Halloween Story

Wrapping a towel around my waist is as close as I've come to putting on a skirt.  But, I was in a drag ball once.

It was October of 1975.  I had been in the big city since June.  Harvest sunsets were the only thing I missed about North Dakota but the Autumn spectrum of the Minneapolis urban forest was ample compensation.  I'd been living on the streets for most of the past five months, washing dishes or working day labor for cash, and playing the piano occasionally for tips at a small gay bar on Hennepin Avenue.  But, nights were getting colder and I was spending as many of them as I could afford at the Locker Room, a gay bathhouse.  It probably sounds worse than it was.  I was resourceful and not afraid of hard work so I knew that poverty would be temporary.  And, I was having the time of my life.  The Sexual Revolution was at its peak and I was in my prime.  I was young and fit, had a full head of hair and a flat stomach, and any problem penicillin couldn't resolve, tetracycline would.

Back to towels.  I was wearing one the night I met Neal Peterson.  Neal was the manager of the Locker Room.  He liked me.  I didn't cause trouble or sell drugs, and I didn't hustle the older customers as did some of the other "boys."

"I bet you look okay in clothes, too."  Neal wasn't much for conversation so I was surprised at the comment.

I didn't have many clothes.  I'd packed light the night I left home.  "Yeah, I used to be a bit of a clotheshorse but it's jeans and t-shirts these days."

"Do you own a suit?"

"Sure, I own a suit.  Half a dozen of them. But, they're all hanging in a closet in North Dakota and probably too big for me now."  I wondered where Neal was going with this as I scanned the vending machines in search of anything I could eat for fifty cents or less.

Neal explained that he had entered the over-45 competition in the Halloween Drag Ball and his escort had just been arrested for passing bad checks.  The ball was mere days away.

Neal in a dress.  It was a difficult concept.  He looked to me to be about 35, not 45.  He was tall and quite muscular.  I'd seen plenty of men who looked "passable" in drag but I could not imagine Neal as one of them.  I dropped two quarters into a slot, pulled a chrome lever with my left hand and a Harrelson apple fell into my right.  "Drag ball?  Hmmm.  What, exactly, would I have to do?"

"Not much, really.  Just put on a suit, walk me to the runway and be adorable while I do my thing."  Neal grinned.

I was 22 years old, fresh out of the closet and had "small town" written all over me.  Adorable?  I could teach it.

*****

BOOTS

I had it in my head that the drag ball was merely a chance for those lightest in their loafers to exchange them for a pair of pumps for an evening.  I was wrong. Over the next two days I learned that it was a major social event and was held in the largest ballroom in the Twin Cities, the Hall of States in the Hotel Leamington.  Most of the gowns would be original designs by up and coming or prominent local designers.  In fact, Neal's was being designed by unknown - at the time - Minneapolis designer named Makai.  I was getting nervous.

Barry Ram was a fixture at the Sand Box Show Lounge where I played the piano on occasion between drag acts.  He was the most sartorially elegant person I had ever encountered, albeit in a gift wrapped sort of way.  Barry was known to his friends as "Butch"; his wardrobe was anything but.  He was the one person I knew who probably owned something appropriate to wear while escorting a drag queen down a runway, would be willing to lend it to me and, while a few years older, was roughly the same size.

"The Drag Ball!  Kid, you're going to have a blast.  I can't believe that Neal is going to do it."  Barry was more than happy to help.  "I've got just the thing.  Mother picked it up for me on Carnaby Street on her last trip abroad.  I've been saving it for New Year's Eve."

My heart sank.  Surely Barry Ram, the most clothes conscious member of the most clothes conscious community on the planet, would not want me to wear his New Years Eve outfit at the largest gay social event of the year.  But, Barry's New Years plans, it turned out, were in Chicago with his mother and her soon-to-be fourth husband.

Barry and I met again at the Sand Box the Saturday afternoon of the ball.  My suit was waiting for me in a zippered leatherette garment bag in the dressing room.  Several of the "girls" were there as well, getting ready for the big night at the Leamington.  The costumes and accessories were everywhere and were awesome.  I was still nervous but the excitement in the dressing room was contagious.  I felt like I was backstage in the heyday of Vaudeville.

Barry smiled as he opened the garment bag and revealed my ensemble for the night.  I knew what and where Carnaby Street is but I was not prepared for the what came out of the bag.  The jacket was the most plush velvet I'd ever seen and was a deep burgundy color.  The slacks were midnight blue and velvet as well although somewhat lighter weight.  A yellow satin shirt and blue silk tie completed the outfit, or so I thought.

