You can find it online at https://archive.org/details/bayareareporter
The series runs six issues, starting with Bay Area Reporter, Volume 4, Number 18, 4 September 1974 .
The Golden Age of
Queens (ONE)
by Toto le Grand
Many gay writers today make
slightening mention of 'those old tired queens', when referring to anyone, of
the genre, who is past fifty. Well, my dears, Mother has, at least, a score of
years more than that; she IS a tired old queen. And pretty much bent out of
shape, too. But, she wouldn't ex-change any modern-day activities for any of
those wonderful years from the mid-twenties to the mid-fifties; that was truly
the Golden Age — of Queens! Y., thinking back, it was glorious. To hell with
your modern 'gay' bars (which aren't..); the mad, modern cruising (but where.
.); the 'anything goes' Baths (where there are no REAL men, and who wants cat
meat. .?). And, as for the Beaches and Parks, who really wants sand, or
fox-tails, in her snatch. .? Yes. 'twas better back then, when there were MEN!
Men who treated a 'girl' like a lady. And paid for it. Brought their own booze,
and appreciated the service. A 'trick' was for a whole weekend, or 48 hours. or
longer. Many even lasted out the year, possibly the next, too. And, you stayed
at home, and cooked and drank a little, and loved, and lived! Nowa-days, it's
to the Baths for 6 quick 'ki-ki numbers with other fags; or under the Pier for
a couple, and then a third who turns out to be the Law. And so on...
Oh, hell, Mother could go on like
this for hours; let's take a look backwards to that GOLDEN AGE. Actually. this
really didn't all suddenly start in the mid-20's; but a great many started
coming out of their closets about then. There were more and more
'impersonators' in vaudeville (and out…), all trying to take over Julian
Eltinge's throne. And, in 1921, a book was published; the first truly gay book
done in English and printed in America. It was by Robert Scully, and was subtly
titled “The Scarlet Pansy”. It is a
hilarious story, even now. It had a good sale, though most often 'under the
counter'. Try to buy one now! It cleverly and humorously depicts the life and
loves of a pre-war (to 1918) queen. It's wildly amusing, very camp, very gay.
Peculiarly, much of the dialogue served as a model for the ‘gay talk' of the
next fifty years. Some of us old bags still carry on like that. Every young
queen should read The Scarlet Pansy.
Because of the necessity to hide one’s
‘other self’, the vogue for ‘stage names’ came into being. In the Golden Age, every
real queen had a 'nom d'plume'. In San Francisco, of the late 20’s, one
recall's Tzar Kerah, 'Miss' Applegate, the Countess Leamington, Bubbles
(several of these, Poppy, the Little Flower, Ann Pennington, Rosie O'Grady,
Appassionatta, a Pola Negri, the Mystery Woman. the Snake! (and she was,.. Hi,
Gene..), and many many others. There were at least three ‘girls’ known as THE
‘Miss’ Cabral; all were at least partly Portuguese; there were dozens of
routine Sally's, May, (a lot of May Allison's) and for want of any other name,
almost any of us answered to 'Mary'. All these names were bandied about in gay
circles; in the Park (THE park was Union Square), on Market Street (Powell-5th
to Golden Gate-6th), even down on the Embarcadero, where only the boldest ever
went. This 'name' thing was only a harmless bit, but it added some glamor to
some often unglamorous people, and it did protect the name of the 'girl'
involved. Mother (the writer, if you are confused..) who had come out some
years earlier, as a pre-teen-age, (all actresses, whether stage, screen, or
mattress, 'started at a very early age', they say..) with Miss Brown's Pasadena
Playhouse, was most often known as Bubbles; Mother was slim, blonde, and
lissom; in time became as popular as 'Sonny'. There was also a big musical on
at that time, named 'Sonny'. Not long after arrival in the City, Sonny met a
crazy ol’ bat by the name St. Ritas Benda, a brother of the 'mask' Benda. This
very tired old queen had a sort of ballet school, in very tacky premises in a
walk-up on Market St., the wrong side of Market St. South of Market was
'nowheres-ville', the 'in' crowd stayed on the North side of the street,
unless, possibly, there were a bunch of cute sailors massed undecisively over
there. In that case...Big feature of La Benda's studio, was a whole (throne)
room, done entirely in peacock feathers. Entirely!, would you believe...? Well,
it was!, Mother was there.
Through the Benda, Sonny soon met
a few of the local gentry; through them some very nice people, and eventually
got a job. While in Pasadena, the lad had done a few weeks, in rehearsal and a
disastrous opening, with a sort of musical called The Jovial King. Ersatz Romberg! So, though very young, our boy was
not completely inexperienced. Well, Sonny got into the chorus line of a new musical
called The Desert Song; after that.
it was Good News, another musical;
remember Varsity Drag..? So, Mother
was an actress, as well as an early 'teen-ager' and some other things.
Program-wise, Sonny was listed in these shows as ‘Sonia Pavlijev’. If a Mexican
girl named Apolonia Chalupec could become glamorous Pola Negri of the films,
what could be wrong with a polish (?) name for a young Irish (!) faggot…?
At this period, big balls… (No, Maude,
not those!, 'dances'...) were the 'thing'. The Sons of Herman (a fraternal
group but in NO WAY a gay bunch) had an annual Ball at the Auditorium, with
prizes for the best 'This'. the best 'that', Mother went as a sort of ‘houri’,
(love that word!.) in a coat of gold body paint, some lightly beaded breast-works,
a sash about her slim middle, and some ‘see-through’ silver gauze Turkish
trousers. The ensemble was definitely fetching, and Mother was being selected
for a prize, when she overdid the bit by going into a Low Kootch. Nowadays this
sort of thing would hardly be noticed; it was definitely too far out forty or fifty
years ago. Sonny was arrested and carried off, amid some cheers, to the slammer.
A kindly old man came and bailed
Mother out, and was reasonably happy with the task of scrubbing off the gold
paint from the lissom young body, in his shower. Mother soon had an apartment
of his own, a couple of charge accounts,.. .and the kindly old man twice a
week. Looking back, it must be repeated that 'Market Street' was the focal
point of all the action: remember, up until 1932, there were no bars, open as
such; you 'met' on the street. Every foot of it, from the Anchor Bar at the
Embarcadero corner, to the Crystal Palace Market, could tell a story, all
interesting. Mother recalls the Unique Theater. It certainly was! Between 3rd.
and 4th, on the South side of Market, was... (hey!, maybe it's still there..?)
this old grind house; old even in the late 20’s. It was a 24 hour movie and
'flop' house. Originally opened, and elegantly, as San First movie
(nickleodeon) by Sid Grauman, who later had some big houses in L.A. There was
nothing left of elegance, even in that Golden Age; at times, however, one could
pick up an occasional 'middle-of-the-night trick'. In fact, the house was kept
so dark (to hide it's grime..) that one could DO the trick right in his seat,
if one were agile enough. This was quite often managed, and — as all things go
— somebody 'complained'.. (probably some jealous bitch!..). Then for several
weeks. queens who 'had just done one', were busted as they left the theater.
