Joshua Gamson - The Fabulous Sylvester: The Legend, the Music, the Seventies in San Francisco

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For Richard James Knight

When I die,

my angels,

immaculate

Black diva

drag queens,

all of them

sequined

and seductive,

some of them

will come back

to haunt you,

I promise,

honey chil.

Essex Hemphill, from The Tomb of Sorrow

Back in the 1960s, when Tiki Lofton was a boy, she used to wait until the eleven oclock flight took off from LAX, right over her grandmothers house, and as the jet vroomed and her grandmother dozed in front of the evening news, Tiki would ease open her bedroom window and climb out to meet Monique Hudson. The planes tiny wing lights blinked in the California sky, specks of sparkle over unglamorous Inglewood. Tiki always left her necessitiesone of her grandmas wigs, preferably red, and an outfit, preferably shinyoutside the window. She would grab her goodie bag, and Monique would show up on the street corner with hers, and theyd head over to one of the Disquotay apartments, like one on Ninety-second and Vermont that Miss Larry had rented, and beat their faces and rat their wigs and listen to music and smoke weed and drink like the teenagers they had recently become.

The apartments were usually big, with two or three people sharing a few bedrooms. But the living rooms barely had furniture, as the Disquotays needed lots of room for other endeavors. On party nights, it was like an assembly line. Youd lie down on the floor and one person would dust your face, and then youd sit up and Tammi would do the eyes and blush the cheeks and paint the lips with meringue lipstick. Dooni, who would later become the Fabulous Sylvester, would do your hair and move on down the line: wig, wig, wig, wig, wig. Youd put on two pairs of eyelashes, top and bottom both, just like a cover girl. Your face would be like a picture. Youd slip into a girdle and adjust your water-balloon titties; Monique or Dooni would fix up your outfit; and then youd head offa gang of in-charge glamour girlsfollowing the noise to the party in Watts or Compton or wherever.

The first Disquotay bash that Tiki went to was over on 120th and Athens, at Etta Jamess house, sometime around 1965. Etta, who would later be inducted into both the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (largely on the strength of her 1961 hit At Last) and the Betty Ford Center (largely on the strength of her smack addiction), was already a recording star and a friend to many local Los Angeles drag queens, with whom she shared a brazen sensibility and a taste for platinum hair and pumps. When Etta James was out of town, her house-sitter was Miss Foxy, whom the queens called the Jack-o-Lantern, or the Pumpkin, on account of her wide, gap-toothed smile. On one visit to the Etta James residence, Foxys friend Miss Larry Hines had declared the place made for a party, and sent out the call to gather. Had she known about any of this, says former Disquotay Diane Moorehead, Etta James woulda killed Foxy and Larry.

* * *

Tiki hadnt started dressing yet, and wasnt yet named Tiki. She was still a pretty gay boy, skin pearly smooth and light. To go to that first party, she had worn a cowboy hat, big wide bell-bottoms, and earrings. For Tiki, walking into that particular scene had been like leaving black and white for Technicolor. The house, with its swimming pool and fireplace, had stunned her. Women, drag queens, and guys, all sending joyful noises in Tikis direction; the music had been jumping: Walter Jacksons version of Lee Cross, Jr. Walker & the All Stars Shotgun, Nowhere to Run by Martha and the Vandellas, Fontella Bass singing Rescue Me. Gay kids all perched on gigantic speakers, singing and carrying on. I said shotgun! Shoot him fore he run now. Folks were dancing, jumping into the pool. Nowhere to run to, baby, theyd scream-sung, nowhere to hide. Ooh, I like this, Tiki had said to herself. This herehoney, where is this world? Within months, she would be a full-fledged Disquotay, made-up, bewigged, bejeweled.

A Disquotay party was an art form. During the week, a few club members would head out to Dolphins of Hollywood to get the latest 45 or eight-track, often something Dooni had heard on KGFJ, where the Magnificent Montague would cry Burn, baby, burn! while spinning something new and hot. The club members would then meet for music appreciation night, to play records and familiarize themselves with the new material. Just to get ready, honey, you had to, says Diane.

Out on Vermont Street, where there were several black nightclubs, theyd pass out the address of that nights get-together. Or someone would decide to throw a party, and word of mouth would fill up the place. Outside, cars would be double-parked for blocks around, and there was a line to get in. You would see Cadillacs, Jaguars, Mercedes-Benzes, low-riders, Momma and Daddys car, Diane says. You had bulldaggers, femmes, straight men, straight women, wanting just to party, says former Disquotay Jackie Hoyle, and just to see us.

The Disquotays worked on their outfits the whole week. Some would buy clothes, some would have them made, and some would use whatever was handy. Theyd buy makeup and wigspreferably human-hair onesor steal them, or pay someone else to steal them. When it came time to join the party they would sit outside on the cars and wait. Every Disquotay wanted to be the last to arrivethe one who steals the show. Everyone wanted to enter with the right song backing them. So theyd wait, sometimes an hour or more, until their tune hit, the song that matched their particular fabulousness on that particular night. Only then would they walk.

Inside, there might be topless dancers on top of tables, straight folks whod wandered in from nightclubs, and, of course, black drag queens galore. Cause I know that beautys only skin deep, yeah, yeah yeah. People danced to the Temptations, the Rolling Stones, Barbara Lewis, Wilson Pickett, Martha Reeves, Marvin Gaye. Ride, Sally, ride. The Disquotays themselves were more to be looked at than touched. They had taken bubble baths and washed themselves with Jean Nat. They might be willing to get nasty later in the evening, but they had reputations and hairstyles to uphold, and they worked way too hard on their Max Factor to let just anybody mess it up early on.

We were not allowed to fuck during the party, because we were ladies, Jackie Hoyle says. Their parties, though, were unrestrained. We had the pimps, we had the drug dealers, we had the college boys. We had the butch queens out in the driveways taking care of their business. It was a lot of punks, honey, in the driveway, suckin all night long, Diane says. Wed be inside with our perfume and our dresses on, hostessing. We were dancing queens. It takes two, baby. Marijuana was still heavily penalized, so some folks would wear big Afros, and upon arrival theyd pull four or five joints right out of their hair. A good song would seem to go on forever. Four more bars! a Disquotay would scream, and whoever was spinning would back that record up and start it all over again, seven or eight times, right when it was getting to the good part, teasing you until you were really feeling it, giving it to you just when you really had to have it. I cant get no. Satisfaction. I try and I try and I try and I try.