Paula Elizabeth Keiser

July 16, 2008

(Updated October 25, 2008)

I was born on July 19, 1943, in Elizabeth, NJ, as William M. Keiser, Jr. Shortly after I was born, my father joined the Army for the duration of WWII. I lived with my mother, my grandmother Magee, my uncle Richard and, sometimes, Aunt Jenny Hill.

After my father's return our family moved out of Grandma's house and into 2015 Dill Avenue, Linden, NJ, where I started school. During our time there I met my lifelong friend, Bill Fitzpatrick. We are still in touch (as of 7/16/08).

In 1951, when I was in third grade, we moved to 44 Ovington Avenue, Edison, NJ. I lived there until 1961, when I joined the Air Force. I ended up stationed in Topeka, Kansas, where I was discharged in 1965. I registered as a student at Washburn University, having begun evening courses in 1964, and was employed simultaneously at a restaurant as a host, and at KEWI radio as a transmitter engineer. It was in Topeka that I met my future wife, Nancy Orton. I was also active in community theatre in Topeka.

On June 8, 1966, after the spring semester at Washburn ended, a powerful tornado hit Topeka, almost destroying the university. I decided to follow a broadcasting career based upon my experience at KEWI. Opportunities in the field were few in Topeka, so, Nancy having returned to her parents' home in Birmingham, Michigan, I sought out a job in Lansing, MI, and moved there in September, 1966. Nancy and I were married in February, 1968.

After jobs in radio and television in Lansing, Clare, and Mount Pleasant, MI, and after the births of our two children, Paul David and Valerie Joan, we moved to 774 Weehawken Avenue, Forked River, NJ in 1981. The house was one my father had begun to build in 1955 as a summer home for our family and as a retirement home for him and my mother. My mother, however, died in June of 1971 at the age of 50. Dad later married Mary Burnett Jago. When Dad died in 1980, Mary deeded the Forked River house to my sisters, Jeanne and Marianne, and me, and I bought out my two sisters' interest.

In August, 1981, I began a career with NJN Public TV, owned by the State of New Jersey. I worked there as a TV operations engineer, an educational media specialist, and, finally, as a web designer, retiring on January 1, 2006.

During our stay in New Jersey, the maddening feeling that I should have been born a girl came to a head when I discovered that there were a lot more people out there who felt as I did. Looking into it, I consulted with others who had been through therapy to try to treat this condition. Now, in 2008, it is called Transgenderism. Back then it was called Transsexualism. Either way, the condition is the same: every single one of us knows that we were born into the wrong body for our gender. In 1985 I found a therapist specializing in the field, and began counseling.

My initial charge to the therapist was, "All my life I've wanted to be a girl. Help me not to want that." Her response was, "Sorry, Dear, but that's not possible. Just like hundreds of my clients, the only way out of this dilemma is for you to BECOME a woman."

That was not what I wanted to hear. All my life I had heard things like, "Those sex change people are [crazy -- homos -- immoral -- an abomination to the Lord]. Well, I wasn't crazy, I knew that. I wasn't homo, because I liked girls. I wasn't immoral in any other sense, so I rejected that. I couldn't argue the "abomination" part, because I didn't know the bible that well. The question was, WHY did I feel that way? Of all the things I knew I wasn't, add to that the most important thing: I WASN'T NORMAL!

My therapist, over a period of more than 2 years, helped me understand the nature of transsexuality as a normal part of ME. The developing theory at the time, and now a well-established concept in the treatment of the transgender condition, is that there are 3 elements to gender and sexual identity: chromosomal gender (produced at the time of conception when the sperm meets the egg, producing an embryo that is either of male or female physiologically); gender identity (the sense of being either male or female); and sexual identity (the attraction to the either male or female chromosomally identified people). Of these three, only the chromosomes generally produce a predictable outcome.

