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The page listing all of the articles in this series can be found here,
The following story is NOT a whine-fest from a disgruntled participant. I promise. It's a story with a moral core… a parable. I am writing about a pivotal point in our local history. I will now talk about what went wrong, and then the huge benefits and blessings that came about as a result.
Landing With A Splash
As I wrote earlier, I came back to San Diego with a new, international leather title. It was time to see what else was possible. I had already invented Leather Pride. I had started the local Leather Archives. I was the Leather columnist for the local gay newspaper. Nothing seemed impossible to me, and I was ready to keep innovating.
What I did NOT expect, in my naiveté, was that local self-important folks didn't LIKE any of this, and they wanted it all to STOP. I had shown up, wagging my tail like crazy, and started helping out at various public events. If I volunteered at a fundraiser, then I would cause a massive surge of donations in my section. That irritated the other folks, who wanted to keep a lid on this tall, overly-enthusiastic upstart.
I wouldn't get asked to help, ever again. This was fine with me. I decided to create my own initiatives, without any further desire to ask for permission.
Empress Nicole Checks In
A week or so after I came home from winning the international contest, I received a phone call from Empress Nicole, who continues to be a powerful mover-and-shaker in Southern California. Here is an article I wrote around then, called "Forty or Fifty Nicoles."
Nicole said "Congratulations on being San Diego's first international titleholder in ten years. Have they thrown a welcome home party for you, yet?" I said "No… in fact, some folks are trying to have my title removed."
We continued the conversation, but all of the air had gone out of it. We both had had experience with being community-minded, and a target for attacks.
A few years later, I brought 124 leatherfolks to the Imperial Court's Coronation Ball. Nicole still talks about that, and we continue to be warm, respectful friends.
Something Seriously Wrong With Me
In the local leather community, I soon discovered that there was a deeper problem, which I had no way to fix. I was the wrong SORT. Over and over and over and over, there have been glorious stories blessing virtuous lesbians who stepped up to help their gay brothers when AIDS hit. I do believe that this happened, but I never saw it in my own town.
Instead, I saw that the local kinky lesbians saw a delightful opportunity when so many gay men died. It created a leadership vacuum, which could finally fill up with anti-male dykes. They would then actively discourage any white, cisgender and dominant males from obtaining any leadership roles. To them, males were just useful idiots, to flatter into doing their bidding.
Anyone who didn't suck up to them, was going to be taken DOWN.
How do I know this? As the years went by, I would notice the patterns… If this crowd of self-important lesbians (I called them The Powers That Be) sat as judges during titleholder events, they would ALWAYS vote against dominant white males. They tried to make those contestants cry during interviews, and would boost the one contestant that they liked. Folks of color, lesbians and transgender folks got encouraged, and folks like me got attacked and driven away.
They would gladly choose the opposite of what the title was supposed to exemplify… a tiny, submissive man of color with zero experience in the community would win, over vastly more-qualified, experienced men.
So, I showed up as a new, seemingly-unstoppable force of change. This made me a target.
I had won a local title, and then my international title. Now, I was going to run for Mr. San Diego Leather in 1999. I was strongly discouraged from doing so. "It's Mike's turn!" Being an amiable soul (and Mike's best friend), I agreed to step away from the contest for 1999, after telling everyone that I would run for the title the following year.
I Keep Myself Busy
I spent the following year fruitfully. I created even more initiatives, including what became a hugely successful Gay Leathermen's Dance Party called Rampart. I had created a gay leathermen's resources site called the PT-Website (Papa Tony Website). I created a gay leathermen's group called the San Diego League of Gentlemen, based upon LA's Avatar group.
I traveled all over the West Coast, helping to create Leather Pride celebrations in Los Angeles, Inland Empire, Long Beach, Las Vegas, Phoenix and Palm Springs. Each of them had at least ONE Leather Pride weekend, but if there wasn't an aggressively active local leadership to keep the energy building, then Leather Pride wouldn't happen in that town again.
My Guiding Principles
I have worked every day to make sure that everybody is always given fair chances to succeed.
