tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19987315291792802182024-03-16T14:52:57.481-04:00Occupation: Gaydunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.comBlogger990125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-44685134641923757902019-10-19T17:04:00.002-04:002019-10-19T17:04:28.117-04:00Drum and Playguy, Issue 1<a href="https://www.scribd.com/document/431075599/Drum-Issue-1-1964" target="_blank">Drum Issue one</a>, from 1964<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgql0cbFO78HW9jCMfxYqPeO9ZTHGio-z-gp6FtIJHo2kNziLCeqGNaA4nMxrSfeeSzQzmSJuoreoODp7_RszwKSvw38sOW-vmVU7TosNcO8bncw8F5EHt7K2XeeVmpW_T97NPREHULixSx/s1600/IMG_20191018_0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1241" data-original-width="1600" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgql0cbFO78HW9jCMfxYqPeO9ZTHGio-z-gp6FtIJHo2kNziLCeqGNaA4nMxrSfeeSzQzmSJuoreoODp7_RszwKSvw38sOW-vmVU7TosNcO8bncw8F5EHt7K2XeeVmpW_T97NPREHULixSx/s400/IMG_20191018_0001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<a href="https://www.scribd.com/document/431075925/Playguy-Vol-1-Issue-1-1972" target="_blank">Playguy, Issue one</a> from 1972<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhqeAMPmrOKTeZLIkdlvgQRBcn_f_K6WiNoVlK2z1O-Re9SqIU0j2SX24XOZhPsni9T5q-RDK8DaxwvGFB910J2h1OWRc3Y9U8vxmsuYjDcBe_Kx1x6_iX6ySXLWdfQeCEgAN1pxfWxG_n/s1600/IMG_20191018_0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1237" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhqeAMPmrOKTeZLIkdlvgQRBcn_f_K6WiNoVlK2z1O-Re9SqIU0j2SX24XOZhPsni9T5q-RDK8DaxwvGFB910J2h1OWRc3Y9U8vxmsuYjDcBe_Kx1x6_iX6ySXLWdfQeCEgAN1pxfWxG_n/s400/IMG_20191018_0001.jpg" width="308" /></a></div>
<br />dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-22752492688864649632019-09-30T15:56:00.001-04:002019-10-01T11:58:42.912-04:00The Golden Age of Queens by Lou Rand HoganThe ONE Archives in LA recently helped me when I was looking for a series of articles by Lou Rand Hogan, a memoir of sorts called "The Golden Age of Queens."<br />
You can find it online at <a href="https://archive.org/details/bayareareporter">https://archive.org/details/bayareareporter</a><br />
<br />
The series runs six issues, starting with <span class="breaker-breaker" itemprop="name">Bay Area Reporter, Volume 4, Number 18, 4 September 1974</span> .<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Golden Age of
Queens <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(ONE)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">by Toto le Grand<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“The Scarlet Pansy”</i>. 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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Scarlet Pansy.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Jovial King</i>. Ersatz Romberg! So, though very young, our boy was
not completely inexperienced. Well, Sonny got into the chorus line of a new musical
called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Desert Song</i>; after that.
it was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Good News</i>, another musical;
remember <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Varsity Drag</i>..? 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…?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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…?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes, there are thousands of
stories, about that Golden Age: next we'll talk about some bootlegging in San
Francisco.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toto le Grand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Golden Age of
Queens <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(TWO)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">by Toto le Grand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">More later, about the Golden Age
of Queens, from — <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toto le Grand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Golden Age of
Queens <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(THREE)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">by Toto le Grand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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...?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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…’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toto le Grand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Golden Age of
Queens <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(FOUR)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">by Toto le Grand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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'.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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 5<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>, was St. Paul's Cathedral; this was the State
Normal School. On the Northeast comer, at 5<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup>, 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...?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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…?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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...?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toto le Grand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Golden Age of
Queens <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(FIVE)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">by Toto le Grand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes, before Sonny's time; as
noted, the Golden Boy was swishing it up in Los Angeles, in that long distant
year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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'.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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'.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">However, seldom — these days — is
a really masculine man to be found in one of these places.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Guess we'll just have to look
elsewhere, or, make do with a ‘sister’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">More about the Golden Age of Queens,
in our next...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toto le Grand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Golden Age of
Queens <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(SIX)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">by Toto le Grand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mahu</i> (Hawaiian for faggot). An early self-styled Poet Laureate of
the Islands, Don Blandings, was laughingly called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Princess Kapu</i> (‘private' or `keep out’) the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Royal Mahu</i>, 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.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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..?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tres gay</i>, but
sorta sad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It had all changed. The cruising on Market St. was still
there, but the people involved seemed shabby a. somewhat desperate. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Trade</i> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">However, as has become very evident in the 20 years
following the War, there has developed an all-encompassing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hetero-homo</i> 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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fetichists</i>
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..’!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And, actually, my dears, back in that gentile age, it was
not always the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">act</i> 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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">trick</i>, 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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…)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In pre-War days, however, there was always a sort of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">theatrical</i> connotation to off-beat sex;
the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">boys</i> often referred to themselves
as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mattress-actresses</i>. 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">purveyors</i> 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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Gay
business</i> 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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For one thing, a new drug culture slid into place; this is
not a homo's thing. As every <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">girl</i>
knows, sex of any kind is unsatisfactory with any drug involvement. Or. 'ya
can't party with a pill-head..' and so on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">female</i>
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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes, dears, the old <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mystique</i>
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!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Toto le Grand</span></div>
dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-62457229055541436492019-02-16T12:06:00.001-05:002019-02-16T12:06:18.859-05:00Tom of Finland gay cross stitch, part 2Well this also took forever. Who knew the four part series would take a lifetime?<br />
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<br />dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-1921474441095419702018-11-15T12:39:00.000-05:002018-11-15T12:39:14.808-05:00 A Sliver of Flesh: Four New Short Stories of the Homosexual Life by Alexander Goodman<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13500179-a-sliver-of-flesh" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="A Sliver of Flesh: Four New Short Stories of the Homosexual Life" border="0" src="https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1330201704m/13500179.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13500179-a-sliver-of-flesh">A Sliver of Flesh: Four New Short Stories of the Homosexual Life</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5757090.Alexander_Goodman">Alexander Goodman</a><br />
<br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/283878641">3 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
<br />
