A city without weekend plans: Coronavirus takes away Fort Worth’s culture
I saw somebody going out on Magnolia Avenue Thursday night. Of course, in the coronavirus era, that means I saw a blue Porsche pulling up to Ellerbe Fine Foods and a gloved-up employee dropping a to-go bag into the backseat. That is the extent of going out these days. If you really want to get crazy perhaps you could enjoy the meal at home while listening to a live-streamed concert.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Fort Worth was supposed to be coming to life right now. The Food and Wine Festival was scheduled for next weekend. Jubilee Theatre had produced a musical comedy centered on church. Cory Morrow was booked Friday night at Billy Bob’s. The spacious patio at Bearded Lady was ready to be packed with 20 and 30-somethings drinking craft beer.
But because of the coronavirus Fort Worth is a city without nightlife. It is a city without theater and art and music, a city without fine dining and dance clubs and honky tonks. It is a city without weekend plans. Which also means that Fort Worth —like Austin, Dallas, El Paso and other places across the state and country — is a city without a pulse.
“Your music, your food, your entertainment,” says chef and restaurateur Jon Bonnell, “it’s kind of what drives humanity.”
Bonnell has spent the last several days at his namesake restaurant in south Fort Worth. He’s the guy placing the to-go bag in people’s backseats. Six employees are working around the clock preparing family dinners. Thursday night was fried chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans. They’re serving 500 people a day. But the sales approximate perhaps 10% of a regular weekend.
At his Buffalo Bros. restaurants, with NCAA Tournament games, he would’ve expected to make $28,000 a day. Bonnell suspects he’ll make $2,000. He has already let go of about 230 of his 260 employees and questions whether he’ll make payroll in two weeks.
His years in culinary school and in the industry never prepared him to have to make such painful decisions and to see a city bereft of food culture. “The idea of driving up to the window,” he said, “can’t replace going out to dinner.”
Fort Worth’s top cultural areas are now ghost towns. Runners trample on empty sidewalks on Main Street. The fountains are off at Sundance Square. The sight of what used to pass for routine is now strange. “Usually this is patio weather,” says musician Ryan Higgs. “This is when everyone starts perking up a little bit and hitting the patios at other places. It’s eerie to see Magnolia and Main just dead. I know some people sat on The Chat Room patio the other day and somebody called the city on it. Like ‘are they open?’ I think it was because the weather was nice, and some people just went out and sat on their own.”
The concert venue that Higgs co-owns, Main at South Side, has tried to substitute live performances with streamed concerts. The audience metrics have been solid, the atmosphere less so. Mara Lee Miller, the singer who performs as Bosque Brown, says she misses going out in Fort Worth and “getting a hug from everybody.”
“I hope that part doesn’t change where you can hug everyone in the room and just be up all night,” she says. “I think people will cherish the arts more after this but as to what that looks like in the clubs at night I don’t know. I think it’s going to be a while before it feels normal again to be that way.”
To support Fort Worth’s cultural scene, people have been donating to an artist and service worker relief fund. The Arts Council has set aside emergency funds for support. But there are dozens of theaters and concert venues and art galleries in Tarrant County. Some of them may not survive.
The same is true for restaurants. Bonnell, who acknowledges it was the right move to close everything, expects it could take years before Fort Worth regains the vibrant dining scene it has enjoyed.
Christie Howard, the managing director at Jubilee Theatre, thinks the coronavirus, like 9/11, will lead to major changes. Perhaps the theaters, concert venues and restaurants will be limited at half their occupancy so people can continue to social distance.
When normalcy gradually returns, Fort Worth’s entertainment scene will help lead the healing, Howard says. “Culture and the arts really speak to the community,” she says. “They tell the stories of who we are, who we were and who we’re going to be.”
The coronavirus forced Jubilee Theatre to reschedule its show lineup. Howard was at first thinking of canceling the musical comedy that was supposed to be playing right now and eventually reopening the theater with a drama scheduled for the late spring. Instead, she decided to cancel the drama because people, she suspects, will want a comedy after a difficult time.
The play is called “How I Got Over.” And the stage backdrop is finished and ready to go.
This story was originally published March 28, 2020 at 8:00 AM.