I have the Golden Rule in every cell of my body. I believe in the power of Cooperation, versus Competition. I believe that the tools that are missing from my personal toolbox are supplemented by the ones in yours, and vice versa.
On the other, competitive side of our local culture, there were constant, aggressive efforts to destroy anyone's reputation if they got in the way. Folks were spreading evil gossip, like Mean Girls Gone Crazy. Folks were saying that:
• I was HIV-positive, and actively infecting unsuspecting victims.
• I was a sociopath. AND a narcissist.
• I was intentionally breaking up couples, so that I could steal the boy for myself.
• There was a murder at my house, I was stalking people with a knife and calling them incessantly to threaten their very lives, and that people had witnessed me breaking other people's limbs.
The stories kept changing. Folks were trying to take down my most precious asset, which was my integrity.
Imagine a battlefield with bloody corpses all around, with one or two victors left standing. This is toxic, and instead of buying into it, I just created my own, separate and rapidly-expanding social circle.
Creating A Social Network
Metaphorically speaking, each time that I reached out to the local Powers That Be, I'd pull back a bloody stump. I was NOT wanted, welcome or respected.
So, I created my own social network. This was LONG before things like Facebook existed. Yahoo used to offer free email lists. If you set it up properly, a Yahoogroup provided a way to announce upcoming local events. Nobody had ever done anything like this before. So, I went around at events, asking for email addresses.
Imagine that: I manually added 3,300 email addresses, one at a time, by asking nicely. This is not normal behavior. Luckily, I am a charmer, and over 99% of the folks I approached were happy to get connected. People REALLY wanted what I was promoting… a way to be connected to something far larger than just a few folks. It was most folks' first such experience, and I gave my solemn word of honor that I would never cause them to regret giving me their information.
I was the only one with the keys to this newfangled invention. I got to run it MY way. Every word that went out was kind, accepting and supportive. I supported all events, whether the producers liked me or not. I promoted annual, out-of-town events, and suddenly, there were hundreds of newbie San Diegans showing up where they never had, before. Folks in charge noticed.
Omens And Evil Signs
Three months before the Mr. San Diego Leather 2000 contest, an email went out to announce the panel of judges. Every single one of them hated my guts, and made no secret of their antipathy. I was upset, but I steeled my nerves and went ahead with the entry form and fee, which the producers accepted.
Three days before the contest, an email was sent out to over 700 folks all across the USA. The subject line was "The Final Solution to the Tony Lindsey Problem." In case you missed it, my name is Tony Lindsey. I learned about this spam-blast via a swarm of phone calls and emails from many cities, asking "What the hell is going ON in San Diego?!??"
The email invited interested parties to come to an event that very night, where they would discuss ways to keep me from participating in the Mr. San Diego Leather 2000 contest. This event was being hosted by four of the contest's judges, at one of our long-ago leather bars. My buddy Mark went, and berated everybody else. They had accepted my money and my entry-form. Legally, they were honor-bound to let me run for the title.
I didn't bother to go. I didn't see any cheese down that rathole. I was tired of being yelled at.
My Final Tribunal
Just one month earlier, I had had to endure my NINTH public tribunal. I was working very hard to make the upcoming San Diego Leather Pride a success, and I was the only one doing any work. At long last, I was informed that there would a Planning Meeting on the following Wednesday. I showed up with an armload of three-ring binders. Each binder had somebody's name on the outside, and tasks that needed to be completed on the inside.
I set down the binders, looked up and saw around forty folks glaring at me. I sighed. This again. I held up my hand to forestall the angry recriminations. I was already aware that I was being called a "Loose Cannon," and that I had somehow "Screwed the Pooch." I didn't need any more public shaming.
I said "I can save us all a LOT of time. What is the single, WORST thing that I have done?" Everybody looked at each other, shuffled their feet and muttered. After about a minute, I said "Come on, folks - I am not asking for three things, or two things. What is my biggest harmful act?"
