Opinions
Duplex Diner pioneer hands over the keys
Hirshfield sparked an ongoing renaissance on high-profile block
Eric Hirshfield opened the 18th & U Duplex Diner in June 1998, which quickly caught on with gay patrons who dubbed it the ‘Cheers for Queers.’ (Blade photo by Michael Key)
Eric Hirshfield, the founder and now former owner of 18th & U Duplex Diner, has proven to be, above all else, a gracious and dedicated gentleman entrepreneur.
His recent announcement that he had sold the business spread like a wildfire among the Duplex’s network of neighborhood patrons and gay community movers-and-shakers alike. An appropriate reaction for a venue attracting a bevy of local gay men and lesbians and their friends where a portion of deceased LGBT and AIDS activist and Clinton administration official Bob Hattoy’s ashes are kept in a martini shaker on a shelf behind the bar.
Following a 13-year anniversary “BAR mitzvah” celebration on June 25 heralding a month-long closure to “refresh” the venue and after a series of weekly “Road Trip” signature Thursday night events currently underway at neighboring establishments, long-time Duplex Diner bartender and new owner Kevin Lee will re-open the venue at the end of the month and continue the popular and well-regarded landmark enterprise.
Referring to his decision to quit his job sporting a pocket protector as a civil engineer to open a community restaurant and bar “a seduction” that began three years prior to the Duplex Diner’s June 1998 opening, Hirshfield jokes that the hospitality industry is the “world’s second oldest profession” — if not the first.
Like a teenager constantly riding his bike down the street in front of a cute neighbor boy’s house, Hirshfield would walk by the abandoned property just north of 18th and U streets at the intersection with Florida Avenue, N.W., on the way home from his downtown office, pressing his face against the glass and dreaming of what it would be like to feel passion, excitement and commitment in his professional life.
It didn’t matter to him that the object of his affection was more than a little rough around the edges. In fact, the conjoined structures at 2002 and 2004 18th St. had seen better days. The weeds inside the building would grow to the height and thickness of trees in the summer and the hollow shell was rapidly deteriorating.
As a young man intent on chasing his desires, Hirshfield threw caution to the wind and told himself that this was the moment to make his move.
Disapproving neighbors
But the challenges involved in consummating such a relationship in the District often prove to be a cruel mistress, indeed.
Despite the fact that he was proposing to rehabilitate a prominent eyesore located at the southern gateway to the Adams Morgan neighborhood where it rubbed shoulders with Dupont Circle, a small group of area residents was quick to disapprove of this new prospective venture.
In a scene re-enacted to this day across the city, they insisted on intervening in this affair. They knew that local tradition allowed them the opportunity to interrupt the courtship and bestowed upon them the potential to call the whole thing off.
Several years later, Hirshfield would join with hundreds of other local business owners in opposition to small citizens groups and Advisory Neighborhood Commission (ANC) members advocating even more onerous restrictions on local businesses, describing the nearly two-year-long ordeal he had endured under the city’s cumbersome alcohol licensing process.
First testifying before the D.C. Council in 2004 during public hearings on the proposed Alcoholic Beverage Control (ABC) law revisions, Hirshfield captured the attention of city officials by detailing the outlandish elements of a lengthy so-called “Voluntary Agreement” he was forced to sign with a small group of liquor license protestants in order to move forward with his contingency lease and property renovation, eventually opening for business.
The document stipulated, among other things, the hours he could open the front windows facing the steady stream of buses, cars and trucks filling this major transportation artery and commercial intersection lest his patrons generate too much noise. It dictated the exact location of his trash containers and required that he install an “airlock” double entrance chamber leading into the small 1,000 square foot establishment.
Confessing his ‘sins’
Council members sat up in their seats in rapt attention as Hirshfield freely “confessed his sins” and announced in a characteristically devilish manner that he was in violation of a number of these stipulations.
His only defense: common sense.
Plus the fact no one had noticed, owing to the reality that these intrusive and nonsensical requirements clearly provided no real or ongoing benefit to those complaining about imagined problems in advance of their existence. Hirshfield learned first-hand that local hospitality business operators in Washington are deemed “guilty” until proven “innocent” in the eyes of the few neighborhood nannies necessary to manipulate and abuse the regulatory system and impose their will with ease, regardless of the actual merit or fairness of their supposed concerns.
