Another Queer Jewish Buddhist

Pay it no mind honey, but attention must be paid...

Randy Wicker, one of the early heroes of the post Stonewall gay movement was steadfast in his support for Marsha P. (for "pay it no mind") Johnson. I've posted the poem that Jimmy Camicia wrote that was inspired by Marsha's story, and way of speaking, which the poem captured perfectly. But I am very happy to note that Randy Wicker has now uploaded old videos of Marsha on YouTube. And I am happy to see that there have been comments from young queer folk who stay at Sylvia's place, and who know the history. This warms my heart, since in the past the history of queer people has been hidden, lost or passed down by word of mouth and broken across chains of generations. Technology is changing that.

In Memory of Marsha P. Johnson: Spare Some Change For A Dying Queen

The following poem was published in one of the many "fagzines" created by Ralph Hall, a collection of poems called The Divas of Sheridan Square. Ralph was an artist who was much influenced by the underground artists and rock concert poster artists of the '60s. The poem itself was written by Jimmy Centola, who was a member of the Hot Peaches, a gender-fuck theater troupe not unlike the Cockettes, but not as anarchic (I don't mean that philosophically, i mean they were a better organized troupe). Mind you, it was published sometime around 1979, long before Marsha died, but it so captured her voice, and a phrase that she made famous: Pay It No Mind, which as the story goes, Marsha said to a judge when he asked her what the P. in her name stood for.

Marsha P. Johnson, who was a transgendered activist present at the Stonewall riots, was also a founding member of an organization that could only have been started in the 1970s — S.T.A.R. — Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (if it sounds like a Warhol film, you're remembering Women In Revolt, in which trans-glamour diva Candy Darling joins a radical feminist group called P.I.G. - Politically Involved Girls ). Marsha was about as sweet as they come, a fixture on the mean streets who was always ready with a smile. And as we approach Queer Pride Day, I wanted to share this forgotten gem of a poem that tells the history of Stonewall and of what happened to the gay movement by the late 70s in Marsha's voice.

Spare Some Change For A Dying Queen

Can you spare any change for a dying queen dar—ling?
I mean I am dying.
I know you don’t believe me.
But I know what I’m talking about.
Yes I do.
Us queens know what we’re talking about because we’re for liberation, yes we are.
Look at the Stonewall.
When I first came to New York
all pressed and clean
in a white shirt and tie
what my mother bought me
I heard about the Stonewall
so I thought I’d go over and
check it out
and LORD!
Men are dancing with men
and one more gorgeous than another
and way in the back were my sisters, honey
turning it out in gold lame and wigs for days.

So
I was hanging out in the Stonewall one night
talking to Miss June, who was feeling low
and nodding out on downs
when she looked up at me and said,
“Them pigs come in here tonight
they better stay off my motherfuckin’ case.”
And she was right cause
we wasn’t bothering nobody
just hanging out and being ourselves
when don’t you know
sure enough
the whistle done blew
and in they come
pushing and shoving everyone just like
a bunch of pigs
and ain’t nobody said nothing
cause in them days
if you was gay
you didn’t say
you was gay

So they’re pushing and shoving
and nobody said nothing
til them came to the queens
then this pig comes up
and gave Miss June one slap
knocked her down
ripped her dress
and scratched her face.
Now Darling,
anybody will tell you
that a queen is sort of
soft hearted, easy going person
who you can sort of shove around
but Darling let me tell you this.
There are two things you cannot do to a queen.
One. You cannot rip a queen’s dress.
And Two…Don’t you ever, never
touch the face honey…
Well Miss June got up
screaming and yelling
when this pig goes to hit her again
so I said
”Hey, why don’t you leave her alone
she ain’t bothering nobody.”
And he turned to me and said,
“Shut up you sick faggot.”
Now Darling,
You can call me a lot of things,
you can call me
a queer,
a cocksucker,
or a crazy fool,
but ain’t nobody got no right to call me
a piece of wood.
That’s right,
a piece of wood.
I looked it up one day
and it was right there
in the Webster’s
a faggot is a piece of wood.
And Darling I ain’t no piece of wood
and I was telling Miss Pig this when
he came to knock me,
then Miss June picked up a chair and swung it
and everybody started screaming and fighting
and queens was getting their faces scratched honey
and you know what that meant.
And the next thing I know
we all wound up in the Tombs……..again.