For a time the 'group' wondered how Lilly (Law) could pick out the 'girls' who
were still happily tasting the goodies, as they left the Unique...? Then, all
became known. A beautifully built, well hung number would allow a girl a few
slides, then suggest they 'meet outside' to go somewhere more comfortable. The
queens, leaving first, were promptly arrested at the door; while the beautiful officer
(inside) repainted his THING with mercurochrome. Yes, that tell-tale RED, about
the lips, indicated to the waiting officers, just who had been doing what, in
the theater. Mother often wondered what the valiant 'inside man' told his wife
or sweetheart…?
Yes, there are thousands of
stories, about that Golden Age: next we'll talk about some bootlegging in San
Francisco.
Toto le Grand
The Golden Age of
Queens (TWO)
by Toto le Grand
In San Francisco, in the late
30's, the big thing was 'booze'. With a handy supply, a girl could do almost
anything, or anyone. Peopled would drink almost anything for a drunken kick.
Almost everyone knew ‘how’ to make gin, and while many did do it at home, more
piss-elegant parties preferred to call a bootlegger. Practically every building
in the City housed one or more, and they all bottled the stuff in faked
Burnett’s White Satin bottles. Mother never did know where those came from,
though for many months she delivered a lot of them.
Gin, as you may know, can be made
by mixing 1/3 water, 1/2 grain alcohol, adding a little juniper flavoring, a
little glycerine 'to smooth it out'. And this is almost 100 proof! Most
manufacturers soon used 2/5 alcohol to 3/5 water, for a more potable product.
The delivered bottle (a quart, I believe) cost $2.00 plus a tip to the carrier,
who also got .25 from the maker. Business thrived.
Well. 'things' were cheap in
those days; would you believe that one of the City’s most popular French
restaurants (Gireard's; there were two, one on O'Farrell across from Old
Tait's, one on Market St.) sold a complete table d'hote dinner, family style,
for .35 cents. On Thursday and Sunday you could get chicken, with everything
else, for .50 cents. With coffee and a glass of wine! So help me! Rooms in
not-too-bad small hotels were $3.00 a week. Speaking of hotels, there was a
small hotel on Bush, just off Grant Ave. where the old Chinaman always cackled
— at the appearance of two men — 'You wanchee 'rong time' or 'sho't time'
loom...?' We loved it!
And Gawd! Was Market St. gay!
Local belles all had to make the scene each evening; the 'promenade' was
marvelous to behold. Recall a mad 'girl' called Anne Pennington, who would stop
anything male, on the pave, and purr: "..would you like a fancy boy,
tonight..?! Of course, nine out of ten ignored her, but that 10th! She was
always in full make-up and went in for weird hair-do's. Mother remembers when
she once appeared with her hair parted in the center, all the way back. The
hair on one side of the part was black, straight and glossy, and combed back a
la Chester Mossiel the other side was pale blonde, and all in little French
curls. She was really 'too much', but that expression had not yet come into
use; my teenaged amanuensis tells me. 'it's dead, man! like dead!..' Anyway,
the time was before the 30's.
When groups of clattering queens,
on Market St., grew a little too shrill, a big, handsome, burly (Irish!)
policeman would look at them sternly and might remark, pleasantly enough,
"Come now, bhoys,... let’s move it up an down..’ Often he'd make somewhat
suggestive, but always humorous, gestures with his club,... er, baton.
Of course, in those days, 'the
promenade' was to show off new 'outfits', hair-do’s, jewels, or the like. One
might latch on to a trick; quite often one who'd pay. Not at all like so many
years later when the tired, rejected and dejected, stand about on the ‘meat
block’, demanding $2 or $20 for their flaccid (at best!) services. Ah, well...
The 'other Law of those days
consisted of Officers. Reed, Crystal, and Jennings, all in plain clothes. This
was the real Vice Squad, and principle among their assignments were gambling
and 'hooring' (as all Irish police had it...) on the part of 'street girls'.
You must remember that in those days, right up to late '41, there were
literally dozens of nice, clean, neighborhood whorehouses. Small hotels, with a
Madame and usually four or five girls. These were all over downtown San
Francisco; some more elegant houses were farther out. Many of the smaller
houses were just off Market St.; some toward North Beach, many South of Market.
The Mission and the Fillmore had their share, too. While these places were
never lavish, often forbidding drinks or drunks, the 'service' was 'homely',
and — the price was right! ($2.00, with a tip for the girl...) At one period,
and for about a year, Mother lived (not worked!..) in one of these houses.
Right on Market St., between Mason and Leavenworth; it was upstairs and had
entrances both on Market and Turk St., in the rear. I seem to recall that it
was the 'Carson'; it was run by two mature and kindly Frenchwomen, Pauline and
Germaine. They really 'mothered' a li’l boy lost.
Anyway, the 'houses' paid off to
the beat cops, in the natural way of things, and the Vice Squad kept
well-meaning amateurs off the streets. A policeman could, and would, always
recommend a neighborhood house. Along the same line, the Vice Squad was to
'keep the queens down..’ for the same obvious reason. This was a duty in which
they were ultimately and spectacularly unsuccessful; but that's another story.
While really based in San
Francisco over the next few years, Mother made the first of her many trips to
sea. Met this mad young thing (though older than I..) in the small park at the
top of Nob Hill. Mother has always said, ‘..to make money, go where money is..’
A nice clientele parked around this little park, which was next to the City,
most exclusive club, and almost 'across the street' from three leading — and
expensive — hotels. It was here that Sonny met this scion of a leading local
banking family. 'Temp' promptly asked, "where do you want to go.. ?” As
Mother expressed no preference, we zoomed down the hill to the Marina, onto a
nice, new yacht (the Zaca, later to be Errol Flynn's..) and ended up in the
Galapagos Islands. A mad, drunken, trip! Later, on return to San Francisco, a
shipping magnate offered to 'fix me up' (a sort of tat for tit!) as a Cadet
(officer) on a passenger-freight liner. So, off again, this time to Buenos
Aires; jumped ship in Montevideo, hitch-hiked home from port to port, getting
back to Market St, a year later. Mother was 20!
Perhaps this would be a good
place to add, that — while based in San Francisco, Mother went to sea for the
next dozen years or so. Was over 4 years on the Lurline, a mad ship in those
days; 500 in the Steward's department; probably 486 were actively gay! No
wonder the Islanders called it the 'Queerline'. Then, 8 or 9 trips around the
world, on 'world cruise' vessels, and so it went. But, every few months it was
back to gay San Francisco. What, dear…? room steward…? waitress…? Hello no!
Mother learned to cook, and but good!, and that’s another story… Sometimes told…
More later, about the Golden Age
of Queens, from —
Toto le Grand
The Golden Age of
Queens (THREE)
by Toto le Grand
In the 40 years or so since
'Sonny' first swished out onto Market Street, and vice-versa, there have
certainly been some memorable happenings and changes there. It's present state,
along with it, habitués, are a shame. Just a plain SHAME! Prices seem to be way
up, and quality is almost non-existent. As our old French nana used to say,
‘..a lot of water has run under the bidet..’ Or was that what she used to
say..? And, frankly, it's been a couple of years since Mother has trod those
mad blocks; what was encountered then was so pathetic that she has little urge
to retrace her steps. If the GLF, GAA, GOO, SIR, and various 'guilds' and other
'do-us-good' groups, would like to effect some civic improvement, they could
handily clean up a few blocks of the old Drag. Target for tonight: Wash a
hustler!
