developed by the autopsy showed beyond question that Q was dead when his
body entered the water.... He had seventy-seven cents in his pockets
when his body was found. [Evidence of robbery, considering that he was a
well-to-do youth on a visit to a great city distant from his college. My
theory is, on the basis of intimate knowledge of the practices of
androgynes, that he scraped acquaintance with one or more gangsters,
while adopting a girl’s role. Many gangsters cordially hate bisexuals.
Because of this hatred, as well as to escape prosecution after robbing
Q, the gangsters murdered him and threw his dead body into the
river—probably in the vicinity. Again the fundamental cause of the death
of another androgyne is the terribly false teaching of the Church and
public opinion as to the nature of bisexuality.]
Part Seven:
Medical Writers on Androgynism
I. What a New York Official Physician Has to Say about Fairies.
In MEDICAL LIFE of December, 1920, I had an article: _The Biological
Sport of Fairieism_. Readers completely out of touch with Underworld
life evidently thought I was telling a fairy tale. Apparently the editor
of the MEDICAL REVIEW OF REVIEWS appealed for corroboration to a
physician likely to be one of the best authorities in the United States
on my subject, Perry M. Lichtenstein, M.D., Ll.B., Physician to City
Prison, “Tombs” (New York’s principal jail), House of Detention, etc.,
all of New York City. Apparently there resulted the valuable and
interesting article, _The “Fairy” and the Lady Lover_, in MEDICAL REVIEW
OF REVIEWS of August, 1921. Its writer has enjoyed almost unparalleled
opportunities for examination of the very fairies whose existence had
been called in question. I quote a small fraction, but the whole paper
should be read by every devotee of Aesculapius. Knowledge of its
contents is very necessary for every practitioner. I use my spelling of
“fairie.” My own comments are in brackets. The REVIEW for November,
1921, contained quite a lengthy reply of mine. Dr. Lichtenstein begins
his paper:
“Does the ‘fairie’ or ‘fag’ really exist? This question has been asked
time and again. There is no doubt [Sidenote: _Does the Fairie Really
Exist?_] but that this type of degenerate is a reality. [Unprejudiced
science has not yet decided the matter of the degeneracy of the
androgyne in general, as I have already shown in detail. There exists as
much evidence that the bisexual is a super-man or genius as that he or
she is a degenerate. The truth of the matter probably is that
degenerates are no commoner per thousand among bisexuals than among the
sexually full-fledged, but that geniuses occur far oftener.] He is a
freak of nature who in every way attempts to imitate a woman. In my
official capacity I have come in contact with several hundred of such
individuals, and have in every instance felt sorry for the unfortunate
being. [Such sympathy indicates that fairies are not wilfully of that
_genre_, and should not suffer term after term in prison, as now, for
acts that do nobody harm beyond offending the æsthetic sense of the
unsophisticated. Of course, in the matter of accosting on the street,
etc., they should be treated the same as full-fledged females. But their
punishment should not be augmented because they are “homosexuals”—a word
that is a misnomer.]
“In practically every case I have found the man to be a young person of
age ranging between sixteen and thirty. [“man”!—Only a _pseudo_-man.
Really a woman whom Nature has disguised as a man; a woman with male
genitals.]... They are by no means mental defectives. Most of them have
had a good education and come from respectable families.... Since early
childhood they have been seclusive and kept close to their mother. They
are emotional and affective.... They ... imitate the female as closely
as possible. They take feminine names, use perfume and dainty [Sidenote:
_Artificial Breasts._] stationery which frequently is scented, and in
many instances they wear women’s apparel.
“Recently one of these individuals was arrested, charged with
soliciting. When he [“he-she” would be the accurate pronoun] arrived in
the city prison, he was searched, and on him were found ... artificial
busts, a wig, and a box containing powder and rouge. This young man
[“androgyne” would be the proper term] was twenty years of age. He was
beardless [evidently natural], had an effeminate voice, and a distinctly
feminine walk. He lisped and in speech closely approached a bashful
female.... He ... had graduated ... from high-school.... He ran away
from home and met some boys [“girl-boys” would be the proper term] whom
he considered good company. These young men [“androgynes” would be the
proper term] were of the same type as he.... In this way [after a
fashion, taking the place of the female of the species], [he] made
enough money to live.
“These individuals ... often occupy handsomely furnished apartments
which are paid for by men who patronize them. As a rule several ‘fags’
occupy an apartment. On one occasion ten such individuals were arrested
in a raid by the police.... I had an opportunity to observe them
closely. In every respect they resembled the female. The names they used
in calling one another were feminine.... They had a typical feminine
walk.... [Because androgyne legs are sometimes those of a woman.]
