"Hey now, hey now, when the world comes in"

Reflecting (finally) on losing a place that meant so much.

This is something I’ve been needing to write for a while, but for whatever reason the words just didn’t come until now (and this still feels essentially insufficient, only scratching the surface of what I want to say)

When we lose the places most important to us, even if we haven’t spent as much time there as we used to, it still hurts. It’s more than losing a place you liked going. It’s losing a part of yourself (or who you were), it’s losing a community, a connection. The closing of Waterworks here in Tallahassee earlier this year (and the subsequent demolition of the building) kicked up those feelings in my mind.

When the news of Waterworks’ closing came down, it led to many great remembrances and tributes in the local Tallahassee media. Rather than trying my meager hand at recreating that, I will just link to the best of them right here. This piece by Mark Hinson for the Tallahassee Democrat tells the Waterworks story and distills what made it such a special place to all of us.

I want to get into my personal Waterworks story. I moved to Tallahassee in the summer of 2011 to start the English PhD program. To the surprise of no one, there was plenty of going out. We’d spend our nights in all manner of places. From the divest of dives to more refined spots, we’d all go out, knock back a few, and commiserate about any and all things related to school.

There was one place, which was quite close to my apartment, that caught my eye. It was a tiki bar, water running down the windows as though it was raining, inside dark and illuminated by red and green lights. It seemed cool and kitchy and fun. For whatever reason, my peers were more interested in other places and chose to spend their free hours elsewhere. “Let’s go to Waterworks this Saturday,” I would say. I was greeting with indifference and silence. So I took the initiative and started going there myself. I told my friends that’s where I was planning on going. If they were looking for me or wanted to hang out, that was where I’d be.

I’d never been to a place quite like Waterworks before, but after those first visits I knew it was the kind of place I’d been looking for ever since… well, ever since I’d been someone who went out to bars. It was a place where I felt normal. Bars were generally places you’d have to go—to get out, to be social, to meet people—and to be tolerated, but I didn’t always feel comfortable. But here was a place where I felt like I belonged. Just to focus on one thing—the music that was playing was always something I would like to hear.

On Saturday nights, they played alternative 80s music! That was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. I could go out and hear the Smiths and New Order and the Cure! Usually, I would have to bide my time, listening to the terrible music playing in that night’s bar or lounge, before I could go home and listen to the good stuff. At Waterworks, you heard the good stuff there. That, coupled with good drinks and very fair prices (unlike many other places which would charge more for essentially the same drink) and delicious food (the Capri sandwich… those who’ve had it will swear by it) and you had the recipe for a special place where I wanted to go whenever I could.

To use a cliché, it became a home away from home. I got to know Don (the owner) quite well and is someone I consider a great friend. Not only did Don run an establishment that had food and drinks and music, but he was also a great friend and supporter of the writers and artists and musicians of Tallahassee. For outsiders, for people who didn’t feel like they belonged in the more prominent locations, Don made a place where you felt valued. I got to know the bartenders and waitresses to the point where they weren’t just the people who made the drinks, but they were the people who I wanted to see. They became some of the best friends I’ve had here in Tallahassee. Even though I was just a patron, I’d help out whenever I could. Putting up chairs and getting ready to close up for the night? I could do that. Bringing in dirty glasses to get cleaned? I was on it. It was a place I cared about. A place where, yeah, everybody knew my name.

Eventually, I started working as an occasional doorman (checking IDs and taking cover charges) and, most importantly, as a DJ. I got to live out one of the dreams I had and be an actual DJ. New Years Eves, Disco Nights, Glam Slams, Waterworks “Prom,” 90’s nights, 80s nights… I was the one playing the music. I was the one getting people out there on the dance floor. Me. I was living, quite literally, a dream I’d had. You couldn’t beat it.

Yours truly in the DJ booth

Tallahassee native and all-around great person Tony Hale was in on one Saturday night and complimented me on my choices! People knew me as a DJ. That was something that would have never happened had it not been for Waterworks.

I put together a playlist that replicates what I would play on a usual Saturday night, consisting of 1980s alternative and new wave music. It gives you a sense of what one might hear and what it was like on a normal Saturday night at Waterworks, and what made it so special.

It was where I went to celebrate, where I went to cry. It was where I went when I needed to go somewhere but didn’t have anywhere to go. I’ve opened it up and closed it down. Birthdays, New Year’s Eves. Nights when I wanted to dance. Nights when I wanted to just sit. Whether it was the highs (passing exams, defending dissertations, graduating) or the lows (heartbreak, rejection) of life, I knew what I needed would be there. Not just the food and drink, but the people. The people who would lend an ear, who would make you laugh, who would swap stories, share thoughts. I could have more fun sitting at the bar talking with the bartenders and no one else than I might have at the wildest night out as some hip bar in college down or elsewhere in Tallahassee.

Some pictures from big nights DJing at Waterworks

Sadly, I didn’t get in as much in these past few years. Yes, COVID played a role in that. In a way that separated his establishment from many others, Don took the threat of the pandemic seriously (unlike some folks) and made sure he wasn’t fully opening everything up until it was truly safe. I was still there in whatever way I could be—getting takeout food, sitting on the gorgeous patio when the weather was agreeable—but it did put a damper on my going out.

One of the last weekends before things really shut down due to COVID, we had a 90s/early 2000s night that brought out so many people who all danced as I spun the hits. I remember an entire dance floor singing along to “Mr. Brightside” by the Killers. I thought it was the beginning of a run of great nights of dancing, but instead it was the last high point before things turned.

But even without a global pandemic disrupting things, losing touch with a place you used to go to a lot is not an unusual story. Your life changes and what you have time to do can shift. It was more exhaustion than anything else. By the time I would get to the weekend, I would think about how I wanted to go to Waterworks and have a proper night out. But by the time Saturday night rolled around, I would be too tired and staying in was what I needed.

I thought Waterworks would always be there and I could go back when I needed it. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. First, it closed and then the building itself was leveled. I remember where I was when I read the news. I was sitting at my desk in my classroom, looking at Facebook, when it came across my News Feed. Once I’d processed that news, I started sobbing right there. It was a gut punch. I’d wanted to go in. I’d wanted to do some more DJing (Memorial Day 2023 was a time we’d talked about but that was when I was up in Atlanta for Dead and Company… I still feel bad).

But now it was going. Then the demolition crews and machinery rolled in and Waterworks was gone. With it, something I realized later, went the person I was who went there. The person who was the DJ. Maybe that had to happen. I couldn’t be that person forever. I was getting too old. My life was moving and changing. But it still hurt to have that person taken away and to realize that those times were gone forever.

The space Waterworks used to occupy, currently a barren lot, will be used to expand a nearby local bookstore—if the building had to go away too, it’s probably the best case scenario (that it was helping a bookstore expand and grow) but it still hurt to see it stripped away. I knew Waterworks was important to me. I know it’s why I felt comfortable being in Tallahassee. It was one reason I wanted to be here even if I wasn’t involved with Florida State. I know things are fleeting and places, even if they seem like institutions, can go away. But I never thought it would happen to Waterworks. Perhaps that was my mistake. And I knew it would hurt if it ever happened, but I didn't realize just how much.

What I wouldn’t give for one more big night there—one more New Years with everyone drinking and dancing under the slight glow of the lights, red and white reflecting off the hanging disco ball. One more time to see the dance floor flood with the perfect song from Prince or Depeche Mode or David Bowie. But I know that’s impossible. The memories, however, those aren’t going anywhere. Neither are the people I’ve met. The friendships that came from Waterworks. We’ll take those times with us wherever we go. I just wish we didn’t have to say goodbye to that place we loved so much now.