I haven't read one of these for a while. I was digitizing all the author's works for posterity and have done this one too. You can download it <a href="https://www10.zippyshare.com/v/5GqPz3AP/file.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/5895037-adam-dunn">View all my reviews</a>dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-1658505361694853322018-06-04T13:18:00.001-04:002018-06-11T11:33:37.612-04:002018 Trip to Ireland<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-33444428072773239402018-02-20T14:36:00.002-05:002018-02-23T13:29:21.618-05:002018 Trip to Disney World<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-58694013509545386182016-02-13T15:23:00.003-05:002016-02-13T15:23:43.261-05:00Tom of Finland gay cross stitch, part oneWell, <a href="http://www.pearler.com.au/pearlershop/ltd-edition-tom-of-finland-cross-stitch-kit" target="_blank">this</a> took forever<br />
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<br />dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-2444276754906870642015-10-21T15:41:00.002-04:002015-10-21T15:41:18.013-04:00The Complete Reprint of Physique Pictorial: 1951-1990 by Bob Mizer<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/453282.The_Complete_Reprint_of_Physique_Pictorial" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Complete Reprint of Physique Pictorial: 1951-1990" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1441967666m/453282.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/453282.The_Complete_Reprint_of_Physique_Pictorial">The Complete Reprint of Physique Pictorial: 1951-1990</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5713559.Bob_Mizer">Bob Mizer</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1403238502">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
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Volume 1: 1951 – 1960<br />
I have purchased this and other books with lots of photos previously, always with the intention of going back to them to read more but never finding the time.<br />
In this first volume Mizer always speaks highly of his models and most of the editorials are on the legitimacy of the material presented as art. Many are the comparisons made to the Sistine Chapel and Michelangelo. There is still the odd misplaced rant, a noted one on the fallacy of the death penalty, but generally he keeps it together. Mizer was dancing on the line of the law during this period and that occupied most of his efforts.<br />
Summer 1955: “Because so many art schools require their students to prepare completely nude figures, physique photographers receive countless requests for this type of work.”<br />
Summer 1956: a 6 minute video of Ed Fury in full color and sound for $65. In today’s money that is almost $500!<br />
Mizer mentions he was sued by a model for ruining his reputation, at then in a later issue, Fall 1956, writes a thinly-veiled editorial about it entitled “INSTRUCTIONS TO A LAZY ATHLETE WHO WANTS TO MAKE SOME EASY MONEY by Doonald A. Thrillkiller”. The real Mizer is slowly emerging! In the winter 1957 issue there is a follow up: “PP’s editor inferred that the young man’s attorney was illiterate, and the latter currently has a case in court against the editor in which is[sic] has asked the court to give him the latter’s personal home.”<br />
Fall 1956: The word “Homosexuality” is used for the first time, in the article “HOMOSEXUALITY AND BODYBUILDING”. While denying in a roundabout way that he is gay, Mizer does advocate acceptance and gives mailing addresses for One and Mattachine Review magazines.<br />
Spring 1957: “Even the person who likes to unburden his frustrations in an anonymous letter which would project his own motives to us may write being assured that instead of being thrown away, it will be given to a psychology research group for study.”<br />
Spring 1958: Miser writes himself! Under the guise of a reader’s letter, Miser publishes a letter from R.K. of New York, NY saying to start selling nude photos and “Get with it!” This is immediately followed by another letter from R.K. of New York, NY a month later saying he was arrested for nude photos and do you know a good lawyer?<br />
Summer 1958: We start to see the beginning of model criticism here at the back of this issue in type too obscured to fully read. I can make out: “Wayne Hunt who had promised to be a slave apparently decided that the role was too menial for him and didn’t show up.” Other models on a movie shoot vanished to Mexico, had to visit a sick Aunt, or “visit his ladyfriend on the next block.”<br />
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Volume 2: 1960 – 1967<br />
How long until we get to the penis? Not this book. I also thought Mizer didn’t publish nude photos until his mother died, which also doesn’t seem to be the case. January 1969 is the date of legality and we have nudity on the cover of that issue.<br />
This middle period sees a harder edge coming in, but also a loosening of Mizer’s tongue to talk about such issues. More models die in fights or car crashes, have tattoos, and there’s less Wally Cleaver types. Also with the death of Quantance there is an opening for Tom of Finland and Harry Bush, two prolific artists whose work will live beyond these volumes.<br />
August 1961: Another lawsuit, this time over a dead monkey that was left in Mizer’s care. Nowadays lawyers would prevent their clients from discussing these details but Mizer goes right in to it, naming names and basically calling the guy an idiot. He mentions in the same issue a recent burglary at his studio and frequent visits by passing tourists slowing down his work. The trials of running this business seem many but I’m glad he shares them.<br />
November 1961: A Japanese model, the first non-white or black model I have seen. <br />
January 1963: Hah! After a lengthy song and dance about how models are always asking to borrow money and then take off, Mizer says: “If in future issues of this book you see the initials (P.R.) in brackets as part of a model’s description, you will know this indicates we feel the subject is a poor risk…” Let’s see if he follows through!<br />
No follow through on the above it seems but the next few issues do have some kind of code next to each model which is not explained. Google Image Search “Subjective Character Analysis” for Mizer’s official guide. There is another, coarser one floating around which I think goes too far and the reality of the symbols is I believe somewhere between the two. I refuse to believe Mizer, who was known for not touching his models, knew whether each was a top or a bottom.<br />
July 1964: A list of DELIQUENT MODELS appears with four models who are Persona Non Grata for various reasons which include “for throwing a dog in a cold pool, causing it to catch a cold which eventually resulted in its death”. <br />
February 1965: Mizer and his assistant robbed at gunpoint (!) by “Silky” who warrants a full page wanted poster here. Some rough trade and it seems to be getting rougher!<br />
June 1965: An article “HETEROSEXUALITY CAN BE CURED!”, an excerpt from Time magazine published July 2065.<br />
October 1965: Sad face. “Drum” magazine for homophiles criticised Physique Pictorial and consequently its readers. Mizer includes here a lengthy reply admitting his faults and asking for a stop to gay on gay slander.<br />
September 1966: The print is SO SMALL in these magazines, that’s another reason I decided to read them now, while my eyes were still young enough to adjust. A reader writes: “With the aid of my microscope I read your last article….” I laughed for about ten minutes.<br />
September 1967: The first Mexican model I noticed.<br />
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Volume 3: 1968 – 1990<br />
February 1968: A model named Tom Griffom was brought to AMG by his buddy Rock Hudson!<br />
January 1969: Let the penis begin! The text also mentions the pictures now in colour, but this reprint has no colour. Boo.<br />
January 1970: A full year since the last issue? Model John Manning “has recently acquired his own cement truck and he can bring you a big load whenever you’re ready for it (if you live in the Hollywood area.)”<br />
June 1971: An article of note that ONE magazine has stopped publishing and now the go to magazine is the Advocate. Also a reader leader titled “Whatever happened to muscular models” asks: “Where do you get your models now—the midnight mission?” with a reply from Mizer that the kids nowadays just want to hang out and smoke grass. Lousy kids. Issue also has the first shot of boys kissing.<br />
December 1971: Already we see the demise in an article “Why Physique Pictorial is not on the newsstands anymore!” Magazine shops are unable to display nudes and porn shops think the books are too tame. Who is the audience, and only 2 years after nudity itself became legal.<br />
August 1973: “Some of the street bums that are occasionally brought in to us often tend to have a “delayed reaction time” before following any posing suggestion. First, the data must be received and processed (and translated, especially if English and not street-talk is used). Then the model decides if he wants to follow the suggestion or prefers to debate it’s wisdom. If his decision turns out to be in the affirmative, he must then try to determine how he will go about doing the pose, such as separating his left from his right, his ass from his shoulder, etc. As often as not, by the time all this takes place he has usually forgotten the basic command, and the photographer himself has long since ceased to care.”<br />
August 1977: A model is labelled as “Gay and proud.”<br />
May 1979: “At the beginning of this century, every boy had a hero but today none seem to and quite often when they see this question on their registration card they simply write in “Myself.” A few list some current “macho” TV or movie star. Never has a model listed his own father.”<br />
Sept 1982: “It is doubtful if we will see Forrest for a long time. On his last visit he asked to borrow $10 to eat or else he would rob the corner motel. We loaned him the money but he still robbed the motel.”<br />
June 1987: AMG Gallery & News, an off-shoot publication with bitchy comments on the models sounds good.<br />
September 1990: The last issue! I don’t want it to end! JP Kennington, who wrote the AMG Gallery & News magazine above and seemed to be really helping Mizer forged $10,000 worth of checks from him and went to jail. What became very clear from reading this is how dangerous his job was, and Mizer was lucky not to be stabbed to death like many of his contemporaries. Still there are constant reports of fire, theft and violence throughout the magazine. I’d like to read more about Mizer’s life, did he have friends? I suppose the only lasting copies of his thoughts are in these magazines.<br />
This last issue also has the magazine’s only mention of AIDS.<br />
I read in another review on Amazon that Mizer died from kidney failure due to huge volumes of artificial sweetener he ingested. Can this be true? It would be nice if there was a post-script in this volume.<br />
Look up “The Bob Mizer Foundation” for more information on what is happening to the collection now.
