Before Stonewall, there was Juliana: Historical Novel Explores LGBT Life During WW2

MEMORIAL DAY

It is easy to think of LGBT culture in New York as beginning with the Stonewall Riots of 1969. It is particularly easy for me, since I was also born that summer. Less, however, is known about what life was like for folks prior to that, which may well be because much of it took place in secret for the participants’ own safety: in unmarked clubs, with coded language that allowed communication under the noses of a population which would betray them to family, employers or the police. Being gay, or even something as innocent as a woman wearing pants in public, could cost you your job, home, and friendships, or get you arrested, raped, or beat up.

Juliana cover.
Used with author's permission.

The first novel by playwright Vanda, Juliana gives us a look at this particular time and place by introducing her own characters to famous names of the day, many of whom risked their own careers, reputations, and marriages to indulge in “the love that dare not say its name” as the nation finds itself reluctantly drawn once again into war.

We see New York through the lens of a wide-eyed suburban Long Island girl “Al”, who moves to the city with her three childhood friends (Aggie, Danny, and Dickie).  Each has dreams of making it big in the arts world, which they quickly discover is populated by folks quite unlike the ones they knew in Huntington.  When big-talking producer Max Harlington III comes to their table, Aggie & Danny are entranced, while Al and Dickie remain skeptical. He takes them to clubs where cross-dressers, “bull daggers” and interracial couples all find sanctuary.

Taken in by the big promises of Max, the friends each set about fulfilling their dreams only to discover that, to quote Debbie Allen: ”Fame costs… and right here’s where you start payin’... in sweat.”  Running between auditions, lessons, soul-killing day jobs, and infested apartments, they struggle to keep their friendships alive.  It has always been assumed that the couples (Al and Danny, Aggie and Dickie) would marry someday, but as the book progresses, that dream becomes as elusive as the thought of your name up in lights.

For Al, the biggest distraction is Juliana, a talented vocal performer who seems perpetually on the brink of success. Juliana awakens feelings in Al she was unaware she possessed, then shocks her further by making it clear the interest is mutual. Although Al continues to harbor some disdain for Max, he proves useful in making this connection.  When things with Juliana go awry, however, Al flees back to Max’s place only to make a further unwelcome discovery that throws all her plans for the future into disarray.

Vanda 
Used with author's permission.

One of the prevailing themes for me is the degree to which LGBT people of this time period bought into the societal narrative that there was something wrong with them. Beyond entering into sham marriages and other means of protecting themselves, the characters continue to use words like “perversion” to talk about their own feelings.  It is not hard to accept this as realistic given what they were hearing from the culture at large.  Sadly this still occurs today despite all the “it gets better” cheerleading, positive role models and at least the patina of tolerance from official channels.

The declaration of war in 1941 sends the characters’ lives in different directions.  Max, Dickie, and Danny all end up overseas and Al contributes much of her time and energy to the Stage Door Canteen, a real-life place on 44th Street where military men were fed and entertained by Broadway personalities.  Here she mingles with greats like Katharine Hepburn, Ethel Merman, Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne, who performed or helped staff the club. Many of these stars had cameos in a film named for the club, which stood on the site of the former New York Times printing press.

Dickie, Max and Danny all make it home alive, but not unscarred. They describe the conditions gay men and women encountered during deployment… perhaps the roots of “don’t ask, don’t tell” where camp behavior was tolerated and even encouraged in some quarters, but one misplaced word of affection could erase years of dedicated service with the stroke of a pen.  Small wonder that a study 60 years later found almost 15% of closeted LGBT veterans attempt suicide: imagine the nightmarish memories of combat layered with the constant fear of being found out.

Meanwhile, Al--at a breaking point--confides in best friend Aggie, whom she has helped through some serious setbacks, only to discover that their bond is not stronger than the prejudices with which they were all raised. Betrayed, Al turns again to the unconventional people from whom she continues to try to distinguish herself. I found it interesting and even a little vexing that these individuals, apparently further along the road of self-acceptance, continue to tolerate this behavior almost without reproach. It is not always clear what she brings to the table of these friendships besides judginess and a need for a whole lot of hand-holding. But I suspect then, as now, there are those who see their younger selves in the newcomer and thus deal with such foibles gracefully.

Nevertheless they take her under their wing and we see such real-life scenes of early gay New York as Spivey’s Roof, a nightclub on the Upper East Side where gay men and women were allowed to congregate as long as they (mostly) behaved. A young Walter Liberace played here briefly before unwittingly crossing Madame Spivy, the club’s imperious owner, namesake, and star performer, a scene described in the book.