Hirshfield went on to illustrate how the arbitrary sales percentage requirements dictating the amount of revenue derived from alcohol vs. food sales are counterintuitive to his business model as both a small neighborhood restaurant and bar.
Explaining that his patrons could order an entire homestyle meal for which the restaurant operation was well-known – with signature dishes like meatloaf and mac ‘n cheese and its popular tater tot side, of which a large number of patrons are worried will not make the new menu version (they will) – for a modest price, Hirshfield totaled the cost of an adult beverage with the meal and, heaven forbid, another drink (or two) at the bar either before or after.
A guest enjoying the evening and visiting with friends was, in fact, making it harder for the business to comply with the law the longer they hung around. All this despite the patron wanting to support this community business and help it succeed.
Although providing a robust and popular neighborhood eatery serving a wide swath of local demographics — Hirshfield often describes the actual bar top as being “not a gay bar, not a straight bar, but a curved bar” which, in fact, it is, and will remain — to this day the business struggles, along with many others, to meet these abstract revenue formulas.
Unintended consequences
Hirshfield’s impassioned public articulateness regarding the issues facing local community small business owners over the years has helped create a virtual industry standoff with alcohol licensing opponents. These efforts have contributed to a growing understanding among city residents that the entire license approval process has remained seriously out of whack.
Looking back on the licensing process he underwent, Hirshfield said that his naiveté was his most advantageous attribute, along with persistence and tenacity — otherwise, he might have just given up. After all, he now reflects, a rational businessperson would have simply moved on.
And therein lies the rub. For all the grousing about unruly crowds and late-night drunken revelers clutching pizza slices at the end of a weekend night overwhelming the sidewalks and spilling onto the streets of Adams Morgan, it is the extraordinarily obtuse and out-of-balance licensing process that discourages both sanguine and successful hospitality industry players from locating in the area.
Cumbersome licensing obstacles and hostile regulatory hoop-jumping required by groups such as the long-notorious Kalorama Citizens Association (KCA) and its miniscule active membership are the creators of these unintended consequences, according to Hirshfield. Add the small ad hoc license protest groups formed to oppose local business applicants along with neighborhood ANCs all too eager to extract their own pound of flesh — all wielding what he refers to as an “Involuntary Agreement” as their weapon of choice and demanding acquiescence to their demands — and soon seasoned and savvy community business operators begin looking elsewhere.
Hirshfield contends that it is these licensing opponents who have, in fact, “manifested what they sought to eliminate.”
Without a marketplace mix of hospitality businesses contributing to each other’s success and providing a blend of offerings, Hirshfield argues, those operating on the edges resort to cheap drinks, plastic cups, and college-age promotions to reap volume sales, larger margins and the ability to pay the bills.
Hirshfield points out — from his perspective as a neighborhood resident, consumer and business owner — that the diverse neighborhood enjoys a long tradition as host to a broad range of responsible establishments and a rich history offering an eclectic mix of cuisines and environments and continues to be a vibrant destination for well-regarded dining and entertainment options.
He believes that the neighborhood’s best days are yet ahead, and that the community will successfully confront the problems it is currently experiencing as a result of the misguided policies of the past.
You might think that a business owner would fear the presence of alternatives in close proximity or be concerned with competition from other establishments.
Not the case in Hirshfield’s mind, as he is quick to point out the long-time contribution that the also gay-owned L’Enfant Café and Bar French-inspired bistro with its comfortable outdoor seating area next door, the adjacent Bobby Lew Saloon on the opposite side, and the addition of several recently refurbished new businesses across the street, including The Blaguard and the Jack Rose Dining Saloon.
Hirshfield is proud to share in the ongoing development that has transformed this southernmost neighborhood area since those early days of entrepreneurial romance.
That is what it takes to grow a neighborhood and expand the amenities available to residents, Hirshfield said, quoting the adage “a rising tide lifts all boats.”
Many would credit his vision and hard work and perseverance with being the anchor that has allowed this to happen over time along the once abandoned and neglected high-profile block that many now refer to simply as “LoMo” (for Lower Adams Morgan).
