Tag: Queer

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My favorite childhood hero, by Pat Gourley

“…he was a queer man and would go about the village without noticing people or saying anything. In his own teepee he would joke, and when he was on the warpath with a small party, he would joke to make his warriors feel good. But around the village he hardly ever noticed anybody, except little children.”

From Black Elk Speaks by John G. Neihardt

The quote I am opening with here is from John Neihardt’s 1932 book titled Black Elk Speaks and is a description of Crazy Horse. Crazy Horse along with the great Chiricahua, Cochise, was truly my boyhood hero. Crazy Horse though came out as one of my formative heroes and remains so to this day. I still read anything I can get my hands on about the great man and Native Americans in general.

I was initially enamored with Cochise largely because of the rather stereotypical presentation of the great Apache in the 1956-58 T.V. show called Broken Arrow. I was 7 years old when the series started and I did everything possible to be able to stay up past my 8pm bedtime to watch it. In researching this piece I found an old snippet of video from the show with Cochise and Tom Jeffords half naked in a sweat lodge. Talk about something that might indelibly imprint in a little buddy gay boy’s psyche. Cochise’s grey hair and very manly chest left poor Tom Jeffords in the dust. Awareness of the stereotypical and racist elements of this show as of course way beyond my pay grade in 1957 at age eight. Michael Ansara who played Cochise was not even Native American but a Syrian immigrant.

Unlike many of my peers in my pre-teen years my favorite heroes were not Roy Rogers, Gene Autry or the Lone Ranger. I have recently found re-runs of Roy Rogers and the Lone Ranger on an obscure cable channel. Watching some of the Roy Rogers shows and seeing his over the top cowboy-drag through my 2018 eyes I have to wonder if Dale Evans wasn’t really Roy’s beard.

Cochise sparked my interest in Native Americans but as I got older I was able to put my hands on much more honest and realistic presentations of Native Americans. I was drawn to Crazy Horse and the Plains Indian wars against white genocidal encroachment, treachery and theft. Crazy Horse was a loner, a vision seeker who was dedicated to preserving the “old ways” before the white invasions. Though no evidence exists that I am aware of that he was a homosexual and certainly did not fit the bill of a Winkte, Lakota males who adapted woman’s roles and were totally incorporated with in the tribe he was certainly “different”.

I most recently ran across a description of him in a 2016 book tilted The Earth Is Weeping by Peter Cozzens:

“ His perpetually youthful appearance, pale skin, and fine hip-length hair imparted to him an androgynous quality. An Indian agent described the man at age thirty-six as a “bashful girlish looking boy”. Page 194- The Earth is Weeping.

Queer or not, and most likely not, Crazy Horse certainly had many admirable qualities that in many ways were those of someone different, an outsider. He was totally dedicated to the survival and well being of his people and their “old ways” up until the moment he took his last breath after being bayoneted in the back trying not to be put in jail on the trumped up supposition that he was about to again go to war with the white man.

In a 2012 piece by the great Chris Hedges, writing in Truthdig, he pays homage to Crazy Horse with this closing line:

“His ferocity of spirit remains a guiding light for all who seek lives of defiance.”

I hope that all my heroes have ferocity of spirit and seek lives of defiance. Though not often successful I strive to emulate these qualities and truly belief we as queer people are given a leg up with these heroic qualities.

© January 2018

About the Author

I was born in La Porte, Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.

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My First GLBT Acquaintance, by Phillip Hoyle

