Lisa Ben

Author of Vice Versa: America’s Gayest Magazine (1947)

Lisa Ben

Young Lisa Ben
Born	1921
Died:
Role:	Author/Editor of Vice Versa

Interview by Paul D. Cain, edited by C. Todd White.

Coming of Age

Paul:

Where in northern California did you grow up?

Lisa:

I never did grow up. [Laughs]

Paul:

All right… Where did you spend your childhood years?

Lisa:

My childhood years were in Los Altos, California.

My parents owned a 33-acre fruit ranch and, when I was three years old, they moved from San Francisco to this fruit ranch in Los Altos. So I spent my childhood years from age three to 21 at the ranch. So I grew up with lots of animals. Not very many friends, but lots of animals. We had a nanny goat, and I had my own riding pony, lots of chickens and ducks, and there were turkeys. And I think at one time Mother even had some guinea hens, and mallard ducks, and of course lots and lots of different kinds of fruit, except the kind of fruit that I would have enjoyed associating with.

Paul:

The forbidden fruit. [Laughs]

Lisa:

Yeah. We had apricots mainly — pears, peaches, quince, figs, almonds, walnuts, plums. And we even had an olive tree, and Mother would pick the olives and pickle ’em in brine and fix black olives, and Mother did an awful lot of canning. So we had lots of nice home-canned fruit, things like that. It was a real country life, which was nice — I’m glad, in retrospect, that I grew up there rather than growing up in San Francisco or San Jose or some other place, you know.

Paul:

But you spent most of the rest of your life since then in larger cities, right?

Lisa:

Well, just — first, I — they got rid of me, and I lived in Palo Alto for 2-1/2 years. And then from there I moved down to L. A. because I wanted to kind of get away from them. Not that — it wasn't because of gay life, it was a… Well, anyway, that's another whole different story, and I don't think maybe you'd want to include that in your book. But, suffice it to say, it was sort of a fight over power. They wanted to keep me at home and rent me out as an office girl, and then take a third of my salary in gratitude.

Paul:

Well, that was one of things that I had read was that you had spent two years in college, then your parents kind of forced you to go into business school, and that you always hated office work.

Lisa:

That's true; I did. I hated it with a passion.

Paul:

And I guess what I wonder is: being such an adventurous spirit, if you hated to do it so much, why did you continue to do it for the rest of your life?

Lisa:

I wasn't an adventurous spirit! I was very cowed, very passive. I didn’t do anything — I mean, if I spoke back to my mother, she’d slap me across the face so hard! My dad never raised a hand to me, but he could make feel about two inches high with his putdowns. So I was — and I was the only child.

Paul:

Ah! OK.

Lisa:

So I was very, very much — I would have stayed with them if they hadn’t said, “Well, because of the war, we’ve decided that you might be safer in Palo Alto because there’s going to be a food shortage.” Well, I believed them. And this wasn’t true at all. I didn’t want to cooperate with them in contributing my salary to them because I hated the work so much, and my dad got angry and quit my music lessons because of that, which was terrible. I had always supposed I would be playing in a symphony orchestra.

Paul:

What did you play?

Lisa:

Violin. And I worked hard at that violin.

And when he did that, he lost all my love for him. I didn’t have much love for him in the first place, but, you know, that did it. So when they said we think you should move to Palo Alto, I thought, aha! At least there I can read the books I want to read from the library, and go to a mystery movie once in a while if I want to. They frowned on mystery movies, and you’d think that the books I brought home from the library were pornographic, the way they reacted. I would bring home a mystery story or a ghost story or something, and I liked to read it for fun — it didn’t affect me with nightmares, or anything. And Mother at the dinner table would say, “Show Daddy what kind of book you brought home from the library today.” And here I was 18 or 19 years old! You know, I mean —

Paul:

Goodness, yes — I can understand.

Lisa:

It wasn't as though I were 5 or 6 years old.

Paul:

Was there any kind of a religious background, or anything?

Lisa:

No — Mother used to force me to go to church — Daddy never went to church. But I didn’t want to go to church because — I mean, for that reason. I told Mother, “Well, I like the devil.”

Paul:

Oh, gosh! [Laughs]

Lisa:

Because, you know, it was the opposite, and she was horrified. [Laughs] Of course, there were no cults around, or anything like that, but I just took the opposite tack. Well, when I got a chance to move to Palo Alto, at their suggestion, I said, “Oh!,” and I just shrugged my shoulders, and then, “If that’s what you want —” Well, Mother drove me over there and got me a room to live in. And they were so careful about what I read, or what I saw in the movies, that I was just astonished they would do this. And they thought nothing of my hopping on the bicycle in my little shorts and halter, riding around the country roads alone, and it was lonely in those places — they never objected to that, nor to my riding my pony alone — but you’d think they would worry about! But they didn't.

Paul:

Parents are funny that way.

Lisa:

But reading and movies — oh, my. So, anyway, I just — I think — I remember my father saying, “I think you’ll find that it’s more expensive to live away from home — you should stay here.” And I thought, “That’s why they’re doing this — they're going to expect me to come back and say, ‘Please take me back,’ or ‘Daddy, can I borrow some money?’ or something.” Well, I never borrowed a cent from that person — from the day they put me out to Palo Alto. I starved to death, but I didn't borrow from them — I didn’t ask them for anything. And I was permitted to come home for Sunday dinner every Sunday. I could take the bus to Los Altos, and they would drive me back — wasn’t that nice of them?

Paul:

[Laughs]

Lisa:

So, being short of money, I used to hitchhike to Los Altos, and that horrified my mother.

Paul:

Right. I heard about that.

Lisa:

And I showed up at the ranch house, and she’d say, “How’d you get here?” “Well, I hitchhiked.” They didn’t like that, but they couldn’t forbid it.

So, anyway, they finally sold the ranch and moved to Menlo Park, close by. And I still lived in my — oh, I finally got a room where I took care of children at night, and I got a free room. Well, they didn't like that very much either. But what could they do? By that time, when I had a free room in someone else’s house, Mother couldn’t come up to the room and look around, or look in my closet and see if I had anything to eat, and all that. So that worked out real fine. And I'd be walking home from work, and I’d see Mother's old blue DeSoto trailing along, and she'd say, “You want a ride home?,” meaning where I lived, and I’d say yes. By that time I was down to 99 pounds — I mean, I was skinny. You wouldn’t believe it now, would you? So she’d take me home, and one day—I’ll never forget this — she said, “Have you had your dinner yet?” And I said no. And she said, “Aren’t you hungry? Wouldn’t you like to take Mother out to dinner?” And I said no, and I expected a slap across the face when I said that, but she didn’t say anything. But what cruel things to say!