Them pigs done
busted up our fun, busted our heads
and just plain old busted us.
But that was O.K., honey.
Yes it was
because that was the beginning of gay liberation
in New York
and in the world.
Yes it was.
And now everybody done forgot
who done what and why and how
and you know, sometimes
when I pass one of them gay bars
where I see my brothers or sisters
having a good time and turning it out
in all their liberated glory
and I see hanging right over that bar a sign
what says “No Drunks, No dogs, No drags.”
Can you imagine comparing me to a dog?
Well honey, I just want to break right down.
But I just pay it no mind,
that’s right darling, cause once you 86 me I tip
and once I tip I stay tipped.
And they can 86 me out of every gay bar in the village.
And they can 86 me out of every gay bar in New York.
And honey, they can 86 me out of every gay bar in the world
and I pay it no mind because I got my friends.
Yes I do, and I do know who my friends are.
My friends are people who love their gay sisters and brothers
including the queens.
My friends are people who got change to spare.
And my friends are people who smile at me and understand
when I say
Can you spare any change for a dying queen, Dar—ling?
So they next time you’re in one of them bars what has that sign,
“no drunks, no dogs, no drags”
the next time you see them
turning out one of my gay brothers or sisters
Honey, you just dig real deep down
into your pocket and take some of that change you’re saving for
your cold beers and your hot dogs
and get over yourself and
spare some change for a dying queen………dar—ling.

Random Drag In Advertising and the Archaeology of Links

Checking the industry blogs this morning I came across a truly odd bit of local TV advertising from Detroit for a cross-dressing exterminator on Adfreak. Now there have been many local spots that feature the business owner. Here in New York, Tom Carvel’s hard as gravel voice was the perfect foil for his soft ice cream. Mrs. Potamkin in her furs just dripped nouveau riche as she, and the family, appeared in spots for their Cadillac dealership (speaking of Cadillac, Republic of T has a recent post on their advertising that while lengthy, is quite interesting even if as an ad exec I don't believe it captures either the reality or the true madness of the business).

In any case, here we have the distinct pleasure of Mr. Harris, owner of this pest control service, selling his services while appearing in drag. In a way that appears completely random. No connection to the sell at all. And no connection to the call to action at the end of the spot. That said, here I am not only writing about it, but linking to it, which is something any advertiser wants — free additional publicity that stems from paid advertising. Of course, the problem for Mr. Harris is that I don’t believe I have any readers in Detroit. And since I live in NYC I  cannot avail myself of his services or his fashion advice. 

As I mentioned, I came across this spot on Adfreak, which is a blog I check regularly as a creative advertising professional. But Adfreak found the spot on Consumerist (a site I ought to be looking at regularly) which in turn found it on YouTube (of course). Such is the archaeology of this particular link. A sort of 6 degrees of link separation on the web can connect you to anyone on the planet now. This continues to amaze me on a daily basis regardless of how commonplace it is. My reaction is probably a function of my generational cohort, which is a euphemistic way of saying I’m old.

The Most Important Gay Memoir of the 20th Century — A Conversation with Stephen Pascal, Editor of The Grand Surprise: The Journals of Leo Lerman

Mae West is reputed to have said, “Keep a diary and one day it will keep you.” While Leo Lerman never published his journals and diaries in his lifetime, it has enough naughty gossip, hidden history and sheer human insight to find itself on the bestseller list for a while.

Mae West herself doesn’t show up in the book, though several drag versions of both Mae and Marlene Dietrich to name a few do turn up in passages about gay speakeasies in the 1930s. And of course, the real  Marlene Dietrich is everywhere in The Grand Surprise, along with Maria Callas, Truman Capote, Cary Grant, Philip Johnson, Greta Garbo, Josephine Baker, Henry Kissinger, Jackie Onassis… well just about every major figure in art, music, film, theater, fashion, politics and literature in the 20th Century.

The press has already started to feed on the revelations about the bisexual affairs of Steve McQueen and Yul Brynner. And while the book is chock full of the guilty pleasure of this kind of gossip, the book is a revelation deeper and more moving for those who are willing to read it from start to finish instead of browsing the index for celebrity names. 

Stephen Pascal, who worked for Lerman for 12 years as his assistant, has edited the 50 years worth of journals into a coherent story. And he knows that many people will be tempted to simply browse, or compulsively browse. Over dinner and a bottle of fine Bordeaux last week we talked about Leo’s story, and the story of his editing the journals.

