Leather Archives & Museum: 25 Years

The official catalog celebrating the 25th Anniversary of the Leather Archives & Museum. The catalog features essays, collection photographs, and highlights over the LA&M's institutional life. The official catalog celebrating the 25th Anniversary of the Leather Archives & Museum. The catalog features essays, collection photographs, and highlights over the LA&M's institutional life.

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undertook a dissertation project on the history and social organization of gay male leather and SM in San Francisco, the primary material was sparse and relatively inaccessible to researchers. Most of what did exist was in private hands: garages, attics, trunks, and dresser drawers. And that was just what people had kept or admitted to having. A lot of irreplaceable documentation had already been thrown away, or was considered an embarrassment. This situation was not an unfamiliar one for those of us who had already been working on gay and lesbian histories. When I came out, circa 1970, I immediately wanted to learn about lesbianism and spent a few years absorbing whatever sources I could locate. Like leather, lesbianism and male homosexuality had long been classified as psychiatric problems, so most of the scholarly literature consisted of medical texts on the diagnosis and treatment of these “diseases.” There were also pornography, pulp fiction, and some serious literature (including a handful of books such as The Price of Salt, Patricia Highsmith’s pseudonymously published novel, recently made into the feature film Carol, 2015). The gay liberation and radical feminist press was in its earliest phases, producing at that point mainly leaflets, manifestos, and newspapers. In addition, there was the considerable body of research and analytic work that had been generated by the homophile movement and its press: the Mattachine Review, One, The Ladder, and The One Institute Quarterly: Homophile Studies. The homophile era researchers had also begun to assemble both bibliographies and actual libraries of gay and lesbian books and periodicals. However, even the homophile publications, despite their importance, were rarely collected by major research institutions, and the homophile era library collections were mostly in storage. Until the 1970s, these gay and lesbian sources were scarce, difficult to find, and largely inaccessible. Like many of the then mostly young gay liberation era scholars, I quickly ran up against the lack of sources and the dearth of institutional repositories for the LGBT knowledges that had been accumulated by our predecessors. With the emergence of gay liberation, the older library projects enjoyed something of a renaissance, and something new emerged as well: community based collections of archival documents, art and artifacts. One of the first of these in the United States was the Lesbian Herstory Archives (LHA), inaugurated in 1974, and housed for many years in the New York City apartment of Joan Nestle and Deb Edel. I first heard about the LHA when I ran into Joan and Deb at a conference of the Gay Academic Union, also in New York City, probably in 1976. Two years later, when I 26

moved to the San Francisco Bay Area to start my leather project, I fell in with the newly formed San Francisco Lesbian and Gay History Project. This was a loose assortment of people investigating various aspects of queer history, and almost all of us found that in order to do our research, we also had to become collectors. In contrast to most historians, who can go to established archives maintained by entities such as governments, universities, and private foundations, we had to engage in a process of primary accumulation of sources. Many of the members of this History Project, such as popular heyday, almost every bar or retail outlet patronized by fisting aficionados provided emery boards, so that people could work on their manicures while having a drink or picking up their mail. So I collected emery boards. I assembled a complete run of Drummer, and began to subscribe to publications such as DungeonMaster and PFIQ. I amassed a small library of leather related books. At the time, there was really nowhere to deposit this growing collection of research materials, since neither the Gay Lesbian Allan Berube and Eric Garber, began to haunt garage sales and used bookstores in search of evidence of San Francisco’s queer past. Berube’s project on gay men and lesbians during World War II began when someone cleaning out an apartment found a box of letters and knew enough to turn it over to Allan. This happy accident lead to Allan’s 1990 book, Coming Out Under Fire. As the only person in the History Project working on leather and SM (at that time extremely controversial and severely stigmatized even in LGBT contexts), I began to collect SM and leather materials: books, periodicals, manuscripts, art work, ephemera, and artifacts. Much of the history of leather social events then was recorded in artifacts, such as commemorative pins from motorcycle runs. So I collected lots and lots of run pins. Because cigarette smoking was still ubiquitous, almost every gay bar and restaurant, including those that catered to the leather population, provided matchbooks with their logos and addresses. So I collected matchbooks. Since fisting was in its most Bisexual Transgender Historical Society (GLBTHS) in San Francisco nor the Leather Archives & Museum yet existed. Much of what would become the basis of the GLBTHS periodicals collection was stored in the small apartment of Willie Walker, one of its eventual founders. My collection began to occupy an extra bedroom, then two. What is now the One Archives was still mostly in storage, although in 1979 it was opened as the Natalie Barney/Edward Carpenter Library in a Hollywood storefront. That storefront doubled as the living quarters of its custodian, Jim Kepner, who slept on a cot in the basement. When the storefront closed, the collection went back into storage. These kinds of situations were clearly unsustainable as long term arrangements. Moreover, even once the GLBTHS and the LA&M were finally established (the GLBTHS in 1985 and the LA&M in 1992), they were underfunded, poorly housed, had little or no staff, and were extremely unstable. My experience in the emerging worlds of GLBT history had taught me the importance 27