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/5895037-adam-dunn">View all my reviews</a>
dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-12685676511994423932015-09-25T20:15:00.001-04:002015-09-25T20:15:21.284-04:00Paul Monette Collection at UCLAIn October 2014 I went to see some of the materials in the huge collection of Paul Monette's papers at UCLA. I found out about them in one of his ebooks, someone had scanned a few things from the collection for the ebook so I went to check it out.<br />
I love Monette, and not just for his intellect, so there are a few nudes.<br />
None of this has been scanned or posted on the internet before, so although the quality isn't the best as I was just taking pictures of pictures, I wanted to share what I have.<br />
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<br />dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-66434052310866362482015-09-25T19:17:00.002-04:002015-09-25T19:17:38.627-04:00St John's, NFLD and Halifax, NS - September 2015<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-51355471418100037032015-05-17T17:37:00.004-04:002015-05-17T17:37:56.249-04:00Mercenary Affections: Stories of the Homosexual Life by Alexander Goodman, ePub, download<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13559133-mercenary-affections" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Mercenary Affections: Stories of the Homosexual Life" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1332610502m/13559133.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13559133-mercenary-affections">Mercenary Affections: Stories of the Homosexual Life</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5757090.Alexander_Goodman">Alexander Goodman</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/299897679">3 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
Download digital edition <a href="http://www.epubbud.com/book.php?g=XTL6VE7F" target="_blank">here</a>. <br />
<br />
A quick distraction. I've enjoyed digitizing Mr. Goodman's work, this is the second last one.<br />
Check epubbud for digital editions.<br />
<br />
Stories are:<br />
A Murder Story - Some sailors on shore leave get up to some trouble and cruise the bars. Concurrently a gay murder across town involving sailors is discovered. These gays don't trust the police and know the killer will likely get off using a gay panic defense.<br />
<br />
Just Old - A young man has a revealing talk with his grandfather about the older man's gay past.<br />
<br />
The Hoarder - Was there more 17 year old studs just peaking in the 1960's? This one involves a young man who gets paid to work around the house and then inside the house. When he later goes missing the police show up to question the man who hired him. Wherever could he be? Don't look in the freezer.
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/5895037-adam-dunn">View all my reviews</a>
dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-62552126426406063802015-04-15T09:36:00.003-04:002015-04-15T09:36:44.127-04:00Gay Revolution by Marcus Miller, ePub, download<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTjUsqhxZayBopBSlrgTe5FBRb9uRDafTK3bFowF3wOlK4RYX1QJeETkJ9jfB3eCjScAe9eP8E8CpikCUOZcP5I_z3N4e-x09P7oBVTEH8g9NJUhYXE7pDuVUfjGK4hmvd78pXT0w2HWkn/s1600/25358002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTjUsqhxZayBopBSlrgTe5FBRb9uRDafTK3bFowF3wOlK4RYX1QJeETkJ9jfB3eCjScAe9eP8E8CpikCUOZcP5I_z3N4e-x09P7oBVTEH8g9NJUhYXE7pDuVUfjGK4hmvd78pXT0w2HWkn/s1600/25358002.jpg" height="200" width="121" /></a></div>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25358002-gay-revolution">Gay Revolution</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/147020.Marcus_Miller">Marcus Miller</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1254614528">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
Download this book <a href="http://www.epubbud.com/book.php?g=JQDP4PWF" target="_blank">here</a>. I digitized it!<br />
<br />
Five stars, it's not <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18114322.The_Grapes_of_Wrath" title="The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck">The Grapes of Wrath</a> but for gay pulp subtitled "A Pleasure Reader" it's as good as it can get.<br />
I first heard of this book when it appeared in <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/300436.Pulp_Friction__Uncovering_the_Golden_Age_of_Gay_Male_Pulps" title="Pulp Friction: Uncovering the Golden Age of Gay Male Pulps by Michael Bronski">Pulp Friction: Uncovering the Golden Age of Gay Male Pulps</a> with a short chapter. The premise is the world's water supply has been infected with a drug that makes everyone gay, which in 1969 caused more consternation than now.<br />
The book starts off with some quick baton passing, one characters dumps his girlfriend, next chapter is from the perspective of the girlfriend, she meets a travelling salesman, next chapter is from his perspective, etc. Eventually we meet a pair of CIA special agents assigned to the case and with them we stay.<br />
The problem with later gay pulp is they're really unreadable as books due to the sex scenes on every third page, but the ones published in the 1960's are usually less saturated as is this one. Sex scenes are brushed over except for two and both are welcome, well-written and erotic.<br />
Some of the pulpy aspects of the book ratcheted up the plot, making it perhaps less relatable to today's audience. Why were all the suddenly gay people all screwing in the streets, for example. Still it was cute, the story went somewhere, the characters were likable, all great pulpy fun, I'm glad I read it.
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<br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/5895037-adam-dunn">View all my reviews</a>
dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-52742862669369436742014-11-05T19:11:00.002-05:002014-11-05T19:11:10.278-05:00Unparalleled Orgies of Perversion Exposed by Intrepid Flash Reporter, May 2, 1950<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">MAY 2, 1950</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">FLASH</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
PAGE FIVE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Unparalleled
Orgies of Perversion Exposed by Intrepid Flash Reporter </span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Toronto
Steam Bath Uncovered As Den For Unnatural Vice! </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On a warm spring evening last week a FLASH reporter
penetrated into a vice den the like of which is probably not to be found this
side of Algiers' Casbah or the brimstone engulfed cities of the Biblical plain
— Sodom and Gomorrah! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On the outside, and to the passerby this den of unnatural
vice is an ordinary downtown west steambath — but inside, all the unnatural
vices and sins that are normally found only in the psychiatrist's case book are
practiced — not secretly and furtively — but openly and flauntingly! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This particular steam-bath caters to men only every night of
the week after midnight and also for three evenings during the week — the
remainder of the time is devoted to the fair sex. However, this account refers
only to the men's nights. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is accommodation for some 150 people in a large room
filled with leather-covered couches so close together that they are touching
and for 75¢ one may enjoy a steam-bath and relax on these couches afterwards.
