Massachusetts First

I hate being prejudged because I am an America First conservative. What really frosts me is when someone from the Party of the Open Mind assumes I am a backward homo/transphobe and attempts to school me on Pride. Not so fast, Cupcake. Let’s level the playing field with my bona fides: I was gay (I hate the word lesbian) for about fifteen years, owned two businesses in Provincetown, MA, and had friends of all stripes – gay, straight, bi, lesbian, transvestite, pre-ops, transsexual, drag queens, and everyone in between.

It was 1969. I was 16 when I first stepped into a gay bar. My friend, Luis, paid the $1.00 cover and guided me past the Mafioso at the door and into my next life. We wove thru the fog of cigarette smoke and found a seat at a grubby table. Luis told me to keep my head down and order a Seven and Seven from the big-haired and bigger-bosomed Tex. All business in her traditional waitress uniform and orthopedic “space” shoes, Tex made her living serving those who today would be called disenfranchised. Let me tell you, there was not a whiff of victimhood in that place. When the cops came in to (wink, wink) confirm there was no homosexuality going on, the guys grabbed their fag hags and kept on dancing. In those days, it was about choice. Even if it wasn’t. I was home. I was part of something at The Other Side, my underground Disney Land.

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I revered the Cuban drag queens. They were fabulous; thin, flat-chested, and catwalk vogue. The four I knew lived in a high-ceiling apartment on Commonwealth Avenue. I remember getting ready for the club one night; we were all high, and the drag queens were bickering and mercilessly hounding the homely one at the sewing machine. When on the street and not in drag, these young men were good-looking and androgynous, another look I adore. I’d see Luis walking down the street in jeans and moccasins, his hair a chin-length bob, his gait casual and FREE. Had these young men not escaped Fidel Castro’s Cuba, they would indeed have taken their last breath in front of a firing squad.

I loved the gay clubs. Gay, straight, bi, we all partied together. What a blast. People didn’t segregate themselves, demand recognition, or insist that children become fluent in the contrived language of gender ideology. So be it if my call to action calls me to out myself. As I said, I hate being prejudged. I encourage others to correct the record whenever someone with a political agenda pigeonholes them. Once you get the hang of it, it’s really fun.

It is empowering, too. Give it a try.

by Laura Tamagno