My first gay acquaintance had a rather elegant name,
Edward F. Printz, III, something I never expected of a person from a western
Kansas farm. I knew him as Ted. Of course he drove a tractor, but he also sang
at school, was the drum major for the high school band, and by the time I met
him he’d been hired as the music director for our little college. My last
semester there Ted led the choir I sang in and taught me vocal technique. I
learned so much from him.
While I was unschooled in language like “gay” and had
heard “queer” as an old fashioned word one of my grandmother’s used with some
regularity, I knew in a flash that Ted would be interested to do some of the sexual
things that I also would be interested to do had I not got married a year and a
half before meeting him. I really liked his buoyant and outgoing personality
and hoped he would never ask me to do those interesting things with him. I knew
I would not ask him to do them with me. Still I realized that we were much the
same and came to understand that sameness to be gayness. I picked up the gay
word from reading a book in the school library, a sociological study that along
with its main topic defined some common gay male words. I learned more about
this world of gay and found myself interested, oh so interested.
 I felt no
compelling need to enter that world but still was curious. Ted and I became life-long
friends. He became a regular visitor in our home after I graduated. Since we
had moved to the city where his voice teacher lived, Ted visited us some
weekends. One summer while he was in graduate school and lived with us, Ted
served as tenor soloist in the Chancel Choir I directed. Our friendship became
more complex. The relationship between the ever-teacher Ted and the
ever-student Phil endured until Ted’s death on his 47th birthday, April 29,
1994. Eventually I did enter Ted’s gay world. I lived as an openly gay man and
dedicated my fifteen years of massage work with HIV positive persons to his
memory. And I recall his wisdom and humor almost daily.
© 17 July 2017 
About the Author 
Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his
time writing, painting, and socializing. In general, he keeps busy with groups
of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen
in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He
volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.”
He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com
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Queer A Defining Word, by Pat Gourley

It is quite amazing to me really how little of my childhood years I remember beyond vague, though some significant, generalities. I suppose I could view this as suppression of lots of terrible stuff but I really think it is more a matter of not much out of the ordinary or worthy of sublimation ever happening. Lord knows my rather intense at times Catholic upbringing and schooling might have been a source of great consternation and resulting psychopathology, but for whatever reason I think I sailed through those years queer as a three dollar bill and largely unscathed.

As I have written before (my apologies for the repetition) one episode though that has stuck with me was when I asked my mother what the word “queer” meant. I think I was about 12 years old when I first heard it used. She said it was a bad word and I should never use it. I then went straight to the dictionary but the only definition provided that stuck with me was that it meant “odd”. I went back to her with this piece of information but she persisted that it was not a word to incorporate into my vocabulary. I suspect that I or someone near me had been called a “queer” and being totally oblivious to any homosexual connection with the word thought this to be a weird choice especially delivered in less than loving fashion.
Queer to this day remains a loaded and offensive word by some LBGT folks, despised as much as the “F” word. The “F” word being “faggot” of course and not “fuck”. I could have written about “Faggot” as a defining word but thought I had enough to tackle on my plate with “Queer”. And I actually thought for a fleeting minute of writing on the word “fuck” one of my favorites but decided to keep it closer to home. And besides other than this little phrase I ran into on Facebook the other day I don’t have much more to say about “fuck”: “I have been told I am going to hell for my excessive use of the word FUCK. I have rented a bus if any of you fuckers need a ride.” From Fsensitivity Web Site
Back to Queer. Certain words used to describe us are ones that we have simply and innocently appropriated like “gay”. Others are words that have been used to denigrate and belittle us, some of which we have reclaimed and others not so much. The use of language to offensively describe some folks as ‘other’ has often been used as a means of control. Though for a minority struggling for self-definition and empowerment the re-appropriation of often-derogatory words is I think a legitimate exercise that can enhance identity and liberation. And such is the case I believe with the word “Queer”.
In looking for the origins of the word I kind of fell down an Internet rabbit hole. The use of it as a derogatory term aimed at homosexual folks may well date back to 16th century Scotland. The actual roots of the word seem perhaps lost to time. However, my go to person, for meaning of the Queen’s English if you will, remains Judy Grahn and her seminal work from 1984 Another Mother Tongue. Grahn states that the original word was “cwer” (c-w-e-r) without directly attributing any tribal or national origin to that word. After an hour or so of floundering around the ether a possible source for “cwer” I stumbled on is that it was old Welsh in origin. However, don’t take that to the bank.
Let me quote Grahn’s take on the possible meaning of this descriptive moniker:
“ ‘Sinful,’ ‘of the devil’ and ‘evil’ are all expressions that have been used very effectively against gay culture, as has ‘queer’, which derives from cwer, crooked not straight, kinked. Perhaps the difference between queer and straight originated very simply with the difference between the straight-line dance of male/female couples and the Fairy round dance”. From Another Mother Tongue. Page 276.
So perhaps it was a word used originally to acknowledge that we were different from straight folks in a rather kinked or crooked sense and that the evil or sinful associations were added later. Maybe we were the ones who preferred to dance in circles rather than in straight lines and this bit of nonconformity was one thing I hope, among many, that set us apart. And of course anyone set apart from the norm was often then fair game for ostracism that could become nasty.
I suspect there is a rich history to this word “Queer” that is lost to the mists of time. I am choosing to reclaim it as a defining word, one that helps set us apart from the hetero-hordes. A word that hints at our uniqueness and the valuable contributions we bring to the human tapestry by way of our otherness.