We note that the Old Cow (it'll
never be Crow, to thousands..) is still going strong, though we wouldn't trust
ourselves inside. (Pickpockets, and other groping-types, y'know...) Thinking
back....WAY back... we recall a mad incident — something overheard — in this
place. Everyone on the 'street' knew 'Nell'. a short of middle-aged queen, who
cruised Market St. nightly. The 'War' was just over (?) and tricks were
beginning to get paid 'for it'. The older you were, seemingly, the more you
paid. It was beginning to be accepted, certainly never liked. Actually, Nell
was quite well-off; had a very responsible job, and kept a very elegant
apartment, on the Hill. However, on her nightly cruise, she'd dress like a ragpicker,
always made it quite clear that '..she didn't have much money..' Yes, my dears,
a cheap bitch. and — like so many such — was constantly being rolled, beaten,
blackmailed, and the like. Of course, everyone 'knew her', and the Old Cow
crowd was quiet as Nell told of her latest mis-adventure; ‘..so I asked him if
he wanted to make a couple of dollars, and he agreed. My dears, he was just
gorgeous, and SO BIG!...(followed the usual bit describing size, shape and
size...) 'so, we went up to my place, and I quickly stripped, and was ready,
laying on me tummy. He got his clothes off, came over to the bed, and PLUNGED
that wonderful, big, (etc...) thing into my quivering quiff! And again! And,
then he pulled it out. No! No come, no nothing! Just two strokes! After washing
he got dressed,..and me laying there speechless... he picked up my pants, took
out the wallet, took out two dollar bills, ...and there were at least ten in
there...and remarked, as he went out the door: .’…you wanted a couple of
dollars worth,.. and that's what you got!..' An' he left...’ As this all was so
typical of the things that could happen to Nell. all present were vastly
amused. It is possible that such antics would not amuse 'straights', but to all
us faggots, it was hilarious.
Along in the block with the 'Cow'
was, years ago, a sort of 'all-night' dairy lunchroom. It was often filled with
unused (that night) hustlers, tricks, and queens. There were sometimes some
gems to be found there; it seemed to be the first place that 'guys' hit, on
arriving in San Francisco. One night, Mother picked up an absolutely ravishing
blonde beast there. He said his name was Paul, and he was in his early 20's. Claimed
to have a motorbike parked somewhere; had been in town about an hour. This
explained what such a dream-boy was doing. all along, in such a place. Mother
rushed it off to a small hotel, where — as usual — she registered as 'N. Gwynn
and Party'. In those days, Mother was a browning queen (and LOVED it!). With
Paul, we quickly assumed position A; after a brief but satisfying bit of
jigging up and down, in and out, we achieved our objective. Right where he was,
Paul heaved a long sigh, and went to sleep. After awhile, and with no new fires
rekindled, Mother decided to wait for morning for an encore. She pushed Paul
off, on to his own side of the bed, and — also went to sleep. Some hours later,
Mother awakened with a start. Wide-eyed awake. Instinctively, she knew her
'friend' was still beside her, but something was wrong. Getting up to raise the
shade, she was horrified to realize that Paul was dead. And he hadn't moved
since being shoved off, some time earlier. Some 'stains' were still apparent;
his eyes were open… Mother realized at what point he had expired; she broke all
records for dressing; hastily, she partly 'dusted' the room. She removed the
'stains', and she closed the eyes. Pausing at the deserted hotel desk to rip
out the last used page of the guest ledger, she flew! The following day she was
on Yessler Way, in Seattle. Looking back, she realized, of course, that the man
had simply had a heart attack or something. At least, ‘he died in the saddle,
doing his thing..’. And, doing it to Mother. It really was days before she
again 'assumed the angle’, though she did do some facials; even in Seattle. a
girl has got to live. But, a peculiar thing to remember, how would you feel...?
And this recalls another dead
boy. There was once a hotel — the Morse — on Market St; the building is now
part of Weinstein's Store. It had six floors, with elevator, of course, but
also an old-style circling staircase, with an open 'well' in the center that
reached to the sky-lighted roof. The place was run by a 'Miss' Hayes, a shrewd
old bag who specialized in gay-oriented hotels. Perhaps 65% of the guests at
the Morse were gay — of some stripe or another. The halls were wide and warm;
nights in San Francisco are often (most often) cold and damp. So, old sailors
(some groups, too..) simply lay down in the halls to sleep a few hours. The
'paying guests' made frequent tours of inspection, and dragged in anything that
looked tasty, you should pardon the expression...). There were some drunks,
some fights, and so on. One night, and the house was very full, two sailors got
to fighting in the hall on the fifth floor. (Later, at least 23 queens claimed
the fight was over them; all lying bitches, of course, it was Mother they
fought over! She says...) It all ended suddenly, and tragically, when one
sailor picked up the other and dropped him into the stairwell. Five floors to a
marble lobby. Well! Within 13 minutes there were at least 86 checkouts. Later,
there was a police, and a Navy, investigation; somehow La Hayes lost her
license for the Morse; she later operated a small pad on Kearny, called the
Metropole. A sort of 'hot bed' house. But, with the death of the poor kid at
the Mors, and it's closing, another era ended for Market Street.
At some point in the mid-30's,
Sonny was often 'between ships'; like many another, she took to the paves. He
('she') also found that he could best offer his 'face an’ figger' in Navy
blues. So, he had a tight (TIGHT) Navy uniform made, and did Post St. and the
'op o' the Hill nightly. And, it was a sort of 'racket'. He never asked for
money; but did memorize car license numbers like crazy. Next day a 'Girl' in
the Dept. of Motor Vehicles gave out the address; the City Directory, Voter’s
Registration, and Dunn & Bradstreet (all handy at the Library).added to the
dossier. The, he sent a bill 'for services’; the first went to the customer's
office, the second to his home. There was a follow-up phone call if the bill
was not paid; further calls — to wife and/or employer — were suggested. The
fees were reasonable, and most — with a sense of humor, — paid. If not, Mother
simply discarded the 'file' and forgot 'that one'. Yes, in a sense, it was a
despicable program, though never doing any real harm. Before you think twice
about it, it is impossible to manage today. In the mid-30's, .things were bad,
and a girl did what she could…’.
Mother was twice picked up by a
dignified old party; he always wore a homburg hat, a good black coat, with a
scarf about his throat. Both times we drove out around Fort Mason, for obvious
purpose. The subsequent 'check' revealed that Mother had been 'twice blessed'
by an Archbishop. He was in fact, Sonny's second such. Many years earlier, when
churchmen were exiled from Mexico, Mother was the young (and very tender!)
belle of the ball at a party (in Los Angeles) given by 'Miss' Novarro (..may
she be at Peace!..) Mother was 'communicated' by her first Archbishop, there.
She never really thought so well of the Church after her second. Huh!