After another minute or so, a tiny leather lesbian stepped up, and said "Well, you're awfully big and scary." I said "Well, there is therapy for that nowadays." Immediately, the angry shouts rang out: "How RUDE!" I said "You just demonstrated the perfect definition of bigotry. You don't like something about my externals that I have no control over. If you have issues with men who remind you of your father somehow, get therapy, and leave it off of me. It doesn't belong to me."
"As for the rest of you: The invitation remains, and is always open. If I have done anything that is bad, bring it to me, face to face, and we will work it out. In the meantime, you are wasting time. Leather Pride is coming up fast. Here are your tasks. If you have any questions, call me."
With that, I left. Decades later, I am still waiting for the answer to that question. I have always assumed that I was the wrong sort because I had no interest in "kissing the ring." I had big plans, and I easily re-routed around interference.
I LIKE diversity, and have always endeavored to encourage it. I object to ANYBODY being shut down on the basis of their unchangeable nature. Reverse discrimination is still discrimination.
Everyone deserves a chance.
My Favorite Compliment
Right around this same time, I got a call from Mr. Marcus. Marcus Hernandez was the leather columnist for the Bay Area Reporter in San Francisco. His email address was HatchetQ@aol.com (which stood for "Hatchet Queen".) This should give you an idea of his prickly nature. His nickname was Marcus the Merciless, and he was also the Head Judge at the International Mr. Leather contest for decades, until his death.
We knew each other well by this time. He had taken me under his wing, and mentored me as I learned how to create high-quality publicity. He could be mean to other folks, but he was an unfailingly kind mentor to me for years, until he died. I have passed-on his shared wisdom with dozens of new community leaders.
When he called, he got to the point right away: "Why are you running for Mr. San Diego Leather?" I started to give my standard reply, saying "Well, I gave my word, and…" He stopped me, and said "No - Why are you, of all people, running for a title? You're PAPA TONY! You don't need a title any more than I do!"
This was high praise from a trusted friend, and I have treasured it, ever since.
The Pre-Contest Interview
On Saturday morning, I arrived at the bar for my Pre-Contest Interview. The four other contestants clung to each other, recoiling away from me in open fear. I said "What the hell is wrong here?" One man said "They told us that you had sworn to beat us all up if you didn't win the title." I laughed and said "That doesn't exist. I don't think that way, and it is a lie. I already KNOW that I have no chance. I am here to support YOU guys."
They calmed down, and we hugged. The first contestant was called in, and would leave again after twenty minutes. Each contestant took twenty minutes. I was called last, but only after waiting for an hour and a half. I entered the bar to find the judges in a row. Nothing surprising there. However, off to the side, there were about forty other folks, with crossed arms and frowning faces. They were seated in rows. I am guessing that the long delay was to make sure that everybody got a seat.
In case you're not familiar with titleholder contests, this was unprecedented, and has never happened since. This was an intimidation tactic. Those "observers" had no right to be there.
The head judge started barking questions at me. "Name each judge, and what role we have in the community!" This was easy for me, because I had been diligently documenting our local history for the newly-created Leather Archives. I went down the row, answering perfectly until I started naming the folks off to the side. The judge stopped me, saying "That's enough. They are only observers."
Among other things, I was asked "You seem to have an awful lot of energy, getting things done. What is the source of all of this energy?" I said "Two things: Rage, and Grief. I stopped counting when I lost 140 dearly loved ones to AIDS. If I gave in to my despair, I would probably kill myself. So, instead of being a fragmentation bomb of unresolved grief and Survivor's Guilt, I have chosen to use my pain as a focused power source." I learned later that I was given bad marks for my answers to every question.
The Contest
Now, this next part is outlandish, but there is documented proof. The VHS video tape of the entire contest is still in the possession of the San Diego Eagle bar:
We all arrived, and at the very beginning, the emcees announced that there would be no ninety-second speeches. I knew that this was because they didn't want me to speak publicly.
I could have picked any of eighty tight, punchy speeches, with no problem. I was a charismatic and inspirational speaker, talking to standing-room-only crowds in many cities, nearly every month. I was building teams and exciting the troops, wherever I went.