“I can distinctly recall two cases which occurred quite recently.... The
first ... was arrested for soliciting and was sent to the female prison.
This person had wonderful hair which reached to the waist, [Sidenote:
_Legal Persecution of Androgynes._] and it was not false. His face was
as smooth as a woman’s [naturally beardless evidently], his voice was
distinctly feminine, and his hands and feet were small. He wore
high-heeled shoes. In examining this person the matron insisted that he
strip. The prisoner refused, and thereupon I was notified to make an
examination.... When questioned, he stated that he preferred to dress as
a female because he found that he was effeminately inclined.... He was
sent to the workhouse, and after serving his time was released. Several
months later I learned that he had again been arrested for a similar
offence. This time he wore a wig in addition to the feminine garb.
[Because during his prior imprisonment, he had, under pressure,
consented to have his hair cut short, like a man, and promised to live
henceforth as a man—a promise hard to keep since “he” was psychicly, and
in part physically, a female.]
“The next case ... was arrested.... When taken to the female prison, he
refused to allow the matron to search him.... I was called in. I found
that the prisoner wore a wig and artificial breasts. Every bit of his
attire was feminine.... The voice and mannerisms were distinctly
effeminate....
“Many of the so-called ‘social elite’ are to be included among these
people....” [“Many” only in the aggregate. Proportionately, only about
one out of one-hundred-and fifty men. But the ratio is probably higher
among the cultured than among manual laborers. They are not at all
blameworthy, because they were born with the strongest kind of instincts
in that direction, and do not thereby harm in the least any individual
or society as a whole. They carefully keep their idiosyncrasy under
cover.]
[Sidenote: _Medical Writers on Androgynism._]
II. What One of America’s Foremost Medical Writers Has to Say about
Fairies.
Dr. Robert W. Shufeldt, author of STUDIES IN THE HUMAN FORM, has
included at least one fairie among the many human beings the results of
his physical examination of whom he has published. The following are
excerpts from his valuable and interesting article, _Biography of a
Passive Pederast_, in the October, 1917, issue of the AMERICAN JOURNAL
OF UROLOGY AND SEXOLOGY. I use my own spelling of “fairie.” My comments
are in brackets. Those interested should read the entire original
article. Particularly two photographs of the subject are given, one nude
and the other in full feminine garb.
“J. W. ... is a fairie from the slums of Brooklyn, N. Y. ...
twenty-three years of age. When fourteen ... the lobes of his ears had
been pierced ... for ear-rings, and these ornaments he commonly wears
when dressed in female attire.... He invited my attention to the fine
development of his breasts, whereas there was not the slightest evidence
of gynecomasty.... The impression was left upon my mind that he was
morphologically male in all particulars.... I became thoroughly
convinced that the man was laboring under ... a most extraordinary
delusion.... He claimed to have his menses regularly every month....
[Evidently bleeding piles.]
“In July he admitted that he had never been pregnant; while in November,
when he brought with him one of his numerous ‘husbands’ or lovers, he
claimed [Sidenote: _Yearning for Feminine Attire._] that he had been
pregnant a few years previously and been operated on in a hospital and
the conception removed ‘through his side.’... I am convinced that this
mendacity is due to his delusions.
“... While he could sing soprano well, he could not whistle ... and he
threw a stone like a girl. [Common earmarks of androgynism.]... He did
not, as he moved about ... give one the impression that there was
anything in his demeanor simulating femininity, nor did his behavior in
any way betray the remarkable manner in which his sexual life was being
lived.... Apart from his extremely meagre education, he is no fool or
dullard in other particulars.... It would seem that his trade
[professional female-impersonator and fairie] is plied chiefly for the
money there is in it.... He claims he has never been arrested or
otherwise interfered with by the police....
“... He has always been possessed of the contrary sexual instinct. He
always shunned women and girls more or less, while yearning at the same
time to assume female attire and enter into their domestic vocations....
Believing himself designed by Nature to play the very part he is playing
in life, it was truly remarkable to hear this nervous, loquacious,
foul-mouthed, and foul-minded fairie of the most degraded slums of the
multi-millioned city chatter about his experiences....
“Few writers in the field of psychiatry have enjoyed what I had next the
opportunity to observe.... The putting on of female attire by a contrary
sexed male. [The paper details the putting on of the various
articles.]... He became very talkative ... telling of some of his recent
escapades ... gesticulating as we [Sidenote: _A “Man” Transformed into a
Soubrette._] often see agitated girls do ... remarking that he was very
tired, owing to the fact that he had been ‘ironing all the forenoon.’
