CELEBRATES ITS FIFTH BIRTHDAY MER DRU

WITH FIVE BIG BLASTS

RUMONTAR TOTAL

Celebrating Drummer's Fifth Anniversary obviously meant a great deal to us, but we had no idea how heavy-duty the celebrating would become when we decided to co-host a few get-togethers and maybe have a contest in our home- town of San Francisco.

The planning and work started a few months earlier. We knew we wanted to do something big in June, the month that sometring big in June, the Month Had- marked our anniversary and coincided with the annual Gay Freedom Day festivities. We were already at work on the first of our special leathermen's supplements (San Francisco and the Fo fitting debut.

Then there was our Annual Erotic Art Show; this would only be the second Art Show; this would only be the second one—already we knew our offices were too small to hold the throng that had visited last year's. We worked with a then-relatively-new bar and restaurant South of Market called The Hea

A birthday party for Drummer Maga- zine would ultimately turn into The Mr. South of Market Contest, and we would have to go someplace huge to hold the legions of hot leathermen in the city; arrangements were ultimately made with Dick Collier and Trocadero Transfer (the only South of Market disco and a whale-sized place at that). Dick was celebrating having finally received his liquor permit after a long, hard struggle with the powers that be.

The final event would be strictly physical: The Cell Block Party at Bull- dog Baths, and on the very evening of the 1980 Gay Freedom Day Parade, a most

1980 Gay Freedom Day Parade, a most logical time and place. But, behind the scenes, other things were brewing. We were negotiating for a site for our first Drummer Key Club; in San Francisco and something very special. Whi much a city of swimmers.

For a while it seemed like the events were running into each other; because besides the special June evenings, we were busy putting together Drummer and Mach. But we managed, due in part to hard-core hard work and the incredible energy level of San Francisco itself.

Opposite page: Photos by Rink, this page: top photo by Terry S.F., bottom photo by Rink.

THE FOLSON ATTITUD 3 The first of our celebrations was a reception for the South of Market business community to debut the Dammer Folsom supplement (issue No. 37). The Ambush, a favorite place for a lot of San Francisco leathermen, staged an e Rome. DRUMMER 10

ROTIC

The Second Annual Drummer Erotic Art Show brought together a wide variety of the erotic and popular talents that have filled Drummer's pages and our reader's fantasies over the past half-decade Etienne, Matt, Charles Musgr The Second Annual Drummer Erotic hung for a month, and was seen by thousands of San Francisco residents and visitors.

Opposite page: The slave as a buffet founda- tion, photo by Jim Moss. This page: opening night viewers of the Second Annual Drummer Erotic Art Show, photo by Terry S.F.

Next came the Drummer Erotic Photo-Show , a three week exhibit that was so hot local rumor had it the exhibit closed down its host home, The Asylum. A nice thought, but hardly true. The owner of the Asylum was retiring, and arranged to hang the photoshow as his final gesture.

Sorta like going out with a bang. Jim Moss, our Special Projects Editor, and Skip Sweet, master of the slide-projector , created an explosive slide show\nespecially for the opening night reception . Eyes were glued to the ened to melt the walls.

The mounted exhibition itself repre- sented the whole spectrum of erotic sented the whole spectrum of erotic possibilities: from the massive muscle photography of Terry of San Francisco, to the highly-charged sexuality of Fred Halsted, the sensual photojournalism of Rink, the international flai new photographers to our pages who are destined to join the others in reputa- tion: Sandy Graham (with her photo-essay of men in bondage), Greg Day (whose lush sexual men rival his already- established reputation) and Wolfgang's stark, almost severe portraits of men as sexmachines.

Then came the night we were most waiting for — The Mr. South of Market Contest co-sponsored by Trocadero Transfer, By the time the entry deadline closed, there were 24 contestants. Twenty -four of the hottest, sexist, best looking men ever gathered together in one place at one time. And all in leather - for a while.

The judges were our very favorites, and represented the top names in their fields: Lou Thomas of Target Studio; Larry Townsend — author of The Leatherman's Handbook; Roy Dean, the internationally known photographer and author; Jim Hawkins of Zeus Studios; Etienne, without a doubt one of the finest artists working in the field of hot, hung, macho men; our many-time former nung, macho men; our many-time former coverman, Val Martin — who also was our entry in The Gold Coast's Mr. International Leather Contest for 1980 in Chicago. The local judges were Harry Britt, San Francisco's gay supervis

It was a night to remember. The typical sultry San Francisco evening that promised cool breezes and all-night action. That was outside, inside it was hot as hell - hot like in over a thousand hot, macho men getting down to the Troc's powerful and respected sound system, lights and D.J. Hot, like in the slaughterhouse decor and scaffolding and hanging sides-of-beef. Hot, like the roast pig resting atop tons of choice, fresh eatibles. Hot, like in the oversized birthday cakes.

Hot, like in the rampant air of anticipation hanging over the crowd. And for the twenty-four contestants, this was going to be the night!

The M.C. was a well-known South of Market personality, Mr. R. Marcus, who had been breathing fire in his local news column for a month that this was the one contest no one would want to miss. He brought out each of the contestants, dressed to the hilt in their own leather fantasies, to an accompanying slide show of the contestant in some shots that could not have been performed on the stage itself. The audience went wild as each contestant made his first appearance and they got to see both the man and the slide show at the same time.

When the contestants were reintro- duced to the crowd later in the evening, it was strictly jock straps that separated them from the throbbing mass. They danced and flexed on the scaffolding ringing the huge room; strutted and showed their stuff to the audience and judges.

The third time, definitely a charm the contestants were lined up on stage in their jocks and Drummer T-shirts and the winners were announced.

The Bay Area Reporter best summed up those moments when they reported on the evening:

"It was 2:15 am when the moment of truth arrived. The envelopes were passed and the contestants assembled onstage once more. The 6th runner-up was Jim Gilman, sponsored by The Boot Camp Club. The 5th runner-up was Gaylord Gaines, sponsored by Canary Island. A

loud cheer arose when Butch Freeman, sponsored by Leatherworld, was named the 4th place runner-up.

"The third runner-up (Mr. Mach), Sam "Max" Pasco, sponsored by the Bull- dog Baths, received an enthusiastic ovation , his popularity already renown due to his appearance on the thousands of

Bulldog Baths posters, ads and billboards, "The big crowd pleaser was Rene Verrett (second runner-up) sponsored by the Handball Express, Gleaming in muscular splendor, he obviously thrilled the crowd and, godlike in appearance, fulfilled many a fantasy. "A hush fell on the crowd as John

Embry (publisher of Drummer Maga- zine), tore open the envelope and an- nounced that Austin Hester, boyish, blue-eyed, blonde and sponsored by Trocadero Transfer was to reap the title, the big prices and the glory. A pro-litte , the big prizes and the glory. A pro- longed ovation punctuated with heavy stomping ensued as pandemonium ran rampant. Mr. Hester reaped $500 in cash, a 5-gallon tub of Performance, a case full of Hardware, membershi edition poster from The Arena, and several other gifts.

"All the contestants received a charter membership in the Drummer Key Club, a membership at the Bulldog Baths and a

And while the winners might have been announced, the party went on all night long, literally until dawn.

by Felice Picano

It was sunset when Ben Apres drove up to the hanging shingle that read "Sagopnauk Rock Writers Colony," and, on a smaller, added-on shingle, "Visitors see Dr. Ormond." An oddly Autumal sunset, despite the early summer date hint of dropping temperature, as Ben stepped out of a ten- year-old Volvo that hadn't given him a bit of its usual temperament on the long trip, as he urinated on a clump of poison ivy until it was shiny wet, surveying what appeared to be yet another rolling succession of green humped New England hills.

The muted colors of the sunset fitted Ben's own fatigued calm following weeks of torment, his final uncertain decision to ceme, and his more recent anxieties since the turn off the main road that he'd never find the place, that he'd driven past it several times already, the directions had seemed so sketchy.

He found himself gaping at the sky as though it would tell him something essential, or as though he'd never see one like it again. Then he made out some houses nestled in a ravine. The colony. He'd made it!

Dr. Ormond was easy to find. The paved road that dipped down into the colony ended at his front door in a shallow oval parking lot, radiating dirt roads in several directions. Two cars

with out-of-state-plates were parked and a locally licensed beat-up Baby-blue pickup.

The active, middle-aged man who stepped out of the house chomping an apple, introduced himself, then looked vaguely upset when Ben introduced himself and asked where he'd be staying.

There appeared to be a mix-up, Dr. Ormond said. Another guest - and here Ormond threw the apple down - and went on to mention a woman writer of some repute - had unexpectedly accepted the colony's earlier invitations, thought by them to have been forgotten. She had taken the last available studio. They hadn't been certain Ben was coming this season either. Victor Glove hadn't heard from Ben in weeks. Of course, Victor hadn't heard from Joan Sampson either, and she'd come too, though naturally, they were all delighted she was here.

Ormond motioned behind him vaguely. Ben saw a white clapboard, pitched-roof house standing alone on a patch of grassy land. He supposed that was her studio: the one he was

Before he could ask, a plump middle-aged woman, her apron fluttering, her hair in disarray, was waving to them from the doorway. She'd already telephoned Victor, she called out.

He was on his way. Mrs. Ormond, Ben guessed.

He leaned against the Volvo. Darkness was quietly dropping into the ravine. One or two lights were turned on in the Ormonds' house, other lights appeared suddenly in more distant studios. Ben wanted to wake up tomorrow morning in this enchanted glade, to spend sunny and rainy days here, long afternoons, crisp mornings, steamy nights. He would not allow the mix-up to affect his decision. After all the inner turmoil, he was glad he'd come. He wasn't leaving.

Above all, he was grateful to Victor Glove, who was jogging toward them now, accompanied by a large, taffy-colored Irish Hound, the two racing, skirting the big oak, circling Ben and Dr. Ormond, the dog barking then nuzzling Ben's hand for a carress; Glove hardly out of breath, glad to see Ben. He took Ben's hand, clasped his shoulder, smiled, was as openly wel- coming as Ormond hadn't been.

Victor was already tan; his curly dark head already spark-

Terry Photo There's a place for you to work out …

1044 POST POST S REET GYM led with sunreddened hair; he looked healthier and more virile than he'd ever looked in the city: an advertisement for country living with his handsome, open-featured face, his generous, beautifully muscled body that loose clothing like the old t-shirt and cordorouys he was wearing couldn't disguise. Ben felt Victor's warmth charge into his own body as they touched, and he knew that all things were possible this sum- mer: even the impossible: even Victor.

"There's no place for Ben to stay here," Dr. Ormond protested once they'd gotten inside the Ormonds' living room.

"What about the little cottage," Victor said. "That's empty." "What little cottage?" "pand I pas

"By the pond. I passed it today. It's all closed up. You don't need a full studio, do you Ben? Of course, he doesn't. He'd love the little cottage."

"It's a fifteen minute walk from here," Ormond, unper- suaded.

Ben suspected he'd be crazy about the little cottage. "He's young." Victor said. "It's not far for him." "But it isn't ready for him."

"Sure it is. You helped clean it up yourself. Remember? It can't have gotten more than a little musty in the meanwhile . Besides, he can't go all the way back now, can he?"

Ben told them he'd already sublet his apartment in the city. He had nowhere else to go. "You see!" Victor said. "Come on, Ben, dinner's ready.

I'll take you to the little cottage after." "Victor!" Ormond said, in a strange tone of voice. "That cottage was Hunter's."

