by Ruby Comer
You expect me to ride this little putt-putt?! I ask, half jokingly of the adorable young Irish lad at the Moped Hospital in “The Conch (as in "konk") Republic,” Key West, Florida. Affixed to the little dashboard is a bumper sticker that reads “One Human Family”—the official philosophy of this historic little island. These stickers can be seen all over town, in fact, they have been distributed internationally too. And due to the live-and-let-live, come-as-you-are attitude, AIDS stigma is nonexistent in this embracing atmosphere. As I straddle this wobbly contraption, the Irish lad instructs me until I feel comfortable enough to venture out onto the thoroughfares. I must admit I play dumb a little longer than necessary just to feel his strong arms around me. Okay, so I'm a dirty old broad! With some confidence and a lot of gaul, I pull out into traffic, and steer onto funky Duval Street, a mile-long street that stretches from the Gulf to the Atlantic.I head down to the nineteenth century Old Custom House, near Mallory Square, to meet Judy Garland—or is it Bette Davis—or Shirley MacLaine? It’s actually the talented diva impersonator, Christopher Peterson, who has a vast and unusual repertoire of celebs including Patsy Cline, Nancy Reagan, Catherine Zeta Jones, and Julie Andrews. He even played Lucille Ball in the all-star film Rat Race (a remake of the classic It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World).
A native of Canada, Christopher, forty-one, is presently packing them in at his sold-out Eyecons Show, a tribute to the Great Ladies of the twentieth century of show business in the Crystal Room at La Te Da’s (named by my pal, Holly Woodlawn). His partner of twenty years, James Mill, is the tech director. Christopher has also graced television and the theater, racking up various awards along the way. He has been at the forefront of the AIDS epidemic, constantly offering his time and energy to raise money.
As I pull up to the Old Custom house, which once served as the Post Office and Court House, Chris is sitting on the steps of this recently renovated redbrick architectural gem, now the home of the Museum of Art and History. As we stroll through the impressive exhibit of “Ernest Hemingway and Walker Evans: Cuba 1933—a Cuban confluence of two great American talents,” Chris and I discuss.
Ruby Comer: This exhibit is fascinating and so interesting.
Christopher Peterson: Yeah. To think that Hemingway and Evans spent three weeks together in Havana and then never met or corresponded with each other ever again.
And the influence the two had on each other, and their careers. Christopher, why do you do so many benefits?
[He answers softly] Because I don’t have any friends left. In the late eighties, which I call the first wave, people started dying around me. I’d say, “What’s goin’ on?!” And so I got on the bandwagon. Maybe it’s out of guilt. At times, I wondered why it wasn’t me [who was dying]. [He pauses.] When I did the exact same things everybody else did, and maybe some worse things, why, why didn’t I get infected? So what do I do to ease my guilt? I do charity. [He laughs.] No, I do it because I want to help my friends.
Thanks for your honesty. [We look at a display of Hemingway’s bloodstained WW1 uniform.] Will any good come out of this AIDS battle?
The gay community has bonded and become stronger. We learned how to celebrate life.
We exit the museum, hop on the Moped and ride tandem—Ms. Ruby at the helm, of course. We stop briefly at the famous Southernmost point monument (Cuba is a mere ninety miles), take photos, then land at Tennessee Williams’ home, a charming red-shuttered, white clapboard Bahamian cottage, now a private residence. Several scenes from his play-turned-movie, The Rose Tattoo, were filmed here. Next, we head for Blue Heaven for some lunch. It’s a tree house-like restaurant with roosters actually walking underfoot.
[I order the chicken Caesar salad hoping that the roosters aren’t listening.] As you know, one of the highest groups that are being infected is teens. Any comment? (Chris orders a SKYY martini with three olives.]
I know. It’s sad. Many years ago I read where teens were getting infected so that they could have uncensored sex. That is devastating. ‘You’re doing what?’ ‘Well, now they have drugs that will keep me alive.’ ‘And you want to be HIV-positive so that you can give a real blowjob? It ain’t that great kids. It still tastes like alfalfa sprouts.’
[Laughing] The kids today weren’t here to witness those horrific deaths. You were. How do you deal with the loss?
Oh, I don’t know [he says delicately). I put on my lipstick, go out on stage, and make people laugh. I was so young when the first wave occurred and it seemed like I was going to funerals every two or three weeks. Then I stopped going, and I’d go to the memorials – the Celebrate A Life parties. That was more creative. We’ve got very bad ways of burying our people, very morbid. Open casket?? Are you people insane? Why ya got a casket in the first place?!
I’m with you. It’s absurd. My father wanted an open casket for my brother, Matthew, who died of AIDS but my sister and I refused to partake. At the funeral home, we both stood in the lobby and welcomed guests there. We would not go in that room where Matt was lying until they closed the casket. So I never saw my brother like that, thank heaven. What for? He wasn’t there anyway. [Taking a bite of the scrumptious Key Lime pie.] This pie is heaven!
Yum, yes. [He finishes his last piece.] When the second wave of AIDS hit [circa 1996], I lost a dear friend of mine, a drag queen, Danny Love, who used to impersonate Bette Midler. His memorial was spectacular. We were all in drag. Celebrating someone’s life eases the pain of the loss.