[Androgynes gravitate toward peculiarly feminine tasks.]... ‘What do you
think of that hat? Isn’t it a dandy? I trimmed it myself.’... He was,
without the slightest doubt, thoroughly in earnest in all he said and
did, and by no means was he playing a part.... ‘Dear me,’ he said, ‘I’ve
forgotten my ear-rings; but you won’t mind that?’ Upon my assuring him
that I liked young girls better without them, he seemed relieved and
proceeded to fit to his head a ... blonde wig.... As he had recently
shaved, his face was quite smooth, and in a twinkling he made it up
with ... pink powder, with red pomade for the lips.... ‘Ha!’ he said
[after fully transformed outwardly into a soubrette, in the style of
costume prevalent among courtesans at the date of J. W.’s appearance
before the doctor for wear in their resorts only, but in 1921 affected
for street wear by all butterflies of fashion] ‘I feel more like myself
now, and I am ready for the picture!’...”
Part Eight:
Androgyne Verse
The first of the following =attempts= to penetrate into Plato’s “world
of ideas” and get at the real essence of things, and then to express
them in an ideal manner, was inspired by a chance visit to the
Whitestone station in October, 1921. Subsequently I was seized with
the desire to try out my muse in incorporating some of my other
emotions and experiences in verse. I had essayed no metrical
composition since 1905, the year of writing the last of my =Fairie
Songs=, the best of which were published in the =Autobiography of an
Androgyne=.
I understand by “poetry” the version of things seen incorporeally;
things spiritualized or with a halo around them; things as they exist
in substance, in reality, back of their superficial or phenomenal
presentation—the version of things that an individual’s subconscious
or subliminal self utters.
At present when I evolve verse, I try to lose myself to the phenomenal
world—the domain of sensation—and to let down my bucket into the well
of the subconscious, the subliminal; to peer into the eternal, the
infinite world (the domain of fundamental substance). The sensuous,
material skin or crust of this world of ideas is all that most
children of Adam can grasp. Only to poets and metaphysicians has
Nature given a rope of sufficient length that their buckets can reach
as far as the water level in the well of ideas. Nearly all poets even
of the first rank manage to flop into their buckets a few exquisite
thoughts as to eternal realities, and clothed in appropriate language,
only about once out of a score of attempts. Nineteen-twentieths of
their verse would better have been forever withheld from the public’s
eyes, since it is merely artificial, nonsense doggerel. In that
proportion of their work, these poets of the first rank show
themselves up merely as bad rhymesters.
The editor of =The Female-Impersonators= declared “the book would be
better off without” my verse, but has kindly humored my wish to
include it. The reader’s verdict may be that I, too, am merely a bad
rhymester, and thus put my work on a level with the vast bulk of the
outpourings and outdronings of our best poets.
But I, as a would-be poet, labor under the disadvantage of expressing
sentiments of an =androgyne=. Even if there should [Sidenote:
_Androgyne Verse._] really be any poetry in my own outdronings, no one
but another androgyne could recognize the fact, since it is next to
impossible for anybody to appreciate any literature unless they can
make its sentiments their own and identify themselves with one of the
characters. And the sexually full-fledged, who constitute more than
ninety-nine per cent of the reading public, are obsessed by an
irrational horror of androgynes.
I therefore beg the reader, in judging the following verse, to bear in
mind that it is not written by a _man_ about _men_, as the reader first
thinks; but about men by a _pseudo_-man; by a physical “man” who is
psychicly a woman, and even physically a woman at least thirty-three per
cent.
I have read some of Mary Baker Eddy’s verse, which her disciples place
on a level with the Psalms of David. But I think the former weak and
the latter perfect. Here again we see that to judge verse to be good,
one has to imagine it one’s own outpouring. I therefore do not expect
any sexually full-fledged person to declare of my verse (even if it
were the best ever written) anything else than that it is “far beneath
the worst doggerel. The mere thought of it is painful!”
For—I repeat—it is impossible for any one to judge poetry
objectively—only subjectively: that is, not according to the merits of
the verse, but according to whether the reader can make the sentiments
his own.
A sexually full-fledged literary confidant, who has read the first two
books of my trilogy, declared of my verse: “If you publish it, it will
cast ridicule and contempt on your whole book. In the book, you have
claimed culture, but when your readers come to this verse, they will
say that no one with the culture of a longshoreman would try to pass
off such stuff as verse even in fun, and that if you had the slightest
tincture of literary taste, you would realize this. You will go down
to posterity in ridicule, and destroy all the good your books might
otherwise do.”