Paul:

Parents can do the wrong thing.

Lisa:

So [I went through] about two and a half years of that. And I knew some people from the Los Angeles Science Fiction Society here, and one of the guys had a grandma who owned this flat, and I could stay there. He was in the service, so I — I just went and I told my parents what was going to happen; I didn’t run off. And oh, my mother thought that was terrible, you know, and my dad — they saw me off at the train — I bought my own train ticket. And my father said, “Oh, you're making a big mistake — you're making a big mistake.” And I thought, well, maybe I am, but I’ve gotta get out of this situation. And I knew I could find work down here that paid a hell of a lot more than I was making up there — I think I was making about $31 a week up there for an 8-hour day and half-days Saturday. I mean, so I came down here and I lived in rented rooms for a while, and then I bought my own little house, finally. I realized if I didn’t buy a house, I’d still be working at my age, you know. So I would go up to visit them on my summer vacation because I felt that it was my duty, you know — I was their only child, and I should do this for them, but I sure didn’t enjoy it.

RKO and the Launch of Vice Versa

Paul:

I’ll bet, I'll bet. Now I read that you worked at RKO Studios in the ’40s. Is that correct?

Lisa:

That’s true. Not very long, because Howard Hughes bought it and then we all went out. [Laughs]

Paul:

Did you find it to be at all glamorous? Did you ever see any of the stars, or anything like that?

Lisa:

Oh, yeah, I mean, by that — in that time, I was still impressed by seeing movie stars in person, you know. And I saw Robert Mitchum, and Cary Grant, and some of the girls — Jane Greer and Gloria Grahame, and some of these people have passed on by now. And I got a big kick out of that for a while. And then it began to pall on me, and I realized, “Well, gee, these are people like I am, you know —”

Paul:

Put their pants on one leg at a time…

Lisa:

Yeah. So what the hey — but for a while, it was fun.

Paul:

I’m sure. Did you get any sense with Cary Grant, when you met him, that he might be family? I’m Just curious…

Lisa:

No. Oh, I didn't — oh, Rock Hudson came later — that’s when I worked at another studio. But I loved working at RKO, even though I didn’t like office work. But of course that’s where I wrote Vice Versa.

And then when I went to other jobs, which were not studio jobs for a while — they were horrible jobs — I had to quit because there was no opportunity to type privately or anything. So that's why Vice Versa bit the dust.

Paul:

Right. I had seen in a couple of places that you had stopped it because the workload was too much, but I knew that wasn’t true from some other things I had read.

Lisa:

No, that's not true. I stopped it because there was no privacy. I would be in a room right next door to some — next table or desk to someone else who was typing, and I could read what they were typing and they could read what I was typing, so…I mean, you can’t do things like that! And then, too, the boss would come along and see you weren’t doing something that pertained to business. So that's why Vice Versa stopped.

Paul:

Right. One of the things I saw that you had mentioned was that as a result of Vice Versa it helped you to become a faster typist. Do you have any idea how fast you typed?

Lisa:

Yes. I have no idea. I just typed like a fiend! [Laughs]

Paul:

You bet!

Not Your Typical Gal

When you talked with Eric Marcus for his book, Making History, you described yourself as being very femme, which is obviously the case. Did you ever feel any pressure to be more “butch,” since you were so open?

Lisa:

No, that wouldn’t have worked with me because, well, for one reason, I thought, “Gee, if I were a butch girl, would I be attracted to another person who dressed in ties and shirts and stuff? No! I'd be attracted to a person who wore a dress and earrings.” And I’ve always been that way anyway, so I thought, “Why change?” I don’t feel — I don't feel that way — that’s not natural to me. It’s natural for me to be a girly girl, and I love it and I’ll never change!

And if they don't like it, they can lump it.

Paul:

But there was no outside pressure at that time?

Lisa:

No, no!

Paul:

OK, I was just curious. ’Cause often — some of the stuff that I’ve read seemed to indicate that a lot of the — a lot of the women, if you were open about being a lesbian, that they kind of tried to push you into a category.

Lisa:

I can remember dancing at a gay spot one time with a real handsome, tall butch, and she looked down at me, and said, “Are you here just to see how the other half lives?” And of course, here I was in my little dress with my jewelry and little high heels and everything, and I looked at her and I said, “No!” I said, “Why, I’m just as gay as you are. It’s just that I don’t like to wear men’s clothing.” And she kind of looked embarrassed, you know. But I’ve never felt the urge to be other than — dress other than I do.

Paul:

One of the other things that Eric Marcus quoted you as saying was, “I didn't think I was a pervert, or sick.” Don’t you think that most gay people at that time thought that they were, though? Wasn't there a lot of that sort of feeling?

Lisa:

Well, they might not have thought they were a pervert, but they thought perhaps they were mentally off, or they were quirky a little bit in some way. Because the stuff that they read from the psychiatrists…

Paul:

told them that they were?

Lisa:

…told them that they were. But I never felt that way. I knew what I wanted, and I wasn’t ready to conform to any other way of being. As a matter of fact, at one time, before I moved to Palo Alto, my father wanted to consign me to the state nuthouse. Not because he suspected I was gay but because I wouldn’t cooperate. And I didn’t want to be an office girl, and I didn’t want — I didn’t want to go outside the home and earn money, either. My mother and my grandmother were home ladies, and I — that's all I had to look to. My mother’s friends were all — they all had charge of their homes, and I couldn’t understand why they were putting me out to do this horrible office work and earn the money when they didn’t need the money. If they were poor, I would have gone out and worked my butt off for them. But they weren’t. I told them, I said, “You have more money than I’ll ever see in my lifetime — what’s the matter?”

Paul:

They must have thought it would be good for you — build character.

Lisa:

Well, they sure tore down my character — I don’t know how they expected me to build it up again. [Laughs] But anyway, that’s another story. I didn’t want to go out on my own and work. As my poem, “Dilemma,” told you, that tells you a great deal about the way I felt. I still feel it, too.

Paul:

I understand.

Lisa:

But I made it, and here I am.

Paul:

Sure, sure. One of the other things that Marcus quoted you as saying was, “I was a misfit all the way around, I guess.” Is that accurate?

Lisa:

Well, yes, I was, because I didn’t care for sports. Because I was left-handed and they changed me to right, and that loused up my reflexes. And in playing ball in elementary school or something, they’d throw the ball at me and I’d go like this [flinches] because I couldn’t catch it quick enough, and the children never wanted me on their team because I was slow — not mentally, Lord knows, but slow in reflexes. And I didn’t care about dating boys. I don’t know, I just didn't fit in to certain things that girls do in school.

Paul:

Did you feel that you fit in OK in gay society, though?

