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Chapter 1
Christine, 1988
On February 27, 1988, 150 cross dressers,1 many of them in shimmering floor-length formals, downed a cocktail or two in the gilded banquet room of Chicago’s Ramada O’Hare Hotel awaiting Miss Christine Jorgensen, indisputably the world’s most celebrated transsexual.2 Most of the men in this audience were married and most had been cross dressers for years. In suits and gowns that appeared a bit out of style, these temporary ladies often resembled grandmotherly members of a women’s club. Beneath the spaghetti straps and silicone breast forms, they represented an affluent, older, well-functioning and highly educated cross section of Main Street USA. The opportunity to meet Christine Jorgensen and to hear her speak was one of the incentives for coming to Chicago in the winter, but it was not the only reason. They had come to the Windy City for three days of strategic planning,3 and to develop better outreach programs to help other cross dressers. They were all aware that Miss Jorgensen had been born a male, and that as George Jorgensen Jr. he had served for about a year in the U.S. Army. They also knew she became a transsexual in the early 1950s, and that extensive international publicity accompanied this event
Christine had been recruited to attend this convention by one of her close friends, a much-admired transsexual, Sister Mary Elizabeth.4 Christine had top billing as the most honored guest; however, she had never previously participated in a convention of this kind, for she preferred to avoid appearances that linked her with cross dressers, female impersonators, or transsexuals. She considered herself to be a woman, not a transsexual. This was a label she despised, although it was her transsexuality that had propelled her to international fame. Now, she was weakened by cancer and extensive chemotherapy.
When Miss Jorgensen arrived at Chicago’s frosty O’Hare Airport, she left the aircraft in a wheelchair before being welcomed by two cross dressers with years of experience in support groups. Both of the ladies were about fifty but looked far younger in their carefully selected winter suits, precisely applied makeup, tasteful jewelry, and upswept hairdos.
Upon arriving, Christine quickly established rapport with her new friends. She was exceptionally skilled in making others feel at ease, speaking graciously, using humor, and establishing herself as the kind of woman who flies first class. They gathered her bags and drove to the nearby hotel.
After a quick survey of her suite, Jorgensen invited her two new friends to join her for a drink, which they eagerly accepted. Soon, she was sharing her long-held philosophy concerning the significance of being different. She spoke of the importance of encouraging each individual the freedom to become the person he or she was destined to be. Doing most of the talking, Christine gradually wound down and announced she was going to take a nap. On the following day, she visited with the convention organizers, but mostly kept out of sight. She drank a little, smoked a lot, and made some telephone calls. There was little concerning the convention that was of interest to her, other than the speech she would deliver on Saturday. Miss Jorgensen was a very spontaneous and experienced public speaker; she never considered making notes or writing the text of a speech.
Jorgensen’s luncheon talk was built on a personal account of her struggles as a troubled youth and her difficulties in resolving her own transsexual struggles. Her style was intimate, almost confidential, as if to invite her listeners to become her friend, and she used a great deal of humor. She had each of the ladies sitting on the edge of her chair, especially when describing her medical treatment in Denmark at the age of twenty-six, and then telling of her highly publicized return to New York City in 1953. After speaking, she generously signed autographs and chatted with her fans. She would not be a speaker at the evening banquet, but she knew everyone would be nicely dressed for this concluding event.
The banquet began at seven. As the group assembled, she glided into the room in a glittering black pantsuit, three-inch high heels, and several pieces of ornate, oversized jewelry. Everyone who saw her agreed she communicated a very impressive presence. As she moved from one table to the next, she paused to greet the guests and to make eye contact. Christine Jorgensen knew how to make an entrance and she knew how to work a room. One of the first ladies to give her a hug was Alison Laing, a retired chemist, who had been cross dressing for thirty years. “Good evening, Christine. May I bring you a drink?” Laing asked. “Oh, please do. Vodka, with ice and a twist of lemon,” Jorgensen answered with a theatrical accent. She then added “… but make it a double.”5
I had met Christine Jorgensen a few years earlier at an AIDS fundraiser in Venice, California; however, at that crowded event there was little opportunity for conversation. Similarly, I had not been introduced to her or spoken with her at this convention. Looking forward to shaking her hand, I had taken my place at the elevated head table, pushed aside a vase of flowers, rearranged my silverware, and unfolded my napkin. As she worked her way to the front of the room, she projected a larger-than-life aura, moving with dignity as she approached each table, then purred in her contralto voice: “Hi ladies. I’m Christine Jorgensen and who are you this evening?”6 Most of the cross dressers in the audience were thunderstruck by her elegance, her welcoming smile, and her sophistication. She seemed not only at ease, but to be enjoying herself while giving lots of attention to her admiring audience.