But I persist in including the verse. If the quoted verdict is
correct, then I have “a screw loose” intellectually, as well as being
sexually and anatomically “a freak of Nature.” The published pieces
show the psychologist what ultra-androgyne verse is like. Besides,
possible androgyne readers may be able to appreciate this verse.
As three out of the four following “attempts” were first conceived
only in January, 1922—after =The Female-Impersonators= had gone to
press—it has been impossible that they benefit by the author’s
judgment after they have grown cold.
EMOTION[50]
(Inspired by sight of Whitestone station in 1921.)
[Illustration:
“Holy Ground”
]
[Illustration:
“Old Porte Cochere, with Memories Dear Thou Teemest!”
]
[Illustration:
The _Unreplaced_ Slats on Which the Author Communed
]
Still stands the selfsame Whitestone station,
So sombre as night’s shades fall;
At its north front do still halt trains,
While brakemen “Whitestone! Whitestone!” call.
My trysting-place in nineteen three
With warriors of the nation,
When I was frivolous and wild,
Was this old Whitestone station.
Yea, holy ground its platform is;
It makes me sigh and ponder;
In my mind’s eye those blue-clad forms
Still wait for me just yonder!
They met me at the train when I
From New York came, directed
To see and stroll about with “braves”
Of manhood unsuspected!
On balmy eves we stalked dark lanes,
No other person near us;
No other’s eye upon us gazed,
No other’s ear could hear us.
What gallant, passionate lovers they!
Considerate of my pleasure!
Uplifting to the highest bliss
That Eve on earth can measure!
Returning to the porte cochere
Of that selfsame old station,
We lingered, till the whistle blew,
In blissful conversation.
What eyesore thou, old Porte Cochere,
To every traveller seemest!
To me, howe’er, thou shelter gave;
With memories dear thou teemest!
The station’s waiting-room with seats
Extending all around it,
‘Whelms me with recollections fond,
Because unchanged I found it!
For ’twas on these rude benches there,
When winter’s winds were hurtling,
And travellers few and far between,
All evening sat we flirting.
In words our conversation lagged;
In substance it was silly!
For all I said the evening through
Was: “How I love thee, Willie!”
We every confidence but breathed,
Lest some strange ear o’erhear us;
They guessed not—travelers—what we said;
There were none very near us.
Whene’er the train I took for town,
And we “Goodnight!” repeated,
“Farewell!” o’erwhelmed me as I left
And in the coach was seated.
Once rode with me a gallant three
To College Point, first station;
To have with me five minutes more
Before farewell ovation.
How charmed was I that period brief!
Its memory ever lingers;
As we sat holding hidden hands,
I felt their horny fingers.
“Three cheers for Jennie June!” they cried,
When finally they must leave me;
“The soldiers’ friend, and sweetheart too!
Let not our parting grieve thee!”
· · · · ·
Gone are ye from my life for years,
You heroes! Wonder boys!
In memory though I hold you fast—
Forever perfect joys!
Farewell!
RECOLLECTION[51]
O thou FAIR as the sunrise on deep sea’s green surge,
While the whitecaps seem dancing all around!
FAIR as sunset from mountain’s sheer precipice’s verge,
Seen o’er maze of high ridges snowbound!
Even FAIRER than the rose, of all flowers the fairest;
Beyond Vatican’s Apollo Belvedere;
BUD MCDONALD, youth’s soul-mate, of beauty the rarest,
ADOLESCENT wert thou without peer!
First, BEAU BRUMMEL wert thou, so fussy about clothes,
O immaculate BUDDIE MCDEE!
Dirt and slovenness cat, never more than thou, loaths;
Must be brushed every hour from dust free;
Every lock of thine hair with worried care laid in place;
As a girl didst thou prink—I can vow!
But of all the young bloods of Rialto’s fast race,
Not one sweller was costumed than thou!
Beheld one the shining patent leather of thy shoe,
And both hands decorated with rings;
Marked thy wiles through which dude _hoi polloi’s_ favor doth woo,
One would say: “All from effeminacy springs!”
“Not a bit!” I must answer. For MACK, SPORT as well,
Was a crack shot with pistol and ball;
How he hunted, coldblooded, dumb beasts he did tell;
Furry creatures clubbed dead; cursed them all!
Best of all:—an ADONIS wert thou, BUD MCDEE,
With incomparable red peachlike cheeks;
Threads of eyebrows so cleancut!—in memory I see—
As o’er her eyes a soubrette alone seeks;
With thy pearls of teeth, cherry lips—beloved sir—
And as well chiselled nose as can be,
How I’ve wondered that thou and I intimates were!—
Explanation:—God gave thee to me!