In actual practice many of the city's homeless who have 75¢ use this establishment
as a lodging house — but as for the idea of relaxing on one of the couches
after one's bath — it's impossible! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No sooner had the FLASH reporter lay down on one of the
couches than a nearby figure arose — and completely nude — walked over to his couch
and lay down on the one beside him. All this time not a word was said — then
slowly a flabby white hand began an obscene groping. This was only the first of
many such encounters that went on all night. In four hours in that basement
room FLASH'S representative was approached no less than SEVENTEEN times--and
this, mark you, in a lighted room in full view of the people all around.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Not His Type!</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These approaches varied from the obscene groping of hands to
a furtive touching of the knee — then to a disgusting attempt at a kiss — then
to whispered descriptions of what would take place if the reporter agreed. Some
of these were comparatively easy to rebuff — the mere act of turning over and
ignoring their advances was enough to discourage them while with some it was
necessary to tell them where to go. One of these seemed to take the reporter's
sulphurous directions quite philosophically. “Not your type eh?” he muttered as
he minced off in search of a more willing companion. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Huddled around a table at one end were a group of
Polish-speaking men playing some card game incomprehensible to the average
person while in a darkened corner a group of "rubby-dubs" were quietly
imbibing rubbing alcohol — these two groups were at least draped in the
conventional towels and sheets and seemed to take no notice of the surrounding
orgy of perversion —but the vast majority of men in that room were naked, and
in full view of one another, went their unnatural way — importuning others to
join them in orgies of unnatural sex. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Toronto The Good!</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On looking around that hideous room the FLASH reporter could
see men in the act of sodomy while others were indulging in even more grotesque
forms of perversion —and above the aimless rambling of the ruby-dubs and the
mysterious jargon of the card players came grunts of perverted ecstasy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To stand up and look about that room and view the number of
acts of abomination going on simultaneously is enough to make even the
hardest-stomached observer sick —and enough to make him wonder "is this —
COULD this be Toronto the Good?" Or is it an orgy of Imperial Rome — Or
Sodom the night before the fire?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However this room is only half the establishment. On the
street level there is a reception desk flanked by a bar at which sandwiches and
coffee sent up from a nearby restaurant, may be purchased — or for a slight
consideration a bottle of beer may be procured. Around this room are some more
leather couches — but possibly because of their proximity to the desk our
representative saw no perversions being practiced there.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, at the back of this room are a number of cubicles,
some single and others double — all containing the same leather couches but
affording a certain amount of privacy. These cubicles may be rented for an
additional $1.75 and when the FLASH man had had as much of the lower room as he
could stand he made his way to the desk and paid the extra money for the use of
a cubicle.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Male Prostitute!</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In keeping with the shameless perversion already described
were the next events. No sooner was he at rest in the cubicle than a faint
tapping was heard at the door —he opened it and there was another of these
unnatural beings — offering in effeminate tones — "a good time" for
$10. The reporter decided to talk to this one — a mere boy of seventeen or
eighteen, and so offered to buy him a coffee at the bar.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The boy said his name was Rae J----- "R-A-E" — not
Ray he was anxious to point out. Tall and slim — he had carefully parted hair —
wavy and auburn — quite probably natural as few dyes could stand the moist heat
of a steam-bath. His manner was ingratiating and coupled with his pleasant
smile one could easily see him handing round cakes at a vicarage tea party —
until he spoke — the mincing, simpering accents of the habitual homosexual
coupled with the wave of the limp wrist immediately branded him for what he
was. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This boy — by his own brazen admission was a male prostitute
— "Work" said he in the mincing tones affected by all of his ilk
"is for working men and horses — and you don't see me with four
legs."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He confided that he regarded this as "a cheap
place" — but that he was obliged to ply his trade there as he had had all
his clothes stolen by "a dear friend" while he was in jail — for
shoplifting.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The reporter asked him what he would do when he got the
money for a new outfit of clothes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Why" simpered the creature "I'll go and work
in a classy place — the Royal York or the Ring Edward. There's lots of
Americans who'll really pay for what I've got."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When risked why he had chosen the reporter's door to knock
on he claimed that these cubicles were invariably inhabited by those who were
willing to pay — and it was an understood thing among those who plied this
unnatural trade that there was to be no interference while one of them was
"entertaining" a client.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the reporter told this creature that there was no
market for his services as far as he was concerned — there was at first an exhibition
of sulks that an accomplished actress might well envy and then — "you look
as if you'd be a nice friend for me — if you don't want to go into your cubicle
— would you like to come to my room—it's very near here?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Enter The Husband</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At this the reporter told him to "get the h... out of
here" where-upon he left. But no sooner had he taken his departure than
.another of the same ilk — a little older this time—offered to sympathize.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His eyes well sunken and red-ringed — and with lines etched
about his eyes and mouth that made him a grinning caricature of the picture of
Oscar Wilde's "Dorian Gray." Again the simpering accentuation of
every second word — accentuation underlined by a wave of a limp wrist was
evident, and yet by his choice of words — and by a faint underlying accent one
sensed that this was not a child of the slums — a young opportunist like Ray —
spelt R-A-E. And in a more placid moment, undisturbed by revulsion at the scene
all around one would perhaps wonder what had made him like this — a pitiful
caricature of a woman in a man's body.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"A horrid little bitch, isn't she?" was the
opening gambit — "She's nothing but a low-class whore." Note the free
and unthinking use of the feminine that seems to characterize all these
perverts. "You did well not to go with her" — continued the
effeminate voice — "you know what would have happened to you?"
"You'd have gone back to her place and her husband would have knocked your
guts out." "Her Husband?" queried the slightly befuddled reporter
—"Well, the man she lives with" came the reply.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Now, I'm not a bit like that — in fact I'll come to
your place — and <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">th</span><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">en, as spontaneously as if it had not been rehearsed — "I'm an
awfully good cook and valet — do you think you'd like me to look after
you?"</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">At this the reporter beat a hasty and
disg</span>usted retreat to his cubicle determined to last out the night —and
see what else could possibly happen. Actually nothing did —beyond four more
soft rappings on the door he was left in peace until early morning — when, as
he awoke and prepared to smoke a cigarette he felt instinctively that someone
was watching him. He pulled the door open suddenly just in time to see a figure
hastily descending to the room of abomination below. To the sickened, disgusted
and shocked reporter the morning air tasted good.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
_______ </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These events give rise to one thought — Why and how can
these things be tolerated in our city —is this town to be judged by the same
yardstick as Port Said—as Marseilles or Saigon? What are the police doing about
it? Do they know that a section of Sodom has been transplanted into Toronto the
Good? And if they don't know about it — why not?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But when and if these practitioners of unnatural sex are
caught —don't do as an unenlightened judge did many years ago with one of
England's brightest literary stars —Oscar Wilde. Don't put them in another
Reading Gaol, but send them where they rightly belong —in an institution for
the mentally sick. To put them in jail is only to spread the cancer of their
perversions among those perhaps not already tainted with the mark of vice. Try
— for pity's sake — to cure them and make them realize the joy there is in
being a normal human being.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And to those of you who, in disgust, throw down this article
— FLASH'S representative — who experienced these horrible advances is the one
who asks "have pity — and try to reclaim these lo<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">st ones
from their Well of Loneliness!"</span></div>
dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-68055933876794785422014-10-01T09:54:00.006-04:002014-10-01T09:54:36.782-04:00My mom's wedding speech
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<u><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Adam’s
wedding speech<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>July 5, 2014<o:p></o:p></span></span></u></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hello
everyone!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For those of you who don’t
know me, my name is Diane, and I am Adam’s mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am very pleased and proud to be speaking at
Adam’s wedding today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope he doesn’t
regret giving me this opportunity!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ever
since a very cold day in December 1978 when Adam was born,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>he has continued to change and improve my
life.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
am very much like my father – I enjoy the normal routines of everyday life, and
I don’t feel the calling to travel too far from home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But my 2 boys have changed all
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband Keith and I have
recently returned from a trip to Jasper, Alberta to visit our son Arthur who
lives there now, and we had such a fabulous time!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(Stand
up Arthur, so everyone can see my other handsome son.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And
Adam, what can I say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He continues to
share his life with me and I am so lucky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have to be honest, before Adam ‘came out’ I knew very little, if
anything, about the GLBT Community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With
Adam sharing stories, movies, theatre and books with me; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have become more informed and
continue to pass my knowledge of Acceptance on to my friends, my church, and my
community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We
have been walking and collecting Pledges for the Aids Walk now for over 10
years, and we walk it each year to do what we can to help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Adam,
I am so proud of the man you have become!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For
those of us in Adams’ life, we are truly fortunate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With every fibre of his being, he brings and
shares his honesty, his quick wit, his love of language and books, and his
generosity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His unique sense of humour
always has me laughing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you ask Adam
how you look, don’t be surprised when he gives you an honest answer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Adam
has been a writer of poems and short stories since he was young; he’s very
creative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know he has a story in him
to write, and one day I’ll be the proud mother of a Canadian author – I can’t
wait!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In
the meantime, this is a list that Adam wrote 4 years ago of things that MAKE
HIM HAPPY:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>READ
THE LIST<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now
he can add Shin to the list.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I
am so glad that Adam has found a partner to love and share his life with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew the right person was out there, who
would see the fabulous qualities in Adam that I see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems fitting, with Adam’s love of travel
and exploring the world, that his now husband Shin, was born in Japan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I foresee their lives together filled with
trips to exotic lands, with strange food and discoveries.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My
husband Keith and I want to wish Adam and Shin a beautiful life together and we
want to officially welcome Shin into our family.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If
we could all now raise our glasses, and Toast Adam & Shin!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(Go and give each of them a hug!)<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-56450669666220287562014-09-24T12:24:00.004-04:002014-09-24T12:24:59.759-04:00Flight by Ed Berger<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhftTRQre_JQvX4KzSaEoJZ4vaTcvBIkNDM9_3eS7dh6U2WgfKNYVzW6Tiuae3fgz4A4T6wXap32v2I6fDPxgvhy233griSSGOxFu4T54Yt4RB78Wa9zkKq21hwTFBV84h5ISGVP0qgitBq/s1600/flight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhftTRQre_JQvX4KzSaEoJZ4vaTcvBIkNDM9_3eS7dh6U2WgfKNYVzW6Tiuae3fgz4A4T6wXap32v2I6fDPxgvhy233griSSGOxFu4T54Yt4RB78Wa9zkKq21hwTFBV84h5ISGVP0qgitBq/s1600/flight.jpg" height="200" width="149" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18584696-flight">Flight</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7115763.Ed_Berger">Ed Berger</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1062238757">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
A good book that I bought and read quickly.<br />
First of all I should say this book was never going to get five stars from me as I hate books where gay men try going straight. It seems to let the side down and I was cringing several times while reading this book. I broke a tooth last night and I think it was caused by reading this book and grinding my teeth.<br />
The book was written by an author local to me and I bought it as I like to read gay works of local authors. Also the story of how this book came to be late in life through a writer's workshop was inspiring. I'd like to write a book too and it's not easy! I also liked that on the author's website for the book there's a comment from his mom, which is totally something my mom would do too.<br />
I have spoken with a few authors and they all mention re-writing their books at different times. Very few authors have the ability to write it out and have the first draft be the good one. I have no way of knowing if this was a first draft or not but it did seem certain sections could be re-written, particularly around the 20% mark. I tried the 20% sample from Smashwords and after I bought it and picked up where I left off at Chapter 8 things seemed to be a little disjointed. Maybe that was from the jarring of changing books, but I think some of this section could use a little more polish regardless.<br />
The story was well written, the character well developed. I really wanted him to move to London and take that new job, I really wanted him to ditch Becky, I had a lot of strong emotions and the book carried me quickly to the end. I was worried it would drift into romance territory but it never did. I want to buy one of Alexander's chickadees at the maple syrup festival and I think its the mark of a good author when you can place yourself in their situations.