Now sixty and fully in charge of the banquet room, Christine appeared to be everything a celebrity transsexual should be: charming, feminine, relaxed, and chatting easily, while commenting on the fingernails and jewelry she observed. Best of all, she was very friendly. In her attention-getting black pantsuit and stunning evening makeup, she appeared to be similar in appearance to some of the other cross dressers, but far more attractive. Despite being seriously ill, she revealed no physical discomfort. She moved easily and gracefully, while greeting these many men-in-dresses whom she neither knew nor understood. Those in attendance that evening recall her exceptional warmth, her brilliant smile, and her charming manner.7 Few realized she was ill, although there had been newspaper accounts of her treatment for cancer.
The ones who shook hands or hugged Christine that evening had to be brief, for she was working her way toward the head table. Everyone gave her their attention, and the ones in the back of the room stood to get a better look, stretching and straining like kids at a circus. They were eager to check out the most famous transsexual in the world. For this group, the presence of Christine Jorgensen was something like having Walter Cronkite show up for a meeting of student journalists.
The emcee introduced Christine: “Ladies, shall we give a warm welcome to one of the nicest women you’ll ever meet, our special guest of honor, Christine Jorgensen?” All 150 ladies stood, applauding politely and enthusiastically. Then, most of the ladies used both hands to smooth their skirts before regaining their seats.
Observing Christine at close range, I was surprised to see the puffiness of her face and her increased girth compared to the younger, trimmer, healthier appearing lady I had met prior to her chemotherapy. Her jowls seemed especially swollen, and she was noticeably heavier than the slender performer whose long, narrow and feminine face I had seen many times in newspaper and magazine photographs. She wore a large diamond ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. Her makeup was immaculate, with each eye outlined with a very precise, thin, dark brown line, accented with substantial mascara. She wore a touch of rust-colored blush and coral lipstick. It was obvious that she was wearing a short wig, lightly curled in front, auburn in color, with oversize earrings that bounced against her shoulders. She was quite animated and playing to the audience.
Miss Jorgensen transmitted a sense of importance, and she commanded the center of attention in a crowded room, but there was no hint of pretentiousness. In 1988, Christine was as radiant, as dazzling, and yet as tasteful and sophisticated as the lady who stunned reporters in Copenhagen at her first formal press conference in December 1952. At that time, photographs of the glamorous Christine were transmitted by the wire services to the newspapers of the world, providing the story and the before and after pictures of the former American GI who had been medically transformed into a beautiful blonde.
Eager to greet our guest, I approached her to be introduced, and then commented briefly on my role at the convention as a psychologist and gender researcher. As I sat down, Christine took out a cigarette, lit it, and exhaled a considerable cloud of smoke. One person at the table, a former smoker, then politely asked her to put away her cigarettes. “What? Well, of course, I am going to smoke,” she insisted, “ … is there a law against my smoking in here?” No, there was no law, but while the person did not want to be rude to a guest, neither did she intend to enjoy her prime rib dinner seated next to a smoker. Then, Jorgensen and the nonsmoker, issued brief position statements on the rights of smokers. Their arguments were totally in opposition. It was all cordial and ladylike, but there was no doubt that each would stick up for what she believed. The nonsmoker then politely indicated that she would move to the far right end of the speaker’s table, well out of the smoke zone. Responding to this opportunity, I explained that I would like nothing more than to sit next to Miss Jorgensen. Stretching the truth, I said I would not be troubled by the smoke.