My goal was to kill off the AIDS Holocaust Phase for gay men, worldwide, and to replace it with a new age of kindness and cooperation. We needed new traditions to replace what had died with our beloved elders, and I wanted to co-create those traditions. I wanted to create a series of Guaranteed Safe Spaces, where our AIDS-era PTSD-damaged brothers could find safe havens.
My ability to excite crowds was not going to be allowed. So, in a four-and-a-half-hour contest, we five contestants were seen onstage a total six and a half minutes. How do I know this? I watched the video later on, and used a stopwatch. The rest of the time consisted of drag shows and self-serving speeches by local big cheeses.
The first four contestants were lovingly announced, and were treated very kindly onstage. Lots of encouragement and flirtation. "Shake that beautiful ass, baby!" Then, it was time to announce me. The two emcees had a problem: How to handle my introduction to the crowd? In the entry form, one of the standard questions had been "List your contributions in the community. Use a separate sheet if needed."
Well, I had answered honestly, and had added multiple pages, single-spaced, listing just the bullet-points of what I had done so far. So, they had a clever solution. As I was waiting backstage, one of the emcees loudly flapped the stapled entry-form pages and said "Our NEXT contestant appears to have written a novel." The other emcee said "Yes… a SCIENCE FICTION NOVEL! Here is Tony Lindsey."
The music turned off. I stepped onto the stage in my jock and boots, and the emcees very carefully ignored me. They chatted with each other, as I silently walked around the stage, waving at my friends. After a while, one of them says "Well, that's enough of YOU. That was Tony Lindsey."
Unbeknownst to everybody involved in running the contest, the packed crowd was there for ME. These were folks who I had affectionately kept informed about local Tribal culture, and warmly welcomed at events, usually with hugs. There were dozens of heavy hitters from every major city for hundreds of miles around. I had happily given them support without expectation of reward, and they had shown up to be supportive of ME.
They could see that the contest was a sham. Over half of the attendees left before the contest winner was announced. When it came time, the emcees started out with "Our Fourth Runner-Up is Tony Lindsey." The crowd booed, because it's a terrible insult to let contestants know that they failed. The kind, polite thing to do is to mention only the first runner-up, and the winner.
After the contest, I went home and cried. During the contest itself, I had been endlessly supporting the other contestants behind the curtain. I had helped them to change outfits, and to get comfortable, because they were stressed. Once that was all over, the LAST thing that I wanted was to be a Drama Queen Victim. So, I didn't talk to anybody about it, except for my boys and my husband - my Leather Family.
The very next week, I went to Los Angeles Leather Pride and stayed with fine folks. I am sure that they wanted to discuss what had happened, but I just wanted hugs. All weekend long, I received hundreds of sweet unsolicited hugs, seemingly from every direction.
The Blessings Flow...
This event turned out to be the pivot-point that changed everything for our local kink community. In their efforts to squash me like an annoying insect, the Powers That Be faced a backlash from a lot of people who had resented them for years. The word went out to many cities: Papa Tony was a great guy, who had been wronged.
Suddenly, it was as if I had just won THREE international titles, simultaneously. I became super-popular as a judge, an emcee, or a tally-master at titleholder events all over the West Coast, and in places as far away as Salt Lake City, Washington DC, New York and Seattle. I was treated with great love and respect, and those were very happy days.
Later on, I chose to concentrate on my local community. I don't miss the crazy days of being a Big Name.
My Theory About Their Motives
I showed up in the midst of an existing power-structure, and I was out-shining folks who were very comfortable in their domination of the local scene. These were folks with rigid brains - Unable to deal with constant, transformational change.
Then, I show up, and I'm creating new and exciting traditions, affinity-groups and other concepts that WORKED. I was drawing the public's eyes in new directions, away from the Powers That Be.
Worse yet, I was popular with an ever-growing constituency, and I was on an upward trajectory. I would have been a shoo-in for International Mr. Leather, so I had to be stopped, RIGHT NOW.
...And The Tribe Changes
It is traditional for cities to invite various nearby potentates to work as contest judges, emcees, or guest speakers. After the disastrous Mr. SD Leather 2000 contest, those invitations dried up, for everybody but me. Nobody associated with running the contest was trusted, ever again.