AQJB: I have to admit, I haven’t been able to avoid browsing the index looking for names. There are just so many, and so many juicy tidbits. And it’s a long book, over 600 pages. What will people miss if they just browse for these stories?

SP: They’ll miss some of the most important stories as they develop over time — starting with the Leo’s life story, and the story of his 47-year relationship with his lover Gray Foy. As well as his relationships with those “sacred monsters” Dietrich, Callas, Capote and others he knew intimately from the start of their careers all the way to the end.

His journals tell their stories with the immediacy of one who was there, the insight of someone who could see what was really happening, with all the bitchiness and compassion of a true friend. So you feel all their, and Leo’s, full humanity.

And Leo’s story itself is a particularly American story — the child of immigrants who worked hard, he moved to the very center of American society, and helped shape taste and culture for four decades.

AQJB: Let’s talk for a bit about his relationship with Gray Foy. This is a journal that tells the story of a loving relationship between two men that lasted almost 50 years. That lasted through major changes in the lives of gay men in America. First, how have people, readers and reviewers, responded to this story? Have you noticed a difference in the way the gay press or gay readers have responded from the mainstream media?

SP: Well, one thing gay men have been responding to has been the depiction of this relationship. — Gay readers have  told me how moved they are to see such an intimate relationship develop over time. There are so few examples of this in fiction or in other journals. One  reviewer in the mainstream media (whose gender preference I certainly don’t know) referred to the writing about this relationship as the “mushy" and uninteresting parts, but for gay men, who rarely have their relationships reflected back this way, well, it stirs up a lot of emotions.

The mainstream reviewers, so far, remember the book has been out about a week, but for the most part they’ve not really made a big deal about the gay relationships It’s just been acknowledged without smirks or insinuations.

But let’s face it, the mainstream reviewers, given a choice between writing about Marlene Dietrich’s affairs, or Maria Callas — or writing about Leo’s relationship with his lover, they’re going to focus on the gossip because it’s what interests people and what will get the reviews read. Really, Leo’s relationship with Gray was like any conventional marriage, except for the gender of the parties involved.

AQJB: Early in the book, Leo tells of his coming out experiences, going to speakeasies, back rooms and drag bars. I was stunned to read of a back room bar on West 72nd Street in the early 1930’s — and then of course I remembered the old chestnut that every generation believes it invented sex, and I guess I’m just as guilty of that as anyone. But I have to say that Leo didn’t seem to suffer the oppression that we associate with being gay, or for that matter, Jewish, in the early 20th Century. How did he manage to succeed and rise to the rarefied circles he did?

SP: As someone who must have been excluded from many places for being gay or Jewish, he very rarely writes about it. Really the circles he chose to move in, publishing, theater, art, were some of the more open places to be. And while his background made him an outsider, he lived his life pretending to be the consummate insider that in fact he became.

AQJB: Wasn’t there an incident in the 40's at the writer’s colony at Yaddo where he came up against homophobia?

SP: Well, he was certainly hurt an anti-gay comment made by the director of Yaddo, Elizabeth Ames, and it shook him up. Despite his membership in this elite young artistic circle (Carson McCullers, Truman Capote, and Marguerite Young were also there at the time), it reminded him of his precarious position in society and made him so uncomfortable he considered leaving early.

AQJB So everyone knew he was gay, he was out, whatever that means for the time.

SP: Well he chose not to hide, even though it wasn’t something he talked about unless you were a close friend. I mean, he was such a dandy that if someone thought him gay it would hardly have been a leap. And he lived openly with his lover, inviting everyone to their home. Yet few spoke with him about his relationship; it was a simple fact that was unmentioned.

AQJB: Sort of the way some reviewers in the mainstream media have dealt with it.

SP: Except for the fact that some gossip columnists have been running with some of the information about “stars.” That’s what sells papers you know.

AQJB: I loved that Yul Brynner had an affair with Hurd Hatfield and Marlene Dietrich. I guess that when she sang “See what the boys in the back room will have, and tell them I’m having the same,” she was not unaware of the double meaning we’ve always laughed about...(continued)

In Memory: The Yahrtzeit of Hiroshi Aoki, September 29, 1956 — April 4, 1997

願わくば                   Negawaku wa
桜の下にて春死なん  Hana no shita nite haru shinan
その如月の               Sono kisaragi no
望月のころ               Mochizuki no koro

Let me die in spring
under the blossoming trees
let it be around
that full moon
of Kisaragi month

-the poet and Zen priest Saigyo

The proverb in Japan is "the nail that stands up gets hammered down." Hiroshi was a nail who stood up proudly and would not be hammered down. You can read what he had to say about being out and proud in Queer Japan.