<br />
<br />
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dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-84735221038912213112014-09-19T15:11:00.002-04:002014-09-19T15:11:18.065-04:00The Home For Wayward Ladies by Jeremy Scott Blaustein<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiglaJrWtZcpbc-wMALSBQKYY9AvyM8-iBtCyPgzfZDUXzg2t6aJ_R9TW8_CaU3z3LaXHuwlGdtxCEZIy2KfYnVYpw6Phoif9eRqc5_tNiR8wSP-EBNtIF35JNzeiIimo2IojBKsW6KGMKn/s1600/home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiglaJrWtZcpbc-wMALSBQKYY9AvyM8-iBtCyPgzfZDUXzg2t6aJ_R9TW8_CaU3z3LaXHuwlGdtxCEZIy2KfYnVYpw6Phoif9eRqc5_tNiR8wSP-EBNtIF35JNzeiIimo2IojBKsW6KGMKn/s1600/home.jpg" height="200" width="132" /></a></div>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22294561-the-home-for-wayward-ladies">The Home For Wayward Ladies</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8195700.Jeremy_Scott_Blaustein">Jeremy Scott Blaustein</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1058191849">2 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
It was okay, the start was better than the end for me.<br />
There was something wrong with the formatting where there were 2 lines after every paragraph which kept confusing me and making me think I was at the end of the chapter or the end of a thought and wasn't.<br />
The first half of the book was an amusing story of three young gay men working in the theatre in Manhattan and I enjoyed that very much. At about 40% though they decide to pack it all up into an unreliable car and re-enact the movie To Wong Foo in the middle of nowhere. This part was less good for me. I enjoyed the aging queen but the mobster's wife part was underdone and overall I felt like the book lost touch with reality at this point and anxiously skipped my way to the end.<br />
<br />
There were occasional bon mots throughout:<br />
"I remain as still as a racoon that's been caught rifling through the trashcans."<br />
<br />
And several humorous parts:<br />
"As chief caveman, it is his responsibility to hunt and gather and mine to call Betty Rubble over to the prehistoric fence so we can pass the time while the octopus does the dishes."<br />
<br />
I don't think I'd call it a comedy though. It's just gay camp turns of phrase, which I love, but the book needed more to tie them together.<br />
<br />
Page 30, location 447: "It's a shame the producers hadn't though up that angle;" should be thought<br />
Page 38, location 582, there's an extra space after the word "sings" before the period.<br />
Page 54, location 826: "I hope y'all call make a go of it." should be can<br />
Page 78, location 1185: "I am too weak to avoid being hoisting by my own petard." should be hoisted<br />
Page 78, location 1186, no period at the end of the sentence "I need your help"<br />
Starting at page 152 there are several paragraph breaks missing, where one person talking leads into the next which continues until 215.
<br />
<br />
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dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-9375880500957380692014-09-16T13:16:00.002-04:002014-09-16T13:16:34.366-04:00Afterlife: A Novel by Paul Monette<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjjiAmyhpyeGdjbOuTRVKZsrVK2dNRIVIBaEnNMrbMWP9Y16MjbCqpvL7fxa-kgaJLl2lR_XtOr3jxO0R02lh37z2kTnC3QCcbk1p1NDCgfOACan4JpeMTM8wRFgqlz437BjkJ6EsjY5YR/s1600/after.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjjiAmyhpyeGdjbOuTRVKZsrVK2dNRIVIBaEnNMrbMWP9Y16MjbCqpvL7fxa-kgaJLl2lR_XtOr3jxO0R02lh37z2kTnC3QCcbk1p1NDCgfOACan4JpeMTM8wRFgqlz437BjkJ6EsjY5YR/s1600/after.jpg" height="200" width="128" /></a></div>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21842724-afterlife">Afterlife: A Novel</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/29691.Paul_Monette">Paul Monette</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1050354884">3 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
I was so enraptured by Becoming a Man and Borrowed Time, that I moved right into Monette's fiction, starting with his first book, and then ground to a halt. This is his first fiction work I've picked up since then, I'm saving Last Watch of the Night for some unknown time in the future where I can savour it.<br />
Monette's writing got better with AIDS, the books had a focus and that trend continues here, though for much of the first half of the book he struggles to overcome his old writing style, that of a privileged man writing from a pedestal and casting only half an eye at his subjects. Its especially difficult to write a book with all men, all white gay men, and be able to keep the characters separate. One supposes they're all friends due to their similarities but for the first half of the book I had no idea who was who, and I suppose I didn't really care. The second half of the book the action picks up and at the same time the story becomes more focused on just two people, rather than the confusing eight at the beginning, and the book became good. I was surprised, I was all set to give it a negative review but I'm glad I stuck with it.<br />
The book details a life lived in between the falling bombs of the AIDS epidemic. There is desperation, such as when a character "called the Federal Building, demanding release of a drug that people were smuggling in from China." I understand the frustration, but actions like this led to the over-prescribing of AZT and the death of early patients.<br />
As the novel continues Monette loses most of his detachment from the characters and once they become real this novel becomes the heart-felt AIDS crisis snap-shot it should be. It just takes a little too long to get there.