Hirshfield’s future plans
After taking some time off, Hirshfield plans to expand his involvement with business development activities in the area, sharing the lessons he learned the hard way and continuing to be an important part of the neighborhood he loves.
He takes some comfort in observing both that the city government has made progress in streamlining its business permitting departments and that the ABC Board has recently begun to cast a wary eye on those who seek to stand in the way of economic development and a fair and equitable application of alcohol licensing law without undue delay due to frivolous protests.
He hopes that Mayor Vincent Gray will encourage the continuation of these advancements when appointing new members to the ABC Board.
Although not yet detailing any specifics, what most excites Hirshfield is the opportunity to continue to be a part of a dynamic urban locale with a long-irreverent spirit and business camaraderie more akin to collaboration than competition.
In the meantime, his legacy will continue at the soon-to-reopen Duplex Diner under the stewardship of proprietor Kevin Lee — along with the familiar faces that have been key to the venue’s longstanding success continuing to serve appreciative “stakeholder” patrons. Both Hirshfield and Lee have been quick to assure inquiring customers that the popular and long-serving staff personalities “conveyed” with the sale.
New owner Lee has undertaken a “micro-renovation” to give the place a “Diner 2.0” facelift, some menu tweaks, and an expanded wine list. The “Tater Tot” lobby has proven as effective as any big-name K Street special interest advocacy firm, the Madonna-themed bathroom stays, and patrons are invited to submit suggestions on the diner’s Facebook page for a new theme for the other bathroom. Images of the venue’s renovation progress will be available on the Facebook page.
An excited Lee wants to honor the successful formula that Hirshfield introduced and nourished while adding some new touches and creating traditions of his own. Most of all he wants to continue what Hirshfield lovingly refers to as a “cool space at a great location, where a popular restaurant and bar happened along the way” — a sort of “Cheers for Queers” where everyone feels welcome and it doesn’t take long for them to remember your name.
Mark Lee is a local small business manager and long-time community business advocate. Reach him at [email protected].
Renee Good. Alex Pretti.
During this last year, I wondered who would be the first U.S. citizen to be shot by our government. It was not a matter of if, but when. Always.
And now we know.
I thought it would be soldiers. But the masked men got there first. Because when you mix guns and protests, guns inevitably go off. The powers that be always knew it, hoped for it, and wanted it to happen.
Why? Because masked men and guns instill fear. And that’s the point. Ask yourself when’s the last time you saw masked men and guns in our cities, or anywhere for that matter. I always thought that men masked men with guns robbed banks. I was wrong.
Masked men want to rob us of our dignity as human beings. Of our assurance in the calmness and contentment of our communities. They want to rob us of our trust in our institutions, and our faith in each other. And truly they want to rob us of the happiness and joy that we all constantly yearn to find in our lives.
But our only collective ability as a nation to push back is our protests. Peaceful protests. As Renee and Alex did.
But peaceful protests? Because they are the perfect power to shame the cowardice of those that believe guns and force are the only true authority. Fortunately, our last hope and fiercest ally is our Constitution, which gives us the power — and the right — to protest.
How much more peaceful can you get when you hear Renee Good’s last words, “I’m not mad at you, Dude.” I may be mad at the system, the government, the powers of unknown people pulling the strings but not you personally. “Dude.” Peaceful to the last word.
Yet, what becomes lost in the frantic pace of hair-trigger news cycles, of officials declaring impetuous damnations alongside johnny-on-the spot podcasters spouting their split-second opinions are the two human beings who have lost their lives.
How habituated we’ve become as we instantly devour their instant obituaries. The sum of their lives declared in less than 10 seconds of cellphone video. They haven’t just lost their lives. They’ve lost all of their lives. And now we watch over and over again as their death is re-revealed, re-churned, re-evaluated, and re-consumed. In that endless repetition, we forget the meaning of life itself.
We must remember that Renee and Alex believed in their communities, in the purpose of their work, in the happiness of their loves and lives, and in the dignity and curiosity of life itself. They were singular individuals who did not deserve to die at the end of a gun barrel for any reason, ever.
How fitting that Renee was a poet. Sometimes in confronting the massiveness of loss in our lives, we look to our poetry and our psalms, our hymns and our lullabies, to find a moment of solace in our communal grief, and to remember Renee and Alex, for what they gave us in life.
