other ex-employees, says that at the end of the night, bartenders had to turn in a certain number of "spilled drink" tickets, whether the drinks had been wasted or not. A bartender was required to report that they had spilled three beers and three liquor drinks, Williamson says. At the end of the month, the manager would count the tickets. If the numbers didn't add up, they would add more, he says. "We'd have meetings where we'd have to make up a month's worth of waste tickets," Williamson says.
Mandy Oaklander
F Bar opened in March and quickly attracted much of the gay population of Montrose, many of whom say they're craving something different than Armstrong's typical club fare.
Mandy Oaklander
Mike Kumaus, a former bartender at Meteor, hadn't seen many of his regulars since F Bar opened — so he followed them there. Now, he's banned for life from every one of Armstrong's bars.
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Armstrong claims he didn't know about this policy, and says it must come from his managers. But he called it logical, saying that bartenders rarely record spilled or botched drinks. "In the heat of the battle, it's a way of tracking their spills and wastes and accounting for that," he says. "It's probably a fraction of what happens through the night."
One day last year, Williamson was asked to leave when he received a write-up that said he had overpoured a month previous. "It's really hard to defend yourself against something that happened that wasn't mentioned a month ago," he says. Williamson says he was told that they would accept his resignation, effective immediately. He was banned from all of Armstrong's clubs for a month — standard procedure whenever an employee quits or is fired, according to Armstrong.
Six months before he quit, Williamson had written Armstrong a letter asking for a loan from the Employee Emergency Fund. Williamson, who describes himself as "immune-compromised," had just been in a car wreck. He says he needed funds to repair his car so that he could make frequent doctor's appointments. Williamson's request was denied because of lack of funds, he says he was told. "It kind of confused me, because it's money we supposedly raised for us," he says. Since all loans given from the fund were expected to be paid back — except in the case of death — Williamson still doesn't know why he was denied. "I worked hard for Charles for ten years, and he was not there for me when I needed him the most."
Armstrong says that he receives too many requests to accommodate everyone, and that his employees often loosely construe the word "emergency." "It's for a medical emergency," he says, didactically, "not a personal emergency." Last year, Armstrong gave a portion of the fund to an employee who lost part of his leg. "These are the types of expenses in which funds have been made available," he wrote in an e-mail. Armstrong says that there is currently a balance of $13,000 in the emergency account.
When Williamson left, he wasn't able to find a job in a non-Armstrong bar. He may have had better luck trying today. Many of Armstrong's ex-employees have found employment at F Bar, the new gay bar steps from Meteor. Twenty-eight-year-old Benjamin Lewis worked for Armstrong for five years as a barback, floor man and manager. He lived in an apartment owned by Armstrong that was close to the bars and a popular living choice among employees. When the general manager at Meteor quit to manage F Bar, Lewis decided to follow. "It was time for our community to have something nice that wasn't owned as a monopoly," Lewis says. After quitting, Lewis found out he was banned for life from all Armstrong bars. Then an eviction notice was slipped under his door. He had 30 days to get out.
Says Armstrong: "It's perfectly anyone's right in America or Texas as a property owner to evict someone. Ex-employee? Adios."
Lifelong bans and evictions aren't Armstrong's typical parting gifts to employees who leave. The defection to F Bar is personal, says Armstrong. F Bar's owner is Irwin Palchick, a longtime Houston resident and storied entrepreneur. Neither man likes the other, and both hint at dark secrets in each other's past. Palchick is permanently banned from all of Armstrong's clubs.
Though the flight of some of his best employees came as a shock to Armstrong, the opening of F Bar didn't. "Irv pops up every decade like a horror film," he says. "Like Freddy and Jason, he keeps coming back." Laughing at his turn of phrase, Armstrong adds, "You can put that one on the record."
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The sweat from damp, grinding clubgoers hasn't yet seeped into F Bar. Instead, the bar still smells as fresh as the grand opening of an art museum. Crystal chandeliers and marble columns accent the interior, and every surface is lacquered with glossy black paint. It's the kind of place that immediately makes you feel underdressed.