Lisa:

Oh boy, did I ever! [Laughs]

Paul:

So you did find your place!

Lisa:

Oh, yeah! When I made that remark, I must been talking about my elementary and high school years, because…

Paul:

That was what concerned me, is I wondered if going into gay life that you felt that you didn’t fit in there…

Lisa:

Oh, Lord, no! I mean, right away, I was just like hand in glove.

Paul:

I’m glad to hear that. That’s great.

America’s Gayest Magazine

Paul:

What convinced you to start Vice Versa?

Lisa:

Well, I was by myself, and I had nothing to occupy my mind, particularly. I lived in a furnished room, and I thought, “Wouldn't it be nice if I knew some gay girls?” But I didn't. Then I inadvertently met some at a place I moved to, and when I met them I thought, “Gee, why don't I start a little magazine for us? Because nobody else has, and, you know, it'd be kind of a fun thing to do.” So that's when I started it.

Paul:

So when you started it, it was really designed just for your circle of friends, then.

Lisa:

Yes.

Paul:

You didn’t really have larger aspirations.

Lisa:

Well, yeah, I had larger aspirations, but I couldn’t aspire very much because there was no reproducing machine or reproduction machine, and things like that. But I did give the magazines to the four gals that I knew where I lived, and then they had friends and I gave magazines to them. And then I ran out because I couldn't duplicate them, or triplicate them, or quadruplicate them or, you know, as the circle got larger. So I just said to them, and I think I said in one of my magazines, too, I said, “When you finish reading, don't just throw it in the trash — pass it on to another lesbian.”

So I guess they did, and everybody seemed to enjoy it. But by golly, I couldn’t get very many of them to contribute, and that’s what I needed was good material.

Paul:

Sure. When you did it, did you realize that it was the first time anyone had done something like that? Did it ever…

Lisa:

I never — I thought probably it was, but it never really occurred to me that, “Gee, I’m gonna make history” or anything. It just — I just did it, you know.

Paul:

Right. Who was your male heterosexual friend who wrote letters to you for publication in Vice Versa?

Lisa:

Oh. Well, there was this one guy who was very sympathetic toward the girls, and he belonged to the science fiction group where Jim Kepner belonged, and his name was Forrest A_______. So he would — he liked writing for different homemade magazines of the science fiction kind. In fact, I think he had one or two of them himself. And so he would write off this stuff and give it to me, and then being that he was a friend, I sort of had to include it in the magazine — which I really, to tell you the truth, didn’t want to do, but don’t say that in your book because if he reads it, it will hurt his feelings. And he's older than I am, and he's a dear old soul — I don't want to hurt his feelings.

Paul:

Don't worry; don't worry.

When all of this was going on — when Vice Versa was going on and sort of into the ’50s, did you find very many straight people who were sympathetic?

Lisa:

No, because I didn’t — I didn't talk about it to straight people. Straight people were outsiders, and I was friendly with them but never let on about myself. My private life was my private life, and their private life is different from mine, so why should I mention it?

Paul:

Did you think was any possibility of rejection? Did you fear that they would — that they might reject you if they knew? Or did that never cross your mind?

Lisa:

Well, frankly, I didn't care, because they never knew. Because I didn't dress obviously, you see. And my mannerisms were not masculine. So I thought, well, probably if I told them, they wouldn’t like it, but why should I tell them? I don't have anything in common with them emotionally, so why do it?

Paul:

Sure. After the initial run of the magazine in ’47–’48, did you ever try to create it again?

Lisa:

There just was no opportunity to. And where I worked, I was in constant supervision by bosses, other secretaries, this, that, and the other. You just couldn’t do that any more. See, when I first began this, I had a little office to myself. My boss was in his office next door, and he said, “Well, if you run out of work, I don’t want you sitting here reading a magazine or a book or knitting or something.” He said, “I want you to look busy.” And so I said, “Oh yeah, all right, I'll look busy.” And I was.

Paul:

You found something to occupy your time.

Lisa:

Uh-huh.

Paul:

Absolutely. In Del and Phyllis’ book Lesbian/Woman, it mentions your work in the field of science fiction. You touched on that a bit, but let's talk about that a little bit more.

Lisa:

I didn't work in science fiction.

Paul:

You didn't write any stories…

Lisa:

No. Well, I may have contributed an article or book review or something like that to one of the science fiction homemade magazines, but I wouldn’t call that that I was a writer of science fiction.

Paul:

That’s interesting, because something that I read said that you had made a minor name for yourself in science fiction.

Lisa:

No, no, no — I read that, too, and I thought, oh, baloney! I loved…I joined that group not for science fiction so much as for horror stories and fantasy. I liked the ghost stories and things like that, and there were a lot of people in that that read those things, so I joined the group when I first came down here. Science fiction was OK, but it wasn’t my pet love. And I definitely was not a minor star of science fiction or something. Whoever got hold of that…

Paul:

That's why I like to check my facts with people, just to make sure.

Lisa:

Yeah. No, debunk it, because I wasn't. I just enjoyed being with the group. I went to the meetings every week. I was their secretary for a while, and there were mainly guys that belonged to it because not very many girls liked horror stories and fantasy. But that didn't bother me — I enjoyed the group. Some of the guys were kind of rough and raunchy, but —

Paul:

Did you meet other gay and lesbian people there other than Jim Kepner?

Lisa:

No. Not that I knew of.

Paul:

Right, right.

Lisa:

I found — I learned one other guy was sort of bi or something, but I was not actively gay at that time anyway, so I don’t think they got too much about me either. I didn’t join that group for that reason.

Paul:

It was just a happy coincidence.

Lisa:

It was just — Yeah.

Paul:

Gotcha. It was interesting to me that you didn't become “Lisa Ben” until the ’50s. Was there any pen name that was associated with Vice-Versa at all?

Lisa:

No, no — I used no names in Vice-Versa. The reason I became Lisa Ben was — that was in the ’60s really, because…

Paul:

There was an article you were submitting to DOB or something, and you signed it “Ima Spinster,” and they didn’t like that?

Lisa:

Oh, yeah — they didn't like that name, and they refused to print one of my stories in The Ladder if I used it. Now, if that had happened today, I’d say, “Take or leave it — I want to use that name. If you don’t like it, I’ll take my stuff back.” But in those days, as I say, I still was kind of passive about things like that. So I used the name Lisa Ben.

Paul:

Right. Well, also, there probably wasn’t — unlike today, where if you can’t get one magazine to take it, you can always bring it down the road to somewhere else, The Ladder was the only thing there really was at that time.

Lisa:

That's right — that was the only show in town.

Paul:

Exactly — sometimes you have to make concessions for that. Tell me a little bit about your involvement with the Daughters of Bilitis here.