Yet, at this moment, I cannot escape the reality of what was taken from them so soon, so violently and so forever. They were exceptionally courageous and normal people, and for that reason, I must remember them through a poem to explain to me, and others, the unexplainable.
I dream of this not happening.
I dream this day and night.
For none of this is real.
And none of this is right.
I dream of these sons and daughters
who now will not go home,
and dream of their mothers and fathers,
who now must stand alone.
I dream of all the flowers that they will never hold —
the kisses never shared again, the secrets to not be told.
I dream of all the sunsets that for them will never set,
I dream of all the love they gave and now they must forget.
I dream of all their dinners
with wine to never spill,
or books to read, or bread to break
or babies to be held.
I dream of each one still reaching
in the middle of the night,
for a hand that needs another
to stop a nightmare’s flight.
I dream of them not dreaming,
which I could never do,
for how can you not dream a dream
that never will come true.
I dream of this not happening.
I dream this day and night.
For none of this is real
And none of this is right.
Carew Papritz is the award-winning author of “The Legacy Letters,” who inspires kids to read through his “I Love to Read” and the “First-Ever Book Signing” YouTube series.
Opinions
Gay Treasury Secretary’s silence on LGBTQ issues shows he is scum
Scott Bessent is a betrayal to the community
We all know the felon in the White House is basically a POS. He is an evil, deranged, excuse for a man, out only for himself. But what is just as sad for me is the members of the LGBTQ community serving in his administration who are willing to stand by silently, while he screws the community in so many ways. The leader, with his silence on these issues, is the highest ranking “out” gay ever appointed to the Cabinet; the current secretary of the treasury, the scum who goes by the name, Scott Bessent.
Bessent has an interesting background based on his Wikipedia page. He is from South Carolina and is what I would call obscenely wealthy. According to his financial assets disclosure to the U.S. Office of Government Ethics, Bessent’s net worth was at least $521 million as of Dec. 28, 2024; his actual net worth is speculated to be around $600 million. He married John Freeman, a former New York City prosecutor, in 2011. They have two children, born through surrogacy. I often wonder why guys like Bessent conveniently forget how much they owe to the activists in the LGBTQ community who fought for the right for them to marry and have those children. Two additional interesting points in the Wikipedia post are Bessent reportedly has a close friendship with Donald Trump’s brother Robert, whose ex-wife, Blaine Trump, is the godmother of his daughter. The other is disgraced member of the U.S. House of Representatives, John Jenrette, is his uncle.
Bessent has stood silent during all the administrations attacks on the LGBTQ community. What does he fear? This administration has kicked members of the trans community out of the military. Those who bravely risked their lives for our country. The administration’s policies attacking them has literally put their lives in danger. This administration supports removing books about the LGBTQ community from libraries, and at one point even removed information from the Pentagon website on the Enola Gay, the plane that dropped the first atomic bomb, thinking it might refer to a gay person. It was actually named after Enola Gay Tibbets, the mother of the pilot, Col. Paul Tibbets. That is how dumb they are. Bessent stood silent during WorldPride while countries around the world told their LGBTQ citizens to avoid coming to the United States, as it wouldn’t be safe for them, because of the felon’s policies.
Now the administration has desecrated the one national monument saluting the LGBTQ community, Stonewall, in New York City, by ordering the removal of the rainbow flag. The monument honors the people who get credit for beginning the fight for equality that now allows Bessent, and his husband and children, to live their lives to the fullest. That was before this administration he serves came into office. I hope his children will grow up understanding how disgusting their father’s lack of action was. That they learn the history of the LGBTQ community and understand the guts it took for a college student Zach Wahls, now running for the U.S. Senate from Iowa, to speak out for his “two moms” in the Iowa State Legislature in 2011, defending their right to marry.
Bessent is sadly representative of the slew of gays in the administration, all remaining silent on the attacks on the community. They are mostly members of the Log Cabin Republicans who have given up on their principles, if they ever had any, to be subservient to the felon, and the fascists around him, all for a job.
