Hustlers, Drag Queens, and Bashers, Oh My!

Even though camp was more often than not pretty boring, it was still the only place that the out gay kids had to go to find one another and to have some fun. It wasn't until many years later that Portland finally opened up its first gay community center. Until that happened though, a lot of underage gay kids used camp as their own form of community center.

We had a lot of fun, meeting there and everyone pretty much got along. There were a few disagreements and some bitchiness between the hustlers and the rest of us. I wouldn't call any of the trade on camp "rough" by any means, but those boys were there to earn a living. Having a bunch of young chicken on camp that were not there to charge for services, did sometimes cut into the rent-boys' earnings. There was an unspoken rule that the kids hanging out just for fun stayed on the west and south sides of the block while the hustlers stayed on the north and east sides. The men on the prowl, would circle camp in their cars and shop. We usually snapped off the ugly trolls and those who were obviously looking for a quickie but sometimes, as I mentioned in an earlier entry, one of us would get lucky (?) and get picked up.

As in any tribe or community, and I think of the group that hung around camp as a small community, there are natural leaders and there are natural followers. Camp was no different. Our unofficial doyen was Miss Patton, an older queen who despite being of age, liked to hold court on camp. We were all in thrall of Miss Patton since she was older, more experienced and had a job as a catcher at one of Portland's preeminent strip clubs, Mary's! A catcher is an employee who sits in the audience during a performance and "catches" the stripper's clothes as she throws them out into the audience. Those skimpy outfits that the strippers took off during a performance, were damn expensive and they wanted to ensure that they got them back. Hence the use of the "catcher"!

Miss Terry was the lady-in-waiting, if Miss Patton was the queen. Miss Terry was one of my high school friends that came out along with Jeff, Jack, John, Stanley, and me. We had our own little gay clique in high school. But Miss Terry was special. While the rest of us were desparately trying to hide our queer sides, Miss Terry celebrated being who she was and in doing so was hassled less and actually embraced by more kids than the rest of us. One of her girl friends was one of the most popular girls in our class who would eventually be elected Rose Festival princess in 1970. While some of us dreaded every single drawn out second of PE class, Terry was excused from participating and was given the envious (to many of us!) job of handing out towels in the boy's locker room. But I digress.

On camp, Miss Terry was in her element. A flamboyant, larger-than-life, in-your-face fearless queen who took shit from no one. Had Miss Terry been at Stonewall in 1969, I'm damn sure that she would have been right in the middle of the brouhaha along with the other drag queens that started the whole revolution. She was about as effeminate as she could get yet she was as proud and defiant and courageous as any one I have ever met. Even queer bashers were no match for her courage and anger. And believe you me, we saw and experienced a lot of bashing on camp.

Safety in numbers was an unspoken motto for many of us kids hanging around camp in the 1970s. Queer kids were routinely threatened and beaten up but life had to be lived. Hanging around camp gave me a great insight into how courageous gay kids had to be to come out and form their own community. One summer night, Miss Terry, I and a couple of other friends were walking around camp when we saw a young queen surrounded by three straight punks giving her a bad time. Without hesitation, Miss Terry kicked off her high heels, grabbed them with the stilleto heels out like knives, and ran towards them screaming "Get 'em, girls!" We were all so stunned we followed without even thinking, screaming our own expletives at the bashers. As soon as they saw this group of screaming faggots running towards them, they took off like the cowards they were. Camp was safe and secure for another night.

Along with Miss Terry and Miss Patton, there was Miss Benny -- an underage, blond, skinny little queen who loved to traipse around camp in semi-drag. She would often wear some type of dress but never make-up or hair. Her crowning achievement was the day she wore her "wedding gown". None of us knew where she ever got the thing, but we all thought it was fabulous; a floor-length, white, tie-dyed (remember this was in the 70s) satin dress with a long train. She looked ever so becoming.

Miss Benny was so proud of the gown, she just had to show it off at some of the bars, all of which, were on the other side of Broadway, one of Portland's main downtown streets. In the 70s and 80s, Broadway on a Saturday night was where all of the straight kids cruised in their hot cars. It was lively, crowded, and sometimes rough. Walking from camp to Roman's or the Riptide or any of the other gay bars required us to cross Broadway. Normally, having a strong sense of self-preservation, we did it with some discretion, if not a little bravura. This night, Miss Benny crossed Broadway in full wedding-gown drag. Lucky for us we were all on foot and the straight kids, who in the 70s were not as tolerant as some are today, in their cars. It made for an easy escape for us and made it difficult for the straights to follow. They were hampered by one-way streets while we knew all of the dark side streets, where one can easily blend in or disappear. Later that night, we returned to camp sans dress. We loved to "ruin" straight kids, but we liked to do it on our terms and our turf.