The Rat dies

Urban Eye by Tamara Leitner

They came to pay their last respects.

Some traveled from as far as Arlington; others walked just a few blocks. Throughout the snowy evening, a steady stream of mourners trickled in. It was standing room only, a sea of black and leather. Familiar faces lined the walls. Some coped with the loss by recalling fonder times; few could believe this was the end.

The Rat is dead.

Kenmore Square's legendary Rathskeller closed its doors for good on Sunday night. In the late '70s and early '80s, the club was the nexus of the local garage-punk scene -- Boston's version of CBGB's. It was also a club that R.E.M., U2, and the Police played before they got big. Most important, it was Boston rock's hangout, the kind of place with local bands on the jukebox.

"[Owner Jim Herald] gave us a break when we were kids," said Chris Doherty, the 32-year-old singer for the punk legends Gangreen. "The first time I played here I was 15. And I'm honored to be here on the last night." Doherty's band was the last to perform on Saturday night -- the Rat's last live show.

David Minehan, who sang with the Neighborhoods, recalled how the Rat influenced his music career: "One visit here and my world changed. I was a musician, writing and playing in a band. I realized everything I knew was wrong. I would definitely say it was my start here."

The Rat's weathered décor has changed little since the bar opened in the early '70s. The three-level club has two pool tables, a jukebox, a scattering of tables and barstools, and three bars. Downstairs, the walls are black, the cement floors are filthy, and exposed pipes dangle from the ceiling. Rats with glowing red eyes keep watch over the mosh pit, and a rank smell lofts from the graffiti-covered, open-doored restrooms.

The closing of the Rat symbolizes more than just the end of a landmark club; it's the disintegration of a family.

"These people are more than just regulars," said Hope Moon, the manager of the Rat and an employee for 16 years. "We know them as friends. We go to their weddings, baby showers, and bridal showers."

Shutdown rumors had haunted the Rat for years, but most employees were notified of the closing only last week and still do not know who purchased the bar -- or what will replace it.

As the final hours approached on Saturday -- the night of the last live show, and the day before the official closing -- people scrambled to find a piece of Rat memorabilia.

"It was like a fire sale," said 27-year-old bartender Bob Griffith. "People were carrying stuff out right and left -- rats off the wall and pipes from downstairs, stools, tables -- some even tried to take the cigarette machine. Everyone was doing it. There wasn't much we could do after a certain point."