"It belongs to the colony."

"You know what I mean." "Ben's here," Glove said firmly. "Hunter isn't." "No. I guess you're right."

"Then it's settled."

Four of them ate dinner. Joan Sampson was to have joined them but she called to cancel, saying she had work to do.

Ben did know they had no such thing as community dining at the colony, didn't he, Frances Ormond asked. Everyone took care of themselves. Except of course, everyone dined with whomever they wanted to. She hoped that Ben would feel as welcome at her table as Dr. Glove was. It was impossible for Ben to not like the transplanted urban woman who'd evidently found peace in Sagoponauk Rock. Like Victor, she radiated health and happiness. Ben would later discover that was a rare quality at the colony. Others had brought their sufferings and neuroses, unable or unwilling to let them go. They argued around kitchen tables just as badly as they had in Manhattan bars. They outraged and scandalized each other in country bedrooms with infidelities and treacheries as though they still lived in West Side apartment complexes, Over the following week, Ben sized up the colony members quickly.

Only Mrs. Ormond was judged to be sound.

And Victor, of course. Victor, who was the reason Ben had come to Sagoponauk Rock, and the reason he had almost not come. Even after Ben had sublet his apartment. Even after Ben had turned off the exit from the New England Thruway and had driven north for what seemed hours.

After dinner, Victor got into the Volvo's driver's seat and drove through the dark, rutted road to the little cottage. Ben held an extra kerosene can Frances Ormond had given him - unsure whether the electricity was turned on.

It was, they discovered, after a long, silent ride through the deep darkness of the country, passing what would later become landmarks to Ben on his night walks and night drives: the community house, the first two studios, then Victor's, the apple orchard, then the fork past the pond.

The cottage was L-shaped: a large, bare bedroom separated by a small bathroom and cavernous storage closet from a good sized study area, opening onto a small one-wall kitchen with a long dining counter.

Victor built a fire to help clear out the unseasonable chill Ben went through the kitchen cabinets and found a bottle half full of Fundador. They sipped the brandy, talking about the program they'd tentatively set up the past April at school, which Ben as an apprentice writer would follow at the colony. He was only to show Victor a piece of writing when he was satisfied with it, or unable to find satisfaction in it. Some of the others at the colony never shared their work with each

other. Victor and Joan had agreed to meet regularly to read to each other. Ben could join them.

Although it was only a three and a half month stay, Ben had decided he would write day and night. Not only the few short stories Victor asked for, but a novel too: the novel, the one he'd planned, the one he believed he'd been born to write. Free here of most distractions he felt certain he'd get much of it done before the last school year rolled around again. He already loved the cottage.

Only the bedroom – after a second look – didn't seem as cozy as the rest of the house. Ben thought the bedroom's coldness was due to its appearance: low ceilings, uncarpeted dull wood floor, only a few pieces of furniture: hardly invit- ing. Perhaps a single nights' sleep would warm it up. The double- bed - higher and wider than the one he was used to, was firm yet comfortable when he tried it out.

Victor had gone into the bathroom. He found Ben stretched out on the big high bed, and stopped, lingering on the threshold.

For a long minute they looked at each other. Ben, his hands under his head for a pillow, felt suddenly exposed, then seductively positioned, inviting. Glove seemed suddenly bereft of his usual composure, uncertain, fragile, even frightened. Neither of them moved: Ben could feel the tension of the pos- sible and the impossible filling the room like a thick mist. "It's getting late," Victor said, his voice subdued, his hands suddenly gesturing as though controlled by someone else.

"I'll come by in the morning to show you around the colony." Ben was embarrassed now too, and quickly sat up and got off the bed to see the older man out. In an attempt to cover over the shame he felt he asked: "Who had this cottage before me?"

"Stephen Hunter, the poet," Glove said, looking out into darkness.

"You're kidding. I didn't know he stayed here at the colony. 'Oh, everyone important comes to Sagoponauk sooner or later."

Ben was about to say something about how happy he was that the cottage had a distinguished literary past, but Glove said good-bye and was gone.

Ben settled into the dank chill of the sheets they'd found in the big closet and thought of that moment in the bedroom, of Victor's suddenly coming upon him, his hesitation, his distracted gestures, the quiet tone of his voice and his sudden decision to leave. If he had remained another minute, come into the bedroom, come closer to Ben: the impossible would have been possible, in this very room.

Ben climaxed with a sharpness he hadn't experienced from masturbating for years, not since he was an adolescent. Wiping his abdomen with a handtowel, he wondered whether it was the fresh country air or seeing Victor Glove again after so long.

Victor didn't come by in the morning to show Ben around; Ben didn't see him until dinner time. But that was only the beginning of Victor's fluctuations of intense consideration and total aloofness that finally formed itself into an inescapable pattern.

That first morning, Ben didn't care. The bedroom faced east and he awoke to a sunny splendor of nearby trees and bright clear sunlight flooding every inch of what seemed to be a really handsome, though sparsely furnished room.

After a breakfast of bread and honey provided by Mrs. Ormond the night before, Ben wandered around the colony. He was still too awed to closely approach any studios, believing the other colony members would be intensely concentrating on their writing, and thus not to be disturbed. But he had enough to look at: the pond, surprisingly large, still and lovely, quite close to his cottage; the apple orchard stretching miles; the lively stream that formed a tiny marsh at the pond; the large old trees, many he'd never seen before; the young saplings everywhere; the fruit and berry bushes in demure blossom ; the wild flowers surrounding the house; the cottage itself, beautifully crafted of fine woods, so that built-in tables, drawers, and cabinetry were integrated perfectly by color and grain, all of a piece.

He skirted the colony, later on, driving up to and along the two-laned highway, following Frances Ormond's instructions, locating in one direction a truckstop all-night diner, a gas station and another five or six miles, the tiny hamlet of Sago-ponauk - where he purchased a backseat full of groceries and supplies. Driving in the other direction, past the colony, Ben found another gas station and an old clapboard roadhouse, containing a saloon and an Italian restaurant.

The peace that had settled on him momentarily the dusk before, returned when he drove back to the colony, and arrived to see the little cottage - highest of the houses on the property - aglow with fuschias and oranges, its western win- dows reflecting a brilliant summer sunset.

Victor apologized when he saw Ben. Besides doing some writing that day, he said he'd fixed a propane gas line to Joan's oven and hot water heater, and had helped Mrs. Ormond pick early apples for saucing.

Ben was embarrassed by the apology. He could spend all day with Victor. That was why he had come to the colony. But now that he was here, he could not justify deserving Glove's attention. Victor wasn't merely gorgeously un-self-conscious, he was altruistic, giving his time and energy to anyone who needed it. Obviously there were others in the colony who needed it as much as Ben.

So Ben contented himself. Especially after the first few weeks, when he began to realize the impossible love between them could only occur suddenly, impulsively, unforgettably: like any other miracle.

Victor's comings and goings appeared to fit some obscure plan. Ben wouldn't see him for days, only come upon him mowing a shaggy patch of lawn, or wrapping heavy black tape around a split waterpipe of one of the studios. Then Victor would come by the little cottage early one afternoon, spend all day, remain for a hastily concocted dinner, talk about people and writing and books until midnight. Only to disappear for days. Only to reappear again as suddenly, stretched out on the yellow plastic lawnchair at midday as Ben returned home from a walk, or suddenly diving past Ben's surprised face into the clear water of the pond and swimming to the other shore. His appearances were unpredictable; the hours he spent with Ben so full of talk, of intense attention that Ben would be charmed into persuading himself that Glove was merely being careful: getting to know Ben better; making sure of him before he would suddenly turn to Ben, put his arms around him, and

That was when Ben would feel frustrated all over again, full of lust, and he would have to go into the bedroom, to lay down, to picture how it would be, sometimes masturbating two or three times after Victor had been with him, feeling his fantasies becoming so real that the impossible had to happen.

Once, Victor came by after dinner when Ben was writing. Glove lay down quietly on the sofa, began to read a magazine, and fell asleep. When Ben realized that, he couldn't concentrate . Even sleeping, Victor was too disturbing. Ben wandered around the cottage, trying to wake the older man by the noise he made. He even tried to fall asleep himself, but it was an absurb attempt - the bedroom felt as cold, as uninviting as the first night he'd spent there.

He finally decided to wake Victor: he was so tall, he had to sleep bent up; he'd awaken with cramps and pains. Ben didn't say it to himself, but he suspected that once they were in bed together, Glove would relent.

Victor stretched, got up, looked once at the bedroom hallway as though trying to make up his mind whether to stay, then said he wouldn't hear of it,

It was hours before Ben could fall asleep, even after he'd taken a mild sedative.

He had purposely not touched himself during those tormenting hours of unrest. During the night, however, half-awakened , he felt heat emanating from his genitals, couldn't fight it away, and worked groggily but efficiently to bring him- self to orgasm. Dazed, exhausted, he sank back into slumber.

The following afternoon, Victor was at the pond again when Ben arrived for his daily swim. With him, sitting on the tiny dark sand beach, wearing a huge sunhat, was a chaperone: loam Sampson. Ben remained with them only long enough to be polite.

After that day, Victor and Joan were always together; Victor seldom alone.

Even without her interference, Ben thought she was the least sympathetic person he'd met in the colony. She epitomized all he disliked in the others: their utter sophistication and real provinciality; their brusqueness, their bad manners, their absorption with themselves and lack of interest in anyone

to feel the large strong applicating hands transformed into messengers of caresses. They weren't. They were brisk, efficient. They spread the lotion evenly: nothing more.

Glove didn't seem to have noticed that Ben had been avoiding him. Their conversation was the usual: what Victor was writing, what Ben was doing, what was happening among the others at the colony.

Ben stayed for almost an hour - once his disturbance at their near-nude closeness had vanished. When he got up and put on his shirt Victor said: "You ought to get more sun. And rest more. How are you sleeping? You look sort of done in to me.'

Ben was so stunned he couldn't answer. Why would Victor say that to him — unless it was Victor himself who was visiting him every night?

When Ben finally did say he was sleeping well, Glove seemed skeptical, then added "well, you know best." When he rolled on his stomach, his wide shoulders, his long, muscled back, two solid buttocks stretching the bright red nylon of his swimtrunks, his thighs and legs - honeybrown and flecked with sunbleached hairs - all jumped out at Ben. He wanted to fall down there and kiss and lick every inch of that body for hours on end. The black curly ringlets of Glove's hair shone like white gold in the sun. Shoving his itching hands into his trouser pockets, Ben managed to mumble a superogatory goodbye be fore tearing himself away from the spot. He was imagining things, Ben told himself, walking away. Victor had only asked how Ben was sleeping because he'd probably heard Ben driving past his studio late every night for the past three weeks and was concerned.

Frances Ormond confirmed that she had heard Ben's Volvo at two and three in the morning at least a dozen times. She was far less subtle about it.

"That's the way Stephen Hunter began his terrible descent," she said, "staying out late, getting drunk in roadhouses, coming home late. Summer after summer. Night after night toward the end.

Ben thought it was none of her business, but defended himself by pointing out that he had written the two required stories and had already begun his novel. Late hours helped him work, he said.

She pursed her lips as though to counterattack, but changed the subject, feeding him coffee and freshly baked berry pie instead.

She told Ben no one else had keys to the little cottage. None were needed; the locks didn't work; anyone could get in if they wanted. Stephen Hunter had once told her he'd had enough of locks in the city. He wouldn't have functioning ones out here. It was his undoing, she added, because it en- abled his murderer to get at him so easily.

