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just out ▼ 26 ▼ Septe mbe r 1989
C__ H
love a parade, always have. There’s some
thing in the rhythmic booming, the
crowd’s excitement, the mix of silliness and
tacky sentimentality that gets to me. So when
the Texas Femme called to ask if I knew
anyone who might be willing to ride the gay
float at the Fourth of July Parade in Ashland
this year, I grabbed the chance.
I also got on the phone and called numer
ous women to drum up riders and parade-
route supporters. I listened to qualms which
echoed my own.
Would this one lose clients? That one risk
tenure? Would their children be harassed?
Would we be assulted physically or verbally?
Would there be fallout later? Would riding be
courageous or foolhardy? How important was
this holiday statement?
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One drag queen and eight nervous yet resolute dykes
pitching one more battle for the dignity and equality promised
in the United States Constitution
BO O K/TO RE
----
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LOTS O f N€UJ L6SBIRN/GW TIT16S
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MON-SflT 11 -7
SUN 12-5
▼
1864 S€ HAWTHORNS BlVD.
PORTLAND, OR 9 7 21 4
(503) 236-4628
AMAZON
T R A I L
Very important. Just one week after the
parade William O ’Connor, M.D., came to
Southern Oregon. I have spoken with other
physicians since. They claim Dr. O ’Connor
knows his facts and has some important
information to share.
This may well be, but they also agree that
the man is crazed with — who knows what to
call it? Fear? Lunacy? Hate? Denial? Did he
come to town to speak about HIV disease, or
to work the citizens to hysteria? He supports a
local initiative to declare the county in which I
live an AIDS-Free Zone. Chills run down my
back as I write the words.
The theme of this year’s parade was about
the specific freedom to be oneself. Certainly a
gay float was appropriate. Without a doubt
our voices needed to be heard more than ever.
HIV may not be an exclusively gay disease,
but who would be the most affected by a
quarantine?
The morning of the Fourth dawned. Dolly
Blue, a striking drag queen, had designed the
float. She, along with the Texas Femme,
Another Lee, and some helpers, were at the
assembly site by 6:30 am. By the time Lover
and I arrived at 8 am, a bit blurry-eyed from
lack of sleep — a combination of excitement
and nerves — the float was just about ready. It
consisted of a jeep pulling an old hay trailer.
A mannequin in red was the masthead. Behind
her, Dolly stood resplendent in a brief red
thing festooned with fringe. She wore a
matching headress not much shorter than the
Empire State Building. Silver and blue
streamers were everywhere. We had an
enormous boom box which played all-
American disco music like “We Are Family”
and what should be the gay national anthem,
LcRoy Dysart’s “We Are Everywhere.”
Women’s Land Laura, two brave local
businesswomen, a student. Lover, and I lined
the sides of the trailer. The Texas Femme
drove the jeep while Another Lee navigated.
We had a lavender banner graced with a large
pink triangle and the words, “Freedom to Be
What I Am.” We were not blatant, but we
were more than subtle. I rode with my hands
on Lover’s shoulders when I wasn’t waving.
One of the businesswomen exhorted members
of the crowd to join us. None did.
The moments before the parade began
were the most trying. It was a perfect July
day, with not-yet-hot sun filtering through the
trees. Dolly Blue had been in the parade the
year before and reported encountering nothing
rougher than a letter to the papier repxrimand-
ing parade officials for allowing the likes of
herself to exist. But ’89 is the year after
Proposition 8 passed, the year Oregon right
wingers are attacking our trustworthiness as
foster parents, and the year the hysterics are
trying to make my county an AIDS-Free
Zone. We were not one drag queen graciously
waving to a crowd ready for dress-up and
outrageousness, we were one drag queen and
eight somewhat nervous yet resolute dykes
pitching one more battle for the dignity and
equality promised in the United States
Constitution.
The initiative would require mandatory
testing for the HIV virus for public health
workers, hospital or emergency room patients,
anyone arrested for sex-related or drug-related
crimes, anyone with a history of blood trans
fusions, nursing home residents, employees in
food preparation, child care workers and
marriage license applicants, to name a few.
In addition, the initiative would provide
that individuals who think they have come in
contact with infected persons can demand that
the county health department test those
picrsons. The results of HIV tests would be
available to anyone who suspiected they’d had
contact with bodily fluids of an infected
individual. How many times might any of us
be required to be tested just because we’re
queer? What would happien to the loved ones,
or property, of those of us who have PWA
friends? Imagine how magnified suspicion
and prejudice would be for someone in a high
risk group.
Still innocently ignorant of the dire
machinations of the AIDS-Free powers, I
worried on parade day that w e’d be
sandwiched between the Praise the Lord Float
and the National Guard. That we’d be polled
by revolted stares and curses — or worse.
Nothing of the sort happoned. Some
onlookers obviously never figured us out at
all. Others took a while, but when the light
bulbs went off in their heads, wolf-whistled
and flirted with Dolly Blue.
I was moved by the apparently
heterosexual poople who shouted “Good for
you!” or “That’s what it’s all about!” Some
spoke with us, amazed and pleased by our
courage. My former supervisor shouted my
name and p>ointed me out to his preschool
daughter and his wife, all grins, like he was
really proud to see me there.
Best of all were the reactions of the
lesbians and gay men along the route. Those
in the know greeted us with explosions of
enthusiasm. Surprised friends shouted
approval. A few quietly smiled, appiarently
proud but fearful. Best of all were the gays
who didn’t know us, hadn’t exported us, and
could hardly contain themselves when they
realized what we were all about. Like the
women who held up their hands, silently
shouting in universal sign language before all
of Ashland and all the world, “I love you!”
Can you blame them? W e’d claimed the
freedom of the American nation, the freedom
to be ourselves in the face of all oppression.^