One particularly unusual day at the Tunnel Bar was the Saturday afternoon that a bodybuilder (male) walked in wearing a pink dress. He proceeded to skip about the place. He announced in an exaggerated voice that he was struck by the tavern’s unique ambiance and intended to stay until closing.
This was the early-80s; diversity had quite definite limits in Downtown Jersey City. I was concerned that the new arrival’s interactions with the locals might tend to the tempestuous. I informed the visitor that Saturday was an early day and so I was going to lock up in a few minutes. He replied that he just loved the area’s architecture and wanted me to provide like a tour or something. Just then a crud-encrusted wino known as Lucky Sheehan made his appearance. I told the tourist that I really didn’t know the neighborhood, but Lucky had lived here all his life and could be his guide. Lucky whispered something in his ear. The delicately attired muscleman said “Thanks, but no thanks” and then left.