Without much prodding, she narrated the grisly tale of three summer's past. The young vagabond had been captured in a saloon a few towns away. He'd confessed and was imprisoned . At first he made some foolish claim about Stephen owing him money and refusing to pay; about them being friends for years. Under pressure, his story changed into one of revenge. Stephen had molested him, he said. It wasn't convincing , even to the unsophisticated local sheriff.

Back at the little cottage, Ben discovered she was right all the doors could be opened, the locks just flapped on their hinges. Ought he have them repaired? Yes. But whoever was visiting him at night did nothing but look at him. Was that reason enough to change something Stephen Hunter had done? Ben would never bring anyone back to the colony. He congratulated himself he never had. And he still couldn't get Victor Glove's words earlier that day out of his mind. He was almost certain it was Victor.

So he didn't repair the locks. And the next time he was awakened in the middle of the night and sensed the figure at the foot of the bed, Ben felt only a few seconds of the usual fear. The figure remained motionless, It seemed to be the right size for Glove. Then Ben began to feel the intense warm itch sweeping from the tips of his hair to the soles of his feet.

Slowly pushing down the light blanket, Ben let the dark figure warm him with its gaze, then began touching himself on his legs and groin. He thought he heard a sharpened intake of breath from his visitor, and Ben let go, slowly, luxuriously caressing and stroking himself, thinking of Victor at the foot of the bed watching him, wanting him, not daring to touch him. His climax that night was shared: he was certain of it.

When he opened his eyes, the room was empty.

He was visited every night for several weeks. Every night Ben awakened, sought out the outline of the figure against the lighter darkness of the room and succumbed to fantasies and sex

During the day he often told himself he ought to be sure it was Victor and not someone else. But who else could it be? He searched the eyes of the other colony members he saw, looking for any signs of guilty secretive interest. He found none. Then he would come upon Victor — racing around the lawns with the big Irish Hound, or sitting reading in a hammock strung outside of Joan's studio - and, though they seldom exchanged more than a few words, every word, every phrase seemed so couched with meanings relevant to their shared nights, Ben was convinced it was Glove.

Didn't everything point to it? Victor's insistence Ben remain at the colony that first night? His friendliness? His increased reticence with Ben since the night visits had begun? He seldom spoke to Ben of Joan, or of their work - as though it had only been an excuse. Ben came to believe their new silence – when they met at the local grocery store, or out on walks - was more eloquent than words. It spelled content.

Ben would be a fool to spoil it. The impossible had become the possible. Not in the open way he'd at first naively imagined , but tacit, secretive, and for that reason somehow more passionate than he'd ever fantasized. Victor must still have hurdles of attitudes, ingrained prejudices to jump before he could admit what he was wanting, feeling. Ben would give him time. Who knew what the next step would be in their growing closeness - so long as Ben didn't force it.

Ben had been visited that night as usual, all his lust and wakefulness drawn from him, as it always was, replaced by deep, calm, dreamy sleep.

People were marching down a small-town street. Batons twirled, trumpets blared, signs and crepe-covered floats sailed past. Children bounced eagerly behind. The drum passed by very close, going bam bam BAM! bam bam BAM! again and again, sounding lovely and rich and mellow at first, then omin-

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ous, then emergent.

Ben awakened to someone hammering on his front door. He thrust open the bedroom window to the cool mountain summer morning. It wasn't quite dawn.

"Ben! What do you know about drugs?" It was Eugene Ormond, evidently recently awakened. If he didn't look so panic-stricken, Ben would have laughed.

Joan's taken a pile of them. We're sure they're some kind of sleeping pills.

"What did they look like?" Ben asked. "We found one that fell on the floor." Dr. Ormond showed

Ben the red and blue shiny capsule: Tuinals.

Ben dressed and ran out to Ormond's pickup idling in front of the cottage.

"She's got to vomit them up, I suppose," Ben said as they drove toward her studio. "Then black coffee, to keep her stimulated."

"Frances thought the same, I hope she's all right," "Where's Victor?" Ben asked. "He would have known."

They pulled alongside the studio. Ormond looked at Ben oddly, then said: "Didn't you know? He's back in New York. Has been for three days. That's what all this is about."

Before Ben could register the news, Dr. Ormond had stopped the truck and was urging him to come inside.

Joan was audibly vomitting. Frances, as audibly, cursing about the stupidity of trying to kill yourself over a man, for Chrissakes, even one like Victor. There was a final spasm of vomitting, quiet, then Frances Ormond half dragged the small woman out of the bathroom and spotting Ben, asked him to help her walk Miss Sampson around a bit while Eugene made coffee, doubly strong coffee.

Their charge was light, but weak; her arms were useless, her head kept lolling against Ben's shoulder; words and saliva dribbled out of her mouth.

They wheeled her around for another five minutes. Another fifteen minutes were spent feeding her the coffee and ensuring she didn't vomit that up too. Then more walking around. oan was visibly recovered by the time the phone rang. She still looked awful and had allowed Ben to bring her into the bedroom where she was noisily sobbing: but at least she was safe, "Get that, will you Ben?" Mrs. Ormond asked, looking up from where she was cleaning the bathroom tile floor.

Ben lifted the receiver and said hello. There was a confused mumbling from the other side. Then:

Joan. Is that you?"

Victor Glove: perplexed.

Ben looked away from the phone, unable to say anything for a minute. Holding his hand over the phone, he barely murmured, "It's Victor." Saying the name was more difficult than almost anything he could remember in his life.

"Of course it's Victor!" Frances Ormond said, and came to take the call.

"You see!" Joan sobbed, standing at the threshold of the room. "He's seeing her again. He was with her all last night. He couldn't stay away from her. That's why he went back.

Frances Ormond hushed her. Ben moved away from then, feeling as though he were on the set of a movie where everyone was playing a known role and only he didn't know the scenario. He couldn't believe that Victor was in New York; yet there he was calling long distance in response to a call Mrs. Ormond had put through.

Ben walked slowly back to the little cottage. He felt dazed by the morning's events, but not so distracted he didn't notice it had rained the night before: the dirt around the cottage was still damp though drying fast. Two sets of footprints led to the tire tracks of the pickup. No other marks of someone walking around were visible.

That night he drank some brandy which kept him awake longer and made his sleep lighter than usual. When he was awakened during the night by the urgent panting breath at the foot of his bed, he immediately turned to the bed table and turned on the lamp.

The room was empty

Energized by a need to know, Ben leapt out of bed and ran out into the other rooms. He even looked outside. When he returned to the bedroom a few minutes later, he thought he saw a wisp of smoke curling into the lower edges of the large storage closet. The closet was empty. But the morning chill

caught up with him there, and he began to shiver so badly he had to get in bed and pull up the covers, waiting for sunlight.

* * *

"Stephen Hunter was homosexual, wasn't he?"

Frances Ormond looked across the distressed oak parquet of the old table at Ben.

"I guess they still don't talk much about those matters in college do they?" she asked, instead of answering him.

"The vagabond who murdered him was a hustler, wasn't he?"

"You seem to know all the answers. Why ask?"

"In the bedroom?"

"Stephen tried to get away," she said. "In the closet."

Ben wasn't surprised to hear it; only vaguely chilled to know his line of reasoning had been so on target.

'And Victor and Stephen were friends, weren't they?" "Not by then, they weren't. They had been close friends. That summer they had a falling out.'

'Because Victor wouldn't sleep with him?"

"You do have all the answers, don't you? Yes, Victor looked up to Stephen as though he were a god. But he couldn't bring himself to love him that way. Generous as Victor is with himself. I sometimes think he's too generous some- times. People want more than he can give."

"And that's when Stephen began picking up hustlers?" "No he'd done that long before he met Victor. You've read the sequence called "Broken Bones," haven't you?" "Years ago," Ben admitted. He'd never thought it was about hustlers.

Frances got up from the table and went to another room. She returned with a copy of Hunter's Collected Poems. Ben found the page and reread the first few poems in the sequence, He was shaken by the harsh, beautiful images of lust and fear.

"And this is why you said you thought" I was heading in the same direction?" Ben asked her.

"I don't care what you do. Just be careful."

"I've never brought anyone back to the cottage." "Borrow the book," she pleaded. "Read him again, Ben. He has a great deal to tell you. All the great poets do. But I think he has a special message for you."

Like every literature student of his generation, Ben had read several of Stephen Hunter's poems in class, and had even memorized one - a sonner: "August, and the scent of tragic leafburn." Aside from that one, however, Ben had always thought Hunter overrated. He had preferred the more formal poets - Stevens and Auden and Aiken - to what he termed the wild men: Dylan Thomas, Lowell, and especially Stephen Hunter. Not that his opinion made any difference. Hunter was in every anthology; his work written about, eulogized, discussed, reinterpreted.

Ben rediscovered him, reading through the poems in two days, rereading them again, then selecting out single poems and analyzing them.

Hunter's famous Odes to an Unruined Statue were suddenly opened to Ben as though they had been written in a language he could never understand until now. Victor was the beautiful man / object - the unattainable: Hunter, the critical observor and adoring fantasist. The Window Elegies, that dozen in- tensely wrought series of dense metaphors and precise yet oddly angled images were illuminated as though a light had been switched on in a basement room. Their visionary style and metaphysical message were all held together by carefully delineated details of different windows through which the poet had seen a loved one. The description in the second elegy was clearly that of Victor's A-frame studio here at the colony; the window Hunter had looked through night after night, spying on Victor.

Ben didn't go near the large closet, which he never used anyway. Nor did he sleep in the bedroom.

He felt safe on the living room sofa, even though it was cramped. And, whether it was because of his intense new fear, or whether there was a natural boundary to the presence, Ben was not awakened once by his nocturnal visitor while he slept there.

The locks were repaired, of course, just as a precaution. And he began to haunt his previous places of fast, usually anonymous sex, returning home late at night and sleeping deeply. When he didn't go out, he would stay awake at night, working, and sleep during the day. Everything he did seemed tinged by an undercurrent of excitement, as though anticipation were slowly building, but toward what end he couldn't even begin to say

Glove returned to the colony. Ben sometimes came upon him swimming at the pond. Although Joan was no longer with him, and the older man waved Ben over to join him, Ben would plead an excuse and quickly leave. The one time Ben and he were thrown together - for dinner at the Ormonds - they found they had nothing to say to each other.

What Ben had thought to be a mutual secret content, he now saw otherwise: Victor was perceptive enough to understand what Ben wanted from him; he was trying to avoid having the same kind of problem he'd had with Stephen Hunter.

Ben knew that evening he'd fallen out of love with Victor. The golden aura that used to light the other man's steps through the tall grass, the sparkle that used to dapple his dark curls as he lay in the sun were gone. His eyes seemed tired, his face lined, his laughter constrained.

Ben knew why too. No man he could ever deem desirable would have been fool enough to not give so simple a matter as his body to a once in a lifetime met genius like Stephen Hunter.

* * *

It was August when Ben moved back into the bedroom. "August, and the scent of tragic leafburn," he reminded himself , when he awakened once more out of a deep sleep. He knew instantly that the presence at the foot of his bed was

Stephen Hunter.

