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Renowned historian Martin Duberman reflects on a full life in ‘Reaching Ninety’
New memoir looks back at Stonewall, efforts to ‘cure’ homosexuality
Renowned queer historian, playwright, author and LGBTQ activist Martin Duberman, 93, began writing stories when he was four. “They still exist,” Duberman, Distinguished Professor of History Emeritus at City University of New York (CUNY), told the Blade in a telephone interview. “They’re with my papers at the New York Public Library.”
Duberman doesn’t understand what drove him to create. “I’d write these moralistic tales,” he said, “hand-sewn inside covers. About how Alice learned to do what her mother told her to do.”
Duberman who has written some two dozen books as well as plays, hasn’t stopped writing.
Name most anything or anyone and he’s written about it: from the Stonewall Uprising to actor and civil rights activist Paul Robeson. His memoir “Cures” recounts how mental health professionals tried to “cure” him of his “homosexuality.”
When he was 70, he wrote “Haymarket,” a novel set in 1886 in Chicago during protests by labor activists.
His newest book “Reaching Ninety,” is a memoir. In it, Duberman recalls the people, events and work of his life – from coming out to his student years – to his relationships to his beloved puppy Emma (named after iconic feminist and anarchist icon Emma Goldman) to aging.
In “Reaching Ninety,” Duberman quotes the dictum “aging is not for sissies.” But, “The trouble is that I am one,” he adds, “It’s part of my cultural heritage.” There’s a thread running through his work, Duberman, who founded CLAGS: CUNY’s Center for LGBTQ Studies, the first university-based LGBTQ research center in the United States, said. “I’ve been trying to reinvent historical writing.”
It’s essential if you’re an historian and you’re presenting an account of past events, to remain true to the known evidence, Duberman said. “But you have to be clear,” he added, “the evidence that has come down to us is partial and skewed.”
At the beginning of his career as an historian, Duberman wrote with a more traditional view of history: that history could be known and chronicled objectively. As if the historian’s background had no impact on how they wrote history.
Duberman’s early work was well-received. His 1961 biography “Charles Francis Adams, 1807-1886″ won the prestigious Bancroft Prize.
But, as he matured personally and professionally, Duberman began to question the pretense of objectivity. He came to see that subjectivity is an essential part of writing history.
“The historian – with their own background – in their own time – is always present in the history they write,” said Duberman, who earned his Ph.D. from Harvard University in 1957.
Historians must adhere to the evidence, Duberman emphasized. “But, they need to decide to come clean about who they are even, in part, to write in the first person. To explain their reaction to evidence.”Historians’ reactions to the evidence they uncover about the past could impact how they write history, he noted.
Historians don’t always know the full extent of how their backgrounds contribute to their interpretations of history. But they should take it for granted that at least some of their eras and views are present, Duberman said.
“To me, the choice comes down to how explicit I should be,” he said, “and how am I going to make it known.”
This was a new way of thinking and writing about history. Take Duberman’s 1972 book “Black Mountain: an Exploration in Community.” In the 20th century, Black Mountain College was a community for artists. But it was, as per the times, homophobic. A faculty member of Black Mountain was arrested for having sex in a car with a minor, Duberman writes in “Reaching Ninety.” He was let off with a suspended sentence. He became an “instant pariah,” resigned immediately and no one from the community at the college offered any help, Duberman writes.
When writing his Black Mountain book, Duberman felt compelled to come out as gay. To be, as an historian, transparent about how his biography impacted his view of history.
“It’s hard to think well of a place that could cooperate as fully as Black Mountain did in an individual’s self-destruction,” Duberman wrote in his Black Mountain book about how the college treated the gay teacher, “indeed to have assumed it as foreclosed.”
“But perhaps I exaggerate, a function of my own indignation as a homosexual, a potential victim,” he added.
In 1972, when the book was published, Duberman’s coming out in his reaction to an incident in the history of Black Mountain College received mixed reviews.
He was denounced in historical journals. “The New York Times reviewer dismissed my coming out as a vaguely unclean bit of business,” Duberman writes in “Reaching Ninety.”
“Other people were well-disposed toward the book,” Duberman said, “they were academics, not historians.”
Historians are a conservative group of people, Duberman said. “They devote their lives to preserving — underline it — the past,” he said, “They’re not likely to be interested in any combined format that merges the past with the present.”
Duberman doesn’t have a clue as to what got him hooked on history. “It was inescapably an unconscious decision,” he said. “I was torn between literature and wanting to be a writer. To find out more about the past and how come we’re at the point of time that we are.”