Queens, and tricks, in trouble
often went to see 'Father Anthony' at a religious Brotherhood in downtown San
Francisco. He, gently, laid on the hands; usually gave the troubled one a few
dollars, and prodded them into going to Confession, and toward 'going home'.
Many must remember 'Father Anthony': it is to be hoped that there are as many
prayers for this kindly man.
Yes, there are thousands of stories,
from the late 20's to the late 40s, the Golden Age of Queens. Really, we never
had it so good. More later, from...
Toto le Grand
The Golden Age of
Queens (FOUR)
by Toto le Grand
In the late 20's, Los Angeles was
just beginning to come into it's own as a ‘gay’ town. While talkies were not in
yet, the 'artistic set' had taken a firm hold on Hollywood, and — to a lesser
degree — onto the City of which Hollywood is only a part. Cruising, on
Hollywood Blvd. was very popular, and very good! Everyone was an 'actor’; one
could find all kinds. Guys were available, in those days, because they wanted
companionship, sex, a few drinks, even a good meal; not, as in later years,
when men peddled their shopworn charms on the Blvd, on Sunset, on Selma Ave.,
for a few bucks.
There were probably hundreds of
gay ones in the studios, and quite a few were actors. One heard 'queer' stories
about almost anyone you could name, but these were seldom really true. Two or
three internationally known cowboy and 'action' stars were certainly known to
be less than manly off-screen; quite a few leading actors (and actresses) were
almost positively identified as gay ones. But, in the colony of artists, 'who
cared'..? Two stars come to mind, of the period; one Mother did not know, though
he was often seen —and heard — loudly cruising on Main Street, many nights over
a period of two or three years. The other was an acquaintance.
One of the biggest 'stars' of the
period was William Haines, an alleged comedian. He was never as young as he
looked; he had a stocky body, and a fat ass!, and was utterly crude, brash, and
rowdy. To those who 'knew', he was also just a common, garden variety faggot.
His pictures were slap-dash money-makers, and in the days before high income
taxes, Haines was making a bundle. He may have worked hard 8 to 10 hours a day,
but he pursued young men — preferably sailors — for at least 8 hours most
nights. Some of this activity was in Hollywood, but mostly in downtown Los
Angeles, on Main Street.
Main Street, incidentally, was where
the ‘big red cars’ came from and left for – the harbor at San Pedro; 6th and
Main was often a delightful field of blue uniforms. While Main Street had not
then attained the dubious distinction of 'Skid Row', it was deteriorating fast.
Of course, the big thing was to have something to drink; prohibition lasted
'til '33. In those gay days (and nights!) if you had a bottle and a room, you
had it made. And, hundreds of jolly young sailors went back to their ships
bragging about having been 'done' by William Haines. As a movie star. Haines
had a spectacular finish; two or three very bad pictures; with sound he came on
just a little too Nellie, too fat-assed, too bitchy. Then he was caught
molesting a 5 or 6 year old boy on the beach at Hermosa. While he 'got out of
it', the studios wanted no more of him, so his career came to a deserved end.
Deserved,..? Well, one wonders. Haines had considerable money stashed away, he
had never been a 'spender', was rather a cheap bitch; so he opened an interior-decorating
shop in Beverly Hills. Through talent, or because of what he knew about other
people in the industry, he profited hugely over the years. William Haines was
recently in the news again; as a 'Special Consultant' to the State Department,
he had spent a couple of million dollars of the tax-payers money, 're-doing'
the U.S. Embassy in London. Word from England has it that he has a special
'thing' for 'Guardsmen' (stalwart 6 ft. plus young soldiers of the 'Household
Guards'. They are now asking, from Americans, at least, 20 pounds as a minimum
fee for 'services’). They do wear dashing, tight uniforms: tight uniforms have
always been a great part William Haines 'thing'.
Another one met, in those days of
the late 20's, was the divinely handsome Ramon Novarro. Such a great shame that
he should be eventually murdered by a couple of illiterate hustlers. May he
rest in Peace.
Novarro was a young Mexican, and
had many relatives in Los Angeles; He was also — aside from his gay interests —
intensely religious. Mother recalls that Novarro, with a few friends, often of
Mexican descent, would cavort on Main St. and in nearby hotels, on most
Saturday nights. We's all meet at an early. Mass at St. Vibiana's Cathedral (2nd
& Main) after which we'd join an understanding priest (also named Father
Anthony..) for a glass of, good wine. (Prohibition, you'll remember..) Then,
about 10:00 AM, Ramon would slide into the choir at St. Vincents (Figueroa at
Adams) where he'd sing — often with Alice Gentle — the High Mass. He had a beautiful
voice. Over half of his earnings of these years (and he was Hollywood's top
money earner for several years) went to the Church. His brother was an
accomplished church organist, and I seem to recall that he had a sister who was
a nun. (The family name was Samaniegos) Novarro's group seemed to be quieter
and more dignified than the blatantly carrying-on Haines, though they played in
much the same part of town. Ramon Novarro was BEAUTIFUL; spiritually and
physically, just beautiful. One regret of a long life, says Mother, is that we
were only speaking acquaintances; but, Novarro was 'nice' to everyone.
In the last years of the 20's,
vaudeville was big in Los Angeles. Downtown were three major vaudeville
theaters: the Orpheum, the 'Jr.' Orpheum (afterward called' the Hill-Street),
and Pantages. All were within a block of each other, and in the center of this
area (Hill St. between 7th and 8th) an enterprising couple of old
vaudevillians. Carl and Lil Muller, opened a sort of coffee-shop lunch counter.
The place had a narrow horse-shoe counter that reached deep into the building.
They stayed open 'til about 3 AM.; Coffee Dan's, a sort of rowdy night club
that sold beer, was across the street. Nothing really exciting happened at
Muller's 'til one day they posted signs advising customers: ‘..not to be
alarmed at sitting with people in full theatrical make-up, as these were
performers at one of the theaters.' Somehow, this word spread like magic, and
every silly faggot downtown did herself up in Woolworth's pancake, and flocked
to Muller's. This nonsense went on for a couple of years, then problems arose.
The place was so packed most nights, that it was almost impossible to get in —
or to get out. French queens were turning tricks in the place, by simply sitting
on the floor before someone 'sexy', and doing it. Drugs began to be sold; there
were fights, then some knifings. The police were needed to regulate the
packed-in crowds, and so on. Then, within another couple of years, prohibition
was officially over; new places, including a number of short-lived gay bars,
opened up. Muller's just wasn't with it any longer.
Downtown Angelenos were always
partial to Pershing Square, and any mention of it was always good for a
snicker. Up until the late 30's, it was a nice, shade, bushy pot in the middle
of the city, with large (concealing) clumps of bamboo at it's center, and
benches in the shrubbery of the crosswalks. Of course, Mother recalls — as a
child — cavorting there before World War I, when it was still Central Park.
While these early visits were not gayly oriented, and Mother was just a child,
he was not an 'unaware' child. Don't know if it has been mentioned here, but
'Sonny' was sent to a Southern California military academy at the age of five,
the folks living in an unschooled rural area. Shortly before he was six, Mother
lost her cherry, being happily violated by two big boys — twins names
Zarragosa, who were fourteen — and has continued in active participation for
the next 60 years, or so.