Gender identity is thought to be created shortly after conception. The fetus is thought to be subjected to what is known as a "hormone shower" at a critical time in brain development. In most cases, the mixture of male and female hormones is appropriate to the chromosomal gender, but in some cases the mixture is such that the fetus develops mentally into a child of the gender opposite from that of his or her body. That was me.

Since as early as I can remember, I wished I were a girl, but somehow I knew that telling anyone about it would be dangerous. I kept quiet about it, played with boys doing boy things, and generally went along with the 1950s world and my supposed place in it.

Just before my 10th birthday an event occurred that changed my life. The New York Daily News announced, "Ex-GI Becomes Blonde Beauty". Christine Jorgensen had returned from Denmark after undergoing a "sex change operation". The light bulb went on in my head. She was like me! Now I knew what was behind my deeply hidden wish. I was like Christine Jorgensen, and now I had a name for it - transsexuality. Over the next few days, though, as I watched my parents and others react to the story, I knew that nothing had changed. I still couldn't say anything, and even if I had, where would I go to get help? Very quickly, that light that went on in my head was switched off, and I reverted to my misery.

Puberty hit with a vengeance. Until 6th grade I was an "A" student. I was a soprano in the school choir. Now I was distracted by a strong attraction to girls, but not in just the usual way - lust - but also extreme envy. My voice changed. I grew taller and, unfortunately, fatter. My parents were constantly on my case all through high school to "Apply yourself!" and "Bring your grades up! You'll never get into college this way!". Along with all this, my frustrated dad was trying to raise a boy to be a man. I tried, but I couldn't live up to his dream for me. He never knew that it wasn't a boy he was raising, but me -- a repressed girl.

In 8th grade I discovered ham radio. Uncle Parker ("Bumps") Morgan was a ham, and so was his son, Linny (now known as Charlie). I found it fascinating that I could talk to interesting people all over the world and never have to even approach revealing my true self. The only thing important to hams, it seemed, was radio. It was the perfect "out" for me. I could learn something of which my father approved (radio and electronics), and never have to relate on a gut level with anyone. I disappeared enthusiastically into the world of radio.

As I got closer to graduation from high school it was abundantly clear that I was not going to qualify for college. My grades were abysmal. By this time, though, I had developed a plan: I would do everything I was "supposed to" to get by in the world. It was a kind of a "By the Numbers" plan. First, I would get my military service out of the way. Then, using the training I got in the Air Force, I would try to establish a career. Then I would find someone to marry. I'm sure you get the picture.

Life in the Air Force, after Basic Training failed to make a man of me, was relatively easy. I wasn't attracted to men sexually, so I managed to fit in nicely. After technical training at Keesler AFB in Biloxi, MS, I was assigned to Forbes AFB, Topeka, KS, as a ground radio repairman. The problem with that was that I was never good at relating to men as a man, and the shop was overstaffed. There wasn't much to do. One afternoon I asked if I could visit the base MARS (Military Affiliate Radio System) station on base to see how it worked. MARS is a cooperative effort between Ham radio operators and the military, organized to provide a quasi-official backup military communications medium utilizing trained Ham operators. Over a period of several weeks I managed to oust the then-current Chief Operator at the station and be assigned as his replacement. Since Forbes was a small base, I ended up being the ONLY operator there. This put me in charge of a staff of ME, working alone, independent of the radio shop. I stayed at the MARS Station for the remainder of my military career.

The next significant event in my life occurred at 8:36 AM, September 7, 1965, when I signed out of the Air Force. About a month before my discharge I had rented a trailer (mobile home) to live in, so I moved all of my earthly belongings in. I had begun taking evening courses at Washburn University in 1963, so I had earned enough credits to be ranked as a sophomore. My plan was to complete a degree in Business Administration. To support myself, I took a job at a local restaurant where I had "hung out" during my final year of service.