Lisa:

Well, I can’t remember just exactly how it came about. I was friends with Helen Sandoz, who has now passed away, and she and I were quite good — just friends, at one time or another — she was always with one girl or another when I knew her. And she introduced me to Phyllis and Del, and they were starting up Daughters of Bilitis, and then they started a chapter down here, and I joined.

Paul:

Do you remember about when that would have been?

Lisa:

Oh, I think that was in the — hmmm — isn’t that's funny, I can’t really remember. It was the ’50s or ’60s, I think. And I enjoyed that for a while — they had a nice group of gals.

Paul:

Did they get much of a turnout?

Lisa:

Oh, at one time, yes, there were quite a few — maybe about 15 or 16 of us. And then it dwindled off. Well, anyway, that’s how I got with Daughters of Bilitis.

Paul: Sure. How about ONE Magazine?

Lisa:

No, I never contributed to that…

Paul:

OK — Jim Kepner was under the impression that you did.

Lisa:

…although they had a big ONE celebration at one time in one of the big hotels downtown. And Dorr Legg asked me — had one of his friends write to me, and ask me if I would come down there and play the guitar and sing. They had a lot of entertainers — different entertainers — they had the men’s gay chorus there, and all sorts of wonderful things. So I went down there at that time — I still drove out at night — and went down there and did a little number, and enjoyed the show, and partook of the banquet. And oh, I was just thrilled to tears, almost, when I heard that gay men’s chorus — it was so marvelous.

Paul:

Yes, I used to sing in the gay men’s chorus myself, here in L.A.

Lisa:

Yeah, you mentioned that.I thought that was just a wonderful group of people. So, anyway, that was my — that was how I was associated with ONE Magazine. And then I was asked one time to go to their clubhouse, which is not the same as it is now, and they would interview me. So I got interviewed on tape for something or another, and they asked me a bunch of questions the way you're doing.

Paul:

Right. And it's frustrating, too, because I tried to get access to those interviews, but they never transcribed them. I guess they had so many different projects going on at once that they —

Lisa:

Well, there was an Oriental chap there that was transcribing it, and photographing me, and everything — what do you mean they never transcribed it?

Paul:

They said that most all — because I asked for transcripts of the interviews that you did and several other people who I saw through Dorr's last book, and they said that most of the information had never actually been transcribed and put onto paper.

Lisa:

Oh, maybe not put onto paper — There was a TV camera, because I remember seeing it afterwards.

Paul:

Right. And I told them, in fact, what I would do if I could get access to the tapes, is I would transcribe them and send them back to them so I could have a copy. Because, I mean, you like to have as much information as possible from all the different sources — you get a much better sense of a person, so — OK — that's fine.

In a book called Out of the Closets, Laud Humphreys said that your existence was not well known until Dorr Legg announced it at a ONE banquet in January 1972. Does that sound accurate? There was some meeting at a Hilton Hotel, and Dorr introduced you as the father of the gay and lesbian movement —

Lisa:

Well, that was probably — father!?!

Paul:

Well — [Laughs]

Lisa:

Indeed!

Paul:

He didn't say mother. I think it was, “The father of the gay and lesbian movement is a girl.”

Lisa:

[Laughs heartily] No, I don't remember that! Or if he did say it, I didn't hear it. I think I would have thrown my guitar at him! [Laughs] But, it’s possible that I wasn't well-known to people in ONE — the fellas, but an awful lot of fellas knew me socially because in those days, if they had an annual dinner at Christmas time or sometime, they always had to show up with a girl friend. And of course, my phone was really busy: “Can you be my girlfriend at our office dinner?” And I'd say, “Oh, of course!” And I‘d love to go to those banquets, and they’d show up with little me, and all their office people would show up with their wives and their girlfriends and look just marvelous, and then afterwards they would take me home and then they'd go down to these gay spots for boys, and I didn't care.

Paul:

It must have been one of the nice advantages of being a femme, because they certainly weren’t asking the butches!

Lisa:

Yeah, it was wonderful. And of course I loved all the boys. They always treated me like a lady, and none of them were raunchy or rude. And I know one time somebody interviewing me said, “Well, didn’t you want to be separate from the gay boys?” And I said, “No, not at all!” I said, “I thought of them as my brothers.” And a lot of us were all very friendly, and we'd go back and forth.

Paul:

Sure, sure. I think that was — that was a period where I think you were looking at a lot of the younger people, with all the other movements that were going on. The separatism was necessary for them, but certainly, I mean, at your age and having been involved for so many years, and having made so many friends, why in the world would you feel a need to separate?

Lisa:

Oh, no!

Paul:

Sure. I was very sad to see, when you spoke with Eric Marcus, about your being lonely when you wrote Vice-Versa. Did you ever develop a long-term relationship?

Lisa:

Well, I wasn't too lonely. I mean, at that time, I didn’t know very many girls, but I wasn’t really lonely. And then after I started distributing my magazine, I certainly wasn’t lonely! [Laughs]

Paul:

Do you have copies of the entire set?

Lisa:

Oh, yeah, I have the originals. Stored away in my little cabinet in the bedroom.

Paul:

Because I don't actually have them — could I ask you for a copy of those? If you could send me a copy?

Lisa:

Well, I don't have the copies; I just have the originals.

Paul:

If I paid you to make copies of the originals, could you mail those to me?

Lisa:

Well, they're — uh —

Paul:

Are they pretty fragile?

Lisa:

I would, but they're so fragile — I have to take the staples apart, and, you know, I’m afraid they won’t stand it any more. They're pretty fragile. But I do have a bunch of papers of copies that someone made for me — I can’t remember which gay organization — and they presented me with a set. So I have those at my home, and I would lend them to you. But there’s another chap who wants them, too, and he wrote to me, and I've got to write back to him and tell him that I was going to give them to this — well, it's Jim Kepner’s organization.

Paul:

Oh, uh huh.

Lisa:

But I'll let you have them first,

Paul:

Sure, I can turn them around right away.

Lisa:

How long are you going to be here?

Paul:

I’ll be here just until Sunday afternoon, so just today and tomorrow.

Lisa:

Oh, uh huh. Well, I have to come over here again tomorrow to do the same thing again, so why don’t I bring this over with me, and then I can buzz by the hotel, or something.

Paul:

Sure — we can find a way to work that out. That would be great. And I can make copies right off and then I’ll send them right back. OK. Also there was an interview that I've seen referenced in something, called “An Interview With Lisa Ben,” that was done for a magazine called Gaysweek in 1978. You wouldn’t happen to have a copy of that, would you?

Lisa:

I wouldn’t be surprised. I have a whole lot of stuff like that stored away.