The first volume leaves off with relationships on hold and a lot of unanswered questions. Luckily, a sequel which picks up at around D-Day is due out this summer. Meantime, an ensemble cast periodically performs scenes from the book at the legendary Duplex nightclub on Christopher Street, just steps from the Stonewall Tavern.  You can learn about upcoming events on the Juliana Project Facebook page or by visiting vandawriter.com and subscribing to her free newsletter.

The cast of a staged reading from Juliana at the Duplex.  My photo.

As we remember the sacrifices of those lost in our country’s wars, my mind goes particularly today to those who served and died for their country, likely leaving behind secret friends and partners who were not honored or comforted, and perhaps never even learned their fate.

After the Fire, the Fire Still Burns

Phillips Brooks - Bishop & Preacher (1893)

Those in our area could not miss the headline earlier this week of a five-alarm fire that destroyed much of an apartment complex known as Avalon at Edgewater. If you've been around a while, you may remember that the same complex burned in 2000 as construction neared completion.

I'm not really wild about the trend toward wood frame construction for high-density housing like this.  With over 400 apartments in a city block, that's a lot of stoves, candles, extension cords, heaters, potentially careless smokers, etc., in a small area.  The building is still relatively new, but what happens when wiring and other material is 30, 40, 50 years old?  It is not as if it is cheap to live there, either; I saw mention of rents upwards of $3,000 a month.  We're getting two similar complexes in our town (one by the same developers) and I expressed concern to town officials that we may be exposed to similar risks.

On Thursday the Newark Star Ledger reported that a worker's blowtorch accidentally started the blaze, and that the crew called and spoke to their supervisor for 15 minutes before dialing 9-1-1, thus critically delaying firefighters' response.  This reminded me of another fire, which took place right across the river at Pier 88 in the Passenger Ship Terminal, seventy-three years ago this coming February 8th.

The SS Normandie, luxurious flagship of the Compagnie Générale Transatlantique, took shelter in New York when World War 2 began. Her crew remained on board until December 1941, when she was seized by the U.S. Navy and renamed the USS Lafayette, vessel AP-53.

Workers using blowtorches to remove iron handrails in the ship's cavernous first-class lounge accidentally ignited a stack of life preservers, which were full of a very flammable substance called Kapok.  They attempted to extinguish the fire, but the ship's sophisticated sprinkler system had been abandoned by the Navy and they quickly discovered that the fittings did not match American hoses.

The fire spread rapidly; the Normandie boasted numerous large public spaces (the First Class restaurant was longer than the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles) which unfortunately acted  like a giant chimney. The FDNY used every means at its disposal to pour water on the ship, and she soon began a dangerous list away from the pier.  Her Russian-born designer Vladimir Yourkevitch arrived at the scene and attempted to provide expertise that would have possibly saved her, but he was ignored.  In the middle of the night, like a suffering whale that beaches itself, the beautiful ship fell on her side in the muck.

Burned-out wreck of the USS Lafayette (ex-Normandie) lies on her side at New York's Pier 88
PHOTO CREDIT: James Vaughan. Used under Creative Commons License. Some rights reserved.

She would remain there for a year, an embarrassing waste.  The Navy considered re-purposing her as an aircraft carrier, but the damage was found to be too extensive and they focused on other priorities.  She was scrapped at Port Newark after the war's end.  Luckily, much of her interior fittings had been removed and stored before the disaster, and can be seen in places like the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Our Lady of Lebanon (the Maronite Catholic Cathedral in Brooklyn), and the Chicago Hilton.

Like the Avalon fire, her loss was ruled an accident, and--also similarly--the response immediately after it began played heavily into the outcome.  The design of passenger ships has changed significantly since then; the SS United States, launched 12 years later, had almost no wood on board, and both she and the SS France employed large amounts of asbestos, which was also subsequently ruled to be hazardous.  Large spaces like those aboard Normandie now have to be subdivided by fire-suppressing bulkheads and doors.

But, on land, are similar precautions being taken?  Hopefully we will not have to wait 73 years for a lesson from the Avalon fire to be learned.

For Those in Peril on the Sea

MEMORIAL DAY

The RMS Queen Mary

After a two-day meeting in Pasadena, my friend Matt and I got a lift down to Long Beach for a visit to one of my favorite places, the former Cunard ocean liner RMS Queen Mary, which has served since 1967 as a static attraction and hotel. 

The Queen Mary along with her running-mate* the RMS Queen Elizabeth were laid down in the 1930s with the goal of a two-ship service across the Atlantic.  Since they could make the crossing in 4 1/2 days, it was possible to have a departure in each direction every week.