Saigyo has the last word: "Why should my heart still harbor this passion for cherry blossoms, I who thought I had put all that behind me."

The Divinely Histrionic Feminine: Kate Mulgrew in Our Leading Lady

Charles Busch has created a theatrical vehicle  that has as its central character one of the most famous 19th Century (overly-dramatic) American actresses — which means, in effect, a sort of a drag queen. Except that this character was a real person, Laura Keene, who was on stage at Ford's Theater in Washington D.C. the night that Lincoln was assassinated. The first act is a comedy in the style that Busch excels in, with over-the-top women battling each other in backstage politics that has little relation to the important national drama taking place outside the theater.

Kate Mulgrew as Laura Keene is simply a force of nature. It is rare that one sees an actress totally give herself over to a role of this kind. There could be winks to the audience, with a touch of camp humor. But Mulgrew doesn't go there. She gives this role every ounce of her energy, and in the small space of  the Manhattan Theater Club's Stage 2, you can feel that energy intensely.

Yes, the first act is very funny. And then the President is shot. Some critics have had trouble with the quick shift in tone. But I thought the shift captured something all New Yorkers have experienced. Because in the first act, Keene is living her own fantasy life. She has created a story of her life that isn't really true, and her ambition has fomented rivalries in her theater company. After the assassination, the life story she has artfully created to hide her gutter origins collapses and she sees herself, and those around her, as the wounded, hurting, loving people that they are.

Of course, it doesn't last too long. The trance of narcissism takes over again. But for a brief moment, everyone in the play treats each other tenderly.

Those who lived in NYC at the time of the attack in 2001 will recognize this immediately. Not only did the towers come down, but momentarily, all our egos and selfishness came down as well. More than anything in those first weeks after the destruction, you could feel a real compassion throughout the city. You didn't know if the person next to you on the subway had lost someone — and so we were all exquisitely sensitive with each other. You can see that very same dynamic in Our Leading Lady. And then, the rush of life goes on, and the characters (and we all) return to things as before. With some real changes.

Keene is joined by a "Chinese" assistant: Madame Wu-Chan,  a woman who is really as escaped slave masquerading as an Asian woman. This racial drag ricochets into a fun house mirror effect.  Played by Ann Duquesnay, there is a moment when her character Madame Wu-Chan finally owns her true identity and speaks to her employer Keene as an equal. But when approached by a Union officer who speaks to her as though she were an uncomprehending child, she replied in exaggerated shuck-and-jive speech to protect herself — not an unfamiliar situation and painful to watch.

Don't think there weren't laughs in the second act. There were lots. But the tone shifts, and there is great seriousness and import in this comedy. At one point, Keene's lover asks her to marry him, even though her full life with all its imperfections has been revealed. This is the mark of true love. But she replies that she doesn't know how to be in a relationship with anyone without secrets. The start of self-recognition throughout the audience was palpable.

I admit I am in the minority on this. Apart from the MSM critics, Patrick Lee thinks the writing was confused and that Mulgrew had to work hard to sell it. I think it's more than worth seeing for you to decide yourself.

While I have enjoyed Busch's other baubles: Tale of the Allergist's Wife; Die Mommie, Die...this play goes beyond any before to explore rich new territory. I hope Busch doesn't flinch, but keeps going down this track. It takes a master to be able to walk the delicate line of comedy and tragedy within one play, and in this case, Charles Busch was a true master. Or mistress as the case may be.       

Wham BAM Weekend: Edward Scissorhands, Shrew, 12th Night

Three shows in three days. Hardly my record (and certainly no match for the boys who are in a show showdown) but it sure was a fun weekend. It started wtih Matthew Bourne's Edward Scissorhands. Not to put a fine point on it, the music sucked. Starting off from the movie theme and building a full ballet around it was not particularly musically interesting. But oh, the density of the dancing.
With so many characters so fully realized as individuals, so richly costumed to capture that individuality, there was so much going on onstage at any given moment it was dizzying and delicious. Add to that the fine male forms on display in the pool party scene and it was great fun all around. Seeing ES at BAM brought back to mind Morris' Hard Nut, which similarly took an old story and gave it great depth and resonance by recasting many of the characters and costumes. Of course, he also had the exquisite music of the Nutcracker Suite. Bourne only had Elfman's score and new material from other composers to fill out the music. But that's the only place it failed for me.