His body was beginning to tingle warm under the blanket cover he had protectively pulled up in that instant of realization . But Ben still shivered. The air about him stirred in cool eddies unlike any air he'd ever known. He heard what seemed to be fragments of whispered lines from poems, pleas, demands , obscenities. Stephen knew Ben: knew who he was, what he wanted, what he'd given up. Ben's teeth began to chatter. All he had to do was to reach over to the lamp table and put on the light, and he'd be alone, well, out of harm's reach. But if he did that Stephen might never come back to

him. Ben wasn't sure he wanted that either.

He suddenly thought of Victor Glove. Large, muscled, beautiful generous Victor. He thought of Victor's smile, the bulge of his crotch in those tan worn cordorouys, the roundness of his buttocks in those scarlet swimtrunks, his rippling chest, his furrowed back, those ringlets of black curls, his Florentine profile.

The room became warm and still. So warm. Ben had to push the blanket away from him, letting the heat seethe around his body.

Keeping his eyes closed, Ben thought of Victor walking, running, swimming. Then someone else pushed Victor out of the picture and came into focus: a broad-shouldered, tall, thick-bodied man with intelligent deepset eyes of indeterminate color, a craggy face, long straight honeycolored hair, straggly moustache and beard: the face, the body, the very photograph from the frontispiece of the Collected Poems.

Stephen Hunter was a great poet. A genius. A man who'd felt as deeply as spontaneously as an oil geyser. He'd flown higher than a parachute jumper on mere thought. He'd filled himself with a wisdom and suffering equal to any philosopher, any monarch. Compared to him, Victor was an oversized primate.

Ben relaxed, seeing without sight the figure moving in front of him, as though undressing, feeling the figure reach out and slowly caress Ben, the multicolored eyes gleaming softly, the mouth working to form wonderfully original words of man-love lewednesses. The raking gaze swept over Ben's body like electric fire. Only such a genius could provoke, could produce such utter pleasure, Ben thought — as he gave in.

He was only slightly joited when Stephen Hunter accepted. The sudden touch was of large warm hands pressing upon his spread thighs, the brush of warm skin on either side of his loins, like a soft large cat. But the tongue that invisibly licked before engulfing him was that of a man, the long bony nose and unkempt facial hair, when Ben reached down to gingerly touch them, those of Hunter's photoimage; and Ben knew he had finally found what he'd come to Sagoponauk Rock Colony looking for, and why that first sunset had been filled with implications he could not at first decipher.

* * *

By the end of the summer Ben was a complete recluse. He had not been seen by anyone in the colony in weeks when most of the members went back to their teaching posts around the country. Joan Sampson and the Ormonds — the last to leave, in mid-September — tried to find him, but gave up after a series of attempts.

Both the Ormonds and Victor Glove used the house on a long late October weekend. The little cottage was empty, lived-in, although increasingly messy, dusty, ill-cared for. Victor felt guilty about the boy, and waited for hours one after- noon, then searched the area until sunset made it impossible. He left notes that were never answered and were never found on subsequent visits.

On his Thanksgiving break, Victor again drove up to the colony, this time to close off the water pipes against the winter and to make certain all of the houses were locked. He once more drove to the little cottage, hoping to find Ben and to talk him out of his foolish decision to remain isolated. He didn't find the boy; but walking away from the little cottage, he gasped when he noticed the roof of Ben's Volvo sticking up out of one edge of the pond.

Although the pond was dragged by State and local police for two days no body was ever found.

Victor relayed the sad, ambiguous news to Frances Or- mond, who contacted Ben's family in Eastern Long Island.

Neither of them heard from his relatives again.

The last two days of the Christmas holidays, Frances Ormond drove up to the colony by herself. She found several studios broken into: cans of tinned food opened, eaten, discarded . She cleaned up, repaired the windows and doors with local help, gathered all the remaining canned foods in the studios, bought more at the grocery store and dropped them off in a large cardboard box near the little cottage. She never told anyone she did this. Secretly, she was proud and envious that Ben had gone and done what she'd always wanted to do - to live here all year.

It turned out to be an extremely fierce New England winter . Storms raged weeks at a time. All but main highways were blocked by high snow drifts, and after, by ice layers most of which lasted until late March, Livestock froze in-heated barns, Old people were stranded and died. Children and stragglers from stalled cars were lost in blizzards for months. Many local farmers closed up their houses and went south. Others re- mained indoors, barely surviving.

Even though they managed to get into the colony by early March, the snow plows couldn't get anywhere near the little cottage.

Easter brought on the first thaw. Victor drove up to the colony, bitterly hoping he would find the boy, and that Ben would finally listen to reason.

The door to the little cottage was still iced over and had to be kicked hard to open.

Inside, the main rooms were icily cold. Fires had been built, tin cans charred over the fire. Kerosene liters and sterno cans littered the living room floor. But Victor couldn't tell how long they'd lain there, a day or a month. It did seem as though the boy had gotten through the winter. That was a relief. He'd probably suffered so much he'd return with Victor to the city without much urging. Victor sat down to wait.

Although it was still cold, something else seemed to be missing from the cottage that Victor couldn't at first define: a disturbance he'd almost subconsciously felt every time he'd been here since they'd discovered Stepehen Hunter's corpse in the storage closet.

When it finally was too cold to stay seated, Victor got up to leave the cottage. He wrote a note to Ben saying he would be at his studio; Ben could find him there. He was about to walk outside when he realized the bedroom door was closed.

Could the boy be hiding there?

Victor opened the bedroom door and remained quite still for a very long time.

The nude emaciated body of Ben Apres was stretched out as though in utter ecstasy on the bed. His skin was ashen, pale blue with frost, perfectly preserved down to the few frozen drops of semen that had splattered his gaunt abdomen and hung off the tip of his erection.

Victor understood why he no longer sensed the supercharged presence: the insatiable Stephen Hunter had finally found someone worthy of his love.

BLACK

AT TH . photos by Yank

Body Sculptures by Tom Claypool

DRUMMER 27

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Acting out your favorite macho fantasy , being someone different for an evening of sex, is highly encouraged and been elevated to an art form. Adding a definite spice to the fun and games, as your eyes cruise a room full of hot and horney cops and cowboys, you will often spot a real star - someone you recognize from a motion picture or TV show. But is he anymore of a real cowboy than the man next to him? In Los Angeles, the line between reality and fantasy is often blurred . But the goal is very specific: to highten sexual arrousal, to achieve something beyond vanilla sex, to bring a measure of sleazy excitement to the end of a dull day at the office. Who can argue with that?

But "No pictures, please!" Hollywood still has a paranoia about hiring out-of-the-closet gays. If you want to be in the movies (and we're not talking about eight millimeter), you don't have to be straight, but you had better act straight. There are of course the exceptions to the rule, a few outrageous queens who portray stereotypical fags in films. However, for the most part, Hollywood establishment is still trying to maintain the wholesome family image of the Fifties. Any kind of morals charge results in unemployment - it is a standard clause of every movie contract.

This is not to ignore the fact that many hot looking men have signed their contracts in the producer's bedroom. The casting couch is a reality in Hollywood, and there are as many dirty old women as men willing to take advantage of the new- comer to town.

And the newcomers are numerous, Los Angeles has the most beautiful, hot, handsome, built men in the world. They flock there in search of stardom, they stick around for the action. Los Angeles has a thriving macho gay community. It was after all the birthplace of Drummer Magazine. But being the city of ambition that it is, many leathermen have found it necessary to compartmentalize their lives, keeping their personal life very personal. However, when you get them behind closed doors, watch out! Los Angeles boasts the most elaborate private playrooms and dungeons in the world, equipped with every conceivable gadget, device and instrument of pain and pleasure the human mind can imagine. Underneath the show biz patina are hot, heavy and horney men ready for real action.

About the Author:

About the Author: The author and photographer who created most of this special section on Los Angeles is Jim Moss. A true child of Hollywood, "little Jimmie Moss" appeared in over 30 major films and 100 television shows du star to go on to december gray. After study at Columbia University, Mr. Moss went on to a career in magazines and has had over 50 short stories published, 100 articles and "an untold number of photographs." His writing and

LAY THE LAN

If you want to get laid in Los Angeles, you had better learn the lay of the land quickly. This sprawling metropolis (in area the largest city in the world) can be confusing to the visitor at first. This is compounded by the fact that you must have a car and drive yourself - public transportation is totally inadequate for a night on the town hitting the bars and clubs. Car rental agencies, incidentally, abound and are very competitive.

Your reference point: Hollywood. Centrally located to most of the action in Los Angeles of interest to Drummer readers is Hollywood. In Los Angeles parlance, "Hollywood is only minutes away from everything." Distance in Los Angeles is not measured in miles, but in minutes. Los Angeles' extraordinary freeway system makes this an accurate method of judging the closeness of two places. Although it may sound strange at first, everone quickly adapts to relating to distance in terms of time. Important points of interest in Hollywood are: The Academy, an elegant uniform bar and restaurant; the Century Theatre specializing in male erotic films; The Eagle, a Levi-Western-Leather bar; The Spike, a Levi-Western-Leather bar; Griff's a Leather bar; The Pleasure Chest, the largest erotic store in Los Angeles.

To the West of Hollywood is an area logically called West Hollywood, or more affectionately known by the locals as "Boy's Town." This is one of the few compact gay neighborhoods of Los Angeles where you can walk from one bar to another. Here, you are virtually seconds away from anything. The hot spots of Boy's Town are: Motherlode, the area's most popular bar, done in a gold rush motif; Studio One, the leading Los Angeles disco and show lounge; the Blue bathhouse; and some great shops such as Side Street, the Sports Locker, and Ah Men.

To the North of Hollywood is the Valley , often referred to as North Hollywood . Here is an emerging gay community that, according to one bar owner, hopes to fashion itself after San Francisco's Folsom. Two new bars, the Officer's Club and Rawhide, have just recently opened and breathed new life into this neighborhood. The Officer's Club is a uniform bar; Rawhide is a huge bar with a live Country and Western band seven nights a week.

Going East from Hollywood you hit

Los Angeles proper. Here you will find: the Los Angeles Club Baths with very complete facilities; the Leathermaker, the man who invented black leather chaps. Further East is an area that has named itself "East End Village" and is the home of: The Stud, one of the city's most popular leather bars; Leather Trade, a new store specializing in leather clothing; The Zoo, a restaurant; and other shops such as Worn Out West and Kitchen Stuff.

Also East of Hollywood is the big news - Silver Lake. In the last year this neighborhood has had an explosion of gay business and is soon to dominate the gay social life of Los Angeles. Here you will find: Jungle, the city's most popular bar done in a military motif; The One Way, the city's most heavy duty leather bar; and other bars such as the Lumber Yard, the Salvage Yard, the Bunkhouse and the Hyperion Baths. Many gays have moved to this area, drawn by the beautiful hills, inexpensive rents and hot action. Also, many of the businesses are within walking distance which makes an evening of bar-hopping quite easy.

BARS

ONE WAY

This is the heavy-duty leather bar of Los Angeles. It stands above all others as a strictly leather-oriented club. It is for purists who are true devotees of the scene. Mike, the owner, one of the hottest men in Los Angeles, sets the tone and feeling of this bar which has become something of a legend.

The decor is high-tech, chain-link fencing with black walls. The space is interestingly broken up, yet you can see every part of the bar from almost any vantage point. The back patio is a splitten of the bar from the speci level meat rack where the prime cuts of L.A. hang out on warm Southern California evenings.

The musical programming deserves special attention. This is one of the few places that features advanced rock and roll and new wave music as a steady diet. The music is so important to the One Way that, even though it is a small bar, it has a live D.J. it has a live D.J.

