if they are able to stand it for any length of time. It takes a sort of misplaced courage to be a Crusader . . . of that type.

Do you remember that Billy, who used to wear the bow ties, and men's slacks. Real toughy. She used to get beat-up more than any one I ever knew. Well, I met her the other day, in the subway, of all places. I tried to avoid her, and then suffered with a feeling of guilt, to think I would do that to my own kind. But, honey, I just didn't feel like being a Lesbian Crusader on the subway train that day. I was tired. I just wanted to sit and be a nonentity; half-alive, like so many of them are. Well, Billy got on the train with me, talking loudly, and greeting me like a long-lost lover. (I saw the gleam in several pairs of nearby eyes.) Then, she proceded to sit with me, holding a lusty conversation, concerning the gay bar, and the kids we both knew. Several people stared at her. When she noticed this, she stared back, letting the conversation lull annoyingly, until I picked it up again, with a well-directed remark. Finally, some teen-age boys boarded the train. (I remember when I was a Crusader myself, fighting for the Cause; I wore my obvious-armor proudly. Teen-age boys were to me, what George was to the dragon!) The fellows gave us one glance, and then the fun began! Billy spotted them instantly, and proceded to sharpen her sword. (Of course, you know that our swords are made of rubber, don't you?) Then the two camps, Billy and the boys, engaged in battle. It was a sham battle, and yet, how deadly in earnest were the participants. I could feel my face burn with a deep flush. Here I was, supposed to be the Crusader's ally; one of her recruits, and yet, how embarrassed I felt for her. And sometimes, I found myself siding with the boys. The world is right, sometimes. Old narrow world, sometimes it knows whereof it speaks. Maybe it's because the world doesn't like new Causes. Maybe, as I've heard it said, the world doesn't understand. I guess it doesn't. I guess it doesn't. I don't believe the dragon understood George; or vice versa. But the world has its laws for definite reasons; and it has developed these laws through countless centuries of ignorance and darkness; when men and women didn't enjoy the privileges they have today. There's always a reason for every law; and there's a reason for every social obligation we humans have to assume. There's a reason why men dress like men and women like women. If the world accepted homosexuality with more tolerance and understanding, we could certainly dress our way. (Not their way . . . but our way. Not Homosexual men as women, or Lesbians as men; but different from either. The homosexual way.) When the world accepts us, we can do this. In the meantime, to imitate the other sex in any way at all, whether it be in mannerisms, or dress, is to look for trouble. . . and to find it.

When Billy parted company with me at 34th Street, I settled back, breathing a sigh of relief. At 14th, as you know, I had to switch trains. The crowd overflowed, pushing and shoving. Suddenly, a little old man tapped my arm; he arose from his seat: "Take my seat, lady," he said, sweetly. I thanked him and sat down. You see? I was a "lady." I was conforming. (I guess you would consider me one of those "weak-kneed-conformists.") But then, the strangest thing happened, when I got off the train. Two teen-age boys were standing on the platform. As I passed, one of the fellows nudged the other one. Then he said to me: "Hi Butch!"

Well, hurry home, darling. My smoking jacket has a hole in it, and I want you to patch it for me.

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Love, Jay

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