Boskone XXII was full of surprises. There was great interest in my all-gay apa,[1] I hosted one of Boskone’s two Gay Fandom parties, and also ran a discussion group about Gay Fandom (yes, it was a rather gay con for me). I saw lots of movies. And I almost got queerbashed.[2]
Almost was more than enough. The intent to do more was there And—although I can’t be certain—I think much of it was premeditated.[3]
Start with the first Gay Fandom party. The crowd was only mostly gay. I have no problem with sympathetic straights being at a gay party. The point was to have fun in a gay-positive atmosphere. Then there were people like Drew, brother to someone I knew.[4] He and his friends were not sympathetic. When they showed up at the party, I was a little apprehensive, but there were more of us (and who can stop an army of lovers?).
Drew, in addition to being non-sympathetic, isn’t even a fan. Yes, folks, he’s one of the over-growing number of Mundane Fandom.[5] When I started going to cons, fans had a good reputation with hotel staffers (this heard from a maid (okay, I could be cynical and say she was staring for a bigger tip, but…)). This year, I heard about how the hotel liaison was trying to calm the hotel about the vandalism (most hall phones were destroyed).[6]
Well, they were quiet (although at one point, Drew called me over (I was in the middle of a conversation and said so)) and soon left. That’s when things began. There were a few annoyance calls and one in which Drew told me that his brother wanted to meet me by the film room (1. I don’t deal through intermediaries—his brother knows that; 2. I rarely come when summoned, which his brother knows too).
Finally, at 3 am., I was preparing to leave the hotel. I wanted to say goodbye to a few friends. This took us (Ron and I) past Drew and his friends. “Queers,” they said, “faggots.” Bluntly speaking, these things are true, but I’d rather not be called them. Ron and I have only reaction to queerbating: we kiss and walk on.
They got louder and cruder. “Faggot,” said Drew, “it makes me sick that my brother used to hang around with a faggot. I wish I had a gun so I could shoot your balls off, faggot.”
“At least he can find them,” shot back Ron. My turn: “I’d rather be queer than an asshole.” This got them mad.
They pursued. Drew pushed me. “Leave him alone,” said Ron. Then a large brick wall, disguised as a blond man appeared and said, “leave them alone!” He pushed the queerbashers away. We left, going for security, since a fight had broken out. We left, going for security, since a fight had broken out, and we wanted to make sure justice was served.
Unfortunately, by the time we got hotel security to come to the fourth floor, everyone had disappeared (everyone! combatants and spectators alike).
I was a little shaken up by this, so I suggested to Ron that we go to the film room and watch the rest of Slaughterhouse 5. So we did and told a few new friends of our experience. We soon became a group of angry young queers.
There are people in this world who think that gay people should put up with such abuse. Fortunately, con operations did not agree when we told them of the incident the next morning. The next morning, Ron and I bumped into a committee member we both know. We told her out story. She told us to meet her in Systems. So, we went there and told our story (just as it is above).
Later, we had to return to Systems. It seems the guy who stopped the queerbashing pushed Drew’s girlfriend, causing her to break her knee.[7] So, we retold our story (to another con staffer), pointing out that we could understand Drew & Co. feeling attacked, but that the attack was borne of chivalry.
[Not in my original account, but we were told by con staff that Drew and his friends had been ejected from the con and told that they were not welcome on the premises. They were also told that knew and believed me and that their tale of how Ron and I initiated things just wasn’t credible.]
Later, I saw Drew’s brother. I told him the story, and promised to do what he could although he doubted he could do anything. (We saw him still later; his parents refused to order Drew to come home, further Drew had sworn to get us).
We were a little nervous about all this. You can’t count on large individuals to come to your rescue. Fortunately, at most time we were with large groups of fen,[8] and usually several gay fen.
We went to Burger Thing,[9] and—as chance would have it—they were two tables way from us. This somewhat ruined our appetite, but nothing happened.
The rest of the weekend went by with only one more incident. While the finally incident wasn’t violent, it was homophobic. Earlier that day, I was about to go to the bank and didn’t want to deal with weirdos to say dumb things to people in top hats, so I had loaned my hat to a friend. I hadn’t seen her after that, so I went to a party where I knew she’d be.
I left several friends in the con suite and went off for the 13th floor. En route, another elevator passenger saw my badge and said, “You’re John Dumas. I’ve heard of you.”[10]
“In conjunction of with that?”
“You were involved in that thing where the girl got assaulted.”
“What girl?” I questioned, then it hit me. “Her—she was injured trying to assault a friend and me.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said the gentleman., “you only suffered verbal abuse, she has a broken knee.”[11]
There’s no talking to some people and this one was going to the same party. So, I collected my hat[12] (much to the disappointment of the friend who was now wearing it (sorry, Adam)), and explained why I couldn’t stay—and I was expected elsewhere.
My friend later told me the topic of the party became how stupid some people could be, excusing the intent of committing violence, just because the intended victims escaped unscathed. There is hope for humanity.
A few words in postscript
Ron and I broke up less than a year after that (for reasons that had nothing to do with the queerbashing at Boskone XXII). He’s a great guy (we’re in touch), but we were a disaster as a couple.
The incident was well remembered a year later at Boskone XXIII, which saw the founding of the Gaylaxians. I’m happy to say that only positive gay experiences happened at Boskone XXIII.
The question of what would happen with out gay fans at the con had been answered. Yeah, there could be problems, but the con would have our back (kudos to the staff of Boskone XXII, who handled things beautifully).
- An amateur press association seemed the best choice to me, since I assumed that gay science fiction fans were sufficiently rare that there would be no way to have a local organizations (1986) or a convention (1988), both of which I later had a hand in.
↩ - I wrote “almost” in 1985 when I wrote this up. I was queerbashed. They made physical contact with me. (Queerbashing and queerbaiting were the terms used by the LGBTQ (then LGB) community. Later, non-community newspapers softened these terms to gaybashing and gaybaiting, because when you’re talking about physical or verbal assaults, you need gentle language.)
↩ - I think anything less than an abject apology for existing and a promise to leave the con immediately would have been taken as a pretext for a physical altercation. They were spoiling for a fight. I wasn’t there for that.
↩ - When I originally published this in my zine, I named him. I’ve removed a few identifying other details from this story. If you knew me in 1985 and you’re curious, yeah I’ll tell.
↩ - Boskone had a problem in the mid ’80s. It had grown large enough that it was dubbed the “Winter Worldcon” and had attracted an increasingly large contingent who weren’t even remotely science fiction fans. These people increasingly became a problem for Boskone.
↩ - And it would be two more years before Boskone XXIV, the “Boskone from Hell,” after which no hotel in Boston would host the convention.
↩ - So it was said. That said, a few years later, I injured a knee when I was thrown off my bicycle and made a one-point landing on my kneecap. I didn’t break anything. Within an hour, my knee swelled so much that I couldn’t bend it for a week. That Drew’s girlfriend was ambulatory does cast some doubt on her story.
↩ - Fannish slang of the era, with fen on the model man > men. Men is an i-mutation plural. These were common in Old English, but only a few of them are now left. That’s progress for you.
↩ - Oh, figure it out. ↩
- Within a couple years, people would see my name on a badge and want to talk to me, but it was in more positive contexts. ↩
- Again, though this was her story, I’m inclined to believe that it was just a story.
↩ - Although I have many hats, I don’t have this one anymore.
↩
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