If you are into leather and you are going to only one bar, make it the One way. And make it late as the bar usually doesn't get going 'til after I1 pm. Featured in the photo is Val Martin, no stranger t need we say more.

612 North Hoover Silver Lake, Los Angeles, CA (213) 660-9847

OFFICER'S CLUB

Attention to detail best describes the Officer's Club, the newest bar in North Hollywood. Extraordinary care in carry- ing through the uniform look makes this one of the smartest little bars to be found anywhere. Their beautifully designed military logo is found repeated on the beer mugs, metal badges of various sizes, in the ads and even on the bottom of the ash trays. All the bartenders have regulation police uniforms, a well-groomed appearance and a proper manner.

Donald Crespinel is the Commanding Officer at the Officer's Club. He is an attractive and friendly gentleman who spends considerable time in his bar — in fact, he is often found behind the bar.

Many of the bar's clientel are into uniforms, too. So if this is your trip, this is the place. The bars in Los Angeles, incidentally, are probably the most uniform oriented in the world. The Officer's Club has now taken this attitude to its highest level.

10522 Burbank Blvd. North Hollywood, CA (213) 760-9563

MOTHER LODE

This Spring was the opening of West Hollywood's newest and most successful bar - the Mother Lode. Created for your pleasure by the same talented team that built the Eagle up to one of Hollywood's most popular watering holes, the Mother Lode was an instant success. Packed day and night, it has become the favorite cruising spot of the local residents as well as the tourists who flock to "Boy's Town."

Located at "ground zero" so to speak, it is a short walk from Mother Lode to the shops, bars, discos and restaurants that collectively make "Boy's Town" the most compact and interesting gay neigh- borhood in Los Angeles. This area is active during the day as well as the even- ing; and the Mother Lode (as does all the other gay bars in the area) opens early to serve shoppers.

The Mother Lode is decorated in a Gold Rush motif with large photos of California's exciting Wild West period. The clientel and bartenders range in dress from cowboys to casual Southern California sportswear. Western clothing rather than leather is the dominant theme.

8944 Santa Monica Blvd. West Hollywood, CA 90069 (213) 659-9700

THE STUD

One of the three major leather / Western bars in Los Angeles, The Stud generates a very friendly atmosphere that im- mediately makes one at ease. It is where many of the heavy-duty types let their hair down and relax.

The Stud has a kitchen and patio that is very popular on weekends, and on Tuesdays when they have a special spa- ghetti feed at 8 pm for $2 that draws multitudes. The bar opens daily at 11 am with lunch starting at noon.

Part of a growing gay community East of Hollywood, the Stud and its neigh- bors have dubbed the area "East End bors have dubbed the area "East End Village" trying to give the place an identity of its own. The Stud's close neighbors include: Worn Out West, Leather Trade, and Kitchen Stuff; all open in the daytime. It is the perfect

At night, the atmosphere is very different . This is a very cruisy bar where you can actually make out. Dress ranges from T-shirts with Levi's to leather and western and uniforms. This bar is a must see for visitors to Los Angeles.

4216 Melrose Ave. Los Angeles, CA (213) 660-0889

THE SPIKE

Recently remodeled, the Spike is one of the most masculine atmospheres in Hollywood. The sound system warrants special note: It is the cleanest and best sound in any bar along Santa Monica Blvd. And as a special treat, the bar has a live D.J. to play for the room.

In the back, there is a small outdoor patio area with a bar and a Bar B. Q. pit where on weekends and special holidays food is served.

The Spike opens early in the day and is a perfect spot for afternoon cocktails while shopping at the Pleasure Chest directly across the street. Close to many other bars along Santa Monica, The Spike should be put on any evening bar-hopping tour of Hollywood / West Hollywood. The Spike is one of the more leather oriented bars in the area and Drummer readers will feel right at home. Western and uniform clothing is also popular as well as the ubiquitous Levi's and T-shirt. Definitely friendly and festive, the Spike is active at all hours and is an easy make-out bar. Go expecting a good time and you will.

7746 Santa Monica Blvd. Hollywood, CA 90046 (213) 656-9343

RAW HIDE

If you are a true devotee of the cowboy scene and never, ever take your hat off, you'll love Raw Hide. New and very successful, Raw Hide is a huge bar that has become cowboy heaven on earth.

Live Country / Western bands seven Live Country / western banus seveninghts a week, this has to be the most toe-tapping spot in Los Angeles. Not to be missed is Lonnie the singing bartender, featured in the photo, being backed up by the house band. The house Pearl. Scheduled for the future are some big names that are to be announced through the local gay media - look for their ads.

Inside the bar is a small leather shop and bookstore, the PX, which also has a larger store at another location. Here you can buy Drummer Magazine, leather goods, toys and other items to make your evening fun.

Raw Hide is one of two new bars in this area which is experiencing a true gay renaissance. Ron, one of the owners of Raw Hide, is anxious for other bars to open along Burbank Blvd, and sees the neighborhood as becoming Los Angeles' equivalent of San Francisco's Folsom district.

10937 Burbank Blvd. North Hollywood, CA (213) 760-9798

GRIFF'S

Among the most leather oriented bars in Los Angeles, Criff's is located right across the street from Paramont Studios. Although Criff's is very leather, the owners and bartenders are not without a sense of humor as the photo demonstrates . The people who operate and congregate at this bar know how to have a good time,

Very involved in activities, Griff's team in the Los Angeles Gay softball league now stands at this writing at 19 wins and no losses, the most incredible record any team has as yet achieved. This team spirit and devotion to the bar has made this place a home away from home for a whole generation of leather-men

As one of the three leather bars in Los Angeles, Drummer Magazine readers will want to put this place on their must see list. Griff's opens early in the afternoon for cocktails and really gets rolling in the early evening. Go expecting a hot time.

Griff's is near a number of leather- oriented shops such as the Leathermaker and the Leather Trade as well as the Stud bar. This area has much to offer those into the macho scene.

5574 Melrose Los Angeles, CA (213) 464-5576

THE EAGLE

One of the most popular and established Leather / western bars in Los Angeles , the Eagle is jammed to the rafters with Hollywood's most attractive men seven nights a week. The attraction is a friendly ambiance and congenial clientel. You can actually meet someone at the Eagle - the men who frequent this bar are out for fun.

Although it is not a large bar, the Eagle has gone the full measure to make your evening a memorable one! A live DJ provides the music programming; the rear room has a bar and pool table that is the focus of some of the "hottest games" in town.

The bar attracts a western / leather/ levi crowd that matches its masculine decor. Opening early in the day, the Eagle is a great place for cocktail hour when shopping or visiting other establishments along Santa Monica Blvd.

The Eagle, incidentally, recently opened another bar, the Mother Lode, which has become West Hollywood's most popular bar. Between the two of them, you have all bases covered and a guaranteed good time.

7864 Santa Monica Blvd. Hollywood, CA (213) 654-3252

SALVAGE YARD 1935 Hyperion Silver Lake, CA (213) 664-6994

I'wo new bars have opened right next door to each other on Hyperion, making this street one of the major gay business centers in Los Angeles. A number of gay establishments such as the Hyperion Baths, Swap Meat and Woody's Hyperion have been in business on Hyperion for some time,

The Salvage Yard, formerly Pure Trash, has been completely remodled and enlarged. It now is a bar on many levels with a huge outdoor patio and balcony.

The Lumber Yard has a small front bar and rear dance floor. Formerly, the Lumber Yard was Jack Wrangler's. It is open after hours on weekends. Directly across the street from these two bars is the Casita Del Campo, the most popular Mexican restaurant with gays in Los Angeles.

LUMBER YARD 1941 Hyperion Silver Lake, CA

DRIVESHAFT

Here is a great little neighborhood leather / Levi bar. The men are friendly and hunky. The patio is very popular on warm Valley evenings. A new face is always welcomed as most of the clientel is from the local area.

The decor is Western and the music well-programmed. The bar has become the hang out for the local bike clubs, who are always out for a good time.

13751 Victory Blvd, Van Nuys, CA (213) 997-9067

THE HAYLOFT

The Hayloft is very much a Hollywood oriented bar — films are shown every night of the week, and on Saturdays and Sundays there's a double feature. Often one can see a surprise first-run full-length movie for free.

This bar also has the distinction of being one of the few after-hours bars in

Los Angeles. It's a very late crowd and the cruising gets really heavy after 2 am. Leather Unlimited maintains a small shop inside of the Hayloft to fulfill your needs.

11818 Ventura Blvd. Studio City, CA (213) 769-8638

LA BAR

The LA Bar has started to jump with its new manager Michael Cascone. The bar is now having regular Bar-B-Que's and has attracted a number of new patrons, including the much needed support of the ICAU leagues for their meeting area. Becoming much more sports oriented, the Bar is also sponsoring its own tennis team.

Right along the Santa Monica strip, LA is a perfect place to hit as you bar hop this major gay boulevard in the even- ing. Incidentally, there is parking available .

8265 Santa Monica Blvd. West Hollywood, CA (213) 656-8930

IN TOUCH LOUNGE

Brought to you by the Men at In Touch Magazine, this valley bar is a casual place to cruise or bring your lover to disco. The decor is slick, the lights are well done and the music is hot. The best part of In Touch is the area distribution. You can sit in the lounge area and have a quiet conversation, while watching the wild disco floor thru glass.

In Touch attracts a young crowd, and those who are looking for something tender to take home and consume. The walls are graced with those notorious In Touch Models and you'll find a few of 'em out there dancing their asses off too.

4852 Van Nuvs Blvd. Van Nuys, CA (213) 981-6693

PROBE

A private disco club, Probe is the center of much of the macho action among gay men who like to dance. Decorated in a very masculine modern manner, Probe has one of the best sound systems in all of Los Angeles, created by Graebar of New York City. As a private club with rather tight control at the door, it is almost necessary that you know a member to get in, especially on weekends.

Probe is an afterhours club. It usually doesn't get going strong until after midnight, with the major action starting after the bars close at 2 AM. A real treat for those who like to dance — if you can get in.

836 No. Highland Hollywood, CA (213) 461-8301

STUDIO ONE

award / winning / DJ's, [×7+] winning just about everything, Studio One is a vast entertainment complex in- cluding bars, one of the largest dance floors in Los Angeles and a show room, the Back Lot, that headlines some of the biggest talents in Hollywood. To list the performers who have played Studio One over the years would take much more room than we have here.

Studio One is the flag ship of Scott Forbes' Enterprises which includes The L.A. Bar and his special production company that has brought gay people such milestone events as Gay Day at Disney- land (which drew some 40,000 people and garnered international publicity). This man has brought more entertainment to more gay people than anyone else in the world.

Recently remodeled, Studio One is now a high-tech extravaganza that nightly attracts thousands of Los Angeles' most beautiful people. It is also a favorite of those who work in the recording in- dustry. It is indeed where the Hollywood entertainment people go to play. Studio One is a short walk from some of West Hollywood's most interesting bars and shops.

652 North La Peer Drive West Hollywood, CA 90069 (213) 659-0471

The most popular bar in all of Los Angeles is Jungle. Decorated in a high- tech military motif this bar took off like tech military motil this par took of like a rocket. It is a complete entertainment complex: a large bar in the front with a small dance floor, a live DJ, a large garden complex with outdoor bar and a snack shop called The neighborhood, this bar has become the focus of social life in this area. On special evenings there is entertainment by major evenings there is entertainment by major performers with no cover such as: Jean Shy, The Skatt Brothers, Swing and The Campers — and this is just since their opening on Memorial Day.

