Beauty and the Beast
San Francisco that I knew in the 80’s had a dark, sinister side. Arguably, it was the original “Sin City”, very much on par with New York and Berlin of that era, the Castro district being one of its epicenters. Halloween night was a rare chance for the greater Bay Area to “walk on the wild side” that only the Castro could provide. In their disguises, straight folk would venture out into “gay land” which was normally completely off bounds or held little interest for them. Pimps and drug dealers from predominantly black neighborhoods of Fillmore and Bay View / Hunters Point, would grace Castro with their presence, seeking out the unchartered possibilities of a very different kind of “ghetto.” The resulting crowd was diverse to say the least. The three short blocks of Castro Street, between 20th and Market and the few adjacent cross streets would become a science fiction-like movie set. In this intergalactic world, the creatures from various planets rubbed shoulders in an implausible harmony. On the surface it seemed like a rare instance when the innocent and profane walked hand in hand. But things were a lot more complex. A barely audible note of tension was hanging in the air, drowned out by the hum of the overdressed and mostly drunk crowd.
Of course, Castro had its rules and boundaries which were not to be breached and rarely were. You could look, mingle and even touch, if you dared, but never oppose or disturb. And still, no Halloween costume could help some of the suburban gawkers contain their excitement and discomfort in the crowd packed with flamboyant drag queens and leathered gay men openly looking to hook up. These folks were foreign bodies on the streets of the gay capital of the world. You could sense the apprehension in their body language, see it in their eyes peering from behind their masks. While I felt very much in my element in the midst of this freak show, I often shivered from the passive-aggressive vibe coming from some of the revelers in front of my lens. I’m sure the queer contingent on the other side of the spectacle was also very well aware of this unsettling presence. In fact, gay folks were an integral part of that tension. For them, all the gawkers and onlookers were the intruders into their intimate lifestyle, which was looked down upon by the majority of the world. If only with a suspicious half-glance or a slight shrug, they acknowledged and dismissed this antagonistic alien body.
Yet, another demonic presence was in attendance in the form of a devious virus that had yet to lift off its own mask. Those were the years when HIV had just been officially identified, and AIDS began taking lives for real. In bars and on the street, you could already see an occasional young man, who despite his costume, looked noticeably haggard, skinny, and sick. Clearly, the bad news had yet to sink in. Still cocky and unworried, San Francisco reveled in drugs and sex, gay or straight. A man dressed as a peasant troubadour, wearing a heart-shaped pin on his lapel, reading “Super Dad,” had no toddler on his shoulder nor a stroller next to him. But the chances were that before the wee hours of the morning, he’d become somebody’s daddy, somebody who’d be interested in sharing his drugs and whatever else was on offer in the bathroom of Midnight Sun or the attic of Jaguar Books. However, these tensions only added some rare magic to the celebration, as if the real demons were inhabiting the people in their toothy masks and feather bows. Or perhaps it was my own darkness and my own demons? If so, I learned how to live with them and see the humor in their wicked transformations.
Castro’s Halloween in the 80s was hardly a lovefest many of us would like to have in an ideal world. But the self-restraint and maybe even respect, rather than unconditional acceptance, that we are striving for gave this celebration a semblance of unity. And that might be the only co-existing model that works with us, human beings, at least for now. I hope my pictures capture a glimpse of that notion.
