Men Behaving Badly

And here's the dirty little secret of the Men's Grill.

They let women in there, all right. Women who can't afford membership.

The women at the Men's Grill are waitresses — servers, in the politically correct parlance.

I'm beginning to see why the good old boys at the Phoenix Country Club reacted so angrily to suggestions they provide their female membership with equality. The Men's Grill may be one of the few remaining vestiges of a time when men did the deals and women served the drinks.

That era isn't dying only because most guys these days would rather buy us a glass of vino than huddle without us. As the Van Sitterts' attorney, David Bodney, wrote in his complaint, country clubs in Massachusetts, California, and Louisiana have had to abandon similarly segregated facilities after lawsuits — and, in Massachusetts, after an appeals court upheld a $2 million jury verdict. That club's policy was strikingly similar to the one at PCC.

Now, the Phoenix Country Club isn't the only spot in town with a restaurant for men only. The Paradise Valley Country Club, which has a less-progressive record on race and religion, has one, too.

The legal question is whether or not these clubs are "public accommodations" under the law. Private clubs can make their own rules. "Public accommodations" have to treat everyone equally.

It seems like a no-brainer. With entry fees of up to $70,000, PCC seems private by definition. But it's not that easy. Other country clubs have been found to be public accommodations simply because they open their doors to outsiders or rent out their conference rooms. As Bodney argues, the Phoenix Country Club hosts a number of events for outsiders, including, in the 1990s, the Maricopa County Democratic Party. It could ultimately qualify.

If it's a public accommodation, the club will have no choice but to move with the times — or, more accurately, to move just a few decades behind them.

If it's a private club, well, the men over at PCC can keep their splendid isolation.

Established more than 100 years ago, long before central Phoenix was the hub of a giant metropolis, the Phoenix Country Club isn't that expensive, by today's standards. It has none of the new-money glitz of the Paradise Valley Country Club, just a certain functional, sporty prettiness.

What it has is an enviable roster of names. The late Barry Goldwater was once a member; so was former Governor Bruce Babbitt. Today, Dennis Burke, chief of staff for Governor Janet Napolitano, can dine in the Men's Grill. So can Jerry Colangelo and, believe it or not, that renowned golfer Alice Cooper.

Beyond the whole "private club" argument, the members' answer to the charge of segregation is, as far as answers go, a classic. Think Plessy v. Ferguson, separate but equal. You know the drill: The Men's Grill may ban women at all times but Sunday evenings, but only women can eat at the Women's Grill blah blah blah.

Problem is, the Women's Grill is a lot less cool. Even the male members, if they're being honest, will tell you that.

The Men's Grill has a patio. The Women's Grill doesn't.

The Men's Grill has three high-definition TVs. The Women's Grill has none.

And, while the Men's Grill has a bar, the Women's Grill doesn't. You can still drink there — on a recent day, when I poked my head in, there were a few groups of hens playing bridge and drinking Manhattans. But it's a much different atmosphere.

Stephen W. Myers, a member who supports the Van Sitterts, spelled all this out in a letter to the board of directors in April. As Myers wrote, even as a woman may be paying up to $70,000 for a membership in the club — plus monthly dues of $570 — she's not allowed in the Men's Grill.

Meanwhile, a guy paying for a cheaper "clubhouse membership," which starts as low as $500, is in.

"This seems particularly arbitrary," Myers writes. "In this instance, the club's practice is akin to requiring a female member to pay the same price as a male for a first-class airline ticket, but solely because she is female, she can only be seated in business class."

The question of whether that's legal now lies in the hands of Arizona Attorney General Terry Goddard. (His spokeswoman declined comment.)

It's hard to imagine Goddard can win on this one. If he ignores the situation, he'll undoubtedly face speculation that he's a toady of the powerful lawyers with club membership. One of them, it should be noted, is Goddard's closest political ally, Don Bivens, the presumed soon-to-be-chairman of the Arizona Democratic Party.

But if Goddard takes on the civil rights complaint, he may have a bigger mess on his hands: taxpayers wondering why the attorney general doesn't have bigger things to worry about.

And I can't imagine the club would accept any legal determination meekly. The board of directors has certainly shown its willingness to fight back so far. It's also hired Gallagher & Kennedy — the same firm that helped Bishop Thomas J. O'Brien evade jail time for his hit-and-run — to defend its private club status. Maledon, the board president, says he doesn't want to get into any of the details of the fracas, but assures me that "we're going to resist." Based on the club's actions so far, I have no doubt he's serious about that.