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Gay male history is last week but only if it
was longer than eight inches. The past is an
ex-lover, to be avoided at all cost. We have no
oral tradition (at least not in the "traditional"
sense), we have no memory of what went before,
and little respect for the brave few that fought
to give us our present. There is a gentleman
among us, who (writing under a nom de closet)
has made his journalistic career outing
celebrities, but who, like most of our community,
totally disdains (often with hostility) those
individuals who openly and publicly contribute
to our culture.
In the mid-1970s I was standing in the Spike
Bar, conversing with a bottle of Budweiser when
a buddy walked in, his face bruised and bandaged.
Seems he had been fag bashed by a street gang (a
common neighborhood occurrence) and had staggered
to the Eagle’s Nest bar which was holding a tea
dance benefit for a national gay organization.
Beaten and bloodied he explained to the female
co-chair guarding the door that he had been
attacked and needed to use the phone to call the
police, she refused to allow him into the bar
until he paid the contribution. The West
Street Gang began to write itself in my
mind.
When the Spike first opened as a bar, I had
been bartender/manager so there was no problem
convincing the owners to let me stage the play
there. We created a "bar set" where the DJ booth
was later located, moved the pool table to make
rooms for 100 seats and used the corner doors so
the actors could actually enter stage from West
Street. The night before the play’s first
performance, I stood in the Spike, cruising the
crowd when to my horror it occurred to me I was
about to let my "art" invade the sanctum of my
"sexuality" (surely Freud says the reverse is
the preferred position).
The play opened, and imagine my surprise when
my innocent effort caused a great big brouhaha
among the political guardians of gay thought.
The review in Christopher Street magazine
complained that I had maligned the poor
policepersons. The National Gay Task Force
dropped me from it’s membership list. Jack Modica
(champion of liberal causes) instituted a boycott
(which the cast gleefully joined, hanging a poster
behind the bar in the play reading: The West
Street Gang supports the Eagle’s Nest
boycott). And then there was the performance
when Arthur Bell showed up, and the audience
watched him watch the play. Leslie Magerman (who
played Arthur Klang) was later overheard
explaining to Arthur Bell: "I feel, as an actor,
when I play a 'villain'... "
The West Street Gang was a success and
ran for 6 months (A year later the Glines revived
it in repertory with A Perfect Relationship).
There was even a night in it’s honor at Studio
54 (the doorman almost didn’t let me in). It’s
effect as environmental theater was proved the
afternoon a street gang intending to trash the
Spike, opened the door only to be confronted by
the cops from the play. My depiction of Arthur
Bell made it to Liz Smith’s column and Anne
Miller sent me a dozen roses in gratitude.
Anyone who saw the Spike production will
always remember my beloved Billy Blackwell
(Shanghai Lil) exiting from the men’s room in
splendiferous scarlet drag, or the excellent
Ivan Smith (Bill Bender) targeting his laugh
lines with the ease of William Tell, or the
incredibly talented Caroline Yeager (Bnita
Aryant) entering from West Street with her bag
of oranges. We don’t need Tom Cruise (in or
out), we have our own celebrities. We just
forget to remember them.
New York City, June 16, 2000
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