It was a slow place, Fonda. We only played weekends so we weren’t getting paid much, but we got room and board, and it was good board. Honey, we ate well. And there a was nothing else to do in the country, so I got a little plump. It looked nice; plumpness looks good in an impersonator. But this boss was so conservative. We got along like a Quaker and a parrot. He kept saying they had gotten complaints, so I finally said, “if I clean up my act any more, they’ll book me in a Sunday school.”
Finally it got so that the queens couldn’t barrelhouse, and then we all had to sit at one table. One night these state troopers came in and I said, “Louella, here we go.”
I worked a lot of tank towns during the McCarthy era, always on the road, in New York and Pennsylvania, Harrisburg, Darby, York, Allentown, Meadville, Spring City. To these people we were Broadway stars, famous actresses. Here’s a couple of my admirers.
This boy was in high school in a real tank town, and his mother would come to see the queens. He was too young to come into the club, but he met me and was just crazy about me so started a fan club for me in the high school. This was a real tank town, Bridgeport, Pennsylvania. He sold postcards for me like crazy, and I encouraged him because he was selling all these postcards, but it was a little close for comfort.
And this is a lezzie that wrote me love letters for years until I met him and found out he wasn’t a man. I had thought it was a fella. She worked carnival and got my address from a friend and wrote all these love letters. And I couldn’t tell from the pictures that it was a real woman and so I’d write back. There was nothing else to do in the country.
It wasn’t just Boston that was drag queen crazy, see. It was the small town clubs, too. They loved fairies, and they could book us cheap, and we brought business.
At the C-Note in Johnstown, Rhode Island, the reason they brought us in was because they couldn’t get a bottle of beer on credit. So they hired us and that was sensational in 1951. “Too much for television,” was the phrase that was going around. The audiences at the C-Note had never seen much of female impersonators, and they’d say, “Oh my god, they look so real. And they’re talented, too!” So the C-Note did huge business. To save a business they’d bring in the fairies.
The only thing that could follow the fairies were the Beef Trusts. And they took up too much room. I guess they fascinated the crowd at the C-Note because they were something strange, something weird. The big fat girls. They’d kick and all and all that flesh would be shaking. When you’re fat and all, you have to do something besides just look pretty. You better have an act.
When I was working at the C-Note, I picked up the patter of our emcee Day Sheri. It was a panic. It was old when Day Sheri used it and I used it myself, years later at the Crazy Horse. A perfect routine because I could stop anywhere if the laughter started to wane, and break into a song. Here’s Day Sheri’s patter:
Hello, I just got in town yesterday and what a day it was. There I was standing on the corner, minding my own business. Business was lousy. When up pulls a man in a long shiny limousine a half a block long. He says to me, “Little girl, how would you like to go for a drive with me?” “Paleeeeze! What kind of girl do you think I am?”
So as we were motoring out to the woods, the car broke down. We both got out and he pushed and I pushed. I pushed and he pushed. He pushed and I pushed. Do you know, while we were both pushing, somebody stole the car!
Well, I found my way back to the highway, and flagged down a passing trolley. “Mr. Conductor,” I said, “Mr. Conductor, please tell me do I pay now when I enter or later when I get off?”
“You pay when you enter,” says he.
“Ooooooh,” says I. “It’s the same in my business.”
When I got back to town, I decided to check into a hotel and there was a big electric sign flashing on and off: Tarantula Arms. That sounds different, so I checked in and the bell boy grabbed my bags. Ooooooh! I was left flat-chested.
He shows me into a small room with no windows and no furniture. “I don’t care for this room at all,” I says. To which he replies, “Why you damn fool, this is the elevator.”
When we got to my floor, the door opened and I alighted. The bridal suite door was ajar and I just sneaked a look. They had twin beds. Over her bed there was a plaque reading, “I Need Thee Every Hour.” Over his bed there was another plaque reading, “God Give Me Strength.”
I followed the bellhop down the hall and he showed me into a nice little chamber overlooking a waste-paper basket. After all the events of the day, I was rather fatigued, so I decided to turn in. I was just oozing off to sleep, when there came a loud knock at the door. “Who is it?” says I. “It’s the house detective,” he replies. “Have you got a man in there?” “Goodness gracious no,” says I. So he pushes in a sailor. What a progressive place that was.
After the sailor left again, I was just ooooooozing off to sleep, when a loud bell rang and I heard the sounds of running feet outside. I opened the door to the corridor and stopped a woman passing arid said, “Madam.” “Don’t call me Madame, I’m just one of the girls.” “Very well, Girlie,” says I, “but please tell me why is that bell ringing and why is everyone running through the halls?” “It’s 4 a.m..” she said. “That’s when everybody goes back to their own room.”
Well, at last I did get to sleep, and the next day when I awoke I decided to do what every young girl should do, and take a bath. As I was filling the tub, I noticed it was leaking out the bottom. I picked up the telephone and said, “Mr. Manager, Mr. Manager, I wish to report I got a leak in the bathtub.” “Gotta leak in the bathtub?” says he. “That’s all right, lady, the customer is always right.”
That man in front is Wacko, the best boss I ever had. No strings. No strings at all. He was just crazy about me. He said, “Minette, you da queen o’ the queens.” And I’d say back to him, “Wacko, if I’m the queen of the queens, you’re the king of the queens.” So everytime we’d meet someone, he’d always say, “Baby, tell ’em who the king of the queens is, baby.” And I’d say, “Why, that’s you, Wacko. Tell them who the queen of the queens is.” And he’d always say, “Why, that’s you, baby.” He never got tired of that routine.
He’d take me to this elegant Italian restaurant for breakfast — well, it is true I got up in the afternoon — and the waiter would be all dressed up in a tuxedo and he had a real linen serviette over the arm and the table was in this special little room, and they had 110 different sauces on the bill of fare. I usually ordered a mushroom omelet.
Wacko was an ex-runner during Prohibition. This was Providence, right on the water and all, so it worked out gorgeous. He was well known among the underworld, and very well loved. And I could see why.
He told me to bring my own show in and Wacko said, “You don’t work no seven nights for me, baby. No seven nights.” He was a terrific boss and we worked harder for him than anyone.
I brought in Jerry Whiting, a whiz crack piano player. And she could talk. People would come and she would get an idea and say something and make it all rhyme. Just like that. Even at the height of impersonators, there was no one quite like Jerry Whiting. She was extreme and campy. Of course she was a benny head, too, so she’s probably not with us.