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518                                     Jack Fritscher, Ph.D.
            the fact we both had careers in the real world — made the matter and form
            of producing that anthropological ’zine something we could no longer
            do. We did, however, send each subscriber a check for the amount of his
            remaining subscription. Leather-artist Jim Stewart of Fetters in London
            and David Stein of GMSMA in New York both wrote that the demise
            of Man2Man was the first and only time that a subscription refund ever
            happened in gay or straight publishing.
               My first play, Continental Caper (1957), an undergraduate all-male
            musical written in high school, had been produced in 1958. Like walk-
            ing a poodle named “Bruce,” writing an all-male musical should have
            signified I was gay long before I thought about tying guys to a rack and
            dialing their nipples like a radio. Like most gay men, with telescopes up,
            assessing the sea change of the late 1960s and early 1970s, I jumped at the
            opportunity of enjoying community theater as a gay mixer and played in
            the four-character comedy, Generation, and the musical, The Canterbury
            Tales, singing “What Is It That Women Want” (which I didn’t get) and
            “I Have a Noble Cock” (which I did). So by the mid-1970s, with an
            arts-writing-and-leather life lived in New York, Chicago, London, Los
            Angeles, and San Francisco, theater seemed to me an apt metaphor for the
            kind of dramatic S&M games that shaped Drummer, because plays — like
            sexual psycho-drama — activate the players and keep them from becom-
            ing passive which is the worst thing that can happen to a gay man, par-
            ticularly gay S&M bottoms who tend to become energy vampires. As a
            genre, Drummer was not afraid to publish male-driven plays, favoring
            particularly those by George Birimisa, who later became a contestant in
            the Bodybuilding Seniors Division of the Gay Games.
               At theatrical venues that were like Weimar cabarets gone mad, I often
            showcased in Drummer huge parties like Night Flight and CMC Carnival
            as well as many exotic theme bars, like the No Name, that all seemed to
            me to be gay theater which queer keywords turned into the term “per-
            formance art.” For the same reason, in my writing I championed actors
            like Richard Locke in Drummer 24 (September 1978) and his directors,
            the Gage Brothers, in Drummer 19 (December 1977), as well as Roger in
            Drummer 21 (March 1978), and his director, Wakefield Poole, in Drum-
            mer 27 (February 1979).
               The No Name bar nightly encouraged outrageous performance
            behavior among its pot-smoking customers sniffing poppers and cruis-
            ing and moshing together in the theater-in-the-round rear-section of the
            bar where cardboard beer boxes were stacked like a banquette along the
            walls surrounding the pool table. In the midst of the sex-crush, late one
            midnight in 1973, I stood back in the crowded shadows watching, ten-feet
            away, a muscular man, aloof and costumed for role play, in full leather

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