Every detail of Jungle is done with gr

This full Color poster has been the most successful bar poster in years. It can be gotten by mail for $2 plus $1 for postage and handling by writing the bar. Jungle, incidentally, is a brother establishment to the famous W

3626 Sunset Blvd. Silver Lake. Los Angeles, CA 90048 (213) 666-3736

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(213) 762-1818 11801 Ventura Blvd. Studio City

PLASTIC MAN

In terms of relating to the human body in a plastic sense (and we're not talking about latex), Los Angeles must hold some sort of record. People change and alter their physical form here the way some people change underwear. Los Angeles has to be the face-lift capital of the world - not to mention silicone tits and ass, artificial tans, electrolysis of the whatever, tattoos and body jewelry. changed in shape - is so common that it has almost become a status symbol. Is this Hollywood's influence again? Among the more macho and acceptably butch ways you can express yourself through changing your body is with tattoos. The reigning king of the tattoos is definitely Cliff Raven and Company who hold forth at the Sunset Strip Tattoo. Piercing is also very popular among gay men and the best in Los Angeles is Gauntlet. Both The plastic man - one who has been, tattoos and piercing require steady nerves

(or a lot of vodka) and a high tolerance for pain.

For some, enduring either a tattoo or piercing has become something of a masculinity rite that sets one apart. On masculinty that sets one apart. On this and the next page are examples of personal visions that have manifested themselves into reality. It should be remembered that both of the individual artists involved, Cliff Raven and Gauntlet, are masters of the purest aspects of that vision.

SUNSET STRIP TATTOO Cliff Raven

There are businesses in Los Angeles that have gained local fame, but Cliff Raven and company are an international institution. A master of the Japanese style of tattoo, Cliff Raven studied with the world famous Phil Andros.

In the five years that Cliff has been in business, he has tattooed some of the hottest men in the country as well as many Hollywood personalities. People come from as far away as Key West and New York just to take advantage of this man's special skills.

You've no doubt seen Cliff's work already in the pages of Drummer Magazine and other national publications. His work ranges from the smallest little spider on the back of your hand to a huge Japanese leopard that starts with a roar on your shoulder and ends with its tail on your cock.

By the time this issue hits the newsstands , Cliff Raven's second store will be open for business in San Francisco at 451 Ninth Street in the Folsom area.

8418 Sunset Blvd. Los Angeles, CA (213) 650-6530

GAUNTLET

Body jewelry has become a signature of the macho man everywhere. The most popular and famous vendor of body jewelry in Los Angeles is Gauntlet, whose motto is "If you want it pierced, we'll pierce it."

The high amount of to your specs.

Part of a growing group of gay businesses in an area that has been recently dubbed "East End Village," Leather Trade is an alternative to other custom leather shops. The goal of the owners of Leather Trade is, "to make lea fering custom leather, but also doing alterations, repairs, restyling and even cleaning of leather goods.

Leather Trade also pledges completion of items in ten days or less. The shop offers a wide display of items for your inspiration as samples or off-the-rack sale that appeals to both cycle or western tastes.

Leather Trade is new to Los Angeles having opened on June 8th and has already gained a faithful following. If you are looking for something in leather that you can't find somewhere else, drop by and Dan will be happy to help you design what you like. Leather tailors Carlos or Raymond will build your fantasy garment to your compelte satisfaction.

708 N. Heliotrope Drive East End Village Los Angeles, CA 90029 (213) 668-0230

THE LEATHERMAKER

The Leathermaker is not the name of a shop but the name of a man — D.L. Sterling — and quite a remarkable man at that. Twenty years ago he invented black leather cycle chaps. He says, "It may come as a surprise to newcomers to learn that cycle chaps were not made before, but in 1960 a biker who wanted leg protection either had to wear leather leans or breeches with boots. All of these had to be donned before setting out on the bike, and had to be kept on until clothes came off - there was no easy-on, easy-off protective legwear. Of course, cowboy chaps were being made, but they were for horses, and there was a kind of unspoken dress code which forbad a biker from dressing like a cowboy until I adapted the of / the / control [×5+] to start a new fashion.

D.L. Sterling models, in the photo, the first style of chaps made for bikers, and has since refined that design a number of times. His latest design features chapwear with the zipper on the outside. He is open Tuesday through Saturday, 10 am to 6 pm.

5720 Melrose Ave. Los Angeles, CA 90038 (213) 461-1095

THE LEATHER GAME

One of the premier makers and sellers of leather to leather-men , the Leather Game is among the oldest leather shops in Los Angeles, Gary Zamrock and company have just com- pleted their 10th anniversary. The tradition of high quality and innovations in leather toys, harnesses and chaps begun by Michael Whalen (their founder) is carried on by Rob Reline. Chuck, their cutter, is one of the best known in Los Angeles. Then when Jay fits you, you know it is going to look perfect.

The Leather Game is one of those rare places where you can buy LAPD and California Highway Patrol uniforms and gear. Uniforms are especially popular in Southern California during the warm weather as an alternative to full leather. Also available are a selection of patches and other police accessories.

The men at Leather Game are leathermen's leathermen - they not only make it, they also wear it and live in it. The new Melrose location is bigger and better equipped to serve your needs. On your next visit to Los Angeles, pull your bike up front, come in and Rob or Jay will be there to help you gear up.

7264 Melrose Avenue Los Angeles, CA 90046 (213) 934-4688

BIG DEAL FRI

All magazines have readers who vary in loyalty to their favorite periodicals. If they remember to, some readers will look through the current issue at the stand or store and if there is something that interests them, will pick up a copy. The trouble with some gay magazines is that they can be read completely right at the newstand in a matter of minutes. Other readers will trade off one magazine for another with their freinds to save on what the cost of magazines is these days.

However, there are some publications that have such a loyal following that its readers will promptly go to their bookstore and demand the new issue, raising hell if it isn't available. We know because we get calls from newstands and bookstores all over the country. We also get long distance calls from readers complaining that their dealer is out and wanting to know where else they can pick up the new DRUMMER. Now THAT is loyalty!

DRUMMER has never pretended to be anything it isn't nor has it ever been merely a copy of something else. It is unique, and so is its readership.

No matter what anyone else is selling them for, most of the back issues of DRUMMER are still available from us at their original cover price. Issues 1, 2, 4, 5, and 20 are sold out. Up to issue 20 the price is $2.50, through issue 29 the price is $3, later than that it is $3.50.

ALTERNATE IS THE MAGAZINE FOR GROWN-UP GAYS. Provocative, quoted, uncompromising with a fresh approach to the subject of sexual politics, The Gay Art issue was a complete sellout and the new issue on California is headed in the same direction, a bi-monthly, you can get twelve issues sent to you for a modest

The quality Magazine for grown up gays.

DRUMMER IS THE MAGAZINE THAT ISN'T A COPY OF ANYTHING ELSE! The best in fiction, photography and art presented in the hottest, most forthright manner possible, The popularity of DRUMMER is legendary. Don't miss an issue, it's one of a kind!

AMERICA'S MAG FOR THE MACHO MALE

MALEBOX is the newest DRUMMER publication, a monthly super tabloid with more person-to -person classified than you dreamed possible. Articles you won't find anywhere else, dynamite features, fiction, erotic art. If you liked it before, you'll love it now. You can have it every month in your box for only

If you think DRUMMER is outrageous, wait until you meet MACH. We introduce the Six Dollar Magazine, which in itself is fairly outrageous. More of everything, except advertising. MACH is fresh, bright and a definite instant turn-on. Subscriptions for a year for $20. Strictly High Octane.

4 ISSUES (Reg. $24) Quarterly Copy $6

ALAN'S ALLEY

Formerly the Barracks, this place is sleazy. Definitely for those who are seriously into FFA. Two floors of private rooms — slings hanging from everywhere — this is a specialty place. Not as large or as popular as some of the other clubs, Alan's Alley is the Place for a certain kind of person - many of whom are Drummer readers.

5729 Cahuenga Blvd. North Hollywood, CA (213) 760-3292

SWAP MEAT

The Swap Meat is Silver Lake's most popular glory hole. Their famous poster popular gory ince. Their almost posterior accurately expresses the kind of action you will find here. Very active after hours as a private club, the Swap Meat is especially busy on Friday and Saturday nights. A very large to explore.

1800 Hyperion Avenue Los Angeles, CA (213) 666-2355

MEAT RACK

The men at the Meat Rack have forced the words "glory hole" to be extensively enlarged in meaning. A complete fa- cility, the Meat Rack has added fantasy: There is a park outside with bushes to play in, rails to tie your horse to, and rings in the wall to tie your slave to. inside there is a large detention cell and many small jail cells. The slings are always in use. There is a large public bathroom for the wet and wild. Es- pecially crowded after hours. Drummer readers won't want to miss visiting this place.

4621 Santa Monica Blvd. Los Angeles, CA (213) 666-9811

CORRAL CLUB

The oldest bathhouse in the Valley, the Corral Club has two floors of public rooms, many of them with slings. All the usual facilities of a bathhouse. The men are hot, local, Valley types for the most part. Most active on the weekends, of course.

3747 Cahuenga Blvd. Studio City, CA (213) 899-9944

SERPENT 8 CLUB

Celebrating their tenth anniversary, the Serpent 8 is the largest and most complete bath facility in the Valley. They have just opened a new section and now have an enormous sun deck. Private rooms and lockers are available. Soon, there will be three sling rooms which should be of special interest to Drummer readers. Other facilities include: sauna, steam, jaccuzi and public rooms set aside for action or just quiet reading.

4109 West Burbank Blvd. Burbank, CA (213) 849-2700

Buck Rogers' Los Angeles Happenings, our monthly events calendar and advertiser, reaches more L.A. area gay households than any other gay periodical in print. And since it features 150-200 timely upcoming events of interest to the gay community every month, it is referred to again and again all month long by 20,000 L.A.-area gays and their friends. Los Angeles Happenings is printed on quality paper and distributed free at more than 200 L.A.-area locations. Whether you want to attract well-heeled L.A. gay tourists to your business or seek their mail-orders, join some 70 California advertisers who increase their business month after month with Los Angeles Happenings! For a complimentary copy of the current Los Angeles Happenings and rate sheet, write to Buck Rogers, 7985 Santa Monica Blvd., Suite 109, Los Angeles, CA 90046. Or call Buck at (213) 666-4382 or (213) 656-0258.

RESTAURANTS

THE FOUR QUEENS CAFE

In your tour of Silver Lake, you won't want to miss The Four Queens. It is an intimate coffee house with great omelets and a wide selection of sweets and pastries to fortify you for the next round. Often you will find a man reading cards, who is guaranteed to find someone "tall, dark and handsome" in your future.

The Four Queens is right in the heart of the Silver Lake section and is perfect for dinner before hitting the local bars. The One Way, incidentally, is also on Hoover St.

574 North Hoover Los Angeles, CA (213) 662-3414

KEITH'S RESTAURANT & BAR

Serving the public for 37 years, Keith's Restaurant and Bar is the oldest and best known gay restaurant in Southern California with a tradition of fine food, great entertainment and gracious service.

By day, Kieth's is a sunny spot for lunch offering a full range of sandwiches, soups and salads. Their homemade potato chips are a specialty. The decor is New Orleans French Quarter with an easy going atmosphere that has made it a favorite place for a business luncheon or a cool drink on those hot Valley days.

