Note to readers: This column was written one day prior to the Haines Love Parade on Saturday, April 8 where I wore a teal dress and pink wig. I regret I didn’t have time to find a nice pair of heels.
I have dressed as a woman in public three times during my 37 years in Haines. Mostly, these were fun occasions.
If any children or adults were emotionally scarred by my attire or behavior, consider this my belated apology as well as an affidavit about my career as a member of the fairer sex.
Tom As Woman #1.
October 31, 1986. Halloween fell on a Friday and I didn’t have a costume. I was with friends at the 10 Mile Steakhouse, a restaurant and bar where waitress Rene Pisel, a friend of mine, lived and worked. Rene looked at me and came back with her high school prom dress, a white gown. It fit. To complete the look, Rene rouged my cheeks and painted on some rouge and mascara.
She got me a bra and we stuffed it with socks.
I hit the bars and stood around in my costume as people do on Halloween, maybe dancing and hobnobbing. By night’s end our group made it to the Harbor Bar, where someone told me that former city mayor Jon Halliwell was checking me out.
I took that information as a joke. A couple minutes later, while I was taking a pee at the long, trough-shaped urinal in the Harbor men’s room, a young guy next to me – also peeing at the time – looked at me and said, “I should beat the shit out of you.” I rolled my eyes and told him it was Halloween, for God’s sake.
He did not beat me up, I suppose because his equipment and my equipment were both dangling over the same porcelain trough and under such circumstances men are considerably less likely to begin punching one another.
I did wonder why he felt the need to pummel me. It was Halloween. I was in costume. And I showed no interest in him whatsoever. I hadn’t so much as looked at him, which is a cardinal rule among men in restrooms. Also, I’m very much not much interested in men. Too many of them are lousy conversationalists.
Tom As Woman #2.
Mid-March, 1988. I was in Skagway for its annual Windfest celebration, three days of games, dances, and besotted revelry held to celebrate the end of winter or to lure Skagwegians out of their homes.
Nita Nettleton, who operated Mary’s bed-and-breakfast, was entering the weekend’s “Mr. Windfest” and “Miss Windfest” pageant. Except that Nita would be dressing as a man and competing in the men’s pageant. I thought that was so hilarious I offered to compete as a woman.
Nita lost no time finding me a dress, a wig and stockings. I crushed the pageant. During a crafting competition, I found an aluminum foil tray, formed it into a mask, and described my creation to judges as a cosmetic device to make Skagway men more attractive.
During a “northern skills” contest that required competitors to assemble some piece of equipment while wearing heavy mittens, I lollygagged, then preened to catch the attention of one of the male competitors, then had him do the mechanics for me.
The judges loved me. Pronounced “Miss Windfest,” I was crowned with a sparkly tiara and a sash. A big, burly, bearded guy in town from Whitehorse who won “Mr. Windfest” carried me in his arms down the runway to the adoration of the crowd.
Tom As Woman #3.
April, 1989. On the heels of my notoriety as a Lynn Canal beauty queen, Haines Elementary School second-grade teacher Alice Morden drafted me to perform in another beauty contest, this one part of a school talent show at the Chilkat Center.
Alice, who was as much fun as anyone who ever taught second grade, wanted me to perform as a woman, wearing a women’s swimsuit with a tutu while roller-blading in circles around the stage. The request was a bit much but I was in no position to say no as I was dating Alice’s lovely and brilliant daughter at the time.
So I got into the outfit and did my little swirly dance and everyone had a great laugh at my expense. But the payoff was mine. I was able to continue dating Alice’s daughter and I believe I also defeated Erma Schnabel in the pageant, though I don’t think I won the tiara and sash. It’s a fuzzy memory.
I haven’t dressed or performed as a woman for decades for the obvious reason that I’m no longer an Adonis, or a Venus, for that matter.
But every so often on trips to Whitehorse I bump into the burly Mr. Windfest who carried me down the runway. We have a good laugh. After all, we made a cute couple.