I had also become good friends with a local kid, Ralph Haller, 16 years old at the time, who was also a Ham. He worked part-time at KEWI, a local broadcast radio station. He told me about an opening there that I could fill if I were to get a First Class FCC Radiotelephone license. I made a bee line for the FCC office in Kansas City, took the test, passed, and got the job. Now I was carrying 16 credit hours at the college, was working 30 hours a week at the restaurant, and spent about 15 hours a week at KEWI.

Ralph was Secretary at the local Ham radio club. At some point while we worked together at KEWI he received a copy of an inquiry forwarded by the ARRL, the national organization of Ham radio operators, from a Ham who was interning at a local hospital, working in the mental health field. Nancy Orton, K8QEI, was asking about Topeka radio clubs she might visit. Ralph contacted her.

Nancy was 21 years old. Ralph was 17. He decided that I, now age 23, would be a better person to show her around, so he arranged for us to meet. Nancy and I dated for several months and got along quite well. I was considering asking her to marry me. This would be the next step in my "By The Numbers" life plan.

On June 8, 1966, Topeka was visited by a devastating tornado. It only lasted about 20 minutes, but it took a toll of lives and property that was, at the time, the most costly storm that had ever struck the United States. Homes and businesses were lost, 17 people died, and lives were changed forever in that short 20 minutes.

At the time it struck, Nancy and I had just bought a prepared chicken at a local supermarket and were heading to my trailer, located southeast of the city, to have supper. When we arrived, I turned on the radio, tuned to KLWN in Lawrence, the next town east of Topeka. What we heard was not their usual "Beautiful Music," but pure panic! The announcers seemed to be babbling, making no sense at all. After several minutes, one of the announcers mentioned "...avoiding the disaster that struck Topeka". Disaster? WHAT disaster? So I turned on the TV and tuned to the local station.

The tornado had struck in the southwest corner of the city and traveling northeast. It cut a wide swath about 2 blocks in width through southwest Topeka, Washburn University, and then downtown. Its path effectively cut off the south from the north. Travel was impossible. Since Nancy was living in an area west of the central city, she was trapped at my home. She spent the night there. (No, nothing "happened".)

Within weeks, Nancy returned to Michigan, I found a job in and moved to Lansing, Michigan. I had managed to rationalize my transgendered nature to conform, and well as possible, to what I perceived as "accepted norms". For the next year and a half I spent almost every weekend in Nancy's parents' home while I courted Nancy. In February, 1968, we were married.

I had bought a house in Lansing, so she moved in immediately. I was working for Michigan State University by then, in their television station, and also as contract engineer for WHMI in Howell, MI. My gender identity problem was always just beneath the surface. About a year into our marriage we decided to try to have a baby. Nancy went off birth control, leaving a two months' supply of pills. They sat there for a few months, but eventually I took one.

The results were immediate and dramatic. Suddenly I felt almost normal! The estrogens were fighting the testosterone -- and winning. I won't go into the details, but I did keep taking the pills until they eventually ran out. What followed was a period of increasing depression, kept at bay by sheer willpower and creative rationalization. I decided that that short period had been an interesting experiment, but irrelevant. after all, I was a married man. I had duties to perform, responsibilities to meet. But still....

Professionally, I moved on. After a short stint as an outside salesman for a supplier of broadcast equipment, in 1970 I went to work for WILS, the #1 radio station in Lansing, as Chief Engineer. While there, I did some contract work for other stations.

Mom died in June, 1971. She had returned to work in 1958 after Marianne was old enough to attend a pre-school, or, as it was known then, a nursery school. She hired on as secretary to the principal of Edison High School. After about 6 years she applied for the recently vacated position of Secretary to the Superintendent of Schools, Joseph Ruggieri. Richard Jago, who had once been principal at my elementary school, was promoted to Assistant Superintendent. Mom was apparently happy in this new job until Mr. Ruggieri retired a few years later.