The man who won that contest was never seen again. Years later, one of the emcees from the contest sheepishly told me "You really should have won." I thanked him.
Everything changed in the local community after that disastrously unethical contest. Decades later, the reputation of San Diego's kinky community stands out. We are a lot more accepting, diverse and affectionate than other cities. I have spent tens of thousands of hours, working to make that happen. I never took a day off, for decades.
I have trained new generations of leaders, showing them how to lead flexibly, wisely and effectively. I have preached the gospel of cooperation and respect. I have defused old-style conflicts when they arose, by taking responsibility for the conversation, and never giving in to the drama.
In the decades since, I have hosted thousands of events (here are just a few), and they were all sweet, accepting and diverse.
There is still a tiny number of people who believe that self-importance, domination games and glory-hounding are enough. They no longer get any traction in the local Tribe. They are not missed.
Landing With A Splash
What I did NOT expect, in my naiveté, was that local self-important folks didn't LIKE any of this, and they wanted it all to STOP. I had shown up, wagging my tail like crazy, and started helping out at various public events. If I volunteered at a fundraiser, then I would cause a massive surge of donations in my section. That irritated the other folks, who wanted to keep a lid on this tall, overly-enthusiastic upstart.
I wouldn't get asked to help, ever again. This was fine with me. I decided to create my own initiatives, without any further desire to ask for permission.
Empress Nicole Checks In
A week or so after I came home from winning the international contest, I received a phone call from Empress Nicole, who continues to be a powerful mover-and-shaker in Southern California. Here is an article I wrote around then, called "Forty or Fifty Nicoles."
Nicole said "Congratulations on being San Diego's first international titleholder in ten years. Have they thrown a welcome home party for you, yet?" I said "No… in fact, some folks are trying to have my title removed."
We continued the conversation, but all of the air had gone out of it. We both had had experience with being community-minded, and a target for attacks.
A few years later, I brought 124 leatherfolks to the Imperial Court's Coronation Ball. Nicole still talks about that, and we continue to be warm, respectful friends.
Something Seriously Wrong With Me
Instead, I saw that the local kinky lesbians saw a delightful opportunity when so many gay men died. It created a leadership vacuum, which could finally fill up with anti-male dykes. They would then actively discourage any white, cisgender and dominant males from obtaining any leadership roles. To them, males were just useful idiots, to flatter into doing their bidding.
Anyone who didn't suck up to them, was going to be taken DOWN.
They would gladly choose the opposite of what the title was supposed to exemplify… a tiny, submissive man of color with zero experience in the community would win, over vastly more-qualified, experienced men.
So, I showed up as a new, seemingly-unstoppable force of change. This made me a target.
I had won a local title, and then my international title. Now, I was going to run for Mr. San Diego Leather in 1999. I was strongly discouraged from doing so. "It's Mike's turn!" Being an amiable soul (and Mike's best friend), I agreed to step away from the contest for 1999, after telling everyone that I would run for the title the following year.
I Keep Myself Busy
The banner was advertising a local leather bar,
but the men were at Shooterz to DANCE!
I spent the following year fruitfully. I created even more initiatives, including what became a hugely successful Gay Leathermen's Dance Party called Rampart. I had created a gay leathermen's resources site called the PT-Website (Papa Tony Website). I created a gay leathermen's group called the San Diego League of Gentlemen, based upon LA's Avatar group.
I traveled all over the West Coast, helping to create Leather Pride celebrations in Los Angeles, Inland Empire, Long Beach, Las Vegas, Phoenix and Palm Springs. Each of them had at least ONE Leather Pride weekend, but if there wasn't an aggressively active local leadership to keep the energy building, then Leather Pride wouldn't happen in that town again.
My Guiding Principles
I have the Golden Rule in every cell of my body. I believe in the power of Cooperation, versus Competition. I believe that the tools that are missing from my personal toolbox are supplemented by the ones in yours, and vice versa.