When Duberman was a freshman at Yale University, the man who taught his history class was only five years older than he. “At his very first class we took to each other,” Duberman said, “and became friendly. He became a role model for me.”
“He just died at 99,” Duberman added, “we never talked openly about homosexuality. But I got the strong impression that he, too, was gay.”
Duberman, who was born in New York, wasn’t out in college or graduate school. Though, he checked out the two gay bars in Boston when he was at Harvard.
Coming out wasn’t an option for people in Duberman’s generation who came of age in the 1940s and 1950s. You could be arrested, expelled from school, kicked out of your apartment or fired from your job if you were open about who you were. People warned him “against coming out to any degree,” Duberman said.
Duberman and his older sister were raised in a secular Jewish household. His father, as a young man, escaped from working in a beet plantation in Russia to Germany and then to New York. His mother went to high school at night while working as a secretary.
From childhood on, Duberman was bitten by a love of theater. He went to theater camp and performed in high school plays.
As a student at the (then) boys prep school Horace Mann, he played female as well as male roles. One night, his friend Bob’s girlfriend noticed that Duberman was the “actress” who portrayed a “stewardess” in a play that evening, Duberman recalls in “Reaching Ninety.” “‘But you can’t be,’ she gasped, ‘you have such beautiful legs!’” Duberman remembers her telling him.
Duberman, a polymath, would grow up to become a privileged insider while remaining an observant, critical outsider.
His many honors include: the Vernon Rice/Drama Desk Award, three Lambda Literary Awards, a special award from the National Academy of Arts and Letters for his contributions to literature and the 2007 lifetime achievement award from the American Historical Association. He’s been a Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award finalist.
He and his life-partner, Eli, a psychoanalyst, have just celebrated their 35th anniversary. He’s revered for his pioneering work in queer history.
Yet, even though he’s white, cisgender, and privileged, Duberman hasn’t ever been complacent or content. He still remembers how horrified he was back in the 1960s when he taught at Princeton. “I taught about slavery,” Duberman said, “I was thunderstruck! The white, privileged undergrads were on the verge of defending slavery.”
“It shocked me,” he said, “I shouldn’t have been surprised. But I was.”
The more he taught, the more discontented Duberman got with, what he saw, as the authoritarian system of education at universities. “I didn’t see the teacher as an authority figure,” he said, “but as a fellow learner.”
Though he had tenure, Duberman resigned from Princeton because of this. Also, he dared to move from Princeton to New York. “Then, people at Princeton thought: How could you leave the loveliest town in the world,” Duberman said.
Duberman deplores Trump and anti-queer right-wingers. But he also has been a long-term critic of the LGBTQ rights movement. Queers should be less concerned about marriage equality and more concerned about issues of race, class, and economic justice, he believes.
“There’s resistance to Trump’s lies,” Duberman said, “and it’s appearing in the mainstream – in The New Yorker – even The New York Times.”
The electorate is the greatest roadblock to social change, Duberman said. “The LGBTQ community, like a lot of the country, is conservative,” he added.
Duberman isn’t feeling terribly optimistic at this moment. But, “I keep hoping that one of the upcoming generations will turn out to be different,” he said.
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Marc Shaiman reflects on musical success stories
In new memoir, Broadway composer talks ‘Fidler,’ ‘Wiz,’ and stalking Bette Midler
If you haven’t heard the name Marc Shaiman, you’ve most likely heard his music or lyrics in one of your favorite Broadway shows or movies released in the past 50 years. From composing the Broadway scores for Hairspray and Catch Me if You Can to most recently working on Only Murders in the Building, Hocus Pocus 2, and Mary Poppins Returns, the openly queer artist has had a versatile career — one that keeps him just an Oscar away from EGOT status.
The one thing the award-winning composer, lyricist, and writer credits with launching his successful career? Showing up, time and time again. Eventually, he lucked out in finding himself at the right place at the right time, meeting industry figures like Rob Reiner, Billy Crystal, and Bette Midler, who were immediately impressed with his musical instincts on the piano.
“Put my picture under the dictionary definition for being in the right place at the right time,” Shaiman says. “What I often try to say to students is, ‘Show up. Say yes to everything.’ Because you never know who is in the back of the theater that you had no idea was going to be there. Or even when you audition and don’t get the part. My book is an endless example of dreams coming true, and a lot of these came true just because I showed up. I raised my hand. I had the chutzpah!”