Mr. Ruggieri was replaced by the former assistant principal at Edison High, Charles Boyle. It turned out that Mom developed an intense dislike for Mr. Boyle. She was diagnosed as dangerously hypertensive, but managed to control it with medication for several years. Eventually her doctor ordered her to take a Leave of absence, during which Mom's blood pressure dropped significantly. She decided, after a few weeks, to go back to work. Her BP shot up. She died of a stroke on June 20, 1971.

Life went on. One of the stations I contacted had, I found out, lost its license. I looked into it. After several months I joined with some other investors and bought WCRM in Clare, MI.

Clare is unique only in its location -- smack dab in the middle of the Michigan "mitten". The station was a 250 watt daytimer on a Canadian clear channel. Being less than 100 miles from Canada, the station had a directional signal, pointed away from Canada. The result was a signal whose potential audience was most likely to be, as a friend put it, "...the frogs in the swamp". Nevertheless, I made a passable success of it. Central Michigan University in Mount Pleasant was 10 miles south of Clare.

CMU had an excellent program in Broadcast and Cinematic Arts, so I had a ready supply of personnel who worked cheap in exchange for the opportunity to practice and hone their skills. I established a good working relationship with the department's chairman. This was to come in handy.

The group of investors I joined with in the WCRM venture had originally wanted to turn it into a religious station. The problem with that was that the principals had been the members of another group who, before the station had lost its license, had brokered (rented) time for religious programming in the evening. Because they were legally responsible for some of the violations that lost the station its license, they were banned from ownership in the new corporation. The new company, which included no personnel from the old, was, in fact, controlled by those people. Their plan, unbeknownst to me, was to run the station as a commercial operation until the religious people had sat out their exclusion period.

When I "bought in", I consulted my cousin, Paul Williams, Jr., about how to go about it. He negotiated my ownership terms in such a way that my investment was well protected. My partners didn't like the terms, but they needed my technical skills to get the station back on the air, so they signed it. The station finally returned to the air in March, 1973.

After a year of increasingly successful operation as a "middle of the road" music station, my "partners" began to criticize my programming. I was playing the "demon Rock n' Roll"! After several months of arguing with them, they finally ordered me to stop playing that music. I refused. I told them to come up and run the thing themselves, since I knew the station would never make it without catering to the requirements of the majority of the potential audience, which didn't include the frogs, by the way.

CMU/BCA ran a small FM station and a TV studio for use in training students. Their Chief Engineer had just quit. I called the department chairman and asked for the job. I got it. Goodbye Clare.

A side note: the partners did take over WCRM. Within 6 months it was bankrupt and had been sold. I was told later by someone who knew the buyers that the president of the corporation made a muttered comment at the closing: "I wish I had listened to Keiser." Meanwhile, due to Paul Williams' contract, my share of the proceeds from the sale came "off the top". I was the only one who came out of the deal with my investment intact. Thank you, Paul!

Meanwhile, Nancy and I had been trying for a few years to start a family. Just before we moved from Lansing to Clare we applied to adopt a child. We left Lansing soon afterward, but the application was still active. In September of 1973 we were visited by a representative of the adoption agency. We had been turned down.

We were disappointed, of course, not knowing at the time that the family quest had already been resolved. Eight months later Paul David Keiser arrived, just one week after we had moved our mobile home from Clare to rural Mount Pleasant.

We lived in the mobile home through the winter. It was not fun. We were 5 miles from civilization, Nancy was isolated, and it was a long 8 miles to work in Michigan snows. The next Spring we bought a house inside Mount Pleasant, just a mile from work and within walking distance of shopping.

1974 wasn't a good time. The first gas crisis was upon us. Prices rose from around $.50 to over $1.50 a gallon. The economy was also on the rocks. Inflation was rampant. It was not easy supporting our small family, paying the mortgage and utilities, buying groceries and paying for gas. From my present vantage point of 2008, I'd say the circumstances were identical in severity to today. Somehow, though, with the help of extra money I was earning as an Assistant Instructor teaching basic broadcast technology and basic broadcast production, we got by.