© 19 Feb 2016 

About the Author 

I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.

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Choices, by Ray S

  
Never had
to make a choice or decision because my mother always did that for me. That’s
what mothers do.
The US
government decided I was draftable like all the other boys my age in 1943.
Faced with making a choice as to what branch of the service would want me, it
resulted in a trip to the US Army Air Corps office and enlisting in their air
cadet program. It seemed the best choice of all evils and besides I didn’t think
I’d fit nicely into a tight white sailor suit.
Footnote
here: Can you imagine me flying an airplane? I couldn’t even drive a car then.
The Air Corps was making all of our choices now having replaced Mama. As good fortune
would have it, the cadet program was oversubscribed, so the powers that be (or
were) scattered all of this wet behind the ears pubescent material to the
winds. The talented ones went to aircraft mechanics school.  The rest of the class members, having
finished basic training in the wilds of Gulfport, were shipped off to a
military police contingent where they were assigned to 11 pm to 7 am guard
duty. Here we could reflect on our recently basic training that had taught all
of the little boys how to be good little soldiers, drink beer, smoke
cigarettes, strip down and reassemble a carbine, report on parade grounds at 6
am dressed only in your issue raincoat for “short arm” VD inspection (and he
wouldn’t show us his), learn the intricacies of KP duty, and checking the
scenery in the barracks shower.
Eventually
through discovery, familiarity, or unknowing choices, the appearance of latent
libidos or the right time and the right place, this boy found out what people meant
by the pejoratives “queer” and “fairy.” However there was a conscious effort
called ‘in denial’ to not own those words openly for some thirty to forty years
hence.
Dating and
girls:
It was a
blind date that never ended until she delivered an ultimatum. The morning of
the wedding the butterflies kept saying, “Do you really want this?” But, the
die was cast, no choice, just make the best of it — for fifty-five years. And there
were many good times and some not so good.
Is chance a
choice or is choice a chance? A sunny day in June, crowds gathered at Civic
Center Plaza, and I chose to hang out on the perimeter of all the action
observing what PRIDE was all about.
Another
CHOICE, after all of this time it was becoming easier—attending a SAGE of the
Rockies conference. Meeting and learning to know there was a place for me in
this beautiful tribe; and I belonged. Knowing I could reach out and love freely
and openly. Finding I finally could come out of a closet I had lived in all of
these years. I realize now that I might be the only person that didn’t know or
suspect I was and am queer—in the most positive sense. My closet like many
others suffered from structural transparency.
Now I am
faced with another CHOICE. Trying to determine is this ‘indiscriminate love’ or
‘unconditional love’ that I feel for all of you; and is there really that much
of a difference?
© 11 July 2016 
About the Author 
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Choices, by Pat Gourley

A very dear friend has told me for years that my problem is I have too many choices. He is right, and I do realize that it is a privilege to not only have the freedom but the where-with-all to have more than one or even several options available when facing life’s many circumstances. Being a white middle class male in America in 2016 carries with it enough cache to often have more than one alternative when faced with life’s various challenges, and this has been the case for most of my life.

I suppose my queerness and later in the dance my HIV infection have somewhat limited my choices but to be honest when I look around at the rest of humanity I still have it pretty good. It is interesting that these two things, queerness and HIV infection, where not choices but apparently unavoidable realities. I realized at an early age that being attracted to men was not a choice on my part but something very ingrained out of the box.

I am quite certain I was infected with HIV in the early 1980’s before the causative agent had actually been identified. And I am not implying that folks getting infected today are choosing this but rather they assume that they are either not at risk or they are in the short-run choosing pleasure over possible consequences down the road, a very human response in many situations. I am frequently reminded of Jerry Garcia’s answer when asked why people do drugs and he replied, “Because they make them feel good.”

The challenge then becomes how do I best address my choices especially in a culture that worships “more is better.” I read this past week that Americans, in droves apparently, are resorting back to buying large gas guzzlers and fewer hybrid automobiles in the past couple years now that gasoline is cheap again. Depressing news for arctic sea ice and a whole lot more.

