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In the 1960s the Shamrock became a beacon of safety and community for gay people across the Coalfields

A black and white photo of a man's face, his eyes mostly closed, as another pair of hands applies eye liner.
Carol Burch-Brown
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Marian Tatum-Webb/Archives Center, National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution
Making up Miss Cortney at the Shamrock bar

In Bluefield, West Virginia, a bar called the Shamrock was once a beacon of safety and community for many gay people in the Coalfields. The bar closed in 2001, and last year the building where it stood was torn down. But stories about the Shamrock, and the woman who owned it, are being preserved in a museum.

Artist Carol Burch-Brown produced a short documentary about the Shamrock bar called “It's Reigning Queens in Appalachia.”

“When it first started, it was a kind of a restaurant by day, and then it was a gay bar at night,” Burch-Brown said. “And local people kind of knew that but it they were discreet.”

During the 1990s she interviewed customers and the Shamrock’s owner, Helen Compton, the daughter of a coal miner. Compton opened the Shamrock in downtown Bluefield next to the railroad tracks.

She’s no longer alive, but in the documentary, Compton shared the inspiration for the Shamrock—after she heard another bar threw out customers, because they were gay.

A woman with short, wavy hair sits, grinning, wearing a sweatshirt.
Carol Burch-Brown
/
National Museum of American History
Helen Compton

“I said I’m gonna get a bar on the main street in Bluefield and open it up to the gay people,” Compton told Burch-Brown. “It was just exactly like I said I was gonna do. That’s what I done. I paid $10,000 cash for the place the day I bought it. And I said, ‘within a year I’m gonna have my $10,000 back.’ And I had it back in six months.”

As the Shamrock’s owner, Compton was fiercely protective of her customers and would defend them if necessary. She said she wanted the Shamrock to be a safe place, where gay people didn’t have to worry about being threatened. She stood at the door, checking to make sure nobody brought guns inside.

“She kept a bat behind the bar,” Burch-Brown said. “So, if there’s any trouble, she would get her bat out and go and take care of it. And I know she used it a few times.”

Clinton Stone, a hairstylist in Blacksburg, remembers Compton’s baseball bat.

“I mean, I did have a few times where I saw her tell somebody to get out or there would be bodily injury if they didn’t,” Stone recalled.

He first went to the Shamrock in 1986 when he was 21.

“And Ms. Helen was right at the door. Warm, friendly, welcoming,” Stone said. “She herself just seemed nice, but like, you could tell there was an undercurrent there that, you know, was just protective. And I think everybody felt that.”

The Shamrock felt safe, not just because of Ms. Helen, but also because of the community that grew up around her. Stone said the Shamrock felt like one of the only places where he could be himself.

“Well, you know, I mean, there’s a lot of people there that were like me,” Stone said. “I hadn’t really been around gay people that much at that point.”

Most of the customers lived near Bluefield, but some drove from hours away. “It drew from North Carolina, Virginia, Kentucky,” Burch-Brown said. “People came to the Shamrock from a lot of different places because there weren’t that many places to go.”

The Shamrock’s reputation grew after it began hosting drag shows. Compton recalled one night, when she was talking with a few of the customers.

“They was talking about stealing their mother’s dresses and their sister’s dresses and dressing up. And I said, well, ya’ll like to do that? Lord. I said, ‘ok, ya’ll come in here next Saturday. We’ll have a show. And you do it. And I hung a sheet from that wall right there, to the kitchen wall and let ‘em come out from behind the sheet to perform,” Compton told Burch-Brown in interviews.

The lighting in the Shamrock was dim, with one spotlight on the performers. Carol Burch-Brown spent many nights photographing the performers.

“A lot of the parts of the costumes were handmade,” said Burch-Brown. “A lot of the performers really got into making their own costumes.”

Most of the activity was backstage. There was laughter and banter as the performers put on their makeup and hair.

A black and white photograph of a drag performer, with a giant black rimmed hat, and a cape depicting piano keys.
Carol Burch-Brown
/
Marian Tatum-Webb/Archives Center, National Museum of American History, Smithsonian Institution
Miss Tiffany Aner performing at the Shamrock

The Shamrock provided a chance for gay men and women to socialize, and created a home away from home, where they could be creative.

“That was really hard to find in the 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s when this was really in its heyday,” Burch-Brown said.

For the last three years of its operation, the Shamrock was operated by Bill Yost, a friend of Compton. “The Shamrock was home to me,” Yost said. “Helen was my mother, just as much as my biological parent was. She was my confessor, my banker, my marriage counselor...and so much more.”

Yost said he had felt out of place in a small West Virginia town, and the Shamrock offered him a community. “A place to belong. A place where I was protected. Helen walked me to my car more than once with her hand in her pocket like she was packing heat!”

The building where the Shamrock bar used to be was demolished last year. There is an exhibit about the Shamrock in the “One Thin Dime Museum” in Bluefield. It features a crystal ball that once hung in the Shamrock, and Compton’s famous wooden baseball bat.

The One Thin Dime Museum in Bluefield is open by appointment during the winter, 205-540-4754.

Exhibit inside the "One Thin Dime Museum" in Bluefield, showing a tiara, a medal, and a crystal ball
Courtesy One Thin Dime Museum
Exhibit inside the "One Thin Dime Museum" in Bluefield, showing some of the items preserved from the Shamrock bar

Roxy Todd is Radio IQ's New River Valley Bureau Chief.