In April of 1978 Valerie Joan Keiser joined our happy little band. What a cute little readhead! When she was a toddler she liked to climb up on my lap and I'd bounce her on my knee. I called her "Peanut". As we bounced, though, repeating "Peanut" with each bounce was boring, so I jazzed it up as "Peanut Butter". The bounce took on a steam engine cadence as "Peanutbutter Peanutbutter Peanutbutter" Through her childhood, that's what I called her. It's sometimes what I STILL call her.

Dad died suddenly in 1980. He had had some problems with arterial blockage, and one night, on the way home after having dinner with Mary's (my dad's second wife) daughter and her husband. According to Mary, "He pulled the car over and said, 'I don't feel well. Then he got out of the car and collapsed." He was 68 years old.

The job at CMU wasn't going anywhere. By 1981 I had transferred to the university's TV station, WCMU, as a station engineer and master control operator. With the economy being what it was, I hadn't bothered to take vacations for quite a while. One day in May my supervisor came to me and said, "Keiser, you have four weeks of vacation to take by the end of the year, or you'll lose it." "Fine," I said, "I'll take July."

We headed for the family's "Summer Home" in Forked River, NJ. Dad had left it to Mary, his second wife, and she had, in turn, deeded it to Jeanne, Marianne and me. With the family in tow, we went off to spend the month at the Jersey Shore. Behind this trip was a secondary purpose: the entire trip would become tax deductible if I looked for a job.

We had a wonderful time that summer, going to the beach, the Seaside Heights boardwalk, the nostalgic (for me) outings, and the time flew by. Suddenly it was the last of our four weeks, and I hadn't done anything about finding a job!

On Monday of the last week of vacation I called New Jersey's public TV station and asked to speak to the Chief Engineer. I was put right through to him. I introduced myself as an engineer from a Michigan public TV station and asked him if he knew of any job openings in the area.

I don't know what it was he THOUGHT I had said, but he replied, "How did you find out about it? We haven't even posted it yet!"

I was invited for an interview on Wednesday. On Saturday we left to go home to Mount Pleasant. I went back to work on Monday. By Friday I had received an offer from Jerseyvision offering me the job. I began at NJPTV in late August.

I moved to NJPTV for the money, not the job. In all of television, remote operations (basketball games, legislative sessions, on-site election coverage, etc.) is my least favorite assignment. Nevertheless, that's where I was assigned: the remote truck.

On my second day of work I found myself second in command in a facility with which I was totally unfamiliar. NJPTV had a small "satellite" studio, used primarily as the north Jersey news bureau, in Newark. On this occasion, though, the facility had been rented out to shoot the pilot of a proposed new childrens' game show, "Let's Face Fax".

"Let's Face Fax" was a total disaster! The producer hadn't clued anyone in on how the show worked, so we were all flying blind. The first run-through was like a "Keystone Kops" comedy, and it went downhill from there. A project that was scheduled to take four hours went on... and on... and on.... The producer was blaming everyone - camera men, the director, the production crew, the engineers - for the delays and the confusion. Finally, after seven hours of chaos, the facility had to fulfill its primary function - news - and "Let's Face Fax" finally faced the door and was booted out.

What had I gotten myself into??!!

Fortunately, with such a bad start, my career at NJPTV had nowhere to go but up. And it did. After 7 months on the remote crew I was promoted to Engineering Supervisor in the main studio, which had no wheels. I was home.

A Studio Supervisor at NJPTV, now re-named New Jersey Network (NJN), was primarily responsible for the smooth technical operation of, well, everything. The production crew operated all of the equipment, such as the cameras, audio mixer, switcher and film chain, but if something went wrong, which it frequently did, I was the person who had to see that it got going again. It was a satisfying job, and I liked it very much.