"I knew you wouldn't have shoes.  I hope these fit."  Barry handed me a shoe box.

I hadn't even thought about shoes.  The only pair I owned were on my feet and were questionable even for the Sand Box.  My eyes welled at his thoughtfulness.  "I don't know what to say, Barry. Patent leather shoes I've seen.  But boots?  They're beautiful."

"They're dress boots and they match the tie," Barry said with pride. I looked again at the boots.  The weren't black, after all.  "So they do."

I put a brown paper bag containing clean socks and underwear into Barry's garment bag.  Taking one last look at the patent leather dress boots before closing the shoe box, I understood why all gay men love Judy Garland.

*****

KING OLAV

Bachman's was and still is the premiere florist in the Twin Cities.  I had scraped together and borrowed enough cash to enjoy the evening as well as buy a corsage for my "date."  Arriving at the Bachman's in Dayton's department store in downtown Minneapolis, I suddenly realized that for all my concern about what to wear to the ball, I had no clue what Neal's gown would look like.  I wondered what a designer would put on that masculine frame and in what colors.  The last time I'd shopped for a corsage was for my Senior Prom and I had let my date order it.

Neal had reserved a suite on the eleventh floor of the Hotel Leamington and had told me to be there at five o'clock.  It was a bit after four when I called the hotel operator and asked for Neal Peterson's room.  I thought the operator might have misunderstood me when she said, "I'll connect you with the King Olav Suite."

"Miss Nell's suite." a voice I didn't recognize answered.

"Can I talk to Neal."

"Miss Nell is not taking calls at the moment.  Is there a message?"

"Who is it?" I could hear Neal ask in the background.

"May I inquire..."

"Tell him it's Steve, his 'escort.'"

"It's some guy named Steve.  Do you want to talk to him?"

Neal grabbed the phone.  "Thank god.  I thought you'd stood me up.  Did you find a suit?  Are you on your way?  Where are you?"

I was not the only one getting nervous.

"I'm at Bachman's.  I wanted to being you a corsage but they need to know the colors."

There was a long pause.

"Tangerine."  Another long pause.  "And....aqua.....and yellow...and pink.....and...  Just tell them 'pastels.'"

Bachman's fashioned a corsage from two white orchids surrounded by baby roses in pale pink and pale yellow.

My heart was pounding as I headed down 10th Street toward the Leamington, or Oz, or Gomorrah.

*****

EVA GABOR

The hairdresser and I arrived at the King Olav Suite in the same elevator.  It was his third trip up and the last load of wigs for Neal to select from.  Ed, I later learned, owned Ed's Place, a successful hair salon in south Minneapolis that was well known to the gay community and patients undergoing chemotherapy.

There were a dozen or so people milling around Neal who sitting in font of a vanity, well into character, wearing a good pound of makeup and a dressing gown that I suspected came via mail order in a plain brown wrapper.  The dressing gown was a perfect match for the decor of the King Olav Suite.  I didn't know anyone in the room and I could sense that Neal was not in a mood to make introductions.  Things seemed a bit tense.

Wigs were everywhere in every style and every color.  Some were in colors not found in nature.  Neal put on a blonde wig, looked at his reflection in the vanity mirror then at Ed.  "Lana Turner?"

Ed studied him.  "Baby Jane Hudson."

One of the other men in the room stepped forward.  "Lose the wigs.  I have a better idea."  I could tell from the authority in his voice that this must be Makai, the man in charge, the designer of Neal's gown.  He, too, seemed tense.  "Alright, everybody out of here so Neal can get ready."

I didn't know what to do.  I'd just arrived and was standing there like an idiot, garment bag in one hand and a corsage in the other.  "Is there someplace I can change?"

"You're here!" Neal fairly pealed.  "No, no.  Not you.  You need to stay."  Neal looked me up and down.  "And you, too, Ed.  Wig or not, I need you here.  The rest of you go down to the bar and have a drink.   Charge it to the room.  It's my party.  See you back here at seven-thirty for the cocktail party.  Makai, where's my bodysuit?  And where's the chick who's supposed to do my face?"

Without a word, the rest of the group moved to the door.  One of the three women in the room looked my way and asked one of the men if he knew who I was.  "I think it's the 'date.'"  They looked at me, my jeans with the holes, my t-shirt and my hair.  It was the last glance that gained a disapproving look.  I needed a haircut.  I needed one bad and I knew it.  I had thought about getting one but the money just wasn't there.  I looked at Ed who was looking at me.  I wondered why Neal had asked him to stay.

As soon as the door closed all eyes were upon me.  "Alright," Makai said, studying me.  "I approve, so far, but I wanna see what he's wearing."  He circled me, looking me up and down and shaking his head.  "Ed, can you do something about the hair?"

