I want to preface this blog entry by saying that I am not looking for sympathy. The person I am today, is a sum total of all of my experiences to date. I really like the person I am now. The violence that I experienced during my transition in the late seventies and early eighties that I will be documenting, maybe horrifying to some, but many girls I knew back in the day, had it much worse. All of this violence happened to me over 30 years ago. The real tragedy is, while you would think that things would be markedly better for trans women transitioning today, the violence is just as pervasive as it was during my transition. If anything, it has gotten worse.
Sharing this part of my life is something I have done only rarely. I have worked hard over the years to put these dark times behind me. As painful as it will be to share this part of my life, it is because of this pervasive violence that I will be opening a door that I would rather remained closed. We all need to do better by our trans brothers and sisters.
I like to think the people who know me would tell you that I was kind, compassionate, loving and positive. I have been blessed in my life with loving and supportive friends and family. I believe that they are the reason that I have been able to successfully put this painful time of my life behind me. We all need to be that loving and supportive friend or family member for those who are transitioning and most especially for those who are victims of violence. When something like this happens to you, there are so many emotions. You are terrified, you feel ashamed, you are outraged, but worst of all, you feel helpless!
On with the story. After landing back in New Orleans, my first job was as a church secretary at a Methodist church, if you can believe that. That only lasted two months. My next job was for the Federal Reserve Bank. I was a secretary in the Computer Services department. I really loved that job and hated that I had to leave it. I had a driver's license and a Social Security card in my female name. After I had been working at the Fed for a few months, it was brought to my attention that they did not have a copy of my birth certificate. That wasn't gonna happen.
Another problem that I was having, was feeling very disconnected. I worked all day with biological women, but I could not allow myself to get too close lest my little secret would come out. I was offered an opportunity to work at the one transgender bar in the French Quarter, called the Midship. Because I had felt so disconnected working a straight job, I jumped at the chance.
I am not quite sure the best way to put these stories together so I will start by telling you a little about the bar scene in the French quarter around 1980. This also might be helpful to those who don't understand the different kinds of LGBT bars.
Charlene's on Elysian Fields Street was the lesbian bar. There was a leather bar called the Golden Lantern on Royal Street. The Bourbon Pub and Café Lafitte's In Exile, a block apart on Bourbon Street, were for the gay guys. The male hustlers and their clientele hung out at a place called the Roundup. Occasionally some of the trans girls whose boyfriends were hustlers would also come into the Roundup. I worked the midnight to 8am shift, the best shift because no one came out to party much before midnight and generally didn't go home till dawn. The Roundup was my post shift bloody Mary bar. The Post Office and Fat Sam's Speakeasy were the two drag bars. The Midship, where I worked, was where the transgender girls hung out. At that time, most people hung out in their own kind of bar. The exception, was show night at the drag bars. Most people in the community liked the drag shows, so show nights had a pretty mixed crowd. Another exception was Le bistro, a dance club across the street from the Bourbon Pub where anyone who liked to dance went.
The French quarter at that time in history was a unique place, especially being in the southern bible belt. At that time, there were not a lot of places in the country where LGBT people could congregate without too much fear of harassment. I believe a lot of that had to do with the fact that most people considered Bourbon street to be a den of iniquity. It was known for its hard partying crowds and strip clubs. Most of the time the police force left us alone. In those days, the New Orleans police department was known for being very lazy and corrupt. Occasionally, they did crack down, and were not someone to argue with.
The sad fact of those days, was that the majority of the trans girls could only make money one of two ways. They either stripped at one of the two female impersonator strip clubs on Bourbon street, mainly frequented by tourists, or they hustled. Hustling could mean sex work, robbing or a combination of the two. It was such a dangerous life for those girls. It also isolated them from the rest of the community. They were, for this reason, looked down upon by most of the other lesbian and gay bars, with the exception of the Roundup and LeBistro and were not made welcome.