After feeding, we motor over to Ernest Hemingway’s digs, across the street from the 1847 lighthouse. Purchased in 1931 by he and his wife, Pauline, the Spanish Colonial home is equipped with a swimming pool (first one on the island), and a private cottage in back where Ernest pecked out on his Royal typewriter such novels as For Whom The Bell Tolls and To Have And Have Not. With a cat nearby, he’d usually write from six in the morning to noon. Folklore has it that the cats belonged to him. Fact is Hemingway never owned a cat in Key West, as these cats lived across the alley, and some were polydactyl, that is, cats who have five, six, seven, even eight toes. Today, the grounds are home to over sixty cats (they all have names, are well-cared for, and there’s even a cemetery) and many are descendants of the polydactyl cats. After the tour, Chris and I snuggle up with several felines and sit under a weeping fig tree near the seductive, tropical swimming pool.
Isn’t that funny? Hemingway used to sit on the toilet that was located on the second floor in front of the house and as people passed by on the street he’d wave to them.
What a spirit! So he lived in this house till 1940, divorced Pauline and moved to Cuba. Then in ’61 he committed suicide. [He gazes into the hypnotic turquoise pool.] Speaking of death as we were before, I remember a wonderful line from the TV show, Sisters—‘A relationship isn’t over until both parties are deceased.’ That hit home. So I still feel that those I have lost are still around me, like my relationship with Danny. I think about him every day. I know he’s here.
He’s probably swimming in this pool along with Papa Hemingway! [I pet Charlie Chaplin and Zelda Fitzgerald, two cats who have a famous namesake.] What do you think happens after we die?
I don’t know [he whispers, puzzled]. I believe that the only thing that matters is what we do in life. I can’t do anything after I’m dead. I feel for people who sit around and wait for the afterlife. What if there is noneoops! [We chuckle.]
We say bye-bye to the cats, gather up our backpacks, and ease over to the Butterfly & Nature Conservatory. What a treat to explore and mingle with over 1,000 butterflies from sixty different species in an enclosed greenhouse—such extraordinarily beautiful creatures. I feel like I’m in the Amazon or the jungles of Thailand. Next on our agenda: homemade frozen yogurt at Flamingo Crossing. But first I reapply some sunscreen as this paradise sun is hot, and I don’t want to burn this porcelain skin of mine (I wish!). You know I am a yogurt freak, so let me tell ya, this Shoppe whips the best blend. We sit outside on the porch surrounded by swaying palm trees, and people-watch.
Ya know, Christopher, some of these people could care less about AIDS. What do you think about that apathy?
It does seem like many people have pushed the AIDS topic aside, eh? (His Canadian accent is evident.) It’s strange. They’re on to other things. But look at the devastation that Africa suffers, and India, and Thailand.
Scores of people are dying daily. I hope it never hits America like that.
[He lapses into Judy Garland] And the media says, “We need ten thousand deaths before we can put it on the news.’ Well, one dying, isn’t that enough?! [Now back to his voice] I mean AIDS is hitting youth, black women, the Hispanic community, and many more. It seems like no one gives a shit.
We take our last licks, hop onto our motorbike, and zip thru the streets. Next stop—the AIDS Memorial. Chris points out several landmarks along the way: the Audubon House & Gardens (exhibits original Audubon paintings), the Southernmost House (President John F. Kennedy slept here), Key West Aquarium (pet a shark!), and the Mel Fisher Maritime Museum (buy artifacts from the 1622 shipwreck, Atocha).
Arriving at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, we spot the Key West AIDS Memorial sign. We park our scooter near the White Street pier and somberly walk over to the tribute. Built in 1997, unfortunately, there are over a thousand names engraved on a black granite walkway with three poems set in stone by Tennyson, Gibran, and Hadas. The walkway also includes a map of the Florida Keys. The Memorial is skillfully designed, and with the gentle balmy ocean breeze and the vibrant sun beginning to set, a meditative state overcomes us. Chris breaks the silence.
Hi Girls! How’s it goin? [He clowns and addresses the deceased.] Ya know, Ruby, the amount of charity that I do I still don’t feel it is enough. I wish I were doing more. This place is lovely.
[We sit together on the iron bench nearby] Yes, lovely, yet sad, huh?
All these names…. Overwhelming. Thank god we have scientists, and that modern medicine will soon find a cure for this ghastly disease. Come, let’s get in touch with some of these spirits.
Whaat?! [He pulls me off the bench and we run toward our bike.]
[In the voice of Carol Channing he replies] We’re goin’ on Ghost Tours!
As darkness looms, Chris leads us into town and we join the walking tour led by lantern carrying, top hat and tails clad, Diamond Dave. He reveals edge-of-your-seat Key West tales such as: a scary, supernatural doll, and a man who marries a corpse. And during the journey we indeed feel hovering celestial spirits! I get my digital camera out, snap, and sure enough, orbs (balls of light) appear in the photograph.
Tour over, midnight approaching, I drop Chris off at his nearby flat. As we bid adieu, he strikes that Peggy Lee sultry pose and sings a few bars of “Is That All There Is?” What a character! Alone now, gliding through the neighborhood streets to my hotel, I reflect on the enchanted day. Thanks to the irresistible combo of Christopher and Key West, I truly feel a part of this “One Human Family.”
Thanks to Steve Smith, Carolina Bustamante, Carol Shaughnessy and Marla Metzner for their kind support. To contact Christopher, drag your cursor to www.christopherpeterson.net; to order free “One Human Family” stickers, please e-mail: JT@DesignKW.com.
Ruby Comer is an independent journalist from the Midwest who is happy to call Hollywood her home away from home. Reach her by e-mail at MsRubyComer@aol.com.
March 2005
Ruby's Rap