Then there was the Propeller Company. They come every year and perform Shakespeare in fabulously low comedy without sacrificing high art. Consider James Baughan as Sir Toby Belch in 12th Night — first he vomits from drinking too much, and then takes a pratfall slipping in his own spew. Disgustingly funny. For those of you who have never seen this company you should know that the players are all men. The women's parts are done in drag, but more along the lines of good old-fashioned 70s gender-fuck: if a man has a beard, he plays the woman's role with a beard. If there's a low cut dress and the man has a hairy chest, well then, that's what we see. And any opportunity to use a bare butt for a laugh was fully taken advantage of.

I was also happy to have another chance to see scary-sexy Simon Scardifield — both as Katherine in Shrew, and Sir Andrew Aguecheek in 12th Night. I've rarely seen an actor have such a good time. As Katherine, he could shoot killing looks at his Petruchio with just a glance.

And to watch Dugald Bruce-Lockhart as Petruchio go from the frighteningly violent Petruchio to the high style Olivia the next night — this is great acting. It's one reason I live in NYC — you can be sure to see work like this. There was one scene in 12th Night where the actor switches from Viola to Sebastian's character in mid-step with simply body language. This is truly embodying character. If you ever have the chance to see these actors, don't miss them.

Take off your mask

Purim is the queerest holiday on the Jewish calendar. The time when we put on masks that show the selves we keep hidden the rest of the year. The time when we bring the shadow out for full display and celebrate it. So it is of course no surprise it is the time when you’ll see men in drag — since there’s no shadow men are more afraid of than their own connection to the divine feminine. Sometimes this is true even of gay men, who today, have bought into the hyper-masculinity sold in the magazines that reflect the fantasies we are told are acceptable to have. If we’re going to love men, then they have to be masculine men — fey boys who serve the goddess aren’t allowed. Except on Purim.

This year, the Purim full moon is also the night of a full lunar eclipse. When the moon masks itself with the shadow of the earth. And what happens when it takes off its mask? What happens when we take off ours?

Years ago (so many I was still a teenager) I tuned in to WBAI late one night and came in a couple of paragraphs into a story that I hadn’t heard introduced. The reader told a story of a rather plain bartender who met a blond woman in a bat costume on the subway and found himself on an adventure with her downtown in what seemed to be a citywide costume party. The played and flirted with each other all night, running through the streets amid the revelry. And at one point, they won a prize for their costumes. At midnight, they kissed, and the blond bat said to the bartender, “Take off your mask.”

Of course, he wasn’t wearing one.

Eventually I learned the story was by Spencer Holst, and I like to read it aloud to friends at times when costume parties are the custom. You can find it in his anthology, The Language of Cats.

So here we are on the night Jews commemorate Esther’s removal of the mask — revealing herself as a Jew to the King. And many of us who are queer Jews celebrate and reveal the hidden “other.” For some that means opening to the feminine within. For others who aren’t quite a Kinsey 6 it means opening to our heterosexual desires (assuming we don’t fall prey to heterosexual panic, a defense I don’t believe I will ever hear in a court room).

Then there are the queer Jewish Buddhists among us. This gay jubu finds meaning in the holiday’s union of opposites. Not merely that of masculine and feminine, but also in the exhortation to become so divinely drunk that we can’t tell Haman from Mordechai. To get beyond good and evil.

This is not to deny the evil of Haman. But often Jews wonder about this tradition of the holiday. My take on it is entirely Buddhist. Haman is suffering — and like many who are not awake, he acts out his suffering in the world and creates more, for others and for himself. And thus, while we should do everything in our power to prevent his carrying out plans to spread suffering, he is just as deserving of compassion as Mordechai. Not a popular message nowadays. Not even an easy practice for those who take it on. But the heart of the Buddha’s teaching.

All this I hope serves as an introductory ramble to this new blog — Just Another Queer Jewish Buddhist. While I expect to offend Jews, Buddhists, and many in the GLBT community, my hope is to create community of people of GLBT people who cross boundaries and transcend categories in the search for the heaven that exists right here on earth in front of us at every moment of the ongoing creation.