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144                                     Jack Fritscher, Ph.D.
            to be. I am the parts I played throughout my meager yesterdays. I am the
            young and the lonely and the lost. I will remain a part of every one of you
            who knew of me.”
               Even in life he was more spirit than flesh.

                         Anticipating Drummer and the Gay Press

               In 1956 in high school at the Pontifical College Josephinum, I
               began as a sixteen-year-old book-review editor for The Josephi-
               num Review, and was the  high-school senior reporter  for  the
               stodgy Pravda student publication, The Ad Rem. In 1960, I started
               up an alternative, but officially tolerated, college magazine
               which — referencing the “Body Electric” — I titled Pulse. The atti-
               tude and objectives and inter-activity in my introductory editorial
               (read: manifesto!) in the first issue, Halloween 1960, could just as
               well have been my first editorial in Drummer in 1977.
                   In 1960, I was militant against the apathy and passivity of
               seminarians who — stultified in the boring and conformist 1950s
               we had just exited — were not yet awake to the fact that Jack
               Kennedy signaled something  as new for the American 1960s
               as Stonewall signaled for the gay 1970s. As a crusading college
               magazine editor, I was kept under strict surveillance by priests
               and was very nearly expelled for radical ideas. The disciplinar-
               ian Reverend Alfred E. Camp, called me into his office after my
               first issue, pounded his desk with his fist as hard as he could,
               and exploded with the line, “I am the editor of this magazine.”
               I thought he was hallucinating. I had known him when he was a
               seminarian, and he remained a cunt even after his ordination to
               the priesthood.
                   As editor at the dawn of the 1960s, I called for social activism
               among the largely passive student body, and my stories in Pulse
               contained camp writing like:

                   She acted strangely, as vampires will. Come to think of
                   it, I did only see her at night. As I imagine it now, it does
                   seem to detract from the romance of it all; she, lying
                   there in her cold little tomb the whole day long, an extra-
                   dry martini in one hand, Balzac in the other . . . . I saw them
                   drive a stake through her heart. “Good Lord, man, what
                   are you doing?” I cried just making the scene. “Well,”
                   he said, “I’m not giving her a facial, that’s for surenik.”
                   My writing — a clue to my character — was the beginning
               of the Catholic Church threatening me for coloring outside the
               lines. Many of my fellow seminarians — like the future “Prince of

          ©Jack Fritscher, Ph.D., All Rights Reserved—posted 05-05-2017
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