<br />
<br />
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dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-12351979236453884022014-09-08T13:22:00.001-04:002014-09-08T13:22:01.413-04:00The Body in the Library by Agatha Christie<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhBqIdPxVv8ZEPDWnyErN335-KB0JS29iAy00B3RsgLgM0BIpJGZygaOsQ3oX65cj5vCadG27luCpXJchb-1W53ElVCikxfN-pIi81k7PEnK2f-VWWL_TJCwCeA-RcMNu3lQChiqYwPLc/s1600/christie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhBqIdPxVv8ZEPDWnyErN335-KB0JS29iAy00B3RsgLgM0BIpJGZygaOsQ3oX65cj5vCadG27luCpXJchb-1W53ElVCikxfN-pIi81k7PEnK2f-VWWL_TJCwCeA-RcMNu3lQChiqYwPLc/s1600/christie.jpg" height="200" width="128" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/16319.The_Body_in_the_Library">The Body in the Library</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/123715.Agatha_Christie">Agatha Christie</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1048595185">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
An enjoyable book, the first Agatha Christie I’d read.<br />
I had been re-watching Murder She Wrote lately and came upon an idea to read this book. Miss Marple does really take a back seat in this story so it’s difficult to really get to know her. The murder however is well thought out, with every line seemingly leading to a dead end and no idea where to begin to solve it.<br />
One of the couple of clues given relates to a cockney kind of slang term I hadn’t heard before so I didn’t really understand it when I read it and just skipped over it, so I couldn’t really have guessed who did it.<br />
Christie writes in a very straight-forward way, I noted the quote:<br />
“We’ve got it, I think. That was the Glenshire Police” (Glenshire was the adjoining county).<br />
I don’t think I’ve ever seen explanation written just in a bracket like that with no attempt to work it into a story. It seemed kind of slapdash. But I guess it all relates to the straight, no-nonsense approach Christie took. With the reverence of her cannon and the time it was written I expected a more literary style, but it was very relatable even today, eighty years later.
<br />
<br />
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dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-14788811208613178862014-09-08T10:13:00.005-04:002014-09-08T10:13:57.347-04:00Autopornography: A Memoir of Life in the Lust Lane by Scott O'Hara<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5uYRODyg8QVCtQqgTKO3SsiBY_8MUDRo-dDF-JTk2Y_vUc-H68smLLaFA5o70RG_sQOnDm4R9oinJSZBT149H14De2QD7ef2ov8ahkkhWlMVPxWJDFTKbUKELQGd4deYn_oXiCfPU3K6b/s1600/auto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5uYRODyg8QVCtQqgTKO3SsiBY_8MUDRo-dDF-JTk2Y_vUc-H68smLLaFA5o70RG_sQOnDm4R9oinJSZBT149H14De2QD7ef2ov8ahkkhWlMVPxWJDFTKbUKELQGd4deYn_oXiCfPU3K6b/s1600/auto.jpg" height="200" width="132" /></a></div>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19685606-autopornography">Autopornography: A Memoir of Life in the Lust Lane</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/387768.John_P_De_Cecco">John P. De Cecco</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1046196967">3 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
A book that starts off well, then is padded to a finale.<br />
Scott was a complex character is seems, not really sure of himself and what he wanted. Some lines seem to contradict each other:<br />
“As usual, since I don’t believe in guilt, I felt guilty for feeling guilty.”<br />
“I give relationships a grade of D+. They aren’t actually all bad; they’re just used in unhealthy ways most of the time. They’re used to stunt people’s growth, instead of encouraging it.”<br />
“And my journals, I blush to admit, were 99 percent concerned with agonized discussions of whether I was truly in love with X, and if so, whether X might possibly be in love with me.”<br />
He seems in love with the idea of being in love, but the reality is always something less than that. Another porn star bio from someone who writes well enough but whom I wouldn’t necessarily want to have met.<br />
The book as a memoir is okay but doesn’t get really into the porn scene as much as I would have liked. For example David Ashfield, who Scott worked with, gets a note that he was professional. That’s about it. There’s no behind the scenes revelations in this book. I was hoping for more.<br />
What does make the first half of the book a decent read is Scott’s life, his unorthodox childhood without a TV and sleeping outside on the lawn with his family. These memories really came to life for me, but again Scott seemed as odds with them, alternatively complementing his parents and then saying he would never speak to them again and doing things just to shock them well into his twenties.<br />
The latter half of the book is a lot of filler with sex scenes intertwined with Scott’s opinion on AIDS, which is out there. Scott mentions using alternative therapies and not trusting doctors, which may have actually saved his life when doctors were initially over-prescribing AZT. But people tend to handle their diseases in different ways, and Scott’s attitude of “I must be doing something right, I’ve had it for 15 years and I’m still here” rings false knowing he died shortly after this book was published.<br />
Still Scott lived through the worst of the AIDS epidemic and came out with a few good insights, and I wasn’t there so I can’t really judge:<br />
“There’s something spooky about reading a seven-year-old obituary, and realizing you’ve been remembering a dead person as if he were alive, fantasizing about him. It’s hard to mourn, after so much time.”<br />
Again the last half of the book is filler with re-printed magazine columns and miscellaneous sex fantasies. <br />
At a price of $42 to buy and $13.50 to rent for 30 days, this eBook was ridiculously overpriced.
<br />
<br />
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dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-53333667619463300262014-09-03T10:04:00.002-04:002014-09-03T10:04:33.627-04:00Stranger on the Shore by Josh Lanyon<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5GjGiP7dyA9febhgpIGoPr6Dis80d3NFXxbiMSNg6izhgQh3M9D69iZ_gqIlIq5JAM3P-w8Zy6IsQQ_D46Ko0DTo7z016ClVvSuM3gDoSXWsnvNtNc8pT0ubI_SHge4YVnQ__bCdC2V3j/s1600/stranger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5GjGiP7dyA9febhgpIGoPr6Dis80d3NFXxbiMSNg6izhgQh3M9D69iZ_gqIlIq5JAM3P-w8Zy6IsQQ_D46Ko0DTo7z016ClVvSuM3gDoSXWsnvNtNc8pT0ubI_SHge4YVnQ__bCdC2V3j/s1600/stranger.jpg" height="200" width="126" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20790840-stranger-on-the-shore">Stranger on the Shore</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/359194.Josh_Lanyon">Josh Lanyon</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1039642599">3 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
The book is a M/M retelling of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. The similarities are probably too many to mention. A writer of questionable standing gets called by a wealthy man to a remote island to solve a mystery disappearance that happened over 20 years ago and write a book. The family that lives on the island don't want him there and they make this very well known to the author, culminating in threats and physical altercations. This is essentially the first half of both books.<br />
While a re-tread I enjoyed the story enough. The hero Griff was likeable enough. I had been familiar with Mr Lanyon's work previously as an author who writes gay fiction for women. There's a big market out there for this M/M romance and I wasn't that interested in it. Amazon.com recommended this book to me by email, it looked good enough and had good reviews so I bought it. I was curious to know what happened and it kept me going but I wouldn't say I was up all night reading it as others have stated. <br />
Toward the end of the book the romance kind of took over the mystery which I found disappointing. The end was satisfying enough, I was very surprised after I turned the last page to see that the book was published by Harlequin Romance! <br />
While the story and the main romantic leads were well fleshed out, I felt all the supporting characters blended into their rich snob personality traits and I couldn't keep any of them separate. In addition the occasionally clunky writing style could have used an editor: "He wasn't sure now if that maybe wasn't for the best." I still don't know what that sentence means.<br />
Overall the book was good enough but I'm not really looking for romance, so while I won't actively skip Lanyon's books in future, I won't be seeking them out either.