Paul:

Oh, it would be wonderful if you could find that and send me that to make a copy, I would get it right back to you, and I’d really appreciate — again, just so I have more information.

Lisa:

I’ll look it up when I get home tonight.

Paul:

Sure — terrific, terrific.

Lisa:

Because I haven’t looked at that stuff for years. I’ve been kind of inactive for a long time in gay life. I mean, I really haven’t been active socially in it for a while.

Paul:

Sure, sure. Just some general questions that I have. Do you want me to list you for the book as Lisa Ben, or did you want me to use your real name?

Lisa:

Oh, no; Lisa Ben. I don't know — some audacious woman outed me in her book. I don't even know this person.

Paul:

The first place I saw your name was by an author by the name of Leigh Rutledge. That was where I had seen it.

Lisa:

Maybe that was who it was. Anyway — was it a book?

Paul:

Yeah, it was — oh gosh, I can't remember which one — A Gay Book of Lists,

Alyson's Almanac, or something. One of the reference materials.

Lisa:

Well, Phyllis and Del told me about this. And it annoyed me, because what right do these people have — it’s not that I'm ashamed or anything. But I like my privacy. And what right do these people have to just take somebody like that, and publish you in a book without writing me first and asking if it’s all right? I mean, I think it was a heck of a nerve, and I’d tell her to her face if she were here.

Paul:

Well, it’s one of those problems with outing that sometimes people don’t understand. It’s fine as a philosophical argument, but what about where it impacts on people’s lives? That's where it becomes bothersome to me. And I still think that you have should have the right of privacy if you want it.

Lisa:

Well, it's the same thing with the — it’s called Queer Frontiers. They had a banquet, and they wanted me to be one of the many guests of honor at the banquet, and I couldn’t go because I was laid up at the time. And then, too, I don’t drive out at night any more in my old car alone. It was at the campus at USC, and I think that is in kind of a disreputable neighborhood… And so I declined, but mainly because I couldn’t get around at the time. And so what do they do — they send me nice letters and a list of people that are going to be guests of honor. They give your real name, and your home address. And they send it blithely out to everybody.

Paul:

My goodness.

Lisa:

Well, Del and Phyllis got on the list, too, and they used Del's real name, Dorothy L., which she hates —

Paul:

Yes. [Laughs]

Lisa:

I mean I just thought they had — it was very poor judgment. Because I live alone. And this is a funny town around here, you know — you don’t give your home address to everybody because there are a lot of kooks of all kinds!

Paul:

[Laughs] We have gay kooks, too.

Lisa:

And I just thought they used the poorest judgment doing that. So when one of the chaps phoned me, I mentioned it in a very polite, nice way — I said, “By the way, I don’t like my home address broadcast to one and all.” And I mean, I have an unlisted number — I didn’t tell him that, but I do — because at one time I got a bunch of funny phone calls before I got my house.

Paul:

What date were you born?

Lisa:

I was born November 7, 1921. I was supposed to be born on Halloween, but I came seven days late. Got lost.

Paul:

And that was in San Francisco?

Lisa:

Yeah — up at Children's Hospital, and I was a Caesarean section baby. That’s why, in my poem, I said they compelled me.

Paul:

Was that somewhat unusual for the time? We think of C-sections as being pretty standard now, but…

Lisa:

Well, it wasn't too unusual — it was being done at the time, I think. But it was a little more unusual then than it is these days. These days they [makes jerking sound], and yank you out.

Paul:

All the time. How old were you when you remember first identifying your attraction to members of the same sex?

Lisa:

Well — I know I loved my mother’s dear housewife friend, who was — she had four children herself, and she was always so nice to me. I was about five or six at the time, and I always used to call her Mary My Angel, because when we'd visit, she’d fix me a little glass of cold chocolate. Anyway, I loved her because she was nice to me because she loved children — that kind of thing. So then later on, when I was nine years old, I fell madly in love with my fifth grade teacher, and I wrote her a perfectly horrible love song, and sang it to her, and after that, she didn’t like me. And of course, I was just a little girl — I looked about six — I was nine, but I was small for my age — and she never returned this affection I felt for her.

Paul:

Has it ever occurred to you that it might have been that she was a lesbian, and she was afraid you were just coming too close?

Lisa:

No, no, no, no. She never was, because later on — they didn’t know of such things in my little country school, I’m sure. But I was just such a pest. I would walk by her door and I'd look at her, and I’d just think she was — well, she was very beautiful. And at about age nine, I was beginning to need somebody to love, because I sure wasn’t getting it at home from my father, or too much from my mother, because she used to slap me around a bit. She was nice in many, many ways — she sewed my little clothes, and she was a wonderful mother in many ways, but there were other ways she wasn’t. And I needed someone to love, you see, so that's why I turned to this straight teacher.

Paul:

Right.

Lisa:

And then, after about age ten, I grew out of that, and nothing happened again until I went to high school. And even then, I sort of envied the girls who were popular and wore pretty clothes and were popular with boys, and I used to think, “Gee, I wish one of those fellas would ask me if I wanted a candy bar during lunch time, or something — that would be nice.” But that‘s as far as it went; I didn’t want to get cozy with them.

And then in my sophomore year, I got acquainted with a girl that played in the orchestra where I did, and we used to have overnight stays once in a while — not too often, but one time, I think — I sent — did I send you my poem, “The Night Helen Taught Me to Dance”?

Paul:

No…

Lisa:

Oh, I didn't — oh, well, anyway, Helen was the one that introduced me to hugging and kissing.

Paul:

Oh, OK. Yes, I read a little bit about that.

Lisa:

And, uh — oh, I just adored her, and I made no bones about it to Mother either, you know. “Oh, goody, can Helen come over?,” or “Can I go over there? Oh, goody!” And we were all — She and I had never done anything sexual except just hug and kiss, and dance together at her house. And that, to me, was just a lot of fun!

Paul:

Of course.

Lisa:

And finally I wrote this song, and it was to her, and I sang it to my mother as my mother was combing my hair one time — my mother always arranged my hair. I didn‘t know how to arrange it. So, as I finished, she said, “You and Helen never did anything wrong together, did you?” And right then and there, it dawned on me that this was different. You know, I never thought of it before. And I looked at Mother, and I said, “No!” I said, “What do you mean?” Because wrong to me was telling dirty jokes, or looking through the boys’ lavatory or something — you know. That would be wrong.

Paul:

Right.