On the other, competitive side of our local culture, there were constant, aggressive efforts to destroy anyone's reputation if they got in the way. Folks were spreading evil gossip, like Mean Girls Gone Crazy. Folks were saying that:
• I was HIV-positive, and actively infecting unsuspecting victims.
• I was a sociopath. AND a narcissist.
• I was intentionally breaking up couples, so that I could steal the boy for myself.
• There was a murder at my house, I was stalking people with a knife and calling them incessantly to threaten their very lives, and that people had witnessed me breaking other people's limbs.
The stories kept changing. Folks were trying to take down my most precious asset, which was my integrity.
Imagine a battlefield with bloody corpses all around, with one or two victors left standing. This is toxic, and instead of buying into it, I just created my own, separate and rapidly-expanding social circle.
Creating A Social Network
Metaphorically speaking, each time that I reached out to the local Powers That Be, I'd pull back a bloody stump. I was NOT wanted, welcome or respected.
So, I created my own social network. This was LONG before things like Facebook existed. Yahoo used to offer free email lists. If you set it up properly, a Yahoogroup provided a way to announce upcoming local events. Nobody had ever done anything like this before. So, I went around at events, asking for email addresses.
Imagine that: I manually added 3,300 email addresses, one at a time, by asking nicely. This is not normal behavior. Luckily, I am a charmer, and over 99% of the folks I approached were happy to get connected. People REALLY wanted what I was promoting… a way to be connected to something far larger than just a few folks. It was most folks' first such experience, and I gave my solemn word of honor that I would never cause them to regret giving me their information.
I was the only one with the keys to this newfangled invention. I got to run it MY way. Every word that went out was kind, accepting and supportive. I supported all events, whether the producers liked me or not. I promoted annual, out-of-town events, and suddenly, there were hundreds of newbie San Diegans showing up where they never had, before. Folks in charge noticed.
Omens And Evil Signs
Three months before the Mr. San Diego Leather 2000 contest, an email went out to announce the panel of judges. Every single one of them hated my guts, and made no secret of their antipathy. I was upset, but I steeled my nerves and went ahead with the entry form and fee, which the producers accepted.
Three days before the contest, an email was sent out to over 700 folks all across the USA. The subject line was "The Final Solution to the Tony Lindsey Problem." In case you missed it, my name is Tony Lindsey. I learned about this spam-blast via a swarm of phone calls and emails from many cities, asking "What the hell is going ON in San Diego?!??"
The email invited interested parties to come to an event that very night, where they would discuss ways to keep me from participating in the Mr. San Diego Leather 2000 contest. This event was being hosted by four of the contest's judges, at one of our long-ago leather bars. My buddy Mark went, and berated everybody else. They had accepted my money and my entry-form. Legally, they were honor-bound to let me run for the title.
I didn't bother to go. I didn't see any cheese down that rathole. I was tired of being yelled at.
My Final Tribunal
Just one month earlier, I had had to endure my NINTH public tribunal. I was working very hard to make the upcoming San Diego Leather Pride a success, and I was the only one doing any work. At long last, I was informed that there would a Planning Meeting on the following Wednesday. I showed up with an armload of three-ring binders. Each binder had somebody's name on the outside, and tasks that needed to be completed on the inside.
I set down the binders, looked up and saw around forty folks glaring at me. I sighed. This again. I held up my hand to forestall the angry recriminations. I was already aware that I was being called a "Loose Cannon," and that I had somehow "Screwed the Pooch." I didn't need any more public shaming.
I said "I can save us all a LOT of time. What is the single, WORST thing that I have done?" Everybody looked at each other, shuffled their feet and muttered. After about a minute, I said "Come on, folks - I am not asking for three things, or two things. What is my biggest harmful act?"
After another minute or so, a tiny leather lesbian stepped up, and said "Well, you're awfully big and scary." I said "Well, there is therapy for that nowadays." Immediately, the angry shouts rang out: "How RUDE!" I said "You just demonstrated the perfect definition of bigotry. You don't like something about my externals that I have no control over. If you have issues with men who remind you of your father somehow, get therapy, and leave it off of me. It doesn't belong to me."