One way to tackle multiple choices for a particular problem or situation would be to ask what is “enough.” I stumbled on a parting wish shared by a mother to her daughter right before she boarded a plane and the words spoken were “May you have enough.” And as with more of my philosophical guidance than I care to readily admit to these days this came from a Facebook post. I was though taken with it enough to Google the phrase “May You Have Enough.”

So it turns out this may have originated as an Irish Blessing, author unknown. This seems to fit nicely with one definition of “enough “ and that is “as much or as many as required”. For me personally and my life choices these days I can ask is a bicycle enough for transportation or do I need a car. Are beans enough or is eating chicken or fish really necessary for adequate protein intake. Is Natural Grocers enough or do I need to cop to the much shorter walk and shop at Whole Foods? When I need a break is a short mountain trip enough or do I need to get on a plane to go somewhere. Is my air conditioning set at 75 degrees enough or do I need it cooled to 70? And on and on.

There is though a second definition of “enough” that struck me as very appropriate especially this past week and that would be to indicate that one is unwilling to tolerate any more of something undesirable.

I see a fundamental message of the Black Lives Matter movement being simply “enough.” Enough is enough and no more will be tolerated.

The essence of this is so difficult it seems for many of us white folks to grasp. In part I suppose we can be left off the hook because of the blatantly revisionist history, dating back before the revolution of 1776, that we have been spoon-fed. The root motivators for the American Revolution are much more complex than issues around a tax on tea. The historian Gerald Horne has written extensively on this topic and a 2014 interview with him on Democracy Now is a vital listen for all trying to grapple with the roots of racism and racial tensions in America today. Here is a link to that interview: http://www.democracynow.org/2014/6/27/counter_revolution_of_1776_was_us

What the revolution of 1776 was significantly about was protecting the institution of slavery. The Second Amendment was actually about ensuring the preservation of the Slave Patrol Militias, which were early forerunners of out police departments. The term well-regulated militia being actually a shortened sanitized phrasing.

Here is a link to an analysis piece on the connection between the Second Amendment and the need to protect the institution of slavery: http://www.thehypertexts.com/Slavery and the Second Amendment Slave Patrol Militias.htm

If this suggestion seems a bit far-fetched consider the very muted response from the NRA about the recent killings of two black men who were supposedly carry legal firearms. Their panties would certainly be in a wad if this had been “white patriots.”

I am not meaning to put too simplistic a spin on it but slavery is a profound way of limiting the choices a human being has. The ingrained legacy of slavery in America, still to this day, severely limits the number of choices needed for a quality and fulfilling life for many African Americans. Everyone should have the option of too many choices.

© July 2106

About the Author

I was born in La Porte, Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.

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Away from Home, by Pat Gourley

My initial thought on this topic centers around on what a great metaphor “Away From Home” is for being in the closet and that the coming out process is really a unique and one of a kind act of coming home. Not to torture the metaphor too much, but what the hell, the process of coming home is often a long and winding road but for the vast majority of us we emerge largely unscathed and powerful human beings as a result.

Coming Out is a growth enhancing and change creating process that I contend has virtually no parallel in the larger heterosexual world. I do not want to blow-off the struggles straight folk have in coming to grips with their own identities, particularly in their adolescent years, but they really are provided with many road maps and forms of social support that are simply non-existent for queers.

Unlike any other racial or cultural minority we are sprinkled throughout the entire human race and this gives us great power to upset the apple cart. Not to deny that some of us come out to less than open arms from biological family and hetero-friends, we still give even the most homophobic in our lives pause and on some level they too have to grapple with the fact that there is a queer person in their lives. More often than not this eventually turns out positive and very change creating in attitude and beliefs for those parents, children, siblings and friends we have just laid this bit of news on.

Even President Obama was able to express the power of the coming out process in his remarks following the recent Supreme Court ruling on marriage. He acknowledged that the phenomenal societal change in attitudes towards queer folk was due in large part to millions of us coming out in our own lives over the past several decades.

Though he didn’t say so specifically let me put words in the President’s mouth and state that it was not court rulings, legislation or even the political action of many groups both gay and straight that resulted in this historic shift in attitudes. It was the action of countless individuals deciding to make the brave step of coming out in their personal lives. Coming out is a necessary pre-requisite for our own LGBT activism. The personal action of coming out creates the ultimate “ripple-effect”. Let’s face it if a butterfly on the other side of the globe can flap its wings and change the weather on another continent just ponder for a moment the impact of millions of LBGT folks shouting from the roof tops “I am here and I am queer.”