Lisa:

And I never would do things like that! And then, after that, I didn’t mention very much about this any more. But when it came time for graduation from high school, I had always envisioned that she and I would march down the aisle together at graduation. Of course, she marched down the aisle with this other girl, and I marched down the aisle with I don’t know who, and it just broke my heart, but I didn’t tell Mother this. And at the time, Mother said, “Well, Daddy can’t come to your graduation — it‘s his lodge night.” And you'd think that would have crushed me, but it didn’t. I said, “Oh? All right.” You know — I didn't give a darn. But what hurt me was that — but I didn‘t mention it to Mother. And after that, they kept me at home two years after high school — they didn’t send me on to college. And I really didn’t care, because I had lost out with Helen, and to me, there was no reason for me to go on living. I just felt that desolate. And about that time I started to take violin lessons from a very wonderful teacher, and I devoted all my thoughts to that and practiced four and five hours a day — oh, I was diligent! And I lost track of Helen, of course, and I thought, well, that’s it. You know, I never thought of getting another girl — well, there weren’t any other girls, in the country. So then, later on, Mother asked me if I‘d like to go to college. And I never pushed for it, because it didn‘t occur to me — I was always a very compliant “yes girl” in those days.

Paul:

Well, and you were also content to — you were going to be a housewife, as it were, like your mother. Sure.

Lisa:

So — well, I didn’t think I would ever be a housewife, but I thought of staying with my parents and playing in the symphony. So I ended up going to a girls’ college, which was all right with me because my teacher taught there, and I didn’t want to go to another college and have to study —

Paul:

Was that Mills College?

Lisa:

Yes.

Paul:

OK, sure. I have had friends who have gone to Mills.

Lisa:

Oh. So anyway, I went to college, but I didn’t look around for girls particularly. There was one girl that I kind of took a shine to, but I knew she wasn’t — she wouldn’t reciprocate.

Paul:

Right.

Lisa:

She was kind of a studious, loner-type too. But I never entered into any other liaisons with girls at college. And finally, after two years, my folks didn't send me back to college. And I really didn’t feel that I belonged there anyway, because I didn’t think I had the brains for it, frankly. I didn’t enjoy the other subjects I was required to take. It was just something I did because they wanted me to do it. The only thing I was interested in was music.

So after that, all of a sudden, Mother said, “Well, Daddy‘s going to take you to business college today.” He commuted to San Francisco every day to his office, and I said, “All right — I don't care.” And I never asked them why I never got back to college; I didn't really care. And I went to business college, and he took me up there, and he said, “You wait in the hall,” and he went into the head honcho there, a woman, and closed the door. And I stood out in the hall, and I waited and waited and waited, and then finally, the door opened, and he said, “Come in,” and I was enrolled in the business college. I mean, that‘s the way I was treated — he didn’t have me in there with him or anything — just wait out in the hall. So I went to business college. And I was all right at it — I mean, I was pretty quick on words and language and things like that, and the typing I picked up, so I thought, well, what the hey, it's not too hard.

But when it came time that I was going to be sent out to work, that was another thing! I didn’t think that much ahead, you know. It was just something I was doing because my parents wanted me to do it. I didn't think; I just did. It was, with them, “Shut up and obey — don't think!” And that‘s the way I was brought up. It was an awful way to bring up a child.

Paul:

It does seem to be — it was very harsh. That’s a shame. What was the most traumatic day of your life?

Lisa:

The most traumatic day of my life was my big argument with my parents at the dinner table. Well, anyway, that — you have that.

Paul:

What was the most exhilarating day of your life?

Lisa:

Well, when I was dancing with Helen at her house, when I was fourteen. That was exhilarating to me. And I have never known anything since to equal it, although I’ve had a lot of adventures and things, but I don’t know — if I could go back and live that one day over and over, by golly, I would! [Laughs]

Paul:

I’ll bet, I’ll bet. Who has the best personal relationship in your life been with? Is there anyone who stands out?

Lisa:

Isn’t that funny — I can’t think. I’ve had a lot of friends, but I haven’t been really close with anyone — even the gal I lived with for three years. I can’t think of anyone that is — I’m such a loner. I mean, I’m alone, but I’m not lonely. It’s a funny thing.

Paul:

Right, and there is a very definite distinction between the two. OK. What role, if any, does religion or spirituality play in your life?

Lisa:

Not a darn thing, because I was forced to go to church with my mother, and I resented that tremendously. For a while, when I got to talking to some of the science fiction crowd, a lot of them were atheists, or agnostics.

Paul:

They're having an atheist convention at the Beverly Garland where we’re staying.

Lisa:

Oh, do they? [Laughs] Well, I don’t know as I’m an atheist any more, but I’m sort of an agnostic. I don’t — I can’t believe in the traditional Bible thing.

Paul:

Don’t you think though — and I’m guessing, because I don’t know you that well — but don’t you think your form or your brand of spirituality comes out with animals, and the cats?

Lisa:

Yes, yes — very much, very much.

Paul:

That's what I would think.

Lisa:

I’m spiritual with nature and the animals, but I don’t bend down on my knee and pray. And I’ve had a lot of hard times, but I’ve never bent down on my knee and said, “Please, God, if you'll make it better, I promise I won't swear any more, or I promise I won‘t do this or that.” I’ve never been that way.

Paul:

Right; I can understand. How do you feel about ageism within the gay and lesbian community?

Lisa:

Well, there’s a group that I have met with called OLOC, and they’re very much against these greeting cards and things that make fun of old people. And I think, if you look around enough, you’re going to find various kinds of people being made fun of — babies, children, relatives, old people. If you carry a chip on your shoulder, it’s always going to, you know. Since I’ve gotten older, I have kind of distanced myself from the social gay life, not because I’m old but because I don’t feel the urge any more, you know — I’ve got what I want. I have a small home — it’s not much. I have shelter. I have enough money to buy myself some good food, and I really don’t care about my appearance any more. I don’t have to, because I don’t have to go to parties anymore, and it’s such a darn relief not to think, “Oh, dear, now I have to take a bath, and do my hair up, and what have I got to wear, and I have to drive out to Cucamonga to this party.” I mean, to me, it‘s a relief not to have to do that. When I was young, it was fun! But now, it’s a big bother.

Paul:

[Laughs] Sure, sure. And you can choose to live your life your own way, and do what pleases you.

Lisa:

And the younger people today are so different from the way I was — they put up with a lot of things that I don’t really — I won’t say approve of, but I really wouldn’t get into it, like bisexualism, and drug-taking and all that stuff, and I don’t care for it, and why should I make an alliance with something like that?

Paul:

Did you see any problems — did people have problems with alcoholism when you would go to the bars in the ’40s and ’50s?