Ed smiled in my direction and nodded.  "Not a problem."

"Okay, Steve." Neal said with impatience.  "What's in the bag?"

I realized that my participation in this event was resting on Makai's approval of Barry's suit.  I was starting to wish I'd tried it on at the Sand Box.  What if it didn't fit?  I opened the garment bag and began arranging the components of my ensemble against the background of an off white love seat.  I could sense neither approval nor disapproval as the last piece, the tie, was applied.

Makai produced a white garment bag and from it removed a mass of crepe fabric that covered the spectrum of pastel colors.  It didn't appear to be a dress but it was on a hangar.  From the mass he pulled one long strand of fabric, about four inches wide, and draped it across the components of Barry's suit.

"What about shoes?"

I took the patent leather dress boots from their box and set them on the floor in front of the love seat.

Makai's eyes widened.

"They're dress boots and they match the tie."  I said while looking for some sign from Neal, Makai and Ed.

Makai raised an eyebrow and leaned toward Neal.  "This is the guy from North Dakota?"

"Okay, Ed."  Neal pointed across the room.  "Take him in the other bathroom and do something about the hair.  Make him look expensive."

"I think the suit will take care of that."  Makai said as he began straightening strands of fabric, which, when he held it up, began to look like it might indeed be a gown....of sorts.

I'd never been in a hotel room that had two bathrooms.

*****

ABLUTIONS

I wondered if the other bathroom was as big.  "I need to take a shower before I get dressed."

"Get your ablutions out of the way then so I can get to work on your hair." Ed was arranging bottles and clippers on the bathroom vanity.  "Good thing this place has plenty of room.  Neal went all out on this."

I didn't know what "ablutions" were but assumed it meant I should take my shower.

Once again I found myself wrapped in a towel.  I sat in front of the vanity mirror and watched Ed analyze my hair. "You're losing it.  You know that, don't you?  You're losing your hair."

I did know it and it wasn't something I wanted to contemplate.   "You come and see me when you're 30 and nobody will ever know.  I'm the best."

I liked Ed.  He was nice looking, just chatty enough and had made a point to keep his eyes off me as I showered.  Ed told me about Makai and how he made the gown for Neal hoping that it would get photographed.  The gown was designed to make someone tall and broad shouldered look more feminine.  I was told I'd understand when I saw it on Neal.  Ed was worried about the wig situation and wondered what Makai was thinking of doing about it.

I was getting the sense that the Drag Ball was an even bigger deal that I'd been led to believe.

"Oh gosh, Steve.  The Hall of States holds a few thousand people and it'll be packed.  Last year the mayor and his wife were here. The press is all over the place.  It's the best Halloween party in town.  If Neal hadn't reserved this suite for a party, we probably all would have rented up in limos."

"Not all of us,"I replied, trying to sound wry.

My haircut was complete with a few added extras.  "Those highlights will wash out tomorrow but tonight, under the lights, you're gonna look great."

It was approaching seven o'clock.  I could hear a new voice in the next room and Ed explained that it was Cindy from his salon who was going to do Neal's makeup.  I was relieved to know that what I'd seen earlier was not the final version.

"I'll be back with a comb and some hair spray when you're dressed."  Ed left.  It was just me, Barry's outfit and the greatest haircut I've ever seen, before or since.

I was terrorized.

*****

GLORIA SWANSON

"Are you coming out of there?"  It was Ed.  "People are coming back for the party.  What's taking so long?"

I took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom.  There were only a handful of people back from the bar but they included the couple who earlier had given me the disapproving looks.  I avoided looking at them.  It didn't much matter, though, because no one was looking at me.  Neal, now fully transformed into Miss Nell, entered from the other bathroom.  The gown was awesome.  It had a high neckline and long sleeves.  The waist was high - an empire, I've since learned - with petals arranged at the waist that draped in very straight lines to the floor.  There was no real pattern in the fabric.  It was mostly shades of orange with some lime green and pink and lavender sort of swirled in.  When Neal stood still, the petals appeared to be pleats, but when he walked across the room, his legs - well, his bodysuit - broke through.  I understood why Ed said it was designed to make a taller, more broad shouldered woman look more feminine.

Even more impressive than the gown was Makai's solution to the wig problem.  He'd taken one of the petals from the gown and fashioned it into a turban.  It accentuated Neal's rather prominent jaw and, of course, complimented the gown.

"Wow!"  I said, noticing the turban.  "What a great idea!"

"I know," Neal beamed.  "I feel just like Gloria Swanson."