In my own life it was my first sexual encounter, an extremely vanilla escapade involving mutual masturbation that created an overwhelmingly warm feeling of finally belonging. I was a high school senior being smothered in 1967 with heterosexual vapors wafting my way at every turn and having to make up the most bizarre tales to keep my cover intact. In hindsight I wonder who was really buying my bullshit.

The day after this life changing experience, which amazingly occurred with no guilt attached and for which I am eternally grateful to the wonderful man I jacked-off with, I left for a week in rural Mississippi with fellow members of my high school Peace Club. We went down to the rural south to be near and hopefully influenced by the cauldron of the Civil Rights movement. The purpose of the trip was to follow activists doing literacy work among the mostly black folks in the poor towns of the rural bayou country of Mississippi.

That sexual high and sense of finally belonging has lasted until this day. Oh there were a few months of a detour in 1970 thinking I could maybe change to being straight after all. This involved a few disastrous sessions with a straight psychotherapist who I soon realized was much more fucked up than I was. As I recall though I quickly came to my senses after meeting a sweet man in one of the college gym showers on a Friday evening and going to his home for a delicious home-made beef stew and great sex play, ah the endless joys of coming home.

© August 2015

About the Author

I was born in La Porte, Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.

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Pushing the Buttons by Pat Gourley

A response to Denver Pride 2014 


“Went to “Pride Fest” today.

SORRY but found it fairly bland, insipid, Un special – a major sin, and overly ordinary. Could have been People’s Fair or Taste with rainbow county fair junk-goods. Listening to some of the vendor’s conversations, they knew nothing of the LGBTQQI struggle and history and didn’t care.

Such a let down. With success comes failure quickly!
– Quote from an anonymous friend.

The above quote is one lifted yesterday from the Facebook page of an old friend of mine. Someone I would describe as a commie, pinko faggot with strong pacifist, socialist and Wiccan leanings, definitely my kind of queer. A description I do not think he would in any way try to disown. His bit of a rant is in response to this year’s Denver Pride 2014. In fairness it should be noted that this was a post done yesterday after visiting the event on Saturday, the vendors are all the same but the crowd significantly smaller and dare I say less gay.

This friend has been an activist around many progressive causes all of his adult life and an out gay man since I have known him dating back to the 1970’s and for whom I have significant respect. For those reasons alone I can not easily dismiss him as being some old crank yelling at the kids to get off his lawn. And actually his criticisms are nothing new and quite frankly ones I have shared in the past and to some extent still do.

My experiences with Denver Pride date back to its inception in the mid-1970s as an event involving several hundreds tentatively inching our way up Colfax to one that now extends to the hundreds of thousands sashaying from Cheesman Park to Civic Center in a sea of rainbow colors. The main attraction at the end of those early marches, not parades back then, were often political speeches from activists primarily and the rare politician. There were no vendors to speak of and if representatives of Coors Beer had shown up they would no doubt have been driven from the temple as the homophobic moneychangers and purveyors of alcoholism they were and perhaps still are.

Times have changed and overall for the better I think at least regarding Pride, which I’ll get to in a bit. All of the large community events from Taste of Colorado, to People’s Fair to Cinco de Mayo etc. have grown dramatically and at the same time probably lost a lot of their uniqueness and certainly some of their grassroots cache. Whether this is an inevitable evolution or a tragic devolution I’ll leave to another piece.

I remember attending what I think was the third People’s Fair in the early-to-mid 1970’s the exact year escapes me. It was held in its entirety in the playground of the old elementary school at 8th and Downing just south of Queen Soopers. I remember it because I was working at the time as a psychiatric attendant at the old Denver General and we had taken several of our patients, not yet referred to as clients, to the fair for an afternoon outing. The most notable part of that adventure was having to explain to my charge nurse on our return why we came back with fewer patients than we had left with.

I would certainly agree with my cranky friend quoted above that there has been a tremendous amount of corporate cooptation of the Pride event and frequently a nauseating acquiescence’s to local politicians trying to curry favor all the while looking for votes. One positive change around the politicians though is we no longer grovel and jump for joy at their approval but rather have come to expect it. The same can be said for media coverage, which is shallow and often banal in the extreme, but everything they cover is. We do though now expect them to acknowledge our existence, which is something pretty hard not to do when several hundred thousand of us cavort in public occupying many city blocks.