"As for the rest of you: The invitation remains, and is always open. If I have done anything that is bad, bring it to me, face to face, and we will work it out. In the meantime, you are wasting time. Leather Pride is coming up fast. Here are your tasks. If you have any questions, call me."
With that, I left. Decades later, I am still waiting for the answer to that question. I have always assumed that I was the wrong sort because I had no interest in "kissing the ring." I had big plans, and I easily re-routed around interference.
I LIKE diversity, and have always endeavored to encourage it. I object to ANYBODY being shut down on the basis of their unchangeable nature. Reverse discrimination is still discrimination.
Everyone deserves a chance.
My Favorite Compliment
Right around this same time, I got a call from Mr. Marcus. Marcus Hernandez was the leather columnist for the Bay Area Reporter in San Francisco. His email address was HatchetQ@aol.com (which stood for "Hatchet Queen".) This should give you an idea of his prickly nature. His nickname was Marcus the Merciless, and he was also the Head Judge at the International Mr. Leather contest for decades, until his death.
We knew each other well by this time. He had taken me under his wing, and mentored me as I learned how to create high-quality publicity. He could be mean to other folks, but he was an unfailingly kind mentor to me for years, until he died. I have passed-on his shared wisdom with dozens of new community leaders.
When he called, he got to the point right away: "Why are you running for Mr. San Diego Leather?" I started to give my standard reply, saying "Well, I gave my word, and…" He stopped me, and said "No - Why are you, of all people, running for a title? You're PAPA TONY! You don't need a title any more than I do!"
This was high praise from a trusted friend, and I have treasured it, ever since.
The Pre-Contest Interview
They calmed down, and we hugged. The first contestant was called in, and would leave again after twenty minutes. Each contestant took twenty minutes. I was called last, but only after waiting for an hour and a half. I entered the bar to find the judges in a row. Nothing surprising there. However, off to the side, there were about forty other folks, with crossed arms and frowning faces. They were seated in rows. I am guessing that the long delay was to make sure that everybody got a seat.
In case you're not familiar with titleholder contests, this was unprecedented, and has never happened since. This was an intimidation tactic. Those "observers" had no right to be there.
The head judge started barking questions at me. "Name each judge, and what role we have in the community!" This was easy for me, because I had been diligently documenting our local history for the newly-created Leather Archives. I went down the row, answering perfectly until I started naming the folks off to the side. The judge stopped me, saying "That's enough. They are only observers."
Among other things, I was asked "You seem to have an awful lot of energy, getting things done. What is the source of all of this energy?" I said "Two things: Rage, and Grief. I stopped counting when I lost 140 dearly loved ones to AIDS. If I gave in to my despair, I would probably kill myself. So, instead of being a fragmentation bomb of unresolved grief and Survivor's Guilt, I have chosen to use my pain as a focused power source." I learned later that I was given bad marks for my answers to every question.
The Contest
Now, this next part is outlandish, but there is documented proof. The VHS video tape of the entire contest is still in the possession of the San Diego Eagle bar:
We all arrived, and at the very beginning, the emcees announced that there would be no ninety-second speeches. I knew that this was because they didn't want me to speak publicly.
I could have picked any of eighty tight, punchy speeches, with no problem. I was a charismatic and inspirational speaker, talking to standing-room-only crowds in many cities, nearly every month. I was building teams and exciting the troops, wherever I went.
My goal was to kill off the AIDS Holocaust Phase for gay men, worldwide, and to replace it with a new age of kindness and cooperation. We needed new traditions to replace what had died with our beloved elders, and I wanted to co-create those traditions. I wanted to create a series of Guaranteed Safe Spaces, where our AIDS-era PTSD-damaged brothers could find safe havens.
My ability to excite crowds was not going to be allowed. So, in a four-and-a-half-hour contest, we five contestants were seen onstage a total six and a half minutes. How do I know this? I watched the video later on, and used a stopwatch. The rest of the time consisted of drag shows and self-serving speeches by local big cheeses.