I, and a couple of others, were an exception to that rule. Because I had started off as a drag performer, I had friends from all parts of the community. Also, I was fortunate in that I never had to resort to sex work to keep a roof over my head or myself fed has so many others did. Is it weird that I felt guilty about that? I did. I liked everybody and I wanted everyone to like everyone else. God, I can't believe how naïve I was back then!
I marvel sometimes that the fact that I have made it to the ripe old age of almost 61 still relatively sane. I have always had issues and I supposed to a certain extent, I still do. I just have a better handle on them these days. I have always felt, the best way I can explain it, is "less than". Until these last few years, I never felt like I fit in anywhere. The one benefit of this is that I have always tried to be the nicest person I could be. I always wanted people to like me. Unfortunately, I have not always made the wisest choice in the people I wanted to like me. I am fortunate that most people do like me. I am still insecure enough to sometimes be surprised that they do, but it's a good thing. My insecurities have kept me from finding someone to love me in a romantic way for any length of time. If I had always just been able to be me, maybe that might have been different. When you don't fit, you want to control whatever you can and people do not like to be controlled.
For those of you who don't know the difference, I will explain the trick and a date. A trick, is a consensual sexual encounter. A date, is sex for money. I had had a couple of dates, more or less accidentally, meaning I thought I was having a trick and after it was over, the guy gave me money. That turned out to be a bonus in more ways than one.
When I first started working at the Midship, there was a rumor going around that I was a "real" girl and the regulars were upset that the owner had not hired a trans girl. At the time, I was still going by my stage name, Rita Merrill. I quickly picked up the nickname, "Rita Real". Once that got settled, some of the regulars knew I had done drag and had never been a working girl like they were and for that reason maybe I thought I was better than they were. So, my roommate, Fury, sharing that I had, indeed turned a trick, smoothed things over for me.
Fury was one of the most interesting people I had ever met. She was 6'7" without her heels and not someone you would want to mess with. She had been involved in the Stonewall riot. Fury did not take crap from anyone and while the bar could be a dangerous place, I always felt safe when she was with me. She was an awesome person with a heart bigger than she was and while having a very gruff countenance, never hesitated to help someone in need.
I had frequent tricks. I was in my mid twenties and I have always been a very sexual person. My problem always was how to have sex. I never felt comfortable with the small genitalia I was born with and didn't like to be touched there. However, I also do not enjoy anal sex. Before I had my surgery, I never had a boyfriend for more than a couple of weeks. Most of the guys I met pre surgery were interested in having gay sex with me. My theory is that they were struggling with their own sexual identity and it was all right to have sex with a male as long as he looked like a female.
This was the cause of some of the first physical violence I experienced. A partner would try to force me to do something I did not want to do in the course of consensual sex play and on a couple of occasions slapped me when I didn't do what he wanted. I didn't like this, but was able to handle it. It was quite the conundrum, wanting to have sex all the time, but never figuring out how to do it right for me.
Now, readers, we're going to go someplace very dark and painful for me. I haven't talked about this in depth for many years. I don't want to be any more graphic than is absolutely necessary, but I also don't want to gloss over anything. Don't worry, I have a big old fat xanax ready to take after I get through this. Yes, it is prescription.
The first rape happened when I was working at Papa Joe's on Bourbon Street. Parking in the French quarter was always a challenge. This particular night I had parked about six blocks away from the club. As I was walking the last block to my little blue convertible, I noticed a police cruiser slowly following me up the block. I thought to myself, great now I'm going get hassled for walking to my car. I was relieved when the cruiser drove on by. At that time, I've lived in uptown New Orleans about 4 miles from the French quarter.
I had just crossed Canal street, the main downtown street in New Orleans, heading uptown, when I noticed a police cruiser behind me. I really didn't think anything about it at that moment as I wasn't doing anything wrong. So I just kept on driving toward home. I was still about a mile away when he turned his lights on and pulled me over. I still didn't put it together with the cruiser that had followed me to my car.