There are so many like them who supported the felon in the last election. Some who believed in Project 2025, others who didn’t bother to read it. Many continue to stand with him, with the sycophants in the Congress, and the incompetents and fascists in the administration, as they work to destroy our country and end the democracy that has served us so well for 250 years. To keep out all immigrants from a nation of immigrants. They all seem to forget it was immigrants who built our country, who fought against a king, and won. These sycophants now support the man who wants to be king. Who openly says, “I am president I can do anything only based on my own morality,” which history clearly shows us he has none.
I believe we will survive these horrendous times in American history. We have fought a king before and won. We have kept our country alive and thriving through a civil war. We the people will defeat the felon and his minions, along with the likes of those who stood by silently like Scott Bessent. They seem to forget “Silence = Death.”
Peter Rosenstein is a longtime LGBTQ rights and Democratic Party activist.
Opinions
Unconventional love: Or, fuck it, let’s choose each other again
On Valentine’s Day, the kind of connection worth celebrating
There’s a moment at the end of “Love Jones” — the greatest Black love movie of the 21st century — when Darius stands in the rain, stripped of bravado, stripped of pride, stripped of all the cleverness that once protected him.
“I want us to be together again,” he says. “For as long as we can be.”
Not forever. Not happily ever after. Just again. And for as long as we can. That line alone dismantles the fairy tale.
“Love Jones” earns its place in the canon not because it is flawless, but because it is honest. It gave us Black love without sanitizing it. Black intellect without pretension. Black romance without guarantees. It told the truth: that love between two whole people is often clumsy, ego-driven, tender, frustrating, intoxicating—and still worth choosing.
That same emotional truth lives at the end of “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” my favorite movie of all time. Joel and Clementine, having erased each other, accidentally fall back into love. When they finally listen to the tapes that reveal exactly how badly they hurt one another, Clementine does something radical: she tells the truth.
“I’m not perfect,” she says. “I’ll get bored. I’ll feel trapped. That’s what happens with me.”
She doesn’t ask Joel to deny reality. She invites him into it. Joel’s response isn’t poetic. It isn’t eloquent. It’s not even particularly brave. He shrugs.
“Ok.”
That “OK” is one of the most honest declarations of love ever written. Because it says: I hear you. I see the ending. I know the risk. And I’m choosing you anyway.
Both films are saying the same thing in different languages. Nina and Darius. Clementine and Joel. Artists and thinkers. Romantics who hurt each other not because they don’t care — but because they do. Deeply. Imperfectly. Humanly.
They argue. They retreat. They miscommunicate. They choose pride over vulnerability and distance over repair. Love doesn’t fail because they’re careless — it fails because love is not clean.
What makes “Love Jones” the greatest Black love movie of the 21st century is that it refuses to lie about this. It doesn’t sell permanence. It sells presence. It doesn’t promise destiny. It offers choice.
And at the end — just like “Eternal Sunshine” — the choice is made again, this time with eyes wide open.
When Nina asks, “How do we do this?” Darius doesn’t pretend to know.
“I don’t know.”
That’s the point.
Love isn’t a blueprint. It’s an agreement to walk forward without one.
I recently asked my partner if he believed in soul mates. He said no—without hesitation. When he asked me, I told him I believe you can have more than one soul mate, romantic or platonic. That a soul mate isn’t someone who saves you — it’s someone whose soul recognizes yours at a particular moment in time.
He paused. Then said, “OK. With those caveats, I believe.”
That felt like a Joel shrug. A grown one.
We’ve been sold a version of love that collapses under scrutiny. Fairy tales promised permanence without effort. Celebrity marriages promised aspiration without truth. And then reality — messy, public, human—stepped in. Will and Jada didn’t kill love for me. They clarified it.
No relationship is perfect. No love is untouched by disappointment. No bond survives without negotiation, humility, and repair. What matters isn’t whether love lasts forever. What matters is whether, when confronted with truth, you still say yes.
“Love Jones” ends in the rain. “Eternal Sunshine” ends in a hallway. No swelling orchestras. No guarantees. Just two people standing at the edge of uncertainty saying: Fuck it. I love you. Let’s do it again.
That’s not naïve love. That’s courageous love.
And on Valentine’s Day — of all days — that’s the kind worth celebrating.
Randal C. Smith is a Chicago-based attorney and writer focusing on labor and employment law, civil rights, and administrative governance.
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