Meanwhile, back at the Keiser Kastle in Forked River, things were just "okay". While I was on the remote truck I was working irregular, sometimes very long hours. Paul was doing well in first grade and Valerie was in a pre-school nearby. My promotion meant a return to regular hours and some degree of domestic stability, but the regular hours, as far as the family was concerned, were very long: I had to commute for an hour and a half each way to do my 8 hour shift. That left very little time for family life. Nancy was left alone with no transportation or help to cope with the kids for more than 10 hours a day. Even after I arrived home, I wasn't much help. We'd have dinner, and then I'd park in front of the computer for the evening. Then I'd get up in the morning and do it all again.

The weekends were better, though. I'd catch up on household chores, but we always (well, usually) left time for some family fun: an outing to the boardwalk, a visit to Jeanne's house, a nostalgic trip to my childhood haunts and a hike Paul and I took along the nearby abandoned Jersey Central railroad line come to mind. This pattern went on for a couple of years. Then, one evening while I was exploring a new phenomenon in the world of computers, our lives began to change.

In 1981, shortly after we settled in forked River, I had discovered a predecessor to the internet, computer bulletin board systems (BBSs). Numerous people nationwide had dedicated the use of their computers to public service by adding a modem (then a new technology) and some special software to allow remote computer operation by outsiders who called a phone number connected directly to the computer. The result was that a person could call, read messages posted by other users and send private e-mail (another new invention). I was fascinated!

After meeting a local SYSOP (SYStem OPerator) of one such nearby BBS I decided to establish one of my own. After purchasing the special software and trading for a modem, The Jersey Shore System (JSS) was born. It was the first BBS in south Jersey, and one of only three in the entire state. Needless to say, it attracted quite a following.

But operating my own BBS wasn't all I did with BBSs. I also called out a lot to get ideas from other SYSOPS to incorporate into JSS. Some of them had lists of other systems with their phone numbers. They were all over the country, so I eventually began spending a lot of money in long-distance charges calling farther and farther from home.

One of the BBSs I discovered was something called "Gendernet" in Oakland, California. The name intrigued me, so I called it. I had no idea that my life, and the lives of my family members, was about to change forever.

Gendernet turned out to be run by an organization called the Gateway Gender Alliance. It required registration to write to it, but one could read without registering. I read. Then I got scared! It was the computer side of a support group for people not comfortable in their supposed gender. It was for transsexuals! OMIGAWD! I got out of there quickly! I certainly didn't want to be associated with people like THAT!

But what I had already read played with my mind for the rest of that evening and into the next day. The next night I was back, reading more. I was still terrified. These people were expressing the thoughts I had successfully suppressed for my entire life! I called back the next night.

Finally I got up enough nerve to actually join GenderNet. The first item I was asked for was, of course, my name. OH, NO! I wasn't about to use my REAL name or location. Thinking fast, but insanely, I thought, "What name couldn't possibly be connected with ME. I thought through my relatives' and friends' names, and chose the first name of my favorite cousin, Paul Williams, Jr.. Okay, my first name was Paul. It didn't occur to me that it was also the first name of my son, whose name had been derived from a number of people Nancy and I had known and liked named, "Paul".

The last name was obvious, then. What more obscure a last name can there be than "Rupp", Paul's middle name? So, On GenderNet, I became known as "Paul Rupp".

(Yes, Paul, my first name derives from YOUR name.)

Leaping forward a few years to wrap up the name game, my middle name, Elizabeth, was in honor of my dear aunt, who, legend has it, always insisted that she wanted none of the children in the family named after her. She was said to prefer that one of her nieces, somewhere along the line, be named, "Penelope". That never happened. When I began the process of legally changing my name, I briefly considered Penelope, but rejected it in favor of a decision to try to annoy Aunt Elizabeth. I became Paula Elizabeth Keiser.