Anyway, in 1918 they re-named the
Park Pershing Square, after the General. In the early 30's, it was going
strong, and had a fairly well established reputation. Perhaps the gay ones
really did start going there for that proverbial 'breath of fresh air’; Los
Angeles can be hot at night. The park soon became very cruisy, and often was
busy all night long.
Actually, Mother can remember her
very first visit to the Park, as the 'smallest uniformed cadet' from that same
military academy (or a later one...?). It was 1917, and there were 'Over There'
parades, just prior to our getting into THAT war. A part of the parade gathered
around Central Park. On the Olive St. side were many horses hitched to the
Park's iron railings; it seems that Olive was not paved there at 6th. Across
the street at 5th, was St. Paul's Cathedral; this was the State
Normal School. On the Northeast comer, at 5th, was the Philharmonic
Auditorium. Mother vaguely recalls that there were some large wooden buildings
down Hill St. to the Angel's Flight, at 4th; and next to it was Albert Cohen's.
a large grocery store. This was all at least 55 years ago; but li'l Son,
marched in the parade. Wonder if he swished...?
Later. Mother became a frequent
habitué; she recalls that in the early 30's, the Philharmonic was still there —
perhaps it still is. Across from the Park, at 6th and Olive, was an enormous
upstairs public ballroom, facing on 6th. Perhaps Sid Grauman's Metropolitan
Theater (at 6th and Hill) was built by then; Mother does recall the slow
building, during '17 and '18, of the Million Dollar, at 3rd and Broadway. She
cannot seem to remember when the Biltmore, or the New Public Library, just
behind it, went in. Mother was away from Los Angeles (in and out of San
Francisco) during a lot of the time between 1930 and ‘39. Memories!, and so it
goes, back to the gay Park of the early 30's.
As noted, nights are warm, in Los
Angeles; probably this is why many originally came to the Park. From where...?
Possibly from the Library (if it was built by then..?); maybe some tired 'dancers'
came across to see what they could do. Very probably many of the 200 or so
residents of the YMCA were there; it was a couple of blocks away. Through as
many years as remembered, this — and other — YMCA residences had no
air-conditioning, and wall-to-wall faggots. (ln San Diego, with the country's
largest YMCA for 'service personnel', the place is known throughout the city as
they French Embassy!... ask me why…?)
Very soon the Park became a busy
little trade center. Local cops, still on foot in those days, were gentlemanly,
saw very little. The later day sneaky Vice Squad cops began to come around just
before the Big War. And, there's a very laughable story there. An early
lieutenant of this select group, was 'one'. With his partner, he'd follow a 'girl'
and her pick-up to a nearby hotel; there were a dozen or so nearby that
specialized in this trade. The officers would break in crudely, then the Lieut.
would send his partner down with the queen, to 'book him'. The Lieut. would
stay to 'question' the masculine member of the party — often a sailor. Word
soon got around that the Lieut.'s questions seemed to take up just where the
party had been interrupted. Eventually, this procedure became so well known
that the Lieut. Was fired from the Police Force. He opened a bail-bond office,
then reneged on some large bonds, and got into some other messes. He fled to
Mexico, and that was the last heard of him. This was Vice Squad Lieutenant Max
Berenzweig; one wonders if he was a 'friend’ of current Chief Davis...
Los Angeles can be very warm,
climactically, almost any evening; as good a reason as any to take to the
Parks. MacArthur Park (then Westlake, and without a street across the Lake)
became very popular for a few years. Early movie companies made many pictures
in this woodsy, hilly block, and perhaps that brought out many 'actresses'.
Then began a series of muggings (not as common then as now..) and a much
increased 'pick-up' service around many areas. This, with considerable activity
around the T-rooms, brought the Park to the attention of Lily Law.
Some benighted souls still go
there, and a sort of automation has set in: you can cruise and get cruised,
propositioned, robbed, and arrested, all by the same juvenile-type police
officer. Yes. dears, crime — of the more serious sort — runs rampant in the Los
Angeles area, but L.A.’s finest steadily man the T-rooms, waving their all at
visitors..
Mother learned early, and quite a
few things. One is: NO ONE who could possibly be under 21. Two: ..no public
performances, as in T-rooms, parks, beaches. etc. This certainly includes gay
Griffith Park, and all the Beaches from Malibu to Seal Beach. Three: ..only
operate behind a locked door; never on the ground floor; never in a room with
easy window access, such as a fire-escape or a 'step-across'
But yes, Los Angeles in the late
20's and early 30's was FUN, if somewhat wild; it certainly wasn't deceitful
and vicious as now. People were 'coming out' all over, almost everyone enjoyed
themselves; there was very little commercial sex among the 'boys'. Then Lily
got into the act; next came the hustlers from far and wide. Now, even the more
permissive very young numbers will 'go' — but first, it's 'how much...?' And
this is very discouraging to tired older (over 40) queens. More later, about
THE GOLDEN AGE of QUEENS, particularly about the Baths... would you believe...?
Toto le Grand
The Golden Age of
Queens (FIVE)
by Toto le Grand
San Francisco, in the late 20's
and 30's, left many 'good' memories. For some reason, one recalls the many
parades, often once a week, and some very impromptu. None were more jolly than
during the time when 'Sunny Jim' Rolph was Mayor of the City. A short, tubby
man in his late 50's, 'Jim' was constantly on the 'Street'; was often riding in
a parade for someone or something. This was before they started tearing up
Market St. every 3 mos. or so. That's where the action was, from somewhere
below 3rd St. (near the Palace Hotel) to the City' Hall beyond Van Ness Ave.
Early on, lots of motorcycle cops
would appear,... or, lemme see.... weren't those horse-patrolmen..? Yes, I
think they were, at least in the late 20's. They would sort of line the wide
street, and there was much happy, sometimes bawdy, give-and-take with the
crowds. The people loved the cops (then) and everybody was happy. There was at
least one common denominator; men of the force were good Irish Catholics, or
good Italian Catholics, and this made for a jolly Parade Day feeling. Hell, the
Archbishop might be in the next car... Then, there'd be the usual parade delay,
but not for usual reason. Y'see, first they had to find His Honor. Often, early
on such a day, the Mayor would quietly slide out of City Hall, to 'get a
shoeshine'. He was very vain of his small feet, always wore Western boots, and had
'em shined several times daily. This re-furbishing was done in any of a dozen —
or more —bars, restaurants, or hotels, all in the Kearny-Montgomery area, on
either side of Market St. And, he would wander from one place to another, in
each of which people would insist on buying 'Jim' a drink, or two. So, while
the cars and other vehicles (there was always a Fire Company or two) of the
Parade gathered around 2nd and Market, his staff scattered in all directions to
find the Mayor. When located, it was sometimes necessary to 'walk him' a bit,
or otherwise get him into a respectable condition. The people loved him dearly,
as much drunk as sober; he served 10 terms as Mayor, went on to become Governor
of the State.