The first four contestants were lovingly announced, and were treated very kindly onstage. Lots of encouragement and flirtation. "Shake that beautiful ass, baby!" Then, it was time to announce me. The two emcees had a problem: How to handle my introduction to the crowd? In the entry form, one of the standard questions had been "List your contributions in the community. Use a separate sheet if needed."
Well, I had answered honestly, and had added multiple pages, single-spaced, listing just the bullet-points of what I had done so far. So, they had a clever solution. As I was waiting backstage, one of the emcees loudly flapped the stapled entry-form pages and said "Our NEXT contestant appears to have written a novel." The other emcee said "Yes… a SCIENCE FICTION NOVEL! Here is Tony Lindsey."
The music turned off. I stepped onto the stage in my jock and boots, and the emcees very carefully ignored me. They chatted with each other, as I silently walked around the stage, waving at my friends. After a while, one of them says "Well, that's enough of YOU. That was Tony Lindsey."
Unbeknownst to everybody involved in running the contest, the packed crowd was there for ME. These were folks who I had affectionately kept informed about local Tribal culture, and warmly welcomed at events, usually with hugs. There were dozens of heavy hitters from every major city for hundreds of miles around. I had happily given them support without expectation of reward, and they had shown up to be supportive of ME.
They could see that the contest was a sham. Over half of the attendees left before the contest winner was announced. When it came time, the emcees started out with "Our Fourth Runner-Up is Tony Lindsey." The crowd booed, because it's a terrible insult to let contestants know that they failed. The kind, polite thing to do is to mention only the first runner-up, and the winner.
After the contest, I went home and cried. During the contest itself, I had been endlessly supporting the other contestants behind the curtain. I had helped them to change outfits, and to get comfortable, because they were stressed. Once that was all over, the LAST thing that I wanted was to be a Drama Queen Victim. So, I didn't talk to anybody about it, except for my boys and my husband - my Leather Family.
The very next week, I went to Los Angeles Leather Pride and stayed with fine folks. I am sure that they wanted to discuss what had happened, but I just wanted hugs. All weekend long, I received hundreds of sweet unsolicited hugs, seemingly from every direction.
The Blessings Flow...
Suddenly, it was as if I had just won THREE international titles, simultaneously. I became super-popular as a judge, an emcee, or a tally-master at titleholder events all over the West Coast, and in places as far away as Salt Lake City, Washington DC, New York and Seattle. I was treated with great love and respect, and those were very happy days.
Later on, I chose to concentrate on my local community. I don't miss the crazy days of being a Big Name.
My Theory About Their Motives
I showed up in the midst of an existing power-structure, and I was out-shining folks who were very comfortable in their domination of the local scene. These were folks with rigid brains - Unable to deal with constant, transformational change.
Then, I show up, and I'm creating new and exciting traditions, affinity-groups and other concepts that WORKED. I was drawing the public's eyes in new directions, away from the Powers That Be.
Worse yet, I was popular with an ever-growing constituency, and I was on an upward trajectory. I would have been a shoo-in for International Mr. Leather, so I had to be stopped, RIGHT NOW.
...And The Tribe Changes
It is traditional for cities to invite various nearby potentates to work as contest judges, emcees, or guest speakers. After the disastrous Mr. SD Leather 2000 contest, those invitations dried up, for everybody but me. Nobody associated with running the contest was trusted, ever again.
The man who won that contest was never seen again. Years later, one of the emcees from the contest sheepishly told me "You really should have won." I thanked him.
Everything changed in the local community after that disastrously unethical contest. Decades later, the reputation of San Diego's kinky community stands out. We are a lot more accepting, diverse and affectionate than other cities. I have spent tens of thousands of hours, working to make that happen. I never took a day off, for decades.
I have trained new generations of leaders, showing them how to lead flexibly, wisely and effectively. I have preached the gospel of cooperation and respect. I have defused old-style conflicts when they arose, by taking responsibility for the conversation, and never giving in to the drama.
In the decades since, I have hosted thousands of events (here are just a few), and they were all sweet, accepting and diverse.
There is still a tiny number of people who believe that self-importance, domination games and glory-hounding are enough. They no longer get any traction in the local Tribe. They are not missed.
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