The Beehive, in the Oakland district of Pittsburgh, is no more.
To some, it was “the old King’s Court theater”. To some, it was “the Oakland Beehive”, as opposed to the original Southside Beehive. To me, it was simply, The Beehive.
Note the year. It wasn’t just about coffee, it was about coffeehouses. It was a coffee house. It was a movie theater. It was a place to pay “seventeen dollars for a piece of cake”, as a classmate once scoffed (though people rarely bought the baked goods). It was a place to hear acoustic music. It was a place to be.
It was always in flux; they were always adding something, like a room full of pinball machines, or redoing the flooring. I saw so many changes. There were two floors and a rickety staircase, but they were handicapped-accessible: if you were in a wheelchair, an employee would carry you up! For real; I saw it done.
Friend worked there. Another friend (Till) used it practically as his office. Doug played acoustic there. I performed with him once. Me and him and a guy called Killer. Killer and I sang “Fairytale of New York” while Doug played guitar and Taka played the harp (harmonica, but we always called it the ‘harp’). Then we sang backup on “Dead Flowers”; then Doug did his original stuff unaccompanied.
Mr. Rilch and I went there on one of our first dates, to see Reservoir Dogs. I went there to cry after a storekeeper chewed me out for not dissing a homeless guy. I went there in winter to sit by the fire with hot cider. I went there in summer, after pulling eight at McDonalds, to rest my feet before walking home. I went there to sober up, to warm up, and to meet people.
The last night that Mr. Rilch and I were in Pittsburgh before leaving for LA, he stopped the U-Haul in front of it so Friend could run in for some reason. It was all I could do not to go in after him. I just sat there with my head down, flinching from all the lights and sounds and feeling the heart being torn out of me.
And now it’s gone. Along with Jerry’s Used Records, Ice-Nine, the building where Pittsburgh Filmmakers used to be, Avalon Vintage Clothing, c.j. barney’s, Oasis, the Roy Rogers that housed the infamous karaoke machine that lasted a week and a half…I don’t know about the Upstage. But there are no more lights and sounds. Oakland is a wasteland.
At least to me.
Well, the O is still there. When they drop the bomb, there will still be the O. But I feel like Snoopy, when he went back to the Daisy Hill Puppy Farm, and found, instead, a six-story parking garage. “You stupid people! You’re parking on my memories!”
If you stay away long enough, eventually all your memories will have been parked on.