It is this mass cavorting, sweaty shoulder to sweaty shoulder, often cheek to jowl that makes the whole thing still worthwhile for me. Though I do at times wish that the Stone Wall riots had occurred in May or September when the weather is much more civilized.

There is something that remains for me, the quintessential jaded old queen, a gut reaction that is very exhilarating and empowering to be in public literally pressing the flesh with this vast queer mass of humanity. I really don’t give a rat’s ass about any of the vendors, politicians or dignitaries and that includes the gay ones but I do still get a wonderful warm rush by slowing circumambulating with the crowd around Civic Center often encountering old friends who I don’t seem to see but once a year at this carnival.

I can’t help but wonder what the reaction must be of someone just coming out, no matter what their age, who is perhaps watching from the sidelines or has maybe even dived in to swish with the fishes. For many I would think and hope that this experience would do more to water their queer roots than decade’s of trying to come to grips with a queer reality was for many of us in the 40’s, 50’s or 60’s just to pick a few random decades from the past couple millennia.

I don’t really think that folks necessarily have it so much easier coming out these days than I did forty years ago. But I must say it would have been really cool and reassuring and saved me years of angst to happen on several hundred thousand like minded individuals dancing in public on a warm sunny day in 1965.

These Pride days, once I have completed my swim around the park in a sea of queer flesh, it’s often nice to sit under a tree and watch the many really very interesting very diverse trips pass by. I still think there is plenty that is unique and potentially truly change creating about how so many of us move in the world. Vendors be damned, I still plan to attend next year.

© June 2014

About the Author

I was born in La Porte, Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.

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The Essence of GLBTQ by Lewis

Wiktionary defines “essence” — in usage relevant to this topic — as 
     1) “the inherent nature of a thing or an idea” and 
     2) “a significant feature of something.”

Therefore, the “essence of GLBTQ” might be otherwise stated as, “What is it about gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender or queer people that makes them unique from everyone else?” The inclusion of the terms “transgender” and “queer” complicates the answer to a degree that makes generalizations meaningless. In fact, the word “queer,” when appropriated to describe oneself, seems intended to obviate any attempt to characterize it in any meaningful, shorthand way. “Transgender,” because it has nothing to do with sexual attraction but is rather gender identity related, seems to me to also lie outside any attempt to describe the “essence” of the first three letters — GLB — which are primary referent to an individual’s sexual attractions.

Those who condemn homosexuality invariably do so on the basis of same-sex erotic behaviors. Those behaviors are not the “essence” of homosexuality but the manifestation — or “womanifestation,” if you prefer — of it. The essence is the innate part of our nature that is drawn to members of our gender, rather than the opposite gender. This seems to fly in the face of everything we know about Adam and Eve and Charles Darwin’s theory on the survival of the species. Consequently, it is subject to accusations that we are operating against the Will of God and Nature and, therefore, must be deviant, if not evil. It is as if we are the ugly duckling whose ugliness is on the inside and, therefore, never changing.

What distinguishes gay and lesbian individuals from heterosexuals is our being forced into the position of having either to conform to erotic behaviors that are unnatural — even repugnant — to us by repressing those desires that are such a vital part of who we are in order to appear “normal” or to act on our own natural inclinations at the risk of being ostracized by a significant portion of society. Our “essence,” in my opinion, is the strength of our characters that has developed during what is an existential struggle to be both true to ourselves and successful members of an intolerant society.

There are many gay men and women who have never allowed the prejudices of our society to interfere with what they see as their own natural and true behavior. A tip of my hat to them. They have displayed a courage and self-knowledge that I can only admire from a distance. Their “essence” has been knowing their own heart and following it wherever it might lead. This is a rare quality, even among those who have never experienced self doubt and the fear of social opprobrium.

For some who count themselves among the “GLB,” however, finding some sense of authenticity has come only with the undertaking of behaviors that are in themselves self-defacing — drug or alcohol abuse or unprotected sex, for example. For these, “essence” might well be overcoming addiction or dealing with the life-long consequences of HIV/AIDS.

