Reminiscing about the vintage pre-Disney 42nd st days with a friend, I am reminded of Club Edelweiss on 43rd street, 11th ave. Not one to look back in sentimental bliss, I’ll be the first to say that I don’t really miss the dirt, Playland jive hucksters, gruff electronics store bazaar clerks who could easily be living a parallel universe in Istanbul’s spice market, and that little man running around trying to turn Time Square into neo-Singapore.
Club Edelweiss, the biggest transgender club in the city in the 80s-early 90s, was a seedy 3 floor meeting place for admirers, amateurs crossdressers, johns, and most importantly, working girls. For those who remember, the strip- 43rd street running eastbound from 11th ave to 10th ave – was where all the working transgender girls ply their trade. I knew this because I was circling around for the longest time, trying to muster up the courage to go in and have a look. I became quite well acquainted with the pre-googlemaps layout of the whole operation.
When I finally did go in, I found it to be like any other club at that time. Darkly lit, lots of neon, drag queens, and gay men who didn’t quite make the cut for G. The most memorable night was the time a drunken fellow dropped his pants on the dancefloor. The drag queens took one look at what he had to offer and started guffawing (if you can imagine laughter that can be heard over If Madonna Calls, I’m Not Here). By reflex and through embarrassment, I turned away. 2 minutes later, there was an all out riot on the dance floor that spilled into the two bars. I think I was tossing back a gin martini when a fist flew past me. Eventually the cops showed up.
I loved Club Edelweiss, though not for the usual reasons. I patronized the place only a total of half a dozen times in all those years. But the thought that working transgender girls have a place to duck into, if things should go wrong, made the place tops, in my opinion. Maybe the bouncer will come to their rescue, maybe not, but the fact that non-johns were only a few steps away (and a brightly lit diner was next to it), was a great comfort to those of us who have the mobility and choice to go home alone at the end of the night. That’s why to this day, I support any establishment in the city that is teeming with working girls. It’s a safety issue for which I have great empathy.
The area where transgender working girls are permitted to do their thing is a mighty claustrophobic heel print. Many beatings and deaths go unreported. Venus Xtravaganza – from 1990’s movie Paris Is Burning – was a rare obituary that saw the day of light. Ironically, she wanted nothing more than to move out to the suburbs. I see the limited mobility of trans working girls as a microcosm of transgender people in society at large. ALL of us have the freedom to go into their space, but the same cannot be said of the reverse. Although it is slowly changing, transgender folk experience the same double standard: many people can go into transgender spaces and befriend them, but under no circumstances are those transgender people allowed to venture outside their allotted perimeters. I know of (ex)-friends, ex-lovers, co-workers who can freely mingle with me on their time, under their specified conditions. But if I decided to show up on their doorstep or office one sunny morning just to drop in and say Hi, maybe go out to lunch together… under the watchful eye of neighbors, co-workers, peers?
Hell No! Out. Of. The Question.
It’s funny that that little man, Mayor Guiliani – an amateur crossdresser himself – persistently tried, and finally succeeded in closing down Edelweiss. It’s relocated since, and there are several other establishments in NYC today that provide some sort of safe zone for transgender working girls. He went to Singapore and saw how nice a city can be renovated into.
Too bad he missed the fact that prostitution is legal in the city he modeled Time Square after.