The Parades finally got under
way, and often riding in the Mayor's car (before 1930) was another San
Francisco character, also much be-loved citizenry, 'Miss Tessie' Wall. In her
later and frequently gayer years, Tessie was often called ‘The Queen of the
Barbara Coast’. Actually, this was not true. It had been rumored, wrongly, that
she once owned many of the 'cribs', 'cowyards', and 'parlor houses' (the three
principle types of 'house' in the Barbary Coast, before it's definite closing
in 1917).
Yes, before Sonny's time; as
noted, the Golden Boy was swishing it up in Los Angeles, in that long distant
year.
In any case, this was not true of
Tessie Wall. Undoubtedly, she had worked in the Barbary Coast district (around
Pacific and Montgomery Sts.) in earlier years, before the Fire (April — 1906);
but it is not known that she either owned or 'managed' a place there. After the
Fire, and with much of the old Barbard Coast destroyed, newer buildings, and
houses, west of Kearny St and as far as Polk, became the new Uptown Tenderloin.
These were almost all 'parlor houses', almost all had a Madame (a very few were
operated by men..) and from 5 to 30 girls each. There was much pretension of
elegance and refinement in many of these places, irrespective of the basic
purpose of the establishment. Anyway, this is where Tessie gained her fame, and
fortune. Not only was she exceptionally versatile (it was said) she had a fine
'respectable' clientele, and she was also known for a fantastic capacity for
bottled wines. She could comfortably put away a dozen bottles or more, in an
evening. Miss Wall was actually short, and inclined to plumpness, but this was
a 'figure' greatly admired in her business, at that time.
The Uptown Tenderloin flourished
'til 1917, then was severely closed down, (well, not ALL the places...) by civic
authorities goaded on by militant church groups. They weren't 'getting any',
and obviously didn't want anyone else to be pleasured. Peculiarly, it was not
the sins (?) committed in the houses that irked the do-gooders, but the fact
that girls and young women were recruited from all over the country and brought
to San Francisco. It was not what the girls did, or were to do, but the fact
that they were 'enslaved' in the first place. Adultery (per se...) could be
overlooked, but not those nasty 'white slavers'.
While many of the 'hotels' and
apartment 'houses' of the Uptown Tenderloin did close in 1917, a select few did
business for another 10 lavish years. A few operators became wealthy,
particularly those who bought property. Among these was La Wall, who eventually
retired to an elegant apartment house in the Western Addition. Married to a
gambler at this time, Tessie was strenuously jealous of his 'extra-curricular'
activities. Her husband bought her a lavish home in the country, but Tessie
refused to move from the City; she is credited with the often-quoted remark,
"..I'd rather be an electric light pole on Powell St., than own all the
land in the sticks..” After a year or so, her husband got a divorce from Miss
Tessie; our lady, an ardent Catholic, didn't believe in such things, and was
heard to say, that, "..if she couldn't have him, she'd fix him so that no
other woman would want him...” Meeting him on the street a few days later, the
excited Madame fired three bullets into him, in ‘..vital, if not letha,
parts..' She had done exactly as threatened. Exonerated almost at once by local
courts she retired to her private home, taking with her much garish furnishings
from her O'Farrell St. 'house'. She died in '32, aged 67.
Her household, in her last few
years, consisted of a housekeeper and chauffeur (a colored man and wife) and a
male nurse. There was a long series of these; many were interns from St. Mary's
Hospital, and all were queens. Mi. Tessie was bedridden during much of her last
year, but before this entertained (informally) quite frequently. She liked
people to drop in for 'tea’, which was most often gin. Then she'd hold court!
Present were often one or more of her 'old girls, (she was usually a good
touch) and usually several gay numbers of varied sex. She loved showing her
wigs, and she had these extravagant hair-pieces, she looked most like the
popular conception of Queen Victoria; short, dumpy, and with a little bun of scant
grey hair on the top of her head.
The several rooms of her 'flat'
(the entire floor of a large apartment building) was like a mad antique shop; there
was more 'damned junk’ (as she called it) than was believable. A 200 (or more)
piece dinner set, in solid gold, with initials T.W. inset in chip diamonds; a
table, more than 15 feet across, a foot thick slice of real mahogany, set on
short legs and beautifully polished on top. There were several beds, all
well-worn polished brass numbers; at least two dozen hand-carved Chinese
chests, as large as coffins and filled with 'souvenirs'. There were a great
many small boxes and an equal number of round tins, such as are used for fruit
cakes; these held an incredible mass of 'costume jewelry', pieces of more or
less value. One 'nurse' is said to have counted 86 ornate tortoise-shell combs.
And so on; it is understood that much of this was sold at public auction, after
her death; almost all of the estate went to the Church.
Somewhere, in '29 or '30. Sonny
met a male nurse, who was then attending Miss Wall; our boy spent two mad
afternoons in her fabulous place. The 'flat', and the Madame, were fantastic.
One recalls that each year, at the time of the February linen sales, in the
department stores, one paper or another would do a full page spread (with
pictures) of Miss Tessie inspecting the 'linens'. She was very 'big' on towels.
And so, to her death, she was a beloved San Francisco Character.
It may, somehow, give an idea of
the City (in that Golden Age) when two of it's best loved citizens were the
drunken Mayor, and an ex-Madame.
To go back a bit, Mayor Rolph's
wife was in some sort of sanitarium, she never appeared publicly; but his
raunchy public adored him when he was joined in a parade by Tessie Wall.
Yes, San Francisco was a
'peculiar' place, and was certainly ideal for queens. Everyone's policy seemed
to be ‘..live and let live..’. During many years in and out of the City, Sonny
met and knew many couples who lived exactly as if they were married, though
both were men (or both were women...?) and these affairs were permanent.
Before passing on from our
backward glance at 'houses', let Mother tell you about a different sort of
house. Nowadays, there is a very elegant alley, running from Stockton to
Kearney Sts., and between Geary and Post. Now known as Maiden Lane (sic!) this
was once notorious Morton St. It now features exclusive and exotic boutiques
and shops, some very fancy bars and restaurants, and the like. Before 1916 this
was the location of some of the City’s wildest cribs and brothels. On the NE
corner of Stockton and Geary, and across from the Ville de Paris (a department
store), there was once a staid 3 story building, separated from the rest of the
block by a narrow alley that ran along one side, from Geary to Morton (Maiden
Lane). Thus, cabs, and other horse-drawn vehicles were able to drive right to a
side door, on the alley, to discharge and pick up passengers. This was the
notorious Spanish Woman's; clients were heavily veiled ladies, and inside were
a variety of selected and horny studs, ready for action, at a price. Yes; things
have not really changed so much.
In the late 20's and early 30's,
there were many mad aspects of the Gay Life, in the City. 3rd and Market was a
popular comer; a one-legged newsboy on one corner sold the very finest
marijuana cigarettes (early 30's). The 'thing to do' where there were some deep
doorways. One would blast away (the fragrance was not so readily recognizable
then..), and then the group would move. Oh — so slowly, it seemed, up Market.