moved to the San Francisco Bay Area to start<br />

my leather project, I fell in with the newly<br />

formed San Francisco Lesbian and Gay<br />

History Project. This was a loose assortment<br />

of people investigating various aspects of<br />

queer history, and almost all of us found that<br />

in order to do our research, we also had to<br />

become collectors. In contrast to most<br />

historians, who can go to established<br />

archives maintained by entities such as<br />

governments, universities, and private<br />

foundations, we had to engage in a process<br />

of primary accumulation of sources. Many of<br />

the members of this History Project, such as<br />

popular heyday, almost every bar or retail<br />

outlet patronized by fisting aficionados<br />

provided emery boards, so that people could<br />

work on their manicures while having a drink<br />

or picking up their mail. So I collected emery<br />

boards. I assembled a complete run of<br />

Drummer, and began to subscribe to<br />

publications such as DungeonMaster and<br />

PFIQ. I amassed a small library of leather<br />

related books.<br />

At the time, there was really nowhere to<br />

deposit this growing collection of research<br />

materials, since neither the Gay Lesbian<br />

Allan Berube and Eric Garber, began to haunt<br />

garage sales and used bookstores in search<br />

of evidence of San Francisco’s queer past.<br />

Berube’s project on gay men and lesbians<br />

during World War II began when someone<br />

cleaning out an apartment found a box of<br />

letters and knew enough to turn it over to<br />

Allan. This happy accident lead to Allan’s<br />

1990 book, Coming Out Under Fire.<br />

As the only person in the History Project<br />

working on leather and SM (at that time<br />

extremely controversial and severely<br />

stigmatized even in LGBT contexts), I began<br />

to collect SM and leather materials: books,<br />

periodicals, manuscripts, art work, ephemera,<br />

and artifacts. Much of the history of leather<br />

social events then was recorded in artifacts,<br />

such as commemorative pins from motorcycle<br />

runs. So I collected lots and lots of run pins.<br />

Because cigarette smoking was still<br />

ubiquitous, almost every gay bar and<br />

restaurant, including those that catered to the<br />

leather population, provided matchbooks with<br />

their logos and addresses. So I collected<br />

matchbooks. Since fisting was in its most<br />

Bisexual Transgender Historical Society<br />

(GLBTHS) in San Francisco nor the <strong>Leather</strong><br />

<strong>Archives</strong> & <strong>Museum</strong> yet existed. Much of<br />

what would become the basis of the GLBTHS<br />

periodicals collection was stored in the small<br />

apartment of Willie Walker, one of its eventual<br />

founders. My collection began to occupy an<br />

extra bedroom, then two. What is now the<br />

One <strong>Archives</strong> was still mostly in storage,<br />

although in 1979 it was opened as the Natalie<br />

Barney/Edward Carpenter Library in a<br />

Hollywood storefront. That storefront doubled<br />

as the living quarters of its custodian, Jim<br />

Kepner, who slept on a cot in the basement.<br />

When the storefront closed, the collection<br />

went back into storage. These kinds of<br />

situations were clearly unsustainable as long<br />

term arrangements. Moreover, even once the<br />

GLBTHS and the LA&M were finally<br />

established (the GLBTHS in 1985 and the<br />

LA&M in 1992), they were underfunded,<br />

poorly housed, had little or no staff, and were<br />

extremely unstable.<br />

My experience in the emerging worlds of<br />

GLBT history had taught me the importance<br />

27

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