I had a rich friend named Mickey whose Mom lived in New York.
He’d go visit her every other month and come back to Charleston
with a copy of the Village Voice.
I read the fags in Greenwich Village was forming up an army to fight
It suddenly hit me: if straight can bash queers, queers can bash straights.
I was still pissed about that guy trying to shoot me at Battery Park.
I told Mickey what I was thinking and he said. “Let’s do it!”
We each strapped wide spiked belts around our waists.
Then we drove out to a tore up old convent and loaded the trunk of Mickey’s Impala with bricks.
That night we did a slow cruise around the Battery.
We watched a couple of known fag bashers enter the park.
Mickey swished by himself into the darkest part of Battery Park and when they followed him I snuck up and BAM! They got it with bricks!
We did that every day for a week and that Summer the Battery was safe for faggots!
Eclair Acuda Bandersnatch
There was only one gay bar in Charleston.
It was lost in a back ally behind the Old Slave Market.
At the Stardust gay folks got married.
An alcoholic ex-priest named Mother Rachel presided.
One guy wore a gown and the other wore a tux.
At the Stardust the Queen of Hearts Drag Pageant was a major event.
Drag Queens shopped for weeks and scandalized every dress shop on King Street.
On the big night the butch dykes wore three-piece suits and their wives wore gowns.
Mother Superior was always the emcee and he’d open every show with a report on where the vice cops were lurking that night:
“The Greyhound bus station is just hoppin’ with Vice! So ya’all be careful–OK?”
There was this one drag queen that always lip synced “ My Life.”
At the end of the song he would defiantly sing in his real voice: “This is myiiiiiiiiii life!
Then he’d rip off his wig and fling it into the audience.
At the end Mother Rachel had everyone in the bar joined hands and sang, “ There’s a Place for us.”
RG (c) 1985-2017