Lisa:

Oh, yes! Some of the people that I even went with were alcoholics. And in fact, one older woman that I just fell deeply in love with — she owned her own home, and she wasn’t a secretary — she was something else, and I thought, boy, is she really on the ball, you know — I mean, this is somebody to really admire, and she frankly told me she was a member of AA. I never saw her drunk, but she always said she wanted — she always had to have a drink. And this didn’t matter to me at the time because I didn’t realize how serious alcoholism could be. I didn’t know my father was a drinker, either. My mother never told me. So for a long time, I was deeply, madly in love with her, although she didn’t return it because there was too much of a difference in our ages. I was 29 and she was 51 at the time, I think, but that wouldn’t matter to me. I mean, I thought she was great! [Laughs]

Paul:

That’s never mattered to me, either.

Lisa:

So, yes, I remember going to a party with one girl that got stupidly drunk at the party, and she couldn’t drive her car home, and I didn’t know how to drive her car home because it was a stick shift, so somebody else drove her home, and she got sick at the party, which embarrassed me to tears. She was a gorgeous, gorgeous girl, my God — if I showed you a picture of her now, you'd think so too, even though you're a gay man.

Paul:

Oh, yes — I can appreciate a little female beauty.

Lisa:

She was a hell of a lover — golly, she was great, and I enjoyed being with her and all that, but she just couldn’t leave the booze alone. And then some people that I roomed with for a while, one of the girls there was a terrible drunk. I wasn’t interested in her. She was a drinker, and I understand she moved back where she came from and died of alcoholism. There was an awful lot of that when I was growing up — not growing up, but when I was —

Paul:

Involved in the life, if you will.

Lisa:

And being sociable. But everyone that I ran around with smoked cigarettes, and everyone drank beer.

Paul:

That’s the reason I mentioned it, because I think substance abuse has been with us for many years — it’s just a case of different forms.

Lisa:

That’s right.

Paul:

I don't cotton to any of that either, but —

Lisa:

I never care about smoking. I tried it, but I didn’t like the taste of it, and I didn’t like the way it made my clothes smell, so I just didn’t smoke. But everybody else did, and I didn’t care whether they did or not, you know. I’d go to a gay bar, and you could — you needed a fan to breathe! — but it didn’t bother me. And as far as beer — when I went to gay bars, I always drank something non-alcoholic, because I thought, if they raid the place, I don’t want to be so stupid drunk that I don’t know what I’m doing, so I would order a 7-Up or something, you know. It wasn’t that I thought I was better than everybody else, and nobody tried to force it on me, either — they thought, well, if you like that, that’s —

Paul:

Fine.

Lisa:

Everybody was live and let live — they didn’t try to turn me on to booze. And I’ve been drunk a couple of times in my life, I’ll admit, but not at the gay bars, and not at the gay parties. But I thought, well, gee, this is no fun.

Paul:

Not my idea of a good time, I’ll tell ya.

Lisa:

I’d throw up in the sink, and I’d feel sick to my stomach, and I’d wake up in the morning and I don’t feel good, so what’s the fun about this?

Paul:

What’s the point? [Laughs]

Lisa:

Yeah, what’s the point? So I just didn’t do it.

Paul:

I agree. How do you feel about gay marriage?

Lisa:

What do you mean? Girls with girls and boys with boys?

Paul:

I guess I mean in terms of people having ceremonies and that sort of thing — memorializing their relationship.

Lisa:

Oh — oh! Well, if it makes them feel happy and more secure, go for it, you know.

Paul:

Have you ever been to a gay wedding?

Lisa:

No, I haven’t. I’ve been to a wedding where a gay gal married a gay guy because if he hadn’t been married, he wouldn’t get an inheritance, or some sort of thing like that. So I went to the church, and I observed all this gay wedding stuff. And at the end of the wedding, well, he went off with his boyfriend and she went off with her girlfriend, and I thought, well, I really —

Paul:

[Laughs] That’s a different kind of wedding.

Lisa:

I wouldn’t want to do that myself, but if he had to do that for family reasons, I could understand it. But I didn’t clap hands and think, “Oh, isn't that marvelous!” either. You know, it was just one of those things.

Paul:

Sure. How do you feel about the word “queer” to describe the gay and lesbian community?

Lisa:

Well, if they want to use it, it’s OK by me. I don’t use it, but I grew up in a different era. But I’m not shocked by it. If they want to use it to kind of water it down so that it doesn’t seem so offensive — if they think that’s going to do it, I don’t care.

Paul:

Do you think it’s easier or harder to be gay now than when you came out?

Lisa:

Well, it’s got its pros and cons. Did I ever send you my poem “Nostalgia”? The last two lines of that poem — I can’t quote exactly, but, “In the old days, there was the closet and harassment and fear, and today, closets are wide open, but there's AIDS.” And my poem said I would rather live in the past in the old days without the drug scene and AIDS. And I’ve got to send you these poems, if you want them.

Paul:

I’d love to see them. Oh, yes, please.

Lisa:

I don't write a heck of a lot of poetry, but when I do, they’re there. And I don’t know how I do it — it’s just — it comes through to me, and then I write it down, and it’s almost as if it’s being dictated to me.

Paul:

That you mentioned to me.

Lisa:

I don't hear voices or anything like that — I know it’s my poem, but it’s auto…I don’t want to say automatic, because that sounds like I don’t like writing, and that’s not what I mean.

Paul:

It sounds more like you’re the conduit.

Lisa:

That’s right. And anyway, I think that each era has its drawbacks. And I’m awfully glad my era didn’t have the drug scene.

Paul:

True, true.

Lisa:

And AIDS. Because I did an awful lot of running around in those days, and I could have picked it up so easy.

Paul:

I think it's pretty obvious you'll be remembered for Vice-Versa— what would you like to be remembered for?

Lisa:

My poetry, and Vice-Versa.

Paul:

OK. What do people not know about you that you wish they did?

Lisa:

Nothin’.

Paul:

Okay. Is there anything that I didn’t ask you that I should have?

Lisa:

I don't think so.

Paul:

I have so much about Vice-Versa that I got from other places and things like that — that’s why I didn’t concentrate so much on that, I wanted to concentrate more on you and your life. Do you think we’ve pretty well covered everything, then?

Lisa:

Yeah. I would like to have — although I don’t do this anymore — I would like them to remember me, too, for my guitar playing and singing of parodies, but I don’t do that any more — I had to stop.

Paul:

All right. What I've been doing with folks so far is I usually start by talking about some of the people that I can see that they've interacted with in the movement, kind of getting your impressions, first thoughts, anything like that, and then we kind of move on a little bit more to more of your stuff. And the first person that I had on the list was Dorr Legg.

Lisa:

Who?

Paul:

Dorr Legg.

Lisa:

Oh, Dorr Legg. He passed away.

Paul:

Yes; I interviewed him before he did, fortunately. Last year. And what comes to mind when you think of him? What do you remember?

Lisa:

Well, I remember ONE, but I never was really close with Dorr Legg, and I never belonged to ONE. So I know who he is, and he knew who I was, but that was about it.