At night, Kieth's is a complete entertainment facility. Start with cocktails at the bar, followed by one of Sal Nigrelli's sumptous meals. As owner and master chef, Sal and his partner Bob Young pay attention to detail. Their rack of lamb and Veal picata are always in demand. A well-stocked wine cellar will impress the most discriminating palate.

After dinner, enjoy the hot sounds of "Be Here Now," a duo with a wideranging repertoire that easily moves from blues to jazz to rock.

11801 Ventura Blvd. Studio City, CA 91604 (213) 762-1818

THE ACADEMY

A remarkable dining experience awaits you at the Academy, Los Angeles' uniform restaurant, bar and show lounge. The decor, the waiters' uniforms and the service all emphasize high military style.

Lunch and dinner are served daily in the main dining room and patio. Special brunches are served on Saturdays, Sundays and Holidays and are popular with the uniform crowd throughout Los Angeles.

A special attraction of the Academy is the show lounge with live entertainment Saturdays the show is John Spindler's "A Salute to Broadway," an engaging musical revue featuring some of Hollywood's most talented newcomers, some of whom are certainly destined to careers in television and motion pictures. Show times start at 11 pm with a special matinee on Sunday afternoons at 4 pm after brunch.

As to the food, it is excellent, And come hungry as the portions are generous . The service is snappy and proper as one would expect in an elegant table- cloth restaurant. The wine selection is extensive. Diner for two with the works (cocktails, appetizer, main course, wine, after dinner drinks) runs about $50 for two, including the tip.

6236 Santa Monica Blvd. Hollywood, CA 90038 (213) 466-8292

CELLULOID SKIN

THE CENTURY THEATRE

The Century Theatre is currently the oldest gay-owned and operated theatre showing explicit gay films in all of Los Angeles. Which is to say a lot, since the movie capitol of the world has been remiss in maintaining a gay

Unlike the stereotypical 'porn theatre,' The Century is indeed a large, traditional movie house with 35mm projection equipment, ample seating, first run films; and is an integral part of the Hollywood gay community.

The Century brings the finest new gay films to town, each feature shown in original, crisp prints. The cinema fare represents the best directors and actors working the gay film medium.

Recently, The Century opened a second theatre in San Francisco; itself the largest, best-equipped gay theatre in the city.

Information on their current offering in film is available by telephoning (213) 666-1678.

5115 Hollywood Blvd. Hollywood, CA (213) 666-1678

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EAST END VILLAGE 708 N. Heliotrope Drive Los Angeles, CA 90004

Tuesday thru Saturday 11:00 AM to 7:00 PM

There's a New Sign at Folsom & 11th.

And a Whole New Experience for You.

It's about time that we had a club of our own. And not just a club, but the kind of place that the fun-seeking sensualist in you has been searching for. There are a lot of things you could join - Discos, Encounter Clubs, Glory-Hole Clubs - the DRUMMER KEY CLUB is none of these. We have taken the concept of a place where OUR people can enjoy themselves: well-run , friendly, exciting and inexpensive and come up with a concept you can't resist.

Memberships in many places can cost you anywhere from a few to thousands of dollars and about all you get is the privilege of paying five to fifteen dollars at the door for admission. People like to associate with their own kind and are usually charged considerable for that right. Ours is a different concept. We are expanding the Leather Fraternity, including all its privileges and benefits, and

FOR THE MACHO MALE adding a great new Club to use. Our first will be in San Francisco, where we are. Cost stays the same - $60 - which is less than most Disco memberships. What do you get for sixty bucks?

□ DRUMMER SUBSCRIPTION. Twelve issues of the hottest magazine around. If you already subscribe , we'll add a year to your present subscription. That's $40 worth right there. Pick up your free copy of DRUMMER at the club or we'll mail it to you. CLASSIFIED ADS. Twelve inserts in DRUMMER no less. Included.

MAIL BOX AND FORWARD-ING SERVICE. No charge for forwarding your mail to your box number.

☐ LEATHER FRATERNITY MEMBERSHIP with full privileges. YOUR DRUMMER CLUB KEY with full guest privileges. ☐ THE DRUMMER KEY CLUB will be open this summer in the Heart of the Folsom-South of Market area with POOL and recreational facilities.

☐ YOUR CREDIT CARDS — VISA and MASTERCHARGE are welcome, Limited Check Cashing with your membership.

Enjoy the DRUMMER KEY CLUB and all its benefits and make this coming year one to remember. Now, more than ever, you should have a Leather Fraternity membership and DRUMMER CLUB key.

Hurry! Charter memberships at this price must be limited. Get your ass in gear.

$100 Charter Memberships Now $60. Hurry!

DRUMMER KEY CLUBS / LEATHER FRATERNITY 15 Harriet Street / San Francisco, CA 94103

I surrender. Here is my $60. Get my membership kit, my subscription and other goodies going and make it snappy! I am 21 years of age or better.

(signature) _ NAME

ADDRESS

CITY, STATE, ZIP

Charge it to my Card Number -

VISA

MASTERCHARGE

Los Angeles

(213) 650-1022 7733 Santa Monica Blvd.

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LOS S E N GE L

3626 SUNSET BOULEVARD

WET SHO Tom De Simone is the filmgoers fantasy of what an erotic filmmaker should be like. This compact, sexy, hairy, hung Italian stud is every bit as exciting as the men who people his films. In fact, people who meet Tom often voice the question: Why doesn't he turn the camera on himself? If you saw The Idol, then De Simone's name should already be part of your vocabulary. It was one of those films not to be missed. Everything about it was a turn-on: from the cast to the exacting editing and direction, the color, the sound, the throbbing erections both on the screen and in the audience. In fact, The Idol may have sent more people to their knees than any explicit film made in the last couple years.

Tom De Simone has a sense of humor, and in Wet Shorts he lets it out like he's never dared before. But that's because he knows sex can sometimes be a little funny. Sometimes even very funny.

views the Flicks

LE DEUTSCH NOIR

Ranier Werner Fassbinder's reputation as a homosexual filmmaker, and as one of the pivot filmmakers in the German Narrative Line Cinema is based on a handful of films that have been seen in America : The Marriage of Maria Braun, Effi Briest, Fox and His Friends, Despair, and The Bitter Tears of Petra Von Kant. The larger body of work almost completely unknown to American audiences paints a much broader portrait of the filmmaker; and while it doesn't detract from his status in the international film-making community, does provide foundation for what is more a auteur film noir than a vanguard dictorial style.

Fassbinder may have influenced Ger- man Narrative Line Cinema, or have been influenced by it - but he definitely belongs in a category more comprehen- sive, if in any category at all.

His most successful films, Fox and Maria Braun, reflect what his film vision is all about. In both of these works Fass- binder approached the condition of the prevailing social order through the perspective of highly-individualized characters . American audiences found Fox and Maria identifiable personages through symbiotic metaphors. In Fassbinder's newest American-shown film, In A Year of 13 Moons, he repeats this same approach . However, because 13 Moons is Fassbinder's most personal vision, audiences will find it his hardest to comprehend .

The film follows a transsexual during the last four days of his / her life. When the film opens, we are confronted with images that seem in contradiction: A man is cruising the Frankford waterfront and comes on to a young man. They meet, caress, begin to strip and fondle each other. We see the first man's pants fall to his knees, revealing a pair of laced woman's panties. The second man reaches for anticipated genitals, suddenly steps back, and shouts to other young men loitering in the bushes that his partner says he is a woman. The other youths come forward and Elvira, who has masqueraded as a man in order to pick up a young boy, is beaten by the gang. It is impossible for the viewer to understand that this is not a "queer-bashing." Not until at least half-way through the film does the narrative line catch up with the visuals - and we learn that Elvira was a man who had a sex change, was never homosexual, had a wife and a daughter before the operation, and only did it for one very specific, maddening reason.

Elvira is rejected by her lover, Chris-toph , and left to her own remorseful de-She finds some, but not much, vices. consolation in the company of a prostitute friend, Zora - but the latter actually sends Elvira on a search for her past. Although there are no flashbacks, we learn the story of Elvira and her marriage and her child and her sex change and her unrequited love for her father-in-law. This is the whole of the narrative line, the rest of Fassbinder's film is present-tense filler.

There are hints of Elvira's impending suicide throughout the two hours / four days. Death, of animals and of other people, is a constant recurring motif. In fact, death is the only option presented with any sincerity.

Elvira is not an attractive woman. She has grown overweight, sloppy, careless . She attempts to restore her man- hood by cutting off her hair and donning an ill-fitting old suit (which one assumes is from her earlier life as a man). But Elvira, under the sway of a year with 13 new moons, is doomed to emotional and physical failure.

Fassbinder might, in this instance, remind the viewer of Polanski's moody The Tenent - so mixed is the film noir and the use of obsession and transsexu-ality . But Polanski used these images to create a mood and style; Fassbinder is strictly shooting from the hip.

In A Year of 13 Moons is not the most dark film I've ever seen, nor the most depressing . But it may require too much from the audience, and for Fassbinder, nothing required could be too much to ask. The audience will say: You have not entertained us. You have not taught us.

Fassbinder would reply: This is not entertainment and you have not learned. - John W. Rowberry

TOMORROW THE WAR RESUMES

Time has taken a definite toll on Samuel Fuller's The Big Red One. This sensitive story of four young dog-faced infantrymen and their sergeant facing the horrors of World War Two has come a decade too late to meet the impact of pace-setters like Johnny Got His Gun, Coming Home and Apoclypse Now. Not all of that is Fuller's fault. No director can predict what any other director will do to change the course of filmmaking. But if Fuller's intention was, as stated, "is to make the viewer feel war," then he has failed.

Had he reached for a more humane goal, to perhaps show a humanity that exists in spite or because of the condition of war - he would have come damn near the mark. The latter, the hummanity, is the saving grace of this ironic and dialectic film. And Lee Marvin's performance - may be the highmark of his career.

Mark Hamill, who gets second bill, is as believable as the rest of the cast, and the rest of the cast is fine. In fact, this is a fine little movie about four soldiers experiencing an alien environment. It was just made too late after the fact.

- John W. Rowberry

NRA

GAYCON NEWSLETTER

Gaycon Press Newsletter is now back in publication. The newsletter contains prison news, inmate poetry, gay news of interest to prisoners and resource information concerning gays locked behind prison walls. The newsletter is sent free to prisoners and is $6 per year for non-prisoners.

For more information write to: Gay-con Press, Ron Endersby, Editor, 1200 Haight Street No. 9, San Francisco, CA 94117. The newsletter will also aid in finding and matching free gays and gays in prison in terms of correspondence,

Inmate with less than one year left to serve would like to hear from any area, Am 29 years old, bisexual, 6'3'', 200 lbs., 8'', with a good body. Am a dominant plummer looking for a good fit. Vic Byrd, No. 16603, Box 14, Boise, ID 92707 83707.

Handsome English guy, 24, 6'1", 170 lbs., 12", blond hair, blue eyes. Presently in college release program, can travel on furloughs to those men interested. Walter Williams, No. 71A0654, Box 367, Dan- nemora, NY 12929.

Attractive, blond hair, 6', 152 lbs., hazel eyes, hung, warm-hearted and lonely. Masculine, passive, into all kindo of sex. Send a photo if passible. Tracy Reynolds, No. B-87658, Room 2209, CHC-East, Box A, San Louis Obispo, CA 93409.