Recalling one example from his memoir, titled Never Mind the Happy: Showbiz Stories from a Sore Winner ( just hit bookshelves on Jan. 27), Shaiman says he heard Midler was only hiring Los Angeles-based artists for her world tour. At the young age of 20, the New York-based Shaiman took a chance and bought the cheapest flight he could find from JFK. Once landing in L.A., he called up Midler and simply asked: “Where’s rehearsal?”
“Would I do that nowadays? I don’t know,” Shaiman admits. “But when you’re young and you’re fearless … I was just obsessed, I guess you could say. Maybe I was a stalker! Luckily, I was a stalker who had the goods to be able to co-create with her and live up to my wanting to be around.”
On the occasion of Never Mind the Happy’s official release, the Bladehad the opportunity to chat with Shaiman about his decades-spanning career. He recalls the sexual freedom of his community theater days, the first time he heard someone gleefully yell profanities during a late screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and why the late Rob Reiner was instrumental to both his career and his lasting marriage to Louis Mirabal. This interview has been edited and condensed.
BLADE: Naturally, a good place to start would be your book, “Never Mind the Happy.” What prompted you to want to tell the story of your life at this point in your career?
SHAIMAN: I had a couple of years where, if there was an anniversary of a movie or a Broadway show I co-created, I’d write about it online. People were always saying to me, “Oh my God, you should write a book!” But I see them say that to everybody. Someone says, “Oh, today my kitten knocked over the tea kettle.” “You should write a book with these hysterical stories.” So I just took it with a grain of salt when people would say that to me. But then I was listening to Julia Louis-Dreyfus’ podcast, and Jane Fonda was on talking about her memoir — not that I’m comparing myself to a career like Jane Fonda’s — but she felt it was time to take a life review. That really stuck in my head. At the time, I was sulking or moping about something that had not gone as well as I wished. And I guess I kind of thought, “Let me look back at all these things that I have done.” Because I have done a lot. I’m just weeks short of my 50th year in show business, despite how youthful I look! I just sat down and started writing before anyone asked, as far as an actual publisher.
I started writing as a way to try to remind myself of the joyous, wonderful things that have happened, and for me not to always be so caught up on what didn’t go right. I’ve been telling some of these stories over the years, and it was really fun to sit down and not just be at a dinner party telling a story. There’s something about the written word and really figuring out the best way to tell the story and how to get across a certain person’s voice. I really enjoyed the writing. It was the editing that was the hard part!
BLADE: You recall experiences that made you fall in love with the world of theater and music, from the days you would skip class to go see a show or work in regional productions. What was it like returning to those early memories?
SHAIMAN: Wonderful. My few years of doing community theater included productions that were all kids, and many productions with adults, where I was this freaky little 12-year-old who could play show business piano beyond my years. It was just bizarre! Every time a director would introduce me to another cast of adults, they’d be like, “Are you kidding?” I’d go to the piano, and I would sightread the overture to Funny Girl, and everybody said, “Oh, OK!” Those were just joyous, wonderful years, making the kind of friends that are literally still my friends. You’re discovering musical theatre, you’re discovering new friends who have the same likes and dreams, and discovering sex. Oh my god! I lost my virginity at the opening night of Jesus Christ Superstar, so I’m all for community theater!
BLADE: What do you recall from your early experiences watching Broadway shows? Did that open everything up for you?
SHAIMAN: I don’t remember seeing Fiddler on the Roof when I was a kid, but I remember being really enthralled with this one woman’s picture in the souvenir folio — the smile on her face as she’s looking up in the pictures or looking to her father for approval. I always remember zooming in on her and being fascinated by this woman’s face: turns out it was Bette Midler. So my love for Bette Midler began even before I heard her solo records.
Pippin and The Wiz were the first Broadway musicals I saw as a young teenager who had started working in community theater and really wanted to be a part of it. I still remember Pippin with Ben Vereen and all those hands. At the time, I thought getting a seat in the front row was really cool — I’ve learned since that it only hurts your neck, but I remember sitting in the front row at The Wiz as Stephanie Mills sang Home. Oh my god, I can still see it right now. And then I saw Bette Midler in concert, finally, after idolizing her and being a crazed fan who did nothing but listen to her records, dreaming that someday I’d get to play for her. And it all came true even before I turned 18 years old. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and met one of her backup singers and became their musical director. I was brought to a Bette Midler rehearsal. I still hadn’t even turned 18, she heard me play and said, “Stick around.” And I’ve stuck around close to 55 years! She’s going to interview me in L.A. at the Academy Museum. Would I have ever thought that Bette Midler would say yes to sitting with me, interviewing me about my life and career?
