This may or may not be off topic, but I see a lot of talk about the story Denny wrote called “Het”. Well, Denny writes what he calls a FLOG (a newsletter he sends out about football). Recently he went off topic and spoke about BoingBoing and HET. When he’s the term “we” I still think he’s referring to himself…Here’s what he had to say.
“We’ve been getting a lot of enjoyment from the comments that readers are posting on Boing Boing’s website following the reissuing of some of our comic stories from old issues of Real Stuff. Some of the readers really hate our fucking guts! They read things into our work that no one has before, and accuse us of all sorts of things.
One story that really has them riled up is “Het!” It’s a story about a love affair we had in Santa Cruz, and a subsequent fight at a nightclub. For some reason, some readers found it completely untenable. So, for the first time, we’d like to elaborate on an already-published cartoon story, hoping we can provide some background information that will better explain what happened.
We were working at Capitola Joe’s Restaurant, where beer and wine were served, and there was nightly entertainment. Santa Cruz, in 1976, was the epicenter of California’s feminist/lesbian subculture. It was as big for gay women as San Francisco was for gay men. A substantial portion of the faculty at the University of California in Santa Cruz was lesbian. Many women moved to Santa Cruz to participate in the feminine emancipation that was going on. Some went to college, others lived and worked in the community.
At Capitola Joe’s, the two women who ran the kitchen were a lesbian couple. They referred to themselves and their friends as “dykes”, “lezzies”, and “queers.” Heterosexual men and women were called “straights” or “hets”. The term “breeders” hadn’t been coined yet; at least we didn’t hear it until several years later. But we heard “het” on a daily basis.
There were always at least a few gay women frequenting Capitola Joe’s. On weekday nights, we usually had a folksinger or single performer; they were almost always women, and usually gay. The audience would generally be about half gay women for such acts. One night a week would be “Women’s Night,” and both the band and the audience would be almost entirely women. On weekends, we sometimes had gay female rock bands.
There was a big restaurant/bar/nightclub in Santa Cruz called The Catalyst. Many gay women worked there, and their rock shows often featured acts that drew a gay female audience. You could not be in the restaurant or nightclub business in Santa Cruz without being accommodating towards gay women.
Gay women were out, and empowered. But gay men were not as visible, and were often closeted. There were three large nightclubs for gay women, but only one known gathering spot for gay men. Generally speaking, if you were a young gay man looking for some action, you’d go a hundred miles north to San Francisco.
In the story “Het!”, we relate that we went to a women’s festival “in search of female companionship.” This was true; we were always looking. But we already knew quite a few people at the festival; many of the performers and crowd members were familiar faces from Capitola Joe’s. There were gay, straight, and bi-sexual women at the festival. Even though there weren’t any men, we didn’t feel out of place. We were used to being around this crowd.
A secondary reason for being there was to scout out new musical talent for our restaurant. We’d had business relationships with some of the musicians, and exchanged pleasantries with them. We laid down to listen to the music and work on our suntan, but at the outskirts of the crowd, away from the center of the action.
We met Karyl, who was in a band that performed at the festival, and who wasn’t as stand-offish as her bandmates. She was bi-sexual, having been married once before, and was friendly to us. We hit it off, and had a love affair that meant a lot to us at the time. But she still was affectionate to the women in her life, and sometimes had sex with them.
One night, we decided to go dancing. Karyl picked the spot: The Trapdoor, a big nightclub in a warehouse. Before, we mentioned that there was one place for gay men to openly gather. The Trapdoor, which was operated by two lesbian women, had made it known that gay men were welcome at their club, and quite a few men had begun frequenting it. The Trapdoor was the only place in Santa Cruz where they could openly cruise and dance. One half of the large dance floor was for women, and one half for men. Everyone honored that unique arrangement.
When we got to the club, we were the only male-female couple in the place. Maybe we should have left, but Karyl didn’t want to. We danced in the middle of the room, and attracted the attention of a floor manager who provoked a confrontation with us. We went outside and fought in the mud. Karyl got into a scrap with her drunken ex-girlfriend. At several times, we were sneeringly called “Hets!”
And who can blame those those people for not wanting us around? They had to endure a lot of abuse from hets, and to see us together, in their safe place, was infuriating. If we had it to do over again, we wouldn’t have gone dancing at The Trapdoor in Santa Cruz in 1976!” Best, Denny
