The Roanoke Times

Printed Sept. 30, 2000

At four in the morning, Roanoke is a desolate place.

Except for a few street crews, police patrol cars and delivery trucks, the roads are mostly vacant. But on Salem Avenue, there is life.

Burning candles scent the night and fresh-cut flowers line the wall in front of Backstreet Cafe, a neighborhood bar that patrons affectionately call "a hole in the wall."

Before the night of Sept. 22, when a drifter from Florida walked in the door, ordered a beer, pulled out a gun and fired eight rounds into the crowd there, Backstreet enjoyed a subtle reputation. It attracted a group of regulars, composed mostly of gays and lesbians, and occasionally newcomers.

"This is the only bar I would normally come to," said Karen Adkins, 30. She stopped by the shrine about midnight Wednesday, on her way home from work as a policy processor at Allstate Insurance.

"I know the bartender and it's a safe and friendly place," she said. "When I heard about the shooting, I felt like someone had come into my living room and started shooting."

Now, the sidewalk outside the small bar serves as a temporary shrine for Danny Lee Overstreet, who died in the shooting, and the six others who were wounded. The candles, flowers and posters compel many who have never been to Backstreet to slow if they're driving by or stop if they're walking.

The bar has become a symbol of weakness and strength, hate and love. For while it is the place where blood was shed, it also has become the place where people grieve and find solace in old and new friendships.

And though both gays and straights have lighted candles and placed flowers there, Overstreet's death is a reminder that there is an undercurrent of intolerance in society -- and in Roanoke.

"This hate against each other has got to go," said James O'Neal, 46, who stopped at Backstreet a little after 5 a.m. Thursday. He was walking to work. "We don't have to agree with each other on beliefs, but everybody's got to get along in the world."

O'Neal, who is straight, said he walks by Backstreet every morning, but this was the first time he decided to stop. He wanted to read the posted messages, including the poster that spelled "PEACE" and the quote that read, "Peace is in the moment -- it is you, it is me."

"I think they're doing the proper thing by leaving messages and not protesting," O'Neal said. "It shows 100 percent more respect. I'm really proud of what they've done."

Nightly vigils have been held outside Backstreet since the shootings. On Wednesday, after Overstreet's funeral, about 50 people gathered in front of the bar to sing and share their feelings. The vigil officially ended at 8 p.m., but people arrived through midnight.

About 9 p.m., Kathy Caldwell, one of the shooting victims, came to see the shrine. It was the first time she has visited the bar since she was wounded. She was shot through her left hand and in her right shoulder, both of which were bandaged. She stayed for about half an hour.

"I thought it was really nice," Caldwell, 36, said of the shrine. "But to be honest with you, right now, I'm not feeling anything. I don't have any feelings toward anything."

The candles are housed in a plywood shelter, which was built by the Hate Free Roanoke Task Force, which formed as a result of the shootings. A colorful collage of wax drippings covers the ground around the candles. Glitter sparkles on the ground by the flowers.

Adkins has stopped by Backstreet every night but one.

"Every night, I plan to go somewhere else, but I come here instead," she said. "I'm here partly because it hit me so hard . . . and partly to show that I'm not scared."

Adkins said she's been coming to Backstreet for about five years. She was supposed to meet friends at the bar the night of the shooting, but decided at the last minute she was too tired to go.

Martin Jeffrey, one of Roanoke's most outspoken black activists, also visited the shrine Wednesday night. He wanted people to know that the violence affects not only the gay and lesbian community, but all minorities as well.

"Hate is hate," said Jeffrey, 38. "I'm here to tell this group of minorities that the group I represent understands. We support their right to exist as we do our own."

About 11:45 p.m., Megan Wilson of Bedford County sang "Amazing Grace" in a deep, strong voice. About 1 a.m., a group of men asked to form a circle of prayer. By 1:45, everyone went home.

But visitors came throughout the morning. At 2, a man dropped off a single rose. At 3:15, a taxi cab driver pulled over to study the candles and messages. And at 4, a straight couple who live nearby and frequent the bar dropped by to show their respect. Throughout the night, police cars passed by about once every 20 minutes.

Just after sunrise, however, a tall young man ambled by the bar and stopped. He wore camouflage pants, a grimy parka and a baseball cap sideways on his head.

He looked into the candle shelter, read the fliers, and put his cigarette into his mouth so he could fold his hands into the shape of gun.

Then he pointed the imaginary weapon into the shelter and made machine gun sounds, his hands jerking with each shot. He took another few seconds to look at the cross hanging from the middle of the shelter, then walked away.

Backstreet is scheduled to reopen next week, and many regulars have said they plan to go back. But Caldwell isn't sure she will ever return.

"Every time the door would open . . ." she said, and her voice trailed off.

Kathy Lu can be reached at 981-3255 or kathylu@roanoke.com

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