This episode was originally released a few days after I woke up in the morning of June 12, 2016, to learn about the 49 people who were murdered at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, Florida.

I've re-released it each year on June 12th ever since. It is called a White Horse.

This is the Memory Palace. I'm Nate DeMayo. The White Horse Inn on Telegraph in Oakland

opened in 1933, or thereabouts. No one's been able to nail down the date. Historians have tried,

as have some of its various owners, it seems, over the years. But if you're

not an academic, or if you don't have a personal financial stake in solidifying its claim as the

oldest gay bar in the United States, to operate continuously in one location, it doesn't really

matter when the White Horse first opened its doors.

Just that it was soon enough.

For a man to walk in on just the right night in 1936, or 46 or 54, it'd see the most beautiful

man he'd ever seen in his life.

And just be done for her.

Soon enough for another man who'd heard of this place, heard of places like it, whispered about,

or mocked by the fellas in the assembly line, or in the office, or in his usual joint across town,

heard the cracks about pansies and perverts and queers and feared what they might mean, feared why

the words seemed to cut right through, sit strange in his belly and tight in his throat.

But who fought through that fear to make his way there, to the white horse, who may have

circled the block all butterflies before working up the courage to park.

Who may have walked right past it, rather than be seen walking in by some stranger.

Or maybe he pulled his collar up and tipped his fedora low and pushed through the door as fast as he could.

And who may have learned that night, in that bar,

where men talked to men by the fireplace in the back, where women flirted with women in the

...