The boy in the leather jacket had left, his place now occupied by a middleaged woman whose hands and eyebrows accompanied her busy mouth as she argued with an escort. Behind me a newcomer quietly apologized for brushing my shoulder as he reached across to accept the Manhattan he had ordered. Half turning to acknowledge the remark, I saw a man with lean tanned features, short cropped hair with flecks of gray at the temples, and a spray of fine lines at the corners of his eyes, their downward slant marking years of smiles. He was wearing a smartly cut charcoal suit and under his arm was a copy of The Star-Ledger, the town's conservative afternoon paper.

Taking senseless note of the familiar pall of smoke that lazed against the low ceiling, I lifted my bottle to measure the beer remaining. This would be my last. The noise and the crowd were causing the old oppression to set in and I knew the walk home would do me good. A small voice from the nether region of my mind spoke up: "Remember me? I'm the Margin Theory." Oh, yes—the Big Idea—and I still hadn't thought it through.

Johnnie had been the cooperative pupil he'd sworn he would be. Within days his outward behavior had changed considerably, in a few weeks there was no noticeable trace of effeminacy, and by the end of three months or so his new personality had "set," distinguished by positive masculine manners. This, coupled with his good looks, nimble mind, and pleasant ways, had made him welcome and respected company wherever he went.

He eventually had volunteered for service and made master sergeant in the infantry before death overtook him at Salerno. I, in my loneliness, wandered afield. I got to know most of the great cities of America and, in time, most of their gay bars. And gradually I discovered something I should have guessed long before: the smallest differences between masculine and feminine behavior were known to the gay crowd everywhere. Thousands were so masking their inherent physical characteristics that my built-in alarm was practically short-circuited. I saw the types and recognized them, but the recognition became more and more laborious and it was being prompted by the faintest sound from the bell-seldom a loud ringing. The only way I could figure it was that simple intelligence had allowed all inquisitive-minded homosexuals to learn for themselves (and perhaps teach others as I had taught Johnnie) the scores of discrepancies between masculine and feminine deportment.

Now the Margin Theory was shaping up. The gay population, I told myself, is altering its profile to satisfy the compelling instinct of self-preservation. The surface transition is not complete, but not many years will pass

before it will be.

S. o far so good. But to clinch the whole theory, I now had to argue that beterosexual males are becoming less masculine. This would be a harder point to substantiate, but I thought it could be done-indirectly and through the ladies.

I first considered woman's historic though fairly recent entry into public affairs. A change in the Constitution gave her the right to vote and it wasn't long before she assumed the right to run for office. Already we have had female mayors, county commissioners, governors, and members of Congress; and only the other day a U. S. senator seriously predicted that some woman inevitably would be elected president of the United States.

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