Paul:

So there wasn’t a whole lot of interaction.

Lisa:

No, there wasn’t any interaction there.

Paul:

OK. I was curious about that. How about Ann Carll Reid and Eve Ellorree, known as Corky and Joan?

Lisa:

Oh, yeah! Corky and Joan! I didn’t know they went by other names! [Laughs] Yes, I knew them back in ’48 or ’49. And one of them — I've forgotten which one — liked to draw, and she was very good at it. I think that was Joan.

Paul:

That was Joan.

Lisa:

Joan, yes. And we were friends. We went back and forth slightly, but we weren’t close, you know, because I think they lived in a different town or something at that time. And I remember Corky — she was a dear, elfin, little girl, real cute. And as I say, we were just sort of casual friends. I think I gave them copies of my Vice Versa, as I recall, but that was about all. I don’t have any interesting anecdotes to tell you about all the friendship.

Paul:

That’s fine. OK. Jim Kepner?

Lisa:

Oh, yeah, well, Jim Kepner I knew when I first came down to Los Angeles. And, of course, I didn’t know he was gay at all. The way I met him was through the Los Angeles Science Fiction Society.

Paul:

Now it makes sense — of course! Yes.

Lisa:

And I knew him slightly as I knew all the other members, and it was not a gay organization. I didn’t know what gay was in those days. I knew that I liked girls, but I didn’t know there were any societies or anything. As a matter of fact, I don’t think there were.

Paul:

Not at that time.

Lisa:

So that’s how I met Jim, and only later did I get things through the mail, things that showed that he was gay. Then he knew I was. But he was so busy with his projects and everything that we didn’t…

He’s been over to my house once, and interviewed me for something or other — I can’t remember what — I think they had a big hoopla in one of the hotels here — Universal City. And for some reason or another, he had to ask me some questions, and that was about 10 years ago. But I see him every once in a while, and I went over when he had his archives in Hollywood. I went over there one time and gave a little talk, among other people who gave talks. But we haven’t really been close either.

Paul:

Did you know Harry Hay?

Lisa:

I know who he is, but I don’t know him; I never had any interaction with him in a gay way.

Paul:

Sure — I was just curious. How about Donald Webster Cory? Did you know him?

Lisa:

No. I know he’s an author, and I read his book a long time ago.

Paul:

I talked to a lot of people who The Homosexual in America influenced a lot. You came out so much earlier, though — I can’t imagine it would have had the same kind of influence for you.

Lisa:

No. Well, I really didn’t come out. I was very cautious in those days; everybody was.

Paul:

Don Slater? Did you know him?

Lisa:

Name is familiar, but —

Paul:

He was also involved with ONE. OK. I’m just throwing out some names of people that I saw that you interacted with, and I wondered. Dale Jennings?

Lisa:

No, I don’t know that name, and you’ve written about him and written about coming down here to interview him —

Paul:

I just talked to him on the phone before I came here.

Lisa:

Is he an author?

Paul:

Well, what he was known for was a particular trial back in about 1952 — his was one of the first morals trials that Mattachine Society fought and won. He was one of the original members of the Mattachine.

Lisa:

No, nope.

Paul:

How about Chuck Rowland?

Lisa:

I know who he is, but I don’t — I wasn’t —

Paul:

That's fine. Barbara Gittings. Do you remember Barbara?

Lisa:

Oh yes! Now let's see — Barbara Gittings —

Paul:

She was from back in Philadelphia —

Lisa:

Is she the one with the wavy hair and the glasses?

Paul:

Yes, yes.

Lisa:

Yeah, I knew her. She came out here for a Daughters of Bilitis Convention. As a matter of fact, I think she was one of the gals that brought her bedroll and slept in my little house.

Paul:

That sounds like Barbara. When I spoke to her last summer, she mentioned that she had met you, and one of the things that she mentioned was that you sang with the Sweet Adelines, and she had never heard of the organization before.

Lisa:

Oh, well, that was something I belonged — I joined because I wanted to join some groups that were not gay at one time, and I joined them. They were a bunch of housewives that sang.

Paul:

[Laughs]

Lisa:

And I finally got bored with the whole situation, because I didn’t care for the barbershop songs that much, and you know. I sang with them for a while, but it was too much meeting at night, and this, that, and the other, and then you had to fix your own costumes, and I don’t sew. I just said, “Oh, to heck with it.” Forget the Sweet Adelines because it’s just a — it’s an outside organization that would have nothing to do with what you're writing about.

Paul:

Right, right. That’s fine. How about Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon?

Lisa:

Oh, yeah, they're long-time friends. And when I was last up in northern California, they met me, and they took me to — on a whirlwind round tour of San Francisco, and up Chinatown. But we never stopped very much of anywhere. This was a disappointment, because I wish I could have, and they didn’t ask me to their home because they were so busy driving around, and I would much rather have sat down and had a good chat with them. Don’t quote me on that because they were very, very nice to me. They took me to lunch at Sausalito, and they took me to Golden Gate Park at the Japanese Garden, where we did stop and we had tea. And they just — they took me to Coit Tower, and it was a marvelous, marvelous trip. It was a lot of driving for Phyllis. And I will always remember that wonderful tour because it was — it was — I was born in San Francisco, but I hadn’t been up there for years and years, and — [cat walks up] — hi! This is Copy Cat. They call him Copy Cat because he sits on the copy machine —

Paul:

[Laughs]

Lisa:

Anyway, I’ve known them for years, and they’re marvelous gals, both of them — I love them dearly.

Paul:

I had a lot of fun interviewing them in January.

Lisa:

Did you go up to their house?

Paul:

Yeah, uh-huh. We did about eight hours, as a matter of fact — long, long interview.

Lisa:

Did you meet their cats?

Paul:

Yes.

Lisa:

Koala and — Ernest — not Ernestine — Koala and uh — boy, I can’t think of the other cat’s name. I’ve never met them, but we talk about them.

Paul:

[Laughs] Like having children. We know — we have our two.

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References

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This interview with Lisa Ben was conducted by Paul D. Cain on April 15, 1995. We continue to use her pseudonym by her request.

Cain’s chapter on Ben can be found in Leading the Parade: Conversations with America’s Most Influential Lesbian and Gay Men, published by Scarecrow Press in 2002. A paperback version was released in May of 2007. A chapter on Ben can also be found in Vern L. Bullough’s Before Stonewall: Activists for Gay and Lesbian Rights in Historic Contexts.

This page Copyright (c) by C. Todd White, 2008. All rights reserved. No portion of this interview can be reprinted without permission. Please contact Dr. White at todd@tangentroup.org to secure permission or to report errors or omissions.

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