In the next 4 or 5 blocks there were several chocolate shops (like Blums) and
several small chili parlors. Each would be gigglingly visited, and much chili
and French pastry consumed. It seemed to take many delightful hours to reach
Leavenworth and Market. But, read mad fun! Incidentally, Sonny may have done this
a dozen times, on year; has never 'smoked any' since, nor particularly wanted
to. We know it's not 'habit forming'.
Also at 3rd and Market, were the
streetcars that ran to and from the Navy Base at Hunter's Point. A hundred small
hotels, within two blocks, happily rented rooms to 'gentlemen' for quickies.
Then too, across the street,... well, nearer to Mission, were the ‘Baths.'.
These were once known as 'Jack's Baths’; then when another entrepreneur named
Jack opened a fabulous baths on Post St., near Polk, the '3rd. St. Baths'
seemed to take that name.
One seems to recall that there
were less than half-a-dozen public Baths in the late 20's, in the City. One,
and a good Bath (Turkish style) was the Haman Baths on Ellis St. Not well known
was the Columbus Baths in the Italian section; this was back of Frank
Martinelli's Bal Tabarin (now Bimbo's). Rough, tough, Italian seamen,
fishermen, truckdrivers, went here. Sonny found this place and not only went
there, but kept it a secret. Mad! and of course, the paid...
Sonny was often taken to a
private club (of wealthy retired gents. many ex-Service) on Post St. Here he’d
gayly do a bathing routine, finally emerging from the steam, then the masseur,
to dive into a small pool. Of course, our hero, at this point, was a slim
blonde doll, but was always a little annoyed to see not only his 'patron', but
many other old parties, sitting drooling about the pool. Very disconcerting.
Sometime in the mid-thirties, a
Jack G...opened a Baths on Post St., between Polk and Van Ness. It had as many
small cubicles (each with cot, chair, closet, a locking door..) as possible; a
steam room, warm room, masseurs, showers, T-room, though no pool. The place may
have been intended as a 'real' Turkish (style) Baths; it quickly developed into
a mad, packed, male whore house. Any man who wanted to do practically anything
'sexual' with another man, could find it here. By midnight on Friday and
Saturday nights, the Baths was filled to beyond capacity; people were doing
'their thing, or someones..’ in the hallways,.. all very impromptu. Someone
spread the rumor that the U.C. football team came over from Berkeley every
Monday evening; the place was mobbed, though it is doubtful if any of these
athletes did appear. In those days, however, many 'men' (young, handsome,
available, but still MEN) came for servicing. A rash of those people who like
to make money from the vagaries of the Gay Ones, rushed into the baths
business. At one time in the mid-50's there were, reportedly, 39 'baths’ in San
Francisco. Many were simply places for sex —of any kind — between men; little
likeness to a legitimate Turkish (style) Baths was even considered. A place to
lock up your clothes, several 'cruising' areas; some with only a series of
darkened rooms with mats on the floor, each room to accommodate as many as a
dozen couples. Catch as catch can!
However, seldom — these days — is
a really masculine man to be found in one of these places.
Guess we'll just have to look
elsewhere, or, make do with a ‘sister’.
More about the Golden Age of Queens,
in our next...
Toto le Grand
The Golden Age of
Queens (SIX)
by Toto le Grand
In the mid 30’s, San Francisco, new 'gay-oriented’. bars
opened daily; many closed just as frequently. (It's much the same still, in the
70's.) There were all the new 'baths’ too. Adventuresome queens found a wild
place down the Coast (South of Fleischacker Zoo) where the beach was barren and
deserted. Heavy weeds grew to some height, and 'nests' could be made in these
for sun-bathing. It always starts with 'sun-bathing’; you may guess how long
this was the principle sporting activity, though considerable browning was
achieved. These places were (always) known as 'Bare Ass Beach;' of course no
one wore clothes. (Ya got it - show it!) But, you had to walk a mile or so down
the beach to find a suitable, or unoccupied, spot. ‘Lily’ soon became aware of
all this; cops from Santa Clara County began patrolling the area on horseback.
There were arrests. Then, parts of the Pacific shore in Marin County (across the
Golden Gate Bridge) were similarly popular for a while; they became too
popular, and again the Law spoiled the fun. (...the Nasties!)
Market Street was still the center of much cruising and of
most gay activity; there were a few 'hustlers,' but there were also lots of
sailors-and other servicemen - 'to be accommodated.' With a handy room and a
bottle, a 'girl' could make out most satisfactorily.
During the last few years of the 30's, Sonny went to sea
fairly steadily; 'she' was growing older,-- and wiser. Perhaps the mad,
carefree hustling life was not all it had been ten years previously. In time,
Honolulu became his home, and it was good! In time, he had soldiers, sailors,
Marines! Local laws forbid (and were enforced) women to hustle bars or streets.
The government ran a syndicate which operated well supervised - and clean -
whorehouses; but this was always assembly-line sex; we had it all our way.
There were lots of agreeable small hotels, lots of servicemen; Sake (locally
made) sold for $1.50 a gallon. Those sexy-looking Hawaiian boys...? Nope! Not
good parties; they really don't go for the 'uni-sex' bit, except at an
exorbitant price. They really don't like the mahu (Hawaiian for faggot). An early self-styled Poet Laureate of
the Islands, Don Blandings, was laughingly called Princess Kapu (‘private' or `keep out’) the Royal Mahu, sorta gay! Mother might add here, from her vast
experience, Aleuts, true Hawaiians, Fijians, Samoans. Tahitians, do not often
go for the gay bit. In Honolulu and Papeete (Tahiti), some will perform for a
price, but are not happy with the idea; can be unpleasant. Samoans. Fijians and
other mid-Pacific Islanders can be very hostile at the mere suggestion of such
hanky-panky, no matter how virile and butch they may look. White New Zealanders
and Australians, however, incline to an enthusiastic cooperation. There are
many new 'Baths' and 'Health Clubs' in all large Australian cities… have had no
reports of the Abos or Moaris down under; those seem very unattractive. One
does recall that young Aussie Navy sailors (12 yrs. old and up..) always seemed
available. One often heard the story (from the sailors)) that ALL (repeat -
ALL) Aussie Navy sailors were forced to submit, in several ways, during their
first week of training. This exercise as a 'leveler.' etc. Now, if we had a
more judicious use of K.Y. - and other lubricants, in OUR Naval 'boot camps',
wouldn't it be lovely. The Aussie Navy kids, however, could drink any American
under the table with beer and stout; but, get a couple of small shots of spirit
(whiskey, etc.) in 'em, and they were pliable; this does not necessarily mean
'limp.'
Back to pre-war Honolulu... Thursday and Friday nights,
every other week in Honolulu, were particularly hectic. The Lurline was in, and
spewed out it's 500 gay ones (waiters, stewards, some cooks, etc.) onto the
beach. Honolulu and Waikiki were wild, and so were hundreds of lusty
servicemen. Sonny was over 4 years on the Lurline. Things will never be as good
again! Of course, that was 35 years ago. Where does the time go..?