I could tell you guys about his line of bull about how I had a tail light out (I didn't), but instead will just get right to it. He followed me to my house and told me that either I did what he wanted or he would charge me for solicitation for prostitution and take me to jail. To make matters worse, he was not just a patrol cop, he was a sergeant! As I had said earlier, in those days, the New Orleans police department was very corrupt. I had heard stories of what happened to people who defied them. I was terrified. I had never been to jail. I had heard terrible stories of what happened to people like me in jail. So I did what he asked. It was demeaning and disgusting. After all these years, anytime a police car gets behind me, I get a little shaky and I remember that night.
The second time was the worst. I was both beaten and raped and considering what happened later, extremely lucky. His name was Rusty. As his name indicated, he had deep red hair, was two or 3 inches taller than me, and very good looking. I met him at the Midship when I was working. There were other girls in the bar much better looking than I, so I was a little surprised that he was interested in me. I had seen him once or twice at the Roundup, so I knew he did some hustling. But, most of the men that I had sex with were male hustlers. He was new in town, so I don't think anyone knew him very well. He seemed really nice and he knew I was trans, so it never occurred to me that he would be any different than any of the other guys. Even though he had only been around a short time, this was a pretty insulated community, so if there had been something off about him, somebody would have known.
Things started off fine. I liked champagne, so I usually had a couple bottles in the fridge. At that time, I lived with my bartending partner, Fury, and knew she would not be home before noon, as she always went drinking after we got off at 8:00 AM. We drank the champagne, made out, took our clothes off, and the last thing I remembered other than than excruciating pain in my head and my side, was an evil look that came over his face when I refused to do a sex act. He threw me across the room into the television set. I think he punched me a couple of times and kicked me. Then he picked up the champagne bottle and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital. I knew I had been raped because of how I hurt.
Fury found me unconscious and the house trashed when she came home about noon and Rusty was long gone. She told me later she thought I was dead. Head wounds bleed a lot.
I don't know which was worse, the rape, or what happened at the hospital. Fury, my roommate, had not called the police when she found me. She just called an ambulance and told them I was unconscious. Fury found me naked, but had slipped my panty girdle and a robe on me before the ambulance got there. When I first arrived at the hospital, they had not yet discovered that I had male genitalia. The paramedics had been more worried about my head injury than anything else. The nurse who was there when I came to, was very kind and caring until she found out what I was. Then it was like someone flipped a light switch. I had a head wound that required four stitches. Eventually the doctor came in and examined me. He was going to leave it at the head wound, but I had blood on my legs where I had bled from my rectum. He grudgingly did a more thorough exam.
He very told me very coldly that there was some tearing in my rectum and that my ribs were probably just bruised he didn't think there was any reason to "waste" an x-ray. He also told me not to go to sleep for awhile as I probably had a concussion but he could not see tying up a hospital bed for some "thing" like me for a little bump on the head.
Fury had not gone to the hospital with me. She knew the reaction they would have had to her and thought it would be better to stay home and wait to hear from me. The paramedics had told her my vitals were strong and I think they just wanted to load me up and get me away. I heard two nurses talking outside of my curtained area. One told the other one, " there's someone who got what he, emphasis on the 'he', deserved."
As I was getting dressed, a policeman finally showed up. He looked to me up and down and then sneered, " I suppose I have to make a report." I told him I only knew Rusty's first name. I was so mortified. I gave him a description and told him where I had met him and where I had seen him hanging out; whatever I remembered and then I left. I had asked them if they could call a cab for me, but they refused. I found a pay phone outside the hospital and called a friend to come pick me up.
No cops ever showed up at the Roundup looking for him. Maybe if they had, what happened three days later would not have happened. He killed a trans girl named Angel and my friend Bobbi Mattea, who was with them at the time got away out of a second floor window with a broken leg and all beat up, but she was alive.
I remember there was an article in the paper, small because of who it happened to, and I have tried to find it in the Times Picayune archives, but can't. I heard through a couple of girls who came from Houston that he had killed two girls there and had been caught.
Those are the two darkest moments of my life. But I had to learn something from them. You have no choice of what happens in life. The only choice you have is how you react to what happens. I'm here, I'm a good person, I could never be like them. I win!
No comments:
Post a Comment