I again in fond memory behold before me,
Pinkish mountain of loveliness tower;
BUDDIE’S _forma divina, au naturel_, see;
How his charms, yea unmatched, did o’erpower!
An “eyeful” his two breasts, with fine gold scraggy hair;
Graceful curves; rotund body and limb;
With his robust ribs bursting through skin O so fair,
And his deep-channeled back breathing vim!
· · · · ·
Once UNEQUALED “YOUNG FELLOW”! Six-and-twenty long years
Now have rolled by since thou wert ALL THAT!
Art to-day gibbering sot, maybe suffering jeers,
With foul trousers and torn greasy hat?
For the cup cherished thou that glad makes the sad heart.—
How I wonder! Where sleptest last night?
Is vitality wasted? In grave resting art?—
Us together soon lead, Kindly Light!
[Illustration:
“The Boy of the Piave”
(America’s Gift to Italy in 1921)
]
MEMORIES[52]
I dream to-night of the gay bright lights
Where I sought recreation;
While meek I sat at feet of profs
To gain an education:
I studied hard six dreary eves,
But when the seventh came,
Bade “au revoir” to books and grind,
And skipped to RIALTO’S game.
There where lurked pleasure’s devotees
Giant Kill-joy never came;
I met there New York’s wildest swains,
And buxoms of ill fame:
We revelled all the evening through—
Fine fellowship, I say!
I ne’er happed on politer folk
Than in RIALTO gay.
And which was I, kind sir, dost ask?
Was I a bad roué?
Or shameless demi-virgin wild,
In paint and powder gay?—
“But I was neither this nor that!”
Such answer here I set;
While youth in form, I chose to take
Diversion as soubrette.
The young bloods pardoned me—they said—
For wearing hated breeches!
“For thou art not a real male;
Thou’rt like yon winking witches
Who throng these noisy promenades
Their favors fair to sell;
And kissing thee we deem as sweet
As kissing ma’moiZelle!
“Lik’st thou that we thee sweetheart call?—
We’ll humor thy desire;
Sit on our laps while we sip wine;
Let’s flirt until we tire;
To break thy shapely corset stays,
We’ll try our best, dear Jenn;
But thou must mimic maid thy best;
For us:—the part of men!”....
To have love made by youthful swains,
To me was highest bliss;
In the bright dives where scores beheld,
No,—shrinked we not to kiss:—
Of yore in gay RIALTO’S halls
Knew folk no self-restraint;
Insane e’en sometimes acted fools!
Those dens no place for saint!....
I’m prone to-night to philosophize:—
Why did I gravitate
Toward RIALTO’S racy denizens
When moved to dissipate?
’Twas just because I sought and found,
In RIALTO’S “swell” gallants,
The opposites and complements
For whom my spirit pants....
O comrade of RIALTO’S halls
Of nineties of century past—
Should’st read these lines, some former pal,
“Jennie June” remembered hast;
Now after twenty-six years,
I hail thee with heartfelt greeting;
Beseech Benediction on thine head,
In lieu of present meeting.
FRENCH DOLL-BABY[53]
Young bloods prom’nade Fourteenth Street’s pave—
Each eve out for a lark;
Their eyes “peeled” for French doll babies;
With whom they sigh to spark;
Why admire the fraidcat babies,
Who weep easily?
The helpless crippled sex e’en _seek_!—
Hare-brained gentility!....
Cheeks a beauteous red through rouge puff;
Pink powder (pretty, pretty!!!) ‘pon nose;
One inhales as she nigh minceth,
Such soothing scent of rose!
Locks—so silklike—reach to shoulders;
Gown of “art” design;
Coquette extreme must she be sure;
All signs she doth combine.
When a young blood spieth dolly,
Cutely mincing Fourteenth Street;
Then the young blood smileth sweetly,
And, stranger e’en, doth greet:
Replies she smilingly “Good evening!”
Surely she is fly!
Too, overjoyed because of having
Bewitched a stalwart “guy.”
“Little tootsy-wootsy!” cries guy,
“Art ravishingly cute!
Thou art, yea, a pretty Pussie! Pussie, Pussie!!!
Ne’er saw I such a beaut!”
Answereth she in mellifluous voice:
“And I ‘Strong Hans’ thee call!
Thy frame so large and powerful!
Not spindling thou, yet tall!”
They acquainted barely minute,
Such confidences express!
As only hubby—hidden, secret—
Doth glad to spouse confess:
Bold gallant the French doll calls “Wifie!”
While she e’en feels that he
To her already united is—
The twain, twin souls, to be!