The prospect of sharing a dinner with our guest and being able to interview her was both unexpected and delightful. I was familiar with the major landmarks of her life story, although I knew few of the details. I was aware that I was sitting next to the woman who had become the world’s first celebrity transsexual, and that she had become an icon for what transsexuality means in our culture.8
Trying to get a conversation started, I began with questions about transgender theory, but she showed little interest. We then exchanged some small talk about her career in show business as our dinner was served. Over dessert, I decided to pop one of my more important questions: “What do you think are the most likely causes of transsexualism?” Without a moment of hesitation, she responded: “Two main points: hormones and genetics.” Hoping to draw her out I asked, “Can you comment a little more on that?” She then explained something she had said in scores of newspaper interviews, reeling off sentence after sentence in a much-scripted manner:
You’ve got to remember that we all have both male and female hormones, and each person has different combinations of these, and that’s one of the main things that makes us what we are. And so far as genetics is concerned, everyone knows we develop as human beings based on our genetic makeup. What we look like and every part of our body depends on what we got genetically from our parents.
I nodded again, hoping she would continue after having another sip of wine and lighting a cigarette. She was chain smoking. Gazing over the audience, Christine made eye contact with several ladies at the nearby tables, smiling, waving, and wiggling her fingers. She turned to me and asked if any of the men-being-women in the room were transsexuals? I explained that there were a few, but that most of the participants were cross dressers, or in the language of yesteryear, transvestites. That is, men who cross dressed occasionally while living and working as men.9 Her wine glass was refilled and I lit her cigarette. She seemed relaxed, comfortable, and very pleasant.
My strategy in speaking with Christine was the same that I had used for thirty-five years as a clinical psychologist. I offered some questions and then sat back to listen while unobtrusively making notes. “Had she been much interested,” I asked, sounding very academic, “in cross cultural examples of transsexualism, such as men living as women in the Pacific Islands, in Asia or Africa?” This inquiry, however, failed to open her mind or loosen her tongue. She responded, “Of course, there are transsexuals in all cultures, as you know, but I haven’t been a student of that. I’m more interested in American history,” she explained, “and I’m very interested in the controversy about who killed President Kennedy.” I sensed we were on the edge of slipping off the topic of transsexuality so I counterpunched with a difficult question: “I wonder if you have developed any idea about the number of male to female transsexuals who may exist in America,” I asked, feeling sure that this could not be answered without considerable discussion.10 I knew it was difficult to define who is a transsexual. She finished her dessert, took another sip of wine and said: “I’ll tell you this. Ninety percent of the transsexuals I have met are not true transsexuals at all. They have not had a lifelong pattern of feeling certain they should have been born female, like I experienced, and Heaven only knows why they have wound up believing they must live as a woman.”11 She showed complete confidence in her conclusion, adding: “At least, the transvestites you see in this room know who they are, while some transsexuals do not.” She spoke with great authority, as if I might be one of the scores of news reporters she had set straight since 1952.
Loosening up a bit, Christine then explained the importance of fetishism to the cross dresser, emphasizing that sexual arousal had never been a part of her experience.12 She stated that most cross dressers lack the facial features, the body shape, and other physical attributes of women, and she then summed up the differences between what she called the true transsexual and the transvestite: “… 90 percent of the transvestites look like men who are wearing wigs. They really don’t look like women.” But she made it clear that she was not putting anyone down, she was simply offering her own view of one major difference between transsexuals and cross dressers.
I was determined to press on with other questions so I mentioned a couple of the major books on transsexualism that had been written over the past twenty years and invited her evaluation. “Harry Benjamin,” she emphasized, “knows more about transvestism and transsexualism than any other doctor I know, and he has been a wonderful personal and professional help to me, going back to when I first returned from Copenhagen in 1953.” I had never met Dr. Benjamin but I had much respect for his 1966 book, The Transsexual Phenomenon, and for his depth of knowledge about the many variations of transgender behavior so I joined in singing his praises. Then I asked: “But how about some of the other major contributors to transgender theory,” I inquired. “What do you think of the books by the UCLA psychoanalyst, Robert Stoller?”13 She paused and asked: “Who?” I explained that researcher and clinician Robert Stoller had become one of the best-known contributors to transgender theory, and that during my years in the Department of Psychiatry at UCLA, I had come to know him and respect him very highly. “Frankly,” she said while tenderly fingering her glass of wine, “I’ve never heard of him.” She was again smiling, smoking, and waving to some of the nearby cross dressers, a few of whom had come to the head table to shake her hand and to request an autograph.
Pursuing what I thought was an important question, I asked if she was familiar with the distinction psychologist John Money and transgender organizer Virginia Prince had made by sharpening the difference between the terms, sex and gender? She showed no interest in the question. Christine was a woman with a mind of her own, a capacity not only to have opinions and to express them directly, but also...
