Old Doorway | Palouse, WA | November 2019
Five days a week I walked to work through the French Quarter with Jules, an alpha-male executive who lived in the apartment above me. As I sat one evening in our building’s courtyard, Jules swept down the stairs dressed as Carol Channing, the Broadway diva. Platinum wig, heavy lipstick, sequined dress. He was scheduled to sing that night at The Hidden Door, a bar I didn’t know, and he invited me to go along. The bar’s front door was, in fact, very hidden — set in a plaster wall with no visible frame and barely a seam. It swung open with a slight push, and we stepped into a bustling caberet filled with dozens of Channing impersonators. It was Carol Channing Night, obviously. Jules jumped on stage, sang a reasonable version of “Hello, Dolly!” and returned to our table. He removed his wig, ordered a Scotch, lit a cigar and talked about the Saints football team. I’ve been alert for hidden doors ever since.