Don’t leave me this way

My long lost friend Hebert and I just connected on Facebook. Here’s his chapter from my book Stonewall to Obama.

Don’t Leave Me This Way

When I returned from Pentwater, it was obvious that the relationship with Charles was over. I couldn’t stay sober and live with a raging alcoholic. I needed to find a place of my own and start a new life. I felt completely alone. Rich had moved back to Columbia County and I had no other friends to turn to. I was spiritually bankrupt. Grace, or God or even Sheila, call it what you will, a divine force intervened on my behalf. Mom sent me a check and I moved into a small studio near the Christian Science Center in Boston’s Back Bay. Somehow I was introduced to a group of drag queens in need of wardrobe help for Halloween. The thing is you never really know you’ve been touched by an angel until after the fact. These girls loved me until I could love myself. The queen diva, John or Diana, as he preferred to be called, was planning on embodying Diana Ross for the holiday. He or she – pronouns are so limiting, don’t you think – was preparing to win the costume contest at Metro, the largest dance club in Boston. The grand prize was a thousand dollars and Diana needed that money to pay her rent. She engaged me to design a prize-winning outfit that would transform her into Diana Ross, if only for a brief shining moment. Her budget was $100. So, if she won, she would be multiplying her investment tenfold. She promised me a cut of the till – I was in. I’ve always loved combining creativity and money with music and fashion. We started in earnest to create Diana.

The look we were striving for was Ross at the height of her celebrity – the star who sang in the rain in Central Park – the glittering and sparkling sequin and feather loving Diana. We fitted her with a white sequin body suit with strings of bugle beads cascading from the neckline. We topped her off with a floor-length white sequin wrap that was trimmed in marabou feathers. The fabric and feathers alone went well over $100. I donated my talent and time to the project knowing that I would be paid in earnest, if Diana won the grand prize. Every night I would go home and bead off – literally. Not to be outdone, Diana had two drag queen “sisters” that needed costumes as well. I worked on dresses for Sheerah who was going as Mae West and Tommy who would become Ethel Merman. Each outfit was as intricate and time-consuming as Diana’s. But, I poured all my love into the Diana ensemble. Somehow I knew that it needed to be special.

Halloween night came and we all headed off to a warm-up party, then onto The Metro. At midnight, finally, Diana took the stage and performed Ross’s classic, The Boss. The crowd was mesmerized. Just like Aunt Eileen had become Diana in Grandma’s living room, so many years ago, John channeled the pop diva with perfection. No one in the audience would know that the sparkling star on the stage was really a bald white man. Age, gender and race had been erased by fashion, makeup and lots of love. Of course, Diana took first place that night and she stuffed two hundred dollars into my pocket as we gyrated on the dance floor surrounded by Diana’s awestruck fans. The sound system at Metro was amazing and the DJ was fierce – you could always count on hearing the best music at Metro. We danced the night away, reveling in the glow of victory. Suddenly the DJ spun The Cummunard’s ‘Don’t Leave Me This Way’ into the mix. The song’s gospel sound had become an anthem for the gay rights movement and also held special meaning for those dying from AIDS. Our brothers, in the prime of their life, were leaving us left and right. The AIDS death knell crept closer and closer. But, I had yet to meet or know anyone with AIDS or, God forbid, anyone that actually died from the disease. ‘Don’t Leave Me This Way’ topped the UK charts for four weeks in September 1986, becoming the biggest selling record of the year in the process. Lead singer Jimmy Somerville and featured guest vocalist, Sarah Jane Morris, were everywhere that fall. The song only reached #40 on the US Billboard Hot 100 but did top the Billboard Dance chart.

As I walked home that night, exhausted but exhilarated, I suddenly realized that I had just experienced one of the most satisfying nights of my life without any drugs or alcohol. Finally, I was participating in my life. I showed up for my friends and my creativity and work were part of a winning team. It had been just over 90 days since I’d given up booze and already my life was being transformed. I had been set free. “This must be what gratitude feels like,” I thought. “I like it. I want more of it.”

* Charles died of AIDS on December 16, 1995.

Get your copy of Stonewall to Obama here.