<br />
<br />
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dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-28084898940853164822014-08-28T16:49:00.003-04:002014-08-28T16:49:43.754-04:00Faggots by Larry Kramer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5SPdZylxQoHLyIO9-qzg7f5niuSsfu1yZa1X8s7jdPF-5tPNPvmzvO3WWAvRJkWD-bBrYn9RjRGdqf5zagR3LN9HNZaCBWRSyhwm8JWUWq0krCE7dtFA7aU53hxJLHrpskQB87hyjVsM5/s1600/fa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5SPdZylxQoHLyIO9-qzg7f5niuSsfu1yZa1X8s7jdPF-5tPNPvmzvO3WWAvRJkWD-bBrYn9RjRGdqf5zagR3LN9HNZaCBWRSyhwm8JWUWq0krCE7dtFA7aU53hxJLHrpskQB87hyjVsM5/s1600/fa.jpg" height="200" width="131" /></a></div>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19542179-faggots">Faggots</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/63289.Larry_Kramer">Larry Kramer</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1036502191">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
So much to say on this book! It’s never gone out of print and is one of the most widely read gay books of all time, which to me is remarkable. I know about two gay men who could read and finish this book. I know many more who should but the graphic sex, perhaps the most graphic in any book I’ve ever read, and the drug use would turn a lot off.<br />
From the introduction:<br />
“The purpose of satire… offers us oddly entertaining, generally exaggerated copies of foolish or evil behaviour in order to provoke our ridicule.”<br />
This the book does. It took me about 100 pages to really get where the book was going and to fully understand the satire. In some ways nothing has changed from 1978 when this book was published and the tales of sexual excess still rang very true. It was only when I read of the white man having sex with the black man, the white man calling him the N word and the black man, pumping away, yelling “…you done take our cotton fields away!,” that I got that this was satire.<br />
The book starts off with Kramer’s doppelganger Fred, and a refrain that will ring true then and now:<br />
“All I want is someone who reads books, loves his work, and me, too, of course, and who doesn’t take drugs, and isn’t on unemployment.”<br />
But this desire for a mate is impeded by Fred himself, and many gay men, by, as Kramer says:<br />
“And every faggot couple I know is deep into friendship and deep into fucking with everyone else but each other and any minute any bump appears in their commitment to infinitesimally obstruct their view, out they zip like petulant kids to suck someone else’s lollipop instead of trying to work things out, instead of trying not to hide, and…unh…why do faggots have to fuck so fucking much?!”<br />
In this I think Kramer relates the struggle of all gay men and the eventual growing up, or not, they must do. To me this is ultimately the point of the book, its one man’s struggle to weed out the excesses in his life in an attempt to see the forest for the trees. There are sub-points about gay identity and self-worth, but in the end the book is presented as one man’s struggle, and presented, I think, in the hope that we can find ourselves in that struggle. There was much backlash against this book, and judging by the reviews on here, there still is a lot of negativity directed at Kramer for writing it. The only gay bookstore in Manhattan banned the book upon its release. And something I learned in a course recently applies here, out of the 100% that is your negative reaction, what if 5% applied back to you?<br />
That is I think there’s a lot that applies in this book. The desire for a mate sounds so simple but it’s really unattainable in that you cannot find someone who is not sabotaging themselves, we all do it. Kramer takes these sabotages to the extreme with the hope of asking why in a smart and funny way. The book isn’t easy to read, there are a lot of wayward tangents, lists, and run-on sentences like the following two:<br />
“And so it was while watching one of the members fucking himself by sitting on a stationary twelve-inch rubber dildo while being bound hand and foot, the dildo impaled to a cross, the cross mounted on a stage, and the fellow also sucking the cock of a gentleman clad entirely in chain mail, except of course for his genitals, which were exposed, and enormous, and holding in his hand while mouth-fucking the impaled acolyte, not one but two hissing rattlesnakes, reputed to have been defanged but dripping something from their mouths nevertheless, all of this witnessed by forty-nine other members, each donged with grease, each jerking off either himself or a fellow clubber, in some sort of cockamamie version of the daisy chain, don’t Southern Californians have wonderful imaginations, whatever happened to King of the Mountain?, well, perhaps this was King of the Mountain—it was while watching all of this, and of course participating, he couldn’t be a spoilsport, that Randy had an epiphany. He began to realize to what lengths it would soon be necessary to travel to receive kicks sufficient to cause erection, and while he was finding these ceremonies reasonably exciting (and certainly a nice time-out from his studies), in that he had a good stiff one on while those two snakes were up there hissing away, he knew he had neither the time nor the abundant imagination to play “Can You Top This?” every time he wanted to get his rocks off.”<br />
There’s enough wit to get through but the book could have used an editor with a heavier hand. An example of the wit:<br />
“His skin was that deep white which tans nicely and is associated with health, vigor, keeping regular, drinking milk, chewing Wrigley’s, using Colgate, and walking in Keds.”<br />
Some comments about the gay community can be scathing:<br />
“Sex and love are different and any faggot given half a choice will take the former. And probably fucked with Adolf Hitler if he’d been cute!”<br />
But it’s really no worse than we’ve all heard other gay men say. <br />
The book ends with some home truths but it takes a very circuitous route to get there. The following quote was memorable for me:<br />
“I’ve lived all over the world and I haven’t seen more than half a dozen couples who have what I want.”<br />
Dinky’s voice chirped up in relief: “Then that should tell you something!”<br />
The quote goes on and Fred justifies himself but I think the retort itself is worth noting. What if what we’re looking for doesn’t exist? With so many gay men there was never the option of the white picket fence and 2.2 kids, so what else is there and what does that look like? And is it even there for straight people? I agree, maybe half a dozen couples have a marriage that I would want, but what about our easy access, no responsibility culture is causing that, and what are we doing ourselves to cause that? Is it possible we don’t want what we want?<br />
The book mentions “And a commitment to the notion that our shitty beginnings don’t have to cripple us for life.” I think a lot of gay men still have these terrible beginnings, and maybe that does make it harder to find love and happiness, but as Kramer would say, that doesn’t mean we have to act like faggots and make it more difficult for ourselves. As the book says: “There will always be enemies. Time to stop being your own.”
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some notes on the text:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“He winced at second… And be winced at third.” – Should be
he, Pg 132, Location 2041<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“1 was doing in Savannah.” – Should be I, pg 173, location
2631<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“be went to his scrapbook of clippings.” – Should be he, pg
183, location 2792<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Laveme, and Dinky with Laverne,” – Should be Laverne, pg
191. Location 2907<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">‘That’s very important today. – Opening quote should be “
instead of ‘, pg 217. Location 3283<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“And it’s that self I say l want” – Should be I want, not L
want, pg 319, location 4795<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“hell wake you up and slip you your hose and I’ll wrap
myself up in my poncho, just like overnights at Kamp Kedgeree, and hell”- First
and last word should be he’ll, not hell. Pg 326, location 4894 & 4895</span></div>
dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-78623814165310087792014-08-25T13:11:00.001-04:002014-08-25T13:11:12.228-04:00The Gay Haunt by Victor J. Banis<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJi2hTk3F3IEpibvpcR0FuPkSA_D-3ePv7370NOor1S0DfK6lx8lpNa1GHeQ0zVFoTw1GriXW0nPYW5s10lsAlQwD1e1F62gPPx9tP6A6GGQfc1lFA47NyyFYSOZ5bJLeH_I6jqT5N4vP8/s1600/haunt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJi2hTk3F3IEpibvpcR0FuPkSA_D-3ePv7370NOor1S0DfK6lx8lpNa1GHeQ0zVFoTw1GriXW0nPYW5s10lsAlQwD1e1F62gPPx9tP6A6GGQfc1lFA47NyyFYSOZ5bJLeH_I6jqT5N4vP8/s1600/haunt.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13148671-the-gay-haunt">The Gay Haunt</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/119291.Victor_J_Banis">Victor J. Banis</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1036093200">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
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A cute fun read along the lines of a gay I Dream of Jeanie.<br />
There is such a small window when this book would have been published that it's very much of it's time. It feels like the late 1960's romp that it is. The market didn't begin openly publishing gay books until 1967 and after 1971 or so the market split into gay literature and gay pulp porn, so this hybrid between the two wouldn't really have had a place. There's not enough sex to make it porn and not enough literature to make it a literary work.<br />
This kind of fun light read though does have a place, and the void was filled briefly by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/52181.Robert_Rodi" title="Robert Rodi">Robert Rodi</a> in the mid-1990's, although he left out the sex to conform to more literary standards of the time. I always thought there should be more sex in Rodi's books and the answer comes here with this re-issue of The Gay Haunt.<br />
A humorous sexy tale of a man trying to go straight being haunted by the ghost of his ex-lover. A fun read I thoroughly enjoyed.
