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For Gay Guys who have no hangups
These two issues of Queen's Quarterly came out just before I did. I've been trying to decide if I ever saw the magazine. The cover art is familiar but Queen's Quarterly may not have been the artist's only venue. The covers wouldn't have seduced $2.00 from me. I think the minimum wage may have been $1.50 and I was often gainlessly unemployed.
Here we have that old queer stereotype of manly desirability, the construction worker. My what a thick - what, I'm not sure, candy bars weren't made the large back then, beef jerky - he has. An article on Andre Gide who I'd shortly be reading on the recommendation of the Savannah, GA Waldens Books manager when I came in looking for books about being gay (I wanted an instruction manual).
Ah, seafood. Savannah billed itself as the Port City. There were foreign sailor boys about. I never knew anyone who made a fetish of them, though many straight people seem to think we all have nautical sexual fantasies. In this issue we have Mr. Fire Island. Don't hear much about Fire Island anymore. In those less open times it held a legendary a place in gay men's minds. Now there are similar spots all over the country, famous if only locally like North Carolina's Jordan Lake.
And an article on the "movie queens" gay men love. That is still with us. Though on many gay weblogs it seems to have been eclipsed by lists of the guys seen on TV the writer would most like to spend at least fifteen minutes with.
Even if I'd seen Queen's QuarterlyI couldn't have known that one day it'd become part of a mostly forgotten American queer past. Even if I'd bought them I'd never have saved them.