For more than 50 years, Wausau has been home to queer spaces that served as regional sanctuaries for the people of northern Wisconsin. From the crowded, untamed, underground energy of Vicky Hasko’s The Pit in the 1970s to the modern, upscale, aspirational vibes of Cole Bruner’s The Emerald today, Wausau’s nightlife history is a timeless testament to the human need for hometown belonging and the pioneers creating space so their people can be seen.

Wausau in the 70s: Vicky Hasko & The Pit (1973–1982)

Vicky Hasko was born and raised in Wausau. In 1973, when Vicky was just 18, she and her brother took over the lease on the Hotel Central bar, which their parents had run throughout the 60s.

“I knew a lot of people in Wausau,” said Vicky. “I was born here, raised here, and went to three different high schools here. And everyone started coming down to The Pit. Well, I was gay, so of course a lot of my friends were gay. Over time, the Pit went from straight, to mixed, to gay. It was a wild little bar.”

Even the story of the bar’s name is wild.

“As a dump truck driver, I used to go down to the quarry pit to get the truck loaded with asphalt and granite,” said Vicky, “so I decided, ‘I’m going to call it The Pit.  We’re in the basement. And if you come down here, you can get loaded, too!”

The Pit was a very cozy space: Only 550 square feet, with 12 bar stools, a picnic table, a jukebox, and a pinball machine.

“We just packed that place,” said Vicky. “People would fill the stairwell because they couldn’t get downstairs. They’d pass money through the crowd to the bar, and people would order and pass them drinks back. You’d never see anything like that today.”

“The police finally came down in the late 70s and asked us what our capacity was,” said Vicky. “We’d never really thought about it. There was no other place around, and we were trying to serve as many people as we could.”

But some people didn’t think The Pit belonged in Wausau.

“I don’t think the city fathers were really thrilled with us. We got a little police harassment here, a little police intimidation there. They’d set up police cars near the bar. They would follow people, stop them, check them for operating while intoxicated, and search them for drugs,” said Vicky. “It wasn’t the whole police force, just a few guys who got real upset about gay people for some reason. It was the 70s. This was just the crap we had to put up with.

“Being gay wasn’t open, especially up north. It was frowned upon. Most straight people thought something was wrong with you. They might not say anything, but you knew they thought it,” she said. “We wanted to create a place where none of that mattered, where you could just be you.”

For nine years Vicky ran The Pit, creating “a great big family” in the process. Then in 1982, she sold The Pit and moved to Colorado.

Jim Christiansen reopened the bar in January 1983 as The Pendulum, a spiritual sequel to The Pit. He was hoping to keep the crowds, but the business sold again within a few years.

“Two young guys bought the bar and moved it upstairs,” said Vicky. “And that sure killed the Pit and the Pendulum vibes!”

After fires in 1986 and 1989, the Hotel Central was razed.

In recent years, after retiring, Vicky and her wife Juliette returned to Wausau. She was glad to see that her hometown still has a gay bar—more than 50 years after The Pit opened.

Wausau in the 80s: Debbie McCarty & The Lark (1983–1986)

Debbie McCarty’s journey began with an act of defiance. When she turned 18 she planned on going out and celebrating. Her brother gave her a clear warning: “Whatever you do, don’t go to The Lark or The Pit. Those are the gay bars.”

“So, on my 18th birthday in 1975, that was exactly what I did,” McCarty recalls. “And the first bar I ever went to was The Pit.”

That night, she met Vicky Hasko, a kindred spirit, who introduced Debbie to her circle of friends.

A Place for Us

Around 1983, a friend contacted Debbie with an urgent plea.

“Listen, a friend of mine bought this bar, and he has no clue what he’s doing. Can you help him?”

McCarty immediately said, “Sure,” and that’s how she became involved with The Lark.

The Lark, located at 131 Scott Street, was a tavern long before Debbie’s arrival. Formerly known as The Surplus Store, the retail space was converted into Prieve’s Tap in 1956. Cecil Charbonneau bought the business in 1961 and opened The Lark as a family tavern. His son, Curtis, got involved in the early 70s after returning from Vietnam. The liquor license was in his name by 1973.

But between 1974 and 1983, the space changed owners a few times, changed names, and even sat empty for a few years.

“That’s funny because people still called it The Lark,” said Debbie, “even years after they stopped using that name.”

Bill Mathiesen reopened as The Lark in 1983, and Debbie was going to help continue the tradition. She restructured the bar operation, trained the staff, and poured her energy and expertise into turning around the business. And it was working.

“It just got to the point where I was putting in so much time that I finally said, ‘You know what? I want part ownership.’”

Creating a Spectacular Scene

Realizing the need to do something bold and different, Debbie launched a groundbreaking tradition.

“I closed the bar down on Sunday nights and opened it just for drag shows,” she explains. “The Lark was the first place in Wausau to have them, and it was just a blast!”

These Sunday extravaganzas made the bar famous. “We were packed, just absolutely packed,” said Debbie. “The shows had a really loyal following.”

The Lark became a hotspot for Northern Wisconsin’s queer community. Customers traveled significant distances—from Milwaukee, Rhinelander, Tomahawk, Marshfield, and Rice Lake —all drawn by the promise of community and celebration. Debbie ensured the bar was a place of pure entertainment throughout the week, setting the stage for the Sunday revelry. She hosted live bands, pig roasts, sports events, and even an early karaoke system.

But the freedom offered by The Lark came at a steep price, and there were constant reminders of the hostility outside the front doors. As word of the drag shows got out, Debbie saw a backlash. Many straight customers stopped coming to The Lark, neighboring businesses weren’t especially supportive, and financial pressures mounted.