Others of us have “gone along to get along.” We married in the traditional way, perhaps even had children. For these — and I count myself among them — our “essence” might be qualitatively analyzed in how we have related to our opposite-gender spouses and children, how we “came out” to them, whether or not we were faithful during the marriage, and what kind of relationship we have with them after moving on toward a state of greater authenticity.

I’m certain that there are gay men and lesbians who do not fall into any of the aforementioned categories. That is why I do not think that the notion of a “GLBTQ essence” is all that pragmatic. If anything, there may be an added layer or two of “essence” on our psychological auras. But, at the same time, we are all 99-94/100% pure human being, with, perhaps, a few more rough edges and/or a more highly-polished-surface here and there. I think the rest of the world is coming around to this view … and fairly rapidly. May it continue to be so.

We, the GLBTQ members of the most remarkable species of animal in the known universe have been granted a very special charter. We have been commissioned by the Great Mystery of All Existence not only to share our very special talents with the world but, in order to do so, to first learn to look in the mirror and see, not the “ugly duckling” that some of those we have loved may have so ignorantly and, perhaps, unknowingly branded us, but ourselves as whole and wholesome human beings whose lives will encompass a level of adventure that will make for many wonderful stories that beg to be shared.

[Everything that I have said above about “GLB” people would also apply to those on the “third rail” of sexual attraction discourse — men and women who are attracted to juveniles of either sex. Unfortunately, this subject is so fraught with phobia and loathing that merely to state that the sexual attraction toward children is akin to same-sex attractions to adults tends to elicit reactions one might expect from confessing to mass murder. I merely would state that none of us picked the type of persons to whom we are sexually attracted from a list like choosing the color of our next car. There are still perhaps 40% of Americans who believe that having same sex attractions is immoral. Those of us with a “glb” orientation should be the last to condemn anyone for attractions over which they have absolutely no control, unlike actions taken on those feelings, which are properly proscribed, just as statutory rape is properly proscribed.]

© 15 July 2013


About the Author


I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth. Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.

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Slang in an Historical Subculture by Will Stanton

Historical evidence shows that a significantly large proportion of homosexual language and labels arises from within or from the margins surrounding a queer subculture, that they are terms indigenous to queer culture, self-generated and self-cultivated. Perhaps one reason why social scientists and psychologists scrupulously avoid using this slang is because they realize that slang arises, at least partly, from within the minority group itself and that, to some extent, empowers it. Homosexuals have not found it very difficult to call themselves fairies, queers, or faggots, whereas they do not generally call themselves perverts, or sexual psychopaths.

Some analyses of campy language are based upon the compensation model: camp changes the real, hostile world into a new one which is controllable and seems to be safer. Camp has been a way for gay men to re-imagine the world around them. It exaggerates and therefore appears to diffuse real threats.

Many theorists believe that, especially with gay men, referring to one another with women’s names or pronouns evolved as a coded, protected way of speaking about one’s personal or sexual life. If one man were to be overheard at a public dinner table saying to another, “You’ll never guess what Mary said on our date last night,” little would be thought of it.” Other theorists believe, however, on the contrary, that more flamboyant gays refer to each other with women’s names almost entirely within a queer context in which no heterosexuals were present. It operated primarily within gay culture and functioned to cement the relations within that culture. All of the camp talk of the eighteenth-century gays (“mollies”), for example, was overheard by police constables who had infiltrated the molly houses. Such talk virtually was unknown outside the confines of a molly house.

Queer language is not something that is new to modern times. In ancient times the transgendered priests of the goddess Cotytto spoke a gay, even obscene jargon of their own.

In the gay subculture of early eighteenth-century London, gay slang was a modification of thieves’ slang and prostitute slang. As today, the mollies would ‘‘make Love to one another’’, and they used other euphemisms such as ‘’the pleasant Deed’’ and ‘‘to do the Story.’’ They had more specific verbs for anal intercourse, such as ‘to indorse’ (from contemporary boxing slang,) and ‘‘caudle-making’’ or ‘‘giving caudle’’ (from the Latin cauda, a tail.) Later in the century, sodomites were called ‘‘backgammon players’’ and ‘‘gentlemen of the back door.’’ Gay cruising grounds were called ‘‘the markets,’’ where the mollies went ‘‘strolling and caterwauling.’’ If they were lucky, they would ‘‘picked up’ partners, or ‘trade’’ (both terms are still in common use today.) Or, they would ‘‘make a bargain’’ or agree to have sex (this derives from a rather obscure game known as ‘‘selling a bargain.’’) Another variation is ‘‘bit a blow,’’ equivalent to the modern phrase ‘‘score a trick.’’ To ‘‘put the bite’’ on someone was to arrange for sex, possibly sex for money, derived from a contemporary phrase implying some sort of trickery, usually financial.