Makai looked around the room to see how the Miss Nell was being received. He smiled at me for the first time that evening.  "You two are gonna look great up there."

"Makai, I bought a corsage for Neal but I don't want to damage the dress.  Would you pin it on?"

A concerned look came over his face.  "Corsage?"

Makai took the corsage from me and looked at it carefully.

"It's too much," he said apologetically.  "I mean, the colors are great but it's too much for the gown."  He thought for a moment. "Maybe if we make it into a wristlet."

He took the corsage and began to examine its construction.  Then, suddenly, he looked straight at me.  "Wait a minute.  Wait...a...minute."  Makai put the corsage against the lapel of my jacket.  "It's the wildest boutonniere I've ever seen but what the hell, this is the drag ball."  By now everyone had returned from the bar and all smiled approvingly as Makai pinned the corsage to my lapel.

*****

REDNECKS

Appetizers and a cocktail cart arrived along with several more of Neal's friends.  Still I didn't recognize anyone and they all seemed to know one another.  There were several married couples, and a couple of models who had worked with Makai.  I was getting plenty of compliments on the way I looked but I didn't seem to have anything in common with this crowd.  I felt very much out of place.

The flashbulbs had diminished and there was a good half hour before we had to be at the Hall of States.  I decided to check out the lobby bar and see if I might run into anyone I knew from the Sand Box.  It might be my only chance to be seen in something other than dirty jeans and a t-shirt.  I made my excuses and promised to be back by eight o'clock.

There was a mirror by the eleventh floor elevator bank where I had a chance to see myself in the kind of light I might expect later in the evening.  A light directly over my head brought out the highlights Ed had put into my hair.  I was wishing they wouldn't wash out.  A bell sounded the arrival of an elevator and I winked at myself in the mirror.

The elevator car was empty and, following elevator etiquette, I stood with my back to the wall that was opposite the doors and fixed my gaze on the floor indicator.  The car stopped on the tenth floor and two couples got on board.  They were together and from their conversation I could tell they were debating dinner plans.  In their mid to later thirties, I imagined they were from some part of greater Minnesota - Willmar or Fairmont or some such - and were treating themselves to a weekend in the big city after a long growing season and a successful harvest.  Both couples were attractive and nicely dressed.  At about the eighth floor the conversation grew quiet and I had the feeling that the elevator was slowing down.  One of the women was examining my hair and the other my burgundy velvet jacket.  One of the men was looking at my yellow satin shirt and blue silk tie, and the other man was looking at my patent leather dress boots that matched the tie.  They each took in the entirety of my costume.  Eventually all four pairs of eyes rested simultaneously on my "boutonniere."  Glances were exchanged.

It was at about the third floor when one of the women cleared her throat, smiled, looked at me and asked, "Excuse me, Sir.  Are you an entertainer?"

Just as four pairs of eyes had rested on my boutonniere, four pairs of eyebrows raised in anticipation of my reply.

"No," I said, trying to sound very polite.

They were not satisfied with my reply and clearly expected some explanation for my appearance.

I looked at each of them individually then said, slowly and with a smile on my face, "I, am a homosexual."

It was the only time in my life I'd used that word to describe myself, before or since.  And in that place and in that moment, it felt good.

One moment later the elevator arrived at the lobby.  The doors opened, I looked straight ahead and walked toward the bar.  I fought the urge to look back but lost the battle about halfway across the room.  I stopped and turned my head back toward the elevator just in time to see my companions drown in a tide of sequins and organdy and lame and ostrich feathers that was rising in the lobby of the Hotel Leamington.

*****

PRIZES

Miss Nell did not win the over-45 competition that night but was happy to accept the prize for First Runner Up to Miss Over-45 and a check for $250.  It paid for the appetizers.

I lost track of Neal a couple of years later when the Locker Room closed. People had quit going there.  AIDS had arrived and a lot of things were changing.  I did, however, run into him just a few months ago at Dayton's.  In 22 years he hasn't changed a bit.  The encountered stirred the memories you've been reading.

The Hotel Leamington fell victim to the wrecking ball in the mid Eighties and the Drag Ball is not the big deal it used to be.

A lot of friends have come and gone.  Ed is no longer with us.  And he was right about my hair; it's gone, as well.  I did once buy a hairpiece from him but somewhere over the years I lost the need for masks.  Barry moved to Chicago to be closer to his mother who, I suspect, still picks out his clothes.

I'm still in Minneapolis and still having the time of my life.  And, for every friend gone, a new one has come along.  Pen was put to paper for one with whom I hope I'll share memories for years and years to come.  This is for you, Helen.  Happy Halloween 1997.