Camp

When I first came out and still underage, gay kids had two places to go in Portland: the Chicken Coop and Camp. The chicken coop was a small doorway with a stoop next to the entrance to one of Portland's first gay clubs, Roman's Riptide. It was there that we'd sit trying desparately to get picked up by an older man. We were completely oblivious to the danger, not to us, but to the older gay men who might end up picking up a piece of chicken and finding himself in trouble with the law. Needless to say, few of us ever got picked up.

When frustration or boredom finally set in, we'd head back across Broadway to meet with our other friends on "camp". Camp had a twofold purpose, really. It was the locale where a lot of the younger male hustlers hung around looking for paying tricks. It was also the place where a lot of underage kids congregated to dish the dirt, find some drugs, or again with hope in our hearts, get lucky for the evening. Of course luck is in the eye of the beholder. Sometimes, luck was against us and we ended up with someone less than perfect.

I'm not sure why the place was called "camp", but I wouldn't be surprised if it had to do with gay men's penchant to "camp it up". We certainly did our share of camping while we hung out with our friends.

Located across the street and just east of Portland's Pioneer Courthouse, camp took up the full block between Yamhill and Morrison Streets and 4th and 5th Avenues. The non-hustling kids normally hung around on the corner of 5th and Yamhill. This was the best place to hang around so that when the beat cop, Officer Murphy, showed up we could quickly run across the street to the bus stop on 5th Ave. on the east side of the courthouse. When Murphy harassed camp, the only thing that would save your ass from being majorly hassled was if you were "waiting for the bus". Officer Murphy wasn't fooled by our little ploy but if he was in a good mood, he hassle us for awhile then move on.

One of the first tricks I ever pulled off of camp (no pun intended) was a hairdresser who took me home for the night. I was in heaven. I loved older men and ending up in someone's bed for the night was a treat if not the rule. Unfortunately, when, in the middle of the night, I woke to find the guy scratching himself raw in his sleep, I knew I was in big trouble. Less than a week later, I found myself with a huge case of "scabies"; loathsome little mites that burrow under your skin and irritate your body to no end. It took me weeks to get rid of them. It was my first STD.