“My business just started to tank,” McCarty recalls. “I did well on Sundays, but Sundays just could not keep me going.”

Debbie, her staff, and her customers all experienced ongoing verbal abuse during that time. She was even the victim of homophobic violence when three women jumped her and fractured her ribs after accusing her of making a pass at one of them.

Debbie was always very cautious about her customers’ safety. Since The Lark was located at a high-traffic downtown intersection with a stoplight, customers often had to make careful choices.

“They waited until all the cars passed before they would open the door,” Debbie said. “If cars were stopped at the intersection, they’d just keep on walking right past The Lark, and then double back when the coast was clear.

“Looking back, the drag shows weren’t really the smartest thing I could have done, financially, even though it was very important to me personally,” said Debbie. “I wanted to create a place where people could feel free. I guess freedom was more expensive than I expected.”

The lights Go Out on Scott Street

By 1986, the combination of declining weeknight business, escalating expenses, the Reagan Era, homophobia, and the AIDS crisis were catching up to the bar. Despite rebranding The Lark twice: First to “House of Whit” and later to “Primetime,” and hiring a bar manager to be the front face of the bar, weekday business was shrinking.

“There’d be nights we’d have three or four people in there all night,” said Debbie. “It’s like, ‘Where did everyone go?’

“And then, our landlord wanted to raise the rent to $1,700 a month,” she remembers. “That was an insane amount of money for any tavern space in the mid-80s. There was no way in Hell we could ever afford that. No one in Wausau could!”

McCarty was forced to close The Lark, leaving Wausau without a gay bar. Other queer spaces, including Camp, Masquers, and Mad Hatter would follow in its wake.

New Millennium Wausau: Bill Jones & OZ (1997–2025)

In 1997, Kevin Graco and David Nolan purchased Mad Hatter and rebranded it as OZ, in an ad reading “David and Kevin would like you to join them in their new venture.”

David passed away just three years later, and OZ went up for sale.

Enter Bill Jones.

Bill grew up on a farm in Irma, Wisconsin. Growing up in a rural area meant he felt he had to keep quiet about his sexual identity.

“Customers would come to Wausau for the weekend just to be around their people. OZ was the only gay bar for 100 miles. We served people from Stevens Point, Marshfield, Eagle River, and Minocqua all the way out to the Minnesota and Michigan state lines.”

“Buying OZ was a big, big step for me,” said Bill. “I was freshly out of the closet. I’d just gone to my first gay bar (Switch in Milwaukee) a few years earlier. I was so uncomfortable at that first gay bar that I left quickly with money still on the bar. And now, I owned a gay bar!”

But it wasn’t always easy. Jones recalls some ugly moments: Someone vandalizing the building with a paintball gun, people shouting insults through the front door, customers name-called and harassed on the sidewalk. He also faced opposition from closed-minded city officials who made the operation difficult.

He’s grateful for the ever-changing perception of the gay community.

“It’s crazy to think about now,” said Bill, “but when we opened, some people seemed to think a gay bar was just a wide-open sex club. Customers—both straight and gay—worried they’d be molested the minute they stepped inside. I have no idea where they got this idea, but it took us three or four years to overcome that. Newcomers started coming in, looking around, and saying ‘Hey, wait a minute, this place is actually really nice.’”

As a result, OZ’s clientele has become very mixed, sometimes up to 50% straight. Jones appreciated having a wide mix of customers, because he always wanted everyone to feel they belonged.

“We’d have an older cocktail hour crowd,” he laughed, “but as soon as the DJ showed up and the music got loud, they were out the door. We had the best dance floor in downtown Wausau.”

Thanks to strong community support, OZ survived the pandemic to see its 25th anniversary. However, after thinking about it long and hard, Bill decided it was time for him to retire.

“Twenty-five years is a very good run for any small business, much less a gay bar,” said Bill. “But I also knew it had to stay a gay-friendly space, because it was important to me that Wausau have one.”

The Wausau of Tomorrow: Cole Bruner & The Emerald (2025–)

Cole Bruner was born and raised in Wausau.

“A few years back, I’d met Bill Jones, the owner of OZ,” Cole said. “Bill is probably one of the nicest and most good-hearted people I’ve ever known. During one of our first conversations, he said something really jarring to me: ‘This may or may not be the last time you ever see me, because I’m dying.’”

Bill explained that he’d been battling an undetermined illness for several years.

“Bill WAS OZ, and OZ was Bill,” said Cole. “OZ wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for Bill. He bartended almost every night, and he just loved it.”

Suddenly, OZ was up for sale, and Bill was insistent that the buyer had to maintain an inclusive space. That contingency considerably shrank the buying pool.

“My mom and I made Bill an offer,” said Cole. “June 7, 2025, wasn’t just our first day of ownership, but also the opening night of Wausau Pride 2025. We decided to call our first party “One Last Night in OZ.”

Cole’s opening party became the official Wausau Pride afterparty. Afterwards, OZ closed for eight weeks of renovations and reopened as an entirely new experience: The Emerald Night Club.

“Although we’re very much structurally the same, the interior is unrecognizable,” said Cole. “It’s the biggest change in this space in over 20 years. We’ve introduced this Great Gatsby meets Art Deco theme with beautiful light fixtures, loud wallpaper, and comfortable seating. We’ve redone the drink menu with craft cocktails and fun mocktails. We really wanted to infuse the space with a brand-new vibe and then elevate that vibe sky-high.”

Bill was able to attend the grand reopening celebration in person.

“OZ has always been a comfortable space for me,” said Cole. “I wanted to make sure that we could keep that space. I had the means to make a difference, so I made one.”