Though the argument was controversial,
McNamara persuaded BOL1 that transsexualism
must be considered a protected disability under
Oregon law.
“I got into law because I enjoy helping peo
ple,” says McNamara, 46, a 1996 law school grad
uate who previously worked as an aerospace tech
nology engineer. She has represented Buckwalter
pro bono the whole way.
“I’m doing this because I have strong feelings
about it, and many times transsexuals simply don’t
have a lot o f money,” she says. “They may lose
their jobs when they begin to transition.... It can
be very, very hard for them.”
If insurance companies don’t cover the costs,
Continued from page 19
“I have come to see that my true desire, how
ever, is to become a warrior o f the heart,” she
writes in a short bio.
Though em ployed as a system s analyst,
Buckwalter’s primary interest is music, and she
has belted out her own renditions o f material by
Bonnie Raitt, Linda Ronstadt, Bette Midler and
Barbra Streisand.
Upon her arrival in the Rose City, Buckwalter
began singing at the Embers, along with an array
of other performers, female impersonators first and
foremost.
“ But for me personally this was not a persona
I wanted to wear just while performing. Being
female was not something I could just take on and
off,” says Buckwalter, who was divorced in 1993.
In early 1995, she and Contreras, who was liv
ing in California, began writing each other by e-mail
at the urging of a work associate. They correspond
ed for a few months, but did not meet face to face.
“I was under the impression that I was talking
with a man,” says Contreras, 39, who identifies as
bisexual. “ But it was really the person inside I was
communicating with. Lorin was so gentle and ten
der and got me to open up. Lorin talked about his
children with a passion and seemed so different.”
The two then began talking on the telephone.
Finally, after several weeks, they met when
Buckwalter journeyed to the Golden State for a
work-related convention.
“Lorin had told me that she preferred to be a
woman,” says Contreras, adding, “ I have to admit
I was a little relieved because I wasn’t looking to
get into a relationship with a man.”
The couple fell in love, and Contreras, an avid
potter with an interest in Native American culture.
eventually moved to Portland.
Buckwalter says it was only after Contreras
moved here that she was able to verbalize a deep-
seated desire to fully live as a woman vis-à-vis
gender reassignment.
“I felt being honest was paramount. I didn’t
want to hide anymore,” Buckwalter says.
“I was always taught to look at the person for
who they are,” says Contreras, “to not judge peo
ple by what they are. To me, Lori is
Lori, a warm, generous and caring
human being whom I love with all my
heart. Lori is not a label.”
She adds, “My only question to
Lon was, ‘Are you sure?’ ”
The answer is, obviously, yes.
9B H H
ccording to attorney JoAnna
McNamara, once Buckwalter
undergoes gender-reassign
ment surgery as well as a legal change
of sex, she and Contreras will indeed
be two legal females who are legally
married to each other.
“The state will have no standing to
revoke their marriage because at the
time it was entered into, the couple met
all the legal criteria for marriage,” she
says.
In October, the team o f McNamara
and Buckwalter got the Oregon
Bureau of Labor and Industries to
reverse years of policy and immediate
ly begin accepting complaints from
transsexuals who claim discrimination
because of their status as transsexuals.
A
and many don’t, gender-reassignment surgery c 1 |
be pretty pricey for many people.
Money remains a stumbling block fo r
Buckwalter, who estimates it will cost $11,000 for
her surgery.
“I would sell my soul to pay for this,” says
Buckwalter, who admits feeling guilty about the
expense. “I punish myself with the guilt about the
money. I think I should be using it to send my kids
to college, but I know I must first resolve this
issue.... I asked my kids if they understand that
this is the equivalent to them finding their way in
the world. I think they do.”
Buckw alter hopes to undergo surgery in
February.
‘T o come to Portland and find myself going
down Division and looking up at OHSU, well, it’s
like being camped outside the Emerald City,” she
says.
“I’ve come all this way and I’m stuck out
side— but it’s not a heart or a brain I’m searching
for,” she adds with laugh.
Her time, however, may finally have come.