Silverstein on Fire Island

"But when you went to Spain, you tried bullfighting. ... When you went to Switzerland, you tried mountain climbing. ... When you went to..."

"Fifty years ago it was something special to be a homosexual: people were prejudiced against us...we were persecuted...we were social outcasts...we couldn't find work! Now we're everywhere: in positions of importance in Hollywood...of prominence in New York theater...of prestige on the national literary scene. Homosexuality is openly discussed and defended in the mass media--in major magazines, on radio and television; we also have our own publications, and national organizations and societies--we even have our own lobby in Washington. Today we're accepted in most liberal, upper-level sections of society; and in sophisticated circles, we're considered chic! We're not controversial any longer!...We don't shock anybody anymore!...And as a result, I'm seriously considering going straight!!"

"Look, fella, in the first place, I'm trying to draw that building over there. ... Secondly, I don't have anything to do with choosing the Playmate of the Month.... Thirdly, the Playmate is always a girl...! Fourthly..."

"Look, Charlie, I'm no psychiatrist, but it seems to me that if you want to function as a man, you're going to have to stop wearing women's clothes, and walking and talking funny, and dating guys. ... On the other hand, if you want to make it as a girl, you're going to have to shave off that mustache!"

In the eight years he's been reporting for Playboy, roving cartoonist Shel Silverstein has worked his inky wit in the four corners of the globe. In the line-drawing of duty he has been gored in a Spanish bull ring, badly injured on safari in Uganda, knocked off the mound in spring training with the Chicago White Sox, and sunburned all over at a New Jersey nudist camp. All these high adventures pale by comparison, however, with Shel's most recent (and most unusual) Playboy assignment: to relax, as best he could, for a week at a high-camp summer resort. In the last few years homosexuality as a social phenomenon has emerged from the shadows, to the extent that today there are clearly recognized gay enclaves in most big cities. Near New York City, off the south coast of Long Island, there's Fire Island's incongruously yclept Cherry Grove community, a small section of the free-swinging island resort traditionally (and almost exclusively) the province of Gothamites who would rather switch than fight. Here, sans stares, homosexuals of every stripe gayly enjoy the amenities of a thriving vacation community. And here, through this summer fairyland, strolled our straight John, bewhiskered, bare-pated and bewildered, recording for posterity his walk on the Wilde side.

"You say this guy walked up to you while you were sketching, started getting friendly, told you you had beautiful eyes, and then tried to make a pass?! Well, that's the way these fagots are, buddy--and I got to patrol this damn beach all summer, and keep these screaming queens in line, and watch them swishing, and listen to their screeching, and now that you mention it, buddy, you do have beautiful eyes...!"

"Actually, we just use it for carrying the groceries--but it sure shakes everyone up!"

"Don't think I haven't made a real effort to change the way I am... ! I've gone to straight parties.... I've tried dating girls. ...I've tried going to bed with them. I'm even seeing a psychiatrist twice a week, and he says that while it would be a mistake to become overly optimistic regarding the eventual outcome of any such case, after three or four years of analysis, he believes I may be able to--hey--there he is now!"

"Well, I suppose drawing cartoons for Playboy isn't too bad. ... It's the fellow who has to photograph all those naked girls I feel sorry for!"

"I'd like to kick off tonight's show with a medley of evergreens, including 'Mad About the Boy,' 'Just My Bill,' 'He's Funny That Way,' 'My Buddy' and 'I Enjoy Being a Girl'...!"

"The gay boys call us 'rough trade'! We're the ones they date. ...We're the ones they buy presents for. ...And we're the ones who always give them a hard time, who beat them up and steal their money. ... So when I tell you these fags are sick, you can believe they're sick!!"

"Gosh, Sally, imagine finding a great-looking girl like you in a place like this!... But what do you mean, you're in drag?!"

"Hello, Mom, this is Betty. ...Yeah, I had a nice trip, Mom. ...No, the motorcycle didn't give me any trouble. ...Yes, Mom, I'm staying with a girlfriend.... No... I didn't take my pink chiffon gown, because I don't have any use for it here.... Well, sure, Mom...sure there are lots of nice Jewish boys around, but..."

"...I'm relaxing in my cottage yesterday afternoon, when the doorbell rings--and me--thinking it's Philip, I run and put on my best cologne, I put on my garter belt, I put on my nylons and spike heels, I put on my black negligee, I put on my wig and make-up, and I run to the window and peek out--and it's my parents!! So I run back into the other room, I wipe off my make-up, pull off my wig, slip out of the negligee, kick off the heels, remove the nylons and take off the garter belt--put on a pair of blue jeans, a flannel shirt and a pair of loafers, and run back to the door--and they're gone! So I stroll back into the other room, take off the blue jeans, the shirt and the loafers--put on my garter belt..."