In practice, it would take another 15 years for this to be realized.  Construction on the Mary was interrupted by the Great Depression for several years, and she finally entered service in 1936, only to be requisitioned by the military when World War II broke out.  The Elizabeth was nearing completion in 1939 when fighting broke out, and her first function was as a troopship.  Capable of moving 15,000 men at a time, the two liners were credited with shortening the war by a year or more.

The ships' role in the war effort is documented as part of the walking tour which is included in the cost of an overnight hotel stay.  They often sailed alone as few vessels could keep up with them.  In 1942, the Mary accidentally struck and sank one of her escort vessels, the HMS Curacoa, with the loss of over 200 men.  She was directed to keep moving, rather than risk far more lives.

In 1948, the ships were returned to Cunard and refitted.  The goal of a weekly express service was finally realized, and the Mary and Elizabeth allowed the line to dominate the transatlantic passenger trade until the advent of the jet airliner led to its decline.  The two ships were replaced by the smaller RMS Queen Elizabeth 2 (herself now also retired) in 1969.  That ship operated alone, spending much of the year off the transatlantic run to perform cruises, and it was assumed for decades that she would be the last liner.  However, a resurgence in interest (brought about in large part, ironically enough, by James Cameron's depiction of the sinking of the RMS Titanic) in ocean travel for its own sake led cruise giant Carnival to purchase the ailing Cunard Line and construct the RMS Queen Mary 2, the largest liner and for a time the largest passenger ship ever built.  My dad and I were aboard in 2004 for one of her first crossings.

The original Queen Elizabeth was briefly targeted to become a hotel in Florida, but was subsequently purchased by Chinese shipping magnate C. Y. Tung and renamed Seawise University (Sea-Wise, C.Y.'s, get it?)  In the process of refit in Hong Kong harbor in 1972, several fires broke out simultaneously and she was destroyed.

The Mary however, was purchased by the City of Long Beach and -- after an epic final voyage around the horn of South America -- arrived at her current home.  Her success in this role has been somewhat checkered, I believe in large part because she is berthed in a remote industrial area which is not walkable from the city itself.

On this particular weekend, however, she was bustling.  Her convention space, carved from what had been the cheaper passenger accommodations and forward engine rooms on the lower decks, was the venue for at least one high school formal, and we encountered bridal parties and business gatherings in addition to what appeared to be a healthy amount of tourists there for the ship herself.

Artwork in the former First Class Restaurant aboard the
Queen Mary.  Crystal models of the Mary and her
running-mate RMS Queen Elizabeth were moved along a
track to show their relative positions as they cris-crossed
the North Atlantic.

There is a good deal of controversy about the steps her various operators have taken to realize a profit.  Only her first class spaces were preserved, and much of her original furnishings are apparently piled up in areas that are not accessible to the public. Since she has now been at Long Beach for longer than she operated as a ship, the accumulated attempts to keep people interested and visiting have led to a number of arguably regrettable choices, such as the "ghost tour" and the fact that there is now a Starbucks on the Promenade Deck.  The thinnest of threads links some of the attractions to the ship's own story (example: the current Lady Diana exhibit).

Among the spaces that retain their grandeur are the Observation Bar, which overlooks the bow, and the First Class ballroom and dining room.  Since these bigger rooms are rented out for private events, it is only by dumb luck that regular hotel guests are able to see them.  Fortunately, on Sundays the latter is used for a ($50!) champagne brunch, and we were able to sneak in as it was winding down and grab some photos.

The Immortal Chaplains

Stained glass window depicting the Immortal
Chaplains, aboard the RMS Queen Mary

One area that is easily missed, but deserves to be seen, is the Immortal Chaplains.  This ersatz chapel was created on A Deck forward by survivors of the sinking of the USAT Dorchester.  This cruise ship-turned-troop transport was torpedoed off the coast of Greenland on February 3, 1943.  Of the 900 men on board, only 230 survived.

The chapel was created to honor the four clergymen who -- after comforting others and helping them to safety -- surrendered their own life jackets and went down with the ship, praying and singing together.

I wondered at first what this had to do with the Queen Mary, and learned that among those who contributed to the chapel's creation were two crew members from the German U-boat that sank the Dorchester.  They were transported to the United States aboard the Mary a year later, and the sub's first officer later said "We, the sailors of U-boat 223, regret the deep sorrow and pain caused by our torpedo.  Never again should be such a murderous war.  We should all live as these immortal four chaplains... to love where others hate."

NOTE: The Mary and Elizabeth are frequently referred to as "sister ships" which is technically incorrect.  This term is only used for ships built off the same plans.  The Elizabeth had two smokestacks instead of three and was slightly larger (and holds the record of the largest riveted vessel ever constructed), but the Mary was faster and always slightly more popular.