The most striking feature of the eighteenth-century ‘‘Female Dialect’’ was that gay men referred to one another with feminine names such as Madam Blackwell, Miss Kitten, Miss Fanny Knight, Miss Irons, Moll Irons, Flying Horse Moll, Pomegranate Molly, Black Moll, China Mary, Primrose Mary, Orange Mary, Garter Mary, Pippin Mary (alias Queen Irons), Dip-Candle Mary, Small Coal Mary, Aunt Greer, Aunt May, Aunt England, Princess Seraphina the butcher, the Countess of Camomile, Lady Godiva, the Duchess of Gloucester, Orange Deb, Tub Nan, Hardware Nan, Old Fish Hannah and Johannah the Ox-Cheek Woman.

The Maiden Names which the mollies assumed bore little relationship to specific male-female role-playing in terms of sexual behavior. ‘’Fanny Murray’’ was an athletic bargeman, ‘’Lucy Cooper’’ was a Herculean coal-heaver, ‘’Kitty Fisher’’ was a deaf tire repairman, ‘‘Kitty Cambric’ is a coal merchant; Miss Selina, a police office assistant; ‘’Black-eyed Leonora’’ a drummer in the Guards, ‘’Pretty Harriet’’ a butcher; and ‘’Miss Sweet Lips’’ a country grocer.

© 3 March 2011

About the Author

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

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Queer, Just How Queer by Betsy

Imagine that we could measure an individual’s degree of sexual orientation by taking, say, a blood test. This would be an ugly world indeed with a rigid caste system. The most heterosexual would be on top and the most homosexual on the bottom.

Newborns would be immediately tested at birth. Here’s one scenario.

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Jones. You have a healthy baby boy measuring only two on the “queerometer” He will be your pride and joy.

Or the dreaded scenario:

“You have a healthy baby boy, Mr. and Mrs. Jones. He has 10 fingers and 10 toes and all his parts. I’m sorry to tell you that he tests positive on the queerometer. He’s a 9.6”

“Oh, says Mrs. Jones, gasping for breath. A 9.6 ! Does that mean, does that mean? “

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” says the attendant. At the age of eight years you will be required to turn him over to the Department of Corrections. He will be yours until then. Enjoy!”

Or the following close-call:

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Jones. You have a beautiful baby girl. She appears to be in perfect health and all her parts are in the right place.” However, she does measure a five on the queerometer, which, as you know, is high. The state will provide you with all the materials you need to guide her in the right direction. If you use the manual wisely and stick to it, she will turn out just fine and I’m sure she will live a normal life and give you many grandchildren.”

Or imagine a world in which LGBT people took on a particular hue at puberty. Say, a shade of purple. The really dark purple ones would be the really, really, queer ones, and the light violets would be only slightly inclined to be homosexual or transgender, or bisexual, or queer. I can see the pride parade right now. A massive multi-shaded purple blob oozing down Colfax.

Parents who suspected queerness would dread the day puberty started for their child. Of course, in this world everyone starts out with lily white skin. So the outward signs of race and ethnicity would not exist. In this world their would be no race and ethnicity. Only sexual orientation has meaning.

Of course, in the real world there is no such thing as a queerometer or purple-skinned LGBT’s. The world we know is so very much more complex than that.

In our world we have a choice. Not a choice of whether or not to be queer, but rather we choose to be in or out of the closet, we can choose to accept or deny our queerness, we choose our behaviors every minute of every day. A great raising of awareness over the last few decades has given us even more choices. At least, this is true for the most part in this community that we know so well and in most cities of this country. As acceptance becomes more and more prevalent I am very thankful, indeed. I am thankful everyday, that I have been free to choose to live my queerness with honesty and integrity and pride.

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver women’s chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change). She has been retired from the Human Services field for about 15 years. Since her retirement, her major activities include tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with National Sports Center for the Disabled, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and enjoys spending time with her four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 25 years, Gillian Edwards.