It was midnight, but in Greenwich Village the streets were lit up like the fourth of July. Car horns blared at one another under the clinking neon lights, and some of the nightclubs were just opening their doors. The drag queens were on their way to a ball at Webster Hall. The authorities were on high alert, with the chief of Police having told his deputies their job was to “restrain these abnormal people and protect the population from their depravity.” The Great Depression had brought prudishness back to the fore; homosexuality and cross-dressing were viewed with extreme suspicion. Since 1927 theatres had been banned from performing homosexual content, which was deemed to be perverse. In cinema, the Hays Code determined what was proper, with sweeping censorship of any portrayal of homosexuality. But gay people were still gathering – at least, those who had the money to do so. Despite the exacerbated homophobia of the 1930s, the elites remained protected, and artists, businessmen and titans of industry could “come out of the closet” at night and be more or less tolerated. Otherwise, gays were forced to meet in secret, in public toilets or along pickup spots near the Times Square docks.
In his Greenwich Village apartment, Andy was preparing for a show of force. He’d been living with his partner for over five years now; his lover, his ‘Teddy bear’ as Andy called him. The two were inseparable. Andy was openly gay, and sometimes dressed in drag. Sitting in front of his dresser he spritzed himself with Guerlain perfume, adjusted his earrings, applied his mascara and eyeshadow and powdered his cheeks. He was fabulous and fully himself, subtle yet flamboyant. His boyfriend was ready to go, flicking through a fashion magazine and sipping on a scotch. Andy slipped on his boots and smoothed out his dress. He wouldn’t want to show off his beautiful thighs too much, lest this make his Teddy jealous. They were ready for the nightclub.
At the Webster Hall, Andy and Teddy held each other close as the music flowed around them. The night’s entertainment was a spectacular affair, all feathers and hats, frills and sequins, and Andy was delighted. He wanted a glass of champagne to get his buzz on; truth be told, he enjoyed the feeling of the bubbles more than the taste of champagne. Teddy headed over the bar to order them a couple of glasses. Andy let himself go wild on the dancefloor, swirling among his own, his brave acolytes in their scandalous dresses. He greeted Mona, Candy and Fabulous; he made eyes at Lindy who’d brought out her white fox for the occasion, and at Johnny in his three-piece suit with a moustache drawn in pencil over his ruby-red lips. Teddy came back with their drinks, announcing: “Honey, you’re the most beautiful queen in this whole place!” All of a sudden, a gunshot went off. Police had entered the club, throwing open the doors, upending tables and smashing glasses with their batons. Everything was shattered, the music stopped. People were screaming, running, hiding. What was going on? The cops blew their whistles and set upon the drag queens, who were stunned by the scale and the suddenness of the raid. A policeman grabbed Andy and his boyfriend. They didn’t bother resisting; what good would it do? The cop put them in handcuffs with a triumphant sneer. He was delighted to be towing these depraved rich folks away with him. Andy and Teddy climbed into the police wagon with their friends. It looked like they’d be spending the night at the station, at the mercy of the cops’ humiliation: dirty jokes, outrageous imitations, and the ever-present threat of violence. “The world’s going to hell; so many criminals out there and they come after us,” sighed Andy, squeezing Teddy’s hand.
It would be another thirty years before the Stonewall riots erupted in Greenwich Village. Andy and Teddy wouldn’t be a part of them; by then they were too old to rebel, and weary from decades of struggle. But they were proud of the militant defiance shown by those young folks, and Andy nurtured hope for a better future for their community when he passed away in his beautiful apartment in Greenwich Village in November 1970. “We danced; we loved; we were happy,” were Andy’s parting words.
Alan Alfredo Geday