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dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-29646936597185431382014-08-25T11:21:00.004-04:002014-08-25T11:21:29.068-04:00Making It Big: Sex Stars, Porn Films and Me by Chi Chi Larue, EPub download<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC8sgYNW51Vj-2po5hFfdwD7IZosKxN6PvPToautk4j4cngODfJTsdTSJUdDHuXTK2VOFXbztRqCjlS4KjdNGzKLovGgCvsrOghEOwwQlkKVPhwS7XEaZIZM00jbJYb8sBMmMIaLy-wVoh/s1600/making.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC8sgYNW51Vj-2po5hFfdwD7IZosKxN6PvPToautk4j4cngODfJTsdTSJUdDHuXTK2VOFXbztRqCjlS4KjdNGzKLovGgCvsrOghEOwwQlkKVPhwS7XEaZIZM00jbJYb8sBMmMIaLy-wVoh/s1600/making.jpg" height="200" width="135" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/455562.Making_It_Big">Making It Big: Sex Stars, Porn Films and Me</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/255603.Chi_Chi_Larue">Chi Chi Larue</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/434346535">2 of 5 stars</a><br />
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Download the eBook <a href="http://www.epubbud.com/book.php?g=Q67BFQLJ" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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A poorly executed book with little content or redeeming value.<br />
Having finished <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/359478.Thousand_and_One_Night_Stands__The_Life_of_Jon_Vincent" title="Thousand and One Night Stands: The Life of Jon Vincent by H.A. Carson">Thousand and One Night Stands: The Life of Jon Vincent</a>, which was told in a straight-forward, direct way, I moved right into this book hoping for more insight into the late 1990’s world of gay porn stars from someone who was there. I was disappointed. As LaRue says:<br />
“I have had sex with some of the stars of this industry, but I’m not going to name names here. Sorry if this disappoints you, but I’ve never liked kiss-and-tell books, and I’m not going to write one. That’s unfair to the other people involved. If they want you to know, let them tell you.”<br />
I wasn’t so much looking for a kiss-and-tell book as just a tell. The best story in the book is about Ryan Idol threatening her with a baseball bat and that’s told in about one sentence. The whole book is short vignettes with a few paragraphs and then a page break, and rather than tell a linear story the book is grouped into categories like how to direct a porno or popular drag queens of 1996. The woman’s met Prince, Madonna, Cher, Jeff Stryker, Ryan Idol and tons more and each gets about a paragraph.<br />
LaRue’s humour very occasionally comes out:<br />
“Bradley’s also gotten me addicted to fans, the little handheld spreading kind that classy women throughout history have fluttered when swooning with the vapors or watching their plantations burn down.” <br />
But the humour is too infrequent and I don’t know how well it translates to the page. The book was written with a ghost writer and I have no idea what he did, he certainly didn’t help flush out the narrative.<br />
There’s a reason people usually write these books at the end of their career. LaRue seems so concerned with stepping on people’s toes that nothing gets said.
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dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-5675331560511360122014-08-22T10:53:00.002-04:002014-08-22T10:53:26.782-04:00Thousand and One Night Stands: The Life of Jon Vincent by H.A. Carson<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1D_elTC2kIPINmhOF4h0vq1Z3meceKzt6y37ISFZpwtEOPkKBJV2DCEc7fisLL0dDqW9mH1Li-A7ITkIsMd-vBpftMF4yI-XFDsmisWRV7bUoyj5JO0zObEkgx8UWaT_A57h1U95zkXeS/s1600/1000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1D_elTC2kIPINmhOF4h0vq1Z3meceKzt6y37ISFZpwtEOPkKBJV2DCEc7fisLL0dDqW9mH1Li-A7ITkIsMd-vBpftMF4yI-XFDsmisWRV7bUoyj5JO0zObEkgx8UWaT_A57h1U95zkXeS/s1600/1000.jpg" height="200" width="120" /></a></div>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/359478.Thousand_and_One_Night_Stands">Thousand and One Night Stands: The Life of Jon Vincent</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/205908.H_A_Carson">H.A. Carson</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1032653001">5 of 5 stars</a><br />
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I really liked this book. Very hard to put down and told in a straight-forward focused and concise way. The book details the life and death of Jon Vincent, how he got into the business, his experience.<br />
I wouldn't necessarily have liked to have known Vincent. He seemed a real mess, often in the book blaming others for his problems. He blames the porn industry for a lot of his addictions and issues, but doesn't do a very good job explaining why they are at fault. They gave him money and fame and tried to dissuade him from working when it was clear he was out of control on drugs and alcohol. I don't know what more he was expecting. Similar to any modeling job, there will come a time when you are no longer marketable, and Vincent hastened that time with his own actions. Others worthy of blame include his family, being molested, and pussy.<br />
I'm not sure what the role was of Hope Carson, the stated author. Vincent's life story never mentions her and it seems he was recording the book into a tape recorder so I'm not sure why he isn't listed as the author, or at least a co-author. It's clear there was a lot of time and effort spent trying to get him to stay focused and on-track but it seems the words in the book are his.<br />
Vincent never learned to take responsibility for his life. When bad things happened he blames others and when good things happened like not dying during one of his 18 heroin overdoses (!) he credits God. He occasionally in the book claims to want to do the work of God and find the Lord, I suppose he was using this as part of his recovery from addiction but it clearly didn't work.<br />
A couple of notes on the style. You know going into this that Vincent died, so I would have preferred an explanation on that right up front. Then the last line of the book about how he thinks he's going to get better would resonate more. Also I would prefer pseudonyms instead of initials for people he doesn't want to or can't mention. Sentences along the lines of "I went with C. to meet Y. and P. came with us" don't really add to the storytelling. Finally many times Vincent mentions famous people or fellow actors and says he can't reveal their names. Well he's dead, so what is he waiting for? If it was for legal reasons I would say some hints wouldn't be out of order.<br />
Overall though I thought the book was remarkably well done, told in a likeable style from an unlikeable man with an interesting life and story to tell.
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dunnadamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17261065134094212504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1998731529179280218.post-24599802132711615072014-08-20T14:37:00.004-04:002014-08-20T14:37:44.936-04:00The Disappearance Boy by Neil Bartlett<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzpZPnTfCJ17xQM0bTiu4vY1vW6eT3Lv3KFd4qozcfNsHHdUUWVs66XcdaVS1lvurIC3dxdZfzjbRnhKhgKZHYrYiPHGpuEifSkTeT23elu35BHa63Jk9rTnvnVfRlFgYjAOayNb_hmAV/s1600/dis.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzpZPnTfCJ17xQM0bTiu4vY1vW6eT3Lv3KFd4qozcfNsHHdUUWVs66XcdaVS1lvurIC3dxdZfzjbRnhKhgKZHYrYiPHGpuEifSkTeT23elu35BHa63Jk9rTnvnVfRlFgYjAOayNb_hmAV/s1600/dis.png" height="200" width="133" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22999380-the-disappearance-boy">The Disappearance Boy</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/67834.Neil_Bartlett">Neil Bartlett</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1030990805">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
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A charming, engaging book that shares a vibrant story of theatre life in 1953 England. The hero 23 year-old Reggie works as a stage-hand with a magician and wanders through life looking for his place and purpose as a gay man in 1953.<br />
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The book was well done, a little simplistic, but a much more worthy addition to Bartlett's literary canon than his first two books. Not as amazing as Skin Lane but worth a look for a very pleasant distraction.<br />
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The errors in the ebook copy I bought from Amazon on Aug 19, 2014:<br />
location 558, 16%, "Reggie always hold his breath."<br />
location 1282, 37%, "to find what he was looking before before he was due back"<br />
location 2501, 73%, "After all, every seaside pleasure has it mechanics, its point of friction and purchase"
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