Meanwhile, back at GenderNet, I continued reading everything there. I even joined in discussions in the guise of a sympathetic non-trans person. Finally I contacted the SYSOP (System Operator). I told her about my own BBS, JSS, and asked her if it would be acceptable to establish something similar on the east coast, a "GenderNet East", to help those needing support to avoid high phone charges. Her response was a resounding "NO". She claimed copyright on the name, "GenderNet".

Still, she and I became good friends. My compromise was to establish a password-protected area of JSS dedicated to the support of the gender-variant community.

The "April May" section of JSS took off running. The system and its login information was publicized in transsexual and transvestite publications and on BBSs with related missions. It featured areas of help, discussions and e-mail. Within 6 months it was running almost constantly. Within a year, it became the foremost such BBS in the country, GenderNet having closed up shop.

That still left me, though, with appearing to be a non-trans benefactor of the T-community on JSS. That image was getting progressively harder to maintain. Finally, in late 1984, I "came out" to the people of JSS. I was, on line, at least, officially "Paula".

One of the first callers to the JSS T-Board was named Joanne Roberts. Joanne turned out to be the kick in the pants I needed to get off the dime and find myself.

Joanne was a cross-dresser (CD). She was married to a supportive wife and had two teenage children who seemed to be totally comfortable with their dad's "hobby". Joanne was also a well-known member of the Philadelphia area CD/Trans community. She talked up JSS with her friends, and it was soon a bustling facility. She saw through my "benefactor" facade. She encouraged me to get help, and gave me a few names. One of those names was Dr. Leah Cahan Schaefer, Ed.D., who, I later found out, was Harry Benjamin's closest associate.

Leah is a wonderful person, which is probably what makes her such a wonderful therapist. Our first visit lasted two hours. Needless to say, I was so nervous going in that you could have poured me into the room. After only about 20 minutes, though, I was pouring out my life's story, and we were on our way. I cried, I laughed, I felt hopeless, I felt elated. I had never before been able to be totally honest with anyone, but being totally honest was the first life-changing step in my therapy.

For about 6 months we met twice a month, then once a month for a year and a half.

Meanwhile, back at the Keiser Kastle, things were not quite harmonious. By now, of course, Nancy had been told of the situation. I think we were both hoping that cross dressing would be enough to satisfy me. Although she didn't understand what was happening, she went along with it -- for a while. I joined a group of what seemed to be mainly cross dressers with a few transsexuals thrown in.

Joanne Roberts was a founder of Renaissance Education Association, a support group meeting monthly in the in the King of Prussia, PA offices of Dr. Bill Stayton, a psychologist who treated people with gender identity problems. She invited me to attend a meeting, so one Saturday night I made the approximately 75-mile trip from Forked River. I "borrowed" some clothes from Nancy. It was my first time venturing outside the house "in drag", and I was scared to death!

What I found when I got there was a collection of men who ranged in appearance from Max Klinger to Marilyn Monroe. I was definitely confused. Almost all of them were making no attempt to disguise their masculine voices. Their makeup was obviously applied with a trowel. Clothes ranged from evening gowns to skirts and blice (the logical plural of "blouse") to pants suits. Behaviors ranged from that of female impersonators to terrified mice (me!). It took me about an hour to realize that, for this group, anyway, I was not strange or weird. I fit in nicely. By the time the gathering broke up, I was quite comfortable with it and with myself within it.

For a first outing it was ideal. Most of those people's first outings in public had been at a bar or something. I went home feeling a euphoria I had never experienced before. There were actually people out there like me, or enough like me that I didn't feel alone anymore.

The closer I got to home that night, though, the more oppressive the "real world" became. Having spent the evening among like-minded people and behaving as closely as possible as I had always wanted to behave, Forked River loomed. It was back to the family, back to the job, back to appearing to enjoy life as a husband and father, back to, in summary, an unhappiness with my life that I was no longer to be able to rationalize away. I had truly been "me" for an evening. I liked it!

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