Goodlooking, 37, bisexual, blue eyes, dak brown hair, 5'8", 160 lbs., seeks friends and lovers. Ted DuBois, No. A053581, Box 518, Zephyrhills, FL 33599.

Seeking meaningful relationship with gay or bisexual men. Am 27, 5'8'', 160 Jbs., muscular, well hung, cocoa complexion, black hair and brown eyes. Will answer all letters. Edward Osborn, No. 140-114, Box 45699, Lucasville, OH 45699.

Lonely prisoner looking for correspondence with gay men. Currently in protective dustody due to being gay. Ray T. Woodall Jr., 2800 Gravier St., (PC), New Orleans, LA 70119.

White gay male, 5'9", 115 lbs., seeking correspondence. Due to be paroled soon. Bobby Whitney, No. 30868, Box 2500, Lincoln, NB 68502.

Gay prisoner eager for contact with the outside world. Paul Devine, No. 762210, Box 149, Attica, NY 14011.

GAY PRISONER PROJECT

The American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) National Gay Rights Project has announced the formation of a Gay Pris- oners Committee which with "document incidents of selective abuse or discrimination suffered by lesbians and gay pris- oners at the hands of the police, the courts, jail or prison personnel and other prisoners."

Anyone having information about selective abuse in U.S. prisons should send it to Dan Campbell, ACLU Prisoners Committee, 633 South Shatto Place, Los Angeles, CA 90005.

PRISON OUTREACH

Boston's Gay Community News is beginning a prison outreach program that will include connecting outsiders with prison pen pals, getting books and publications sent to prisoners, and making an effort to establish a support system for Lesbian prisons similar to the existing organizations for gay men. Gay Com- munity News routinely sends free copies of their newspaper to prisoners, and has been involved in the fight to secure ac- cess to gay materials for gay prisoners.

If you are interested in helping the outreach program, or being advised of its various activities, you can write to: Mike Riegle, Gay Community News, 22 Brom- field Street, Boston, MA 02108. The newspaper publishes advertisements from prisoners every alternate issue.

THE TORCH / ANTORCHA

The largest political faction concerned with prison, prison reform, and the condition of prisoners is the left. A large number of anti-war, anti-nuke, anti-draft demonstrators found themselves in jail and sometimes in prison for clearly political beliefs. A bi-weekly newspaper , The Torch, printed in both Spanish and English, devotes a good amount of their editorial space to current prison situations, political prisoners, and the connection between the prison population and political activism.

The Torch also maintains free subscriptions for prisoners. Currently, however , prison systems in New York and Texas have banned the newspaper from entry into those state's prisons. If you have a prison pen pal with strong leftist political leanings, you might suggest he write to The Torch for a subscription. If you are interested in the publication yourself, three issues will be mailed to you for $1. The address is: The Torch, Box 1288, New York, NY 10116. The Torch does not have a prisoner classified section, but reports prison news and publishes letters from prisoners.

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DRUMMER'S BIO

WRINKLED FATIGUES

To Keep Our Honor Clean (Vanguard, 1980, $10.95) is one of those books we just wish would go away. Better still, we wish it had never been written. Given all that, the least we'd like to do is ignore it. But the publisher has launched a major advertising campaign claiming the book is "somewhere between From Here to Eternity and Dress Grey." That quote might mislead a Drummer reader, so we take it as a duty to tell you that this is not a gay book. It is mer military book.

Briefly, the action revolves around a group of men who go through basic training at Parris Island. Guess what! Drill Instructors slap their faces! They are called dirty names! They have a hard time making it through. One of them doesn't; he commits suicide. The outline still might sound good, but don't waste your money. It's poorly written, boring, and not worth it. You probably have better military scenes of your own every week.

There's a new non-fiction book that offers something much more interesting. Real Men: Sex and Style in an Uncertain Age, by Frank Rose with photography by George Bennett (Doubleday, 88.95, paperback) is a fine exploration of the new modes of living that have become available to American men. The b composed of seven profiles of men who toniposed of seven promises of their who have redefined masculinity for themselves. It's interesting to note that one of the most "butch" profiles is of New York designer Norm: Kathweg. Norm, whose claim to gay fame is tha interior of the St. Mark's Baths in New York, comes across as a sturdy example of the new gay man - not interested in monogamous games, comfortable in leather, confident of his maleness. Some of his lines are magnificent. And so are some of the very quotable remarks made by the author as he describes life in the evolving ghetto: "Gay men with ambition tend to migrate to New York, while those whose ambition is to be gay are more likely to be drawn to the Golden Gate."

Love and Love Sickness: The Science of Sex, Gender Difference and Fair- Bonding by John Money (Johns Hop- kins University Press, $16,95) is a pon- derous academic work that really wasn't meant for summer reading. If you are interested in a learned study on gender differences and how they effect pair-bonding, be our guest. Still, Money is one of those old war horse liberals who's been championing gay rights for years, and he certainly uses this opportunity to get in a few licks at homophobia. In fact he describes this country as being shockingly similar to Russia:

The sexual dissident in the United States is the counterpart of the political dissident in Russia.

Epidemiologically, both are considered infected with contagious ideas that threaten the health of Society. Both are kept under police surveillance, and are subject to police harassment and entrapment. Both are arrested and brought to trial at enormous expense to the taxpayer. Both are subject to sanity tests and both may be sentenced to custody in either a psychiatric in- stitution or a prison. Both are professionally dispossessed and cannot return to their former occupations. Both have their families economic- ally ruined and morally traumatized .

Sobering thoughts. The Homosexual as Hero (Barnes and Noble, $22.95) is another academic book. It's supposedly a survey of gay characters in literature. There's nothing new, and it really doesn't get into the homosexual as hero, but is limited to the homosexual as character. The author's special affinity for James Purdy makes that section interesting , but the rest is a simple overview that doesn't really add much to the body of understanding. St. Martin's Press has just published Tress: Facing Up ($13.95) a volume of photography by Arthur Tress. The images have appeared in many of the gay magazines , but it is still very worthwhile to have them all collected in one place. The book is being co-published by a French publishing house. The reproduction quality is stunning.

- John Preston

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TODAY: Organized Pool Events (6 Bar Tables)

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Instruction is available from Kitty Stephens, 1978 U.S. Women's National 8-Ball Champion,

Tournament Schedule Monday - 8 ball tournement - 8 pm Open to all - $2 entry Wednesday – Women's 8 ball tourne 8 pm Open Friday - 9 ball tourne - 8 pm Open $5 entry

LUBY'S GAME ROOM 174 VALENCIA STREET SAN FRANCISCO, CA 94103

This coupon provides you with FREE MEMBERSHIP for July & August 1980 and is also worth $2.00 toward Annual Fee when you join.

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WATERSKIER'S ENEMA

"We have read with great interest the reports in the Journal of such sport- related injuries as penile frostbite, jogger's nipples, judo-jogger's itch and most recently the feared disco felon. We would like to add to this impressive list another entity we have called 'waterskier's enema'

Waterskier's enema occurs when the victim, traveling at a high rate of speed, lands on the water in the sitting position with a craniorectal angle of about 120 degrees and the legs abducted. In the two years patients whom we observed, clinical presentation consisted of sudden onset of diffuse crampy abdominal pain followed by an intense desire to (shit). Both victims went on to uneventful recoveries.

"Although the clinical importance of this entity is minimal, the intense post- traumatic urge to (shit) must be respected , and boat owners should carefully question anyone suspected of having waterskier's enema before allowing them back in the boat."

New England Journal of Medicine

TEXAS TOWN WIGGLES WAY OUT OF BIG STINK

LUFKIN, Tex. (49)—Deep in the pines of East Texas, millions of sludge-eating red wigglers are worning their way into the hearts of the people of Lufkin.

Since May, 1979. Lufkin, population 32,000, has been experimenting with the use of the four-inch worms to eat part of the city's sewage. It is the only such system in use in the world, according to city officials.

Dwayne Humphrey, city public works director, said 10,000 pounds of red wigglers are on the job. processing 5% of the city's sewage.

The city hopes to eventually double the percentage, and that would result in a savings of $65,000 annually.

The worms are kept outside town in a dozen 20-foot by 90-foot "cells" through which the sewage flows. sewage flows.

"It's so simple. It's a back-to-nature thing," Humphrey said. "You could go out there and the smell would gag a maggot. But 15 minutes later you wouldn't smell a thing."

The Amarica dispersions of the same

Los Angeles Times

Drummer's Tough Customers are just what the name implies, ready and willing - but hard to please tops and bottoms. And there's nothing as up-front as a Drummer man, right? That's why these studs are here, to show you what they've got and to see if you're man enough to handle it. Want to join them? Then let's see what you've got, stud. Send your black and white photos to: Tough Customers, c / o Drummer, 15 Harriet St., San Francisco, CA 94103. If it's good enough, you'll see it here. Photos cannot be returned.

HOLLYWOOD MASTER "Here is a picture of my hot Master . It should be obvious what his

TRISTAN THE TERRIBLE

One of Drummer Key Club's charter members, you will soon find him lounging about the pool in San Francisco.

Uniform fancier and all-around welcome wagon is willing to host visiting Americans. Write: B.M. Caval- ryman, London WC1V6XX, ENG-LAND .

TOUGH TOILET

Master is looking for open-mouthed slaves with good working tongues and ceaseless energy to get down and worship his hairy asshole and uncut cock. Master, 1735 N. Pen- nsylvania, Indianapolis, IN 46202.

MR. CHAPS '80 / HOLLAND

Michael, one of our toughest European customers, recently won the Mr. Chaps '80 contest in Ham- burg. We're waiting to see photos from his workroom, rumored to be the setting for some of the hottest action in Amsterdam.

ANYTHING GOES / GEORGIA

Super built macho construction worker looking for same for anything goes, photo and letter exchange, cassettes. Max, 5551 Brady Dr., Stone Mountain, GA 30087.

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A packed house celebrates at the "Mr. South of Market Contest," June. 26. The contest, sponsored by Drummer Magazine, was the first event in Trocadero's four-day 1980 Parade weekend, which ended with a Tea Dance attended by 1950 people.

ALWAYS A PARTY

Trocadero Transfer, the ultimate in sound, light and space through 2 1 / 2 years of outrageous weekends and parties, now proudly announces a full bar and its expanded schedule:

NEW DAY!

WEDNESDAYS

Open 9:00 pm to 2:00 am Admission: Cardholders 53.00 General $5.00

FULL BAR!

NEW PRICES

THURSDAYS

Open 9:00 pm to 2:00 am FREE ADMISSION to Cardholders All others $5.00

FULL BAR!

FULL BAR!

Open 9:00 pm to Dawn Full Bar until 2:00 am Cardholders $5.00 Guests $8.00

OPEN 9:00 PM!

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TURDAYS

Open 9:00 pm to Dawn Full Bar until 2.00 am Cardholders $5.00 Guest $8.00 No General Admission

OPEN 9:00 PM

NEW PRICES

SUMMAYS

Open 5 00 pm to 2:00 am throughout the Summer Cardholders $3.00 General $5.00

FULL BAR!

Prices will differ for special parties

CASTRO STREET FAIR TEA DANCE Sunday, Aug. 17

Don't miss this summer classic, from 5.00 pm until dawn, with a full bar until 2.00 am. FREE SHUTTLES leave the fair for Trocadero starting at 4:30. Admission: Cardholders $3:00, General $5.00

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