In the later 30's, our Boy visited other parts of the world,
and had much 'fun' on the way. Sonny stayed in Japan several weeks in the
summer of '41, having missed his ship. Public opinion there, whipped up by
militant newspapers, said all Yanks were bastards, and had much of the people
believing this. There was, however, a growing awareness of all modern American
ideas, including the Gay Life. (Yes, my dears, it can be really fun in a
kimono...) In time, and even more so after the War, gay bars began to appear,
and young Japanese took to the idea madly. They still do, and young Japanese
are truly beautiful! Mother came home to Honolulu in Aug. '41, and being in the
Reserve, put in for active duty.. was refused, possibly because of age...even
then!.. went to Canada and joined the Air Force (just before Pearl Harbor), and
spent a miserable 2 ½ years. Canadians (then, at least) were NOT with it. Back
to the U.S. and quickly into Maritime Service, and out to sea again with
Navy-leased cargo vessels, each with a Navy gun-crew on board, very handy!
Service included several trips around the world (making 11
in all). Sonny carried on til early in '46, when he took a final discharge on
the West Coast.(..a lovely line, no..?) Almost at once it was back to San Francisco,
where things were still tres gay, but
sorta sad.
It had all changed. The cruising on Market St. was still
there, but the people involved seemed shabby a. somewhat desperate. Trade was grim and shopworn, often
feral. Queens were less than light-hearted. Somehow, the brilliance and gayety
were gone. It was all mechanical, desperate, commercial. In fact, one is
convinced, the post-war atmosphere turned a lot of discerning homos into
heteros. In fairness, it must be added, that with a more general acceptance,
more and more homos were in evidence, a situation which has grown steadily into
the 70's.
However, as has become very evident in the 20 years
following the War, there has developed an all-encompassing hetero-homo who is 'a little of this - a little of that.' He’ll go
with almost anyone presentable, but has no great drive to go at all. At over
age 15,-it's none of it 'new,' or a 'surprise.' He's done it all! He may or may
not have liked it, but it’s sure no novelty you're offering, and, if the price
is right...' A notable example of what we've bred, is the cycle clubs. With all
that rugged leather,--brass, dirt, etc., it has become noticed that there are
many homos, and here creep in the odd bits of sado/masochism, etc. This is
certainly a far cry from the dainty, gay fellow who simply like to lick dicks
or get screwed in the ass, there were practices as old as Time, and just as
normal. Yes, there were a few fetichists
pre-War, a few who liked the Golden Shower, the Daisy Chain, some rimming
queens (Ugh!) and the like; but nothing like the mad and sad characters that
have lately developed, such as those psychopathic messes who advertise in
underground newspapers ..'slave seeks Master, w/Fr., Gr. overtones..’!
And, actually, my dears, back in that gentile age, it was
not always the act itself - there are
only so many sizes and shapes, and not all of these are interesting - but
rather it was the ‘chase’, the cruising and seducing the trick, that was often the best part of the whole incident. One
recalls several, over the years, who went all out to make interesting, but
seemingly impossible, guys. When fully believing (in the mind) that ‘she’ (or he)
could have it, these gay ones gracefully bowed out. After, however, often
paying a premium fee. One such, a 'Miss Ferguson’ - as she was known, but not
his real name - was particularly bold. He fancied truckdrivers, college
athletes and - some uniformed policemen. He'd promise almost any-thing to get
his target on the bed, fly unzippered, point of acquiescence. Then he'd
suddenly remember an urgent appointment and, after paying off, would fly!
Mother knew him for over 25 years, since the late 20's, and he really never did
a number. Fortunately he was very wealthy – he bought many, many suits of clothes
for guys; he used to cruise in front of large men's clothing stores, would
boldly approach a prospect... ”hey, ya like that suit..?", and continue as
openly with his proposition. Don bought several cars for handsome fellows, to
my knowledge, innumerable motor-cycles. Even through a time in the Army, he
never went 'all the way.' As he explained, it was the self-satisfaction of
being able 'to do the thing,' that mattered, even if he never did it. It takes
all kinds.
To go back... Sonny returned to the Coast in '46. He found
that the old, gay camaraderie was fast slipping away - everything gay was
becoming commercial. This in two senses: (1) Basically, sexual opportunity was
much increased; almost anyone would go, but, was price, not principle..' Of
course, there were all the thousands of young men and women, who ended their
War in San. Francisco. Moral viewpoints had broadened. Who wanted to go back to
Mole Hole, Idaho, or West Hernia, Illinois, where sex was still tied down with
old taboos. The kinds of action he'd become interested in weren't even heard of
back home. (Though an old philosopher once said: ..no village, town, or
wide-place-in-the-road is so small that it doesn't have its gay element…)
In pre-War days, however, there was always a sort of theatrical connotation to off-beat sex;
the boys often referred to themselves
as Mattress-actresses. More
seriously, there was an illusive mystique about practiced homosexuality, which
always includes the rites of initiation of the 'new one', to the delights therein.
This was gone after the War, most guys of 19 or 20 had 'been had' at least
once, some often enough to join in the fun.
This general acknowledgement - of things homosexual - filled
Coast cities with men and women who were usually available. As a long-known gay
community San Francisco probably got more than her share. Many 'found a friend'
and settled down to a happy, peaceful co-existence. These quiet ones - and
there were, and are, many -one seldom hears of. Less stable types became
blatantly commercial (many as male prostitutes) or in some manner, lived off of
those who felt and lived homosexually.
And this brings us to the second major development. As the
war ended (and of course, Mother speaks of WW2..) it became apparent that
hotels, restaurants, publishers, theaters, bars (particularly bars), baths. and
other such places that catered to homos, could be a profitable thing. Over 20
or more years. and with no sense of shame, a large crowd of purveyors have lived off the fact that
there ARE homosexuals, and that many of the things these people want to do are
illegal or semi-illegal. Particularly Gay
business is now big business, though very, very seldom are the
owner-operators of these services gay themselves. These are simply the people
who live off the queers, and obviously with a complete lack of moral or
principle.
One could go on along these lines, as some have, at great
length, but our point here is that Queens did have a Golden Age, almost
finished by the 50's, almost completely disappeared now in the 70's.
For one thing, a new drug culture slid into place; this is
not a homo's thing. As every girl
knows, sex of any kind is unsatisfactory with any drug involvement. Or. 'ya
can't party with a pill-head..' and so on.
Also, just after the War, many were left in San Francisco,
and other Coastal cities, who were criminal as well as immoral. Many were (and
are). actual psychopaths. Crimes of violence, even murder, increased many fold,
aimed at the homosexual. Many communities, such a Long Beach, hardly ever allow
a newspaper reference when a crime victim is a queen, even if he's brutally
murdered. However, if she is female
and can be branded a 'SEX QUEEN' or an ex-Madame, and she gets robbed or
beaten, it's all in the local headlines. San Francisco and Los Angeles both minimize
crimes against gay ones, but they do take place, even to frequent murders. Some
California police are said to 'protect' the homosexual, this is arrant
nonsense, they persecute them in every legal and illegal way possible.
Yes, dears, the old mystique
is no more: you can rent a trick on almost any corner (if you offer enough..!)
but almost no one will.. 'come up to see my flower arrangements...' It's all no
longer genteel. Alas, the Golden Age of Queens is no more. Pity!
Toto le Grand
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