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274                                     Jack Fritscher, Ph.D.
            country, and through Marin County twenty-five miles west into the
            ocean. It must have given Christo great satisfaction that every camera in
            the world focused on the photo op of his billowing ephemeral fence.
               In the zero degrees of separation within gay heritage, panels from the
            Christo fence were chosen by Boys in the Sand director Wakefield Poole to
            decorate the interior of the famous “Night Flight” party he produced in
            San Francisco, New Year’s Eve, as 1977 became 1978. (See Drummer 20,
            January 1978.)
               I am not Lot’s wife in Sodom, so I can turn back and look.
               In my personal rear-view mirror, the white panels on Christo’s “Run-
            ning Fence” may have waved like flags on the ship of the Titanic 1970s;
            but ultimately, I see in time lapse how those white panels unnecessarily
            became a shroud, morphing into the panels of the AIDS Quilt which has
            also been displayed famously for the world to look at and wonder.
               Finally, I will always be eternally grateful to my pal Jim Stewart for
            introducing me in May 1976 to one of the greatest talents I ever discovered
            for Drummer: my longtime dearest friend David Hurles aka Old Reliable
            Studio, a pioneer in the SoMa art scene. Hurles’ introduction to this book,
            “A Thousand Light Years Ago,” reveals the helix axis of the way we were
            at the moment Drummer was invented. In the zero degrees of separation,
            the genesis is this: deputy sheriff Bill Essex introduced Hurles to Jim
            Stewart who introduced Hurles to me who introduced Hurles’ work into
            the gaystream of popular culture where his homomasculine photography
            and video beat down the resistant sissy domination of media and became
               After  six  months’  talking  two  hours  every  day  on  the  telephone,
            David Hurles and I first met face to face at his SoMa apartment at 10
            and Mission Street, kitty-corner from the Doggie Diner owned by my
            family’s friend, Carl Mohn. (Our adopted “Uncle Carl” never realized
            how popular his chain of restaurants was with hustlers and johns.) Hurles’
            work was brilliant, sexy, and best of all as real as the high standard of
            masculine verite that I was setting for Drummer.
               David Hurles was something altogether new.
               It was my good fortune as editor and talent scout that every other gay
            magazine had refused to publish Old Reliable’s dangerous photographs
            of ex-cons, rough-trade hustlers, and graduates of some of the best Youth
            Authorities in the American South. When I published Old Reliable in the
            pages of Drummer 21, he exploded into gay pop culture. Readers shouted
            for more. His hyper-masculine eye raised the bar of gay photography,
            made way for Mapplethorpe who collected Hurles’ Old Reliable photo-
            graphs, and changed the way virile gay men looked at themselves and the
            objects of their desire.

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