BLADE: That’s amazing. Has she had a chance to read the book yet?
SHAIMAN: She read it. We just talked yesterday, and she wants to ask the right questions at the event. And she even said to me, “Marc, I wasn’t even aware of all that you’ve done.” We’ve been great friends for all these years, but sometimes months or almost years go by where you’re not completely in touch.
a&e features
D.C. LGBTQ sports bar Pitchers listed for sale
Move follows months of challenges for local businesses in wake of Trump actions
A Santa Monica, Calif.-based commercial real estate company called Zacuto Group has released a 20-page online brochure announcing the sale of the D.C. LGBTQ sports bar Pitchers and its adjoining lesbian bar A League of Her Own.
The brochure does not disclose the sale price, and Pitchers owner David Perruzza told the Washington Blade he prefers to hold off on talking about his plans to sell the business at this time.
He said the sale price will be disclosed to “those who are interested.”
“Matthew Luchs and Matt Ambrose of the Zacuto Group have been selected to exclusively market for sale Pitchers D.C., located at 2317 18th Street, NW in Washington, D.C located in the vibrant and nightlife Adams Morgan neighborhood,” the sales brochure states.
“Since opening its doors in 2018, Pitchers has quickly become the largest and most prominent LGBTQ+ bar in Washington, D.C., serving as a cornerstone of D.C.’s modern queer nightlife scene,” it says, adding, “The 10,000+ SF building designed as a large-scale inclusive LGBTQ+ sports bar and social hub, offering a welcoming environment for the entire community.”
It points out that the Pitchers building, which has two years remaining on its lease and has a five-year renewal option, is a multi-level venue that features five bar areas, “indoor and outdoor seating, and multiple patios, creating a dynamic and flexible layout that supports a wide range of events and high customer volume.”
“Pitchers D.C. is also home to A League of Her Own, the only dedicated lesbian bar in Washington, D.C., further strengthening its role as a vital and inclusive community space at a time when such venues are increasingly rare nationwide,” the brochure says.
Zacuto Group sales agent Luchs, who serves as the company’s senior vice president, did not immediately respond to a phone message left by the Blade seeking further information, including the sale price.
News of Perruzza’s decision to sell Pitchers and A League of Her Own follows his Facebook postings last fall saying Pitchers, like other bars in D.C., was adversely impacted by the Trump administration’s deployment of National Guard soldiers on D.C. streets
In an Oct. 10 Facebook post, Perruzza said he was facing, “probably the worst economy I have seen in a while and everyone in D.C. is dealing with the Trump drama.” He told the Blade in a Nov. 10 interview that Pitchers continued to draw a large customer base, but patrons were not spending as much on drinks.
The Zacuto Group sales brochure says Pitchers currently provides a “rare combination of scale, multiple bars, inclusivity, and established reputation that provides a unique investment opportunity for any buyer seeking a long-term asset with a loyal and consistent customer base,” suggesting that, similar to other D.C. LGBTQ bars, business has returned to normal with less impact from the Trump related issues.
The sales brochure can be accessed here.
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Alexander Skarsgård describes ‘Pillion’ in 3 words: lube, sweat, leather
Highly anticipated film a refreshingly loving look at Dom-sub life
Whether you’ve seen him in popular HBO series like “True Blood,” “Succession,” or “Big Little Lies,” the dynamic Swedish actor Alexander Skarsgård has that smoldering gaze that immediately draws viewers in.
Following in the footsteps of his father Stellan, (who just won the Golden Globe for “Sentimental Value”) the Golden Globe, Emmy, and SAG winner Skarsgård continues to be an actor who is fearless in the roles he takes on.
That courageousness is evident in Skarsgård’s latest film, the BDSM black comedy “Pillion,”which he also executive produces. He plays Ray, the handsome, hyper-dominant leader of a gay bike gang. The film was written and directed by Harry Lighton, and is based on the 2020 novel “Box Hill,” by Adam Mars-Jones.
“This was a small film by a first time filmmaker and it wasn’t financed when I read it,” Skarsgård told journalists at a recent awards news conference. “And I felt that, if I could help in any small way of getting it financed, I wanted to, because I thought it was such an incredible screenplay and I believe in Harry Lighton so much as a filmmaker. And it felt tonally unlike anything I’d ever read. It was such an exciting, surprising read.”
Skarsgård was blown away by the quality of the unconventional script. “When I heard BDSM relationship, biker culture, I expected something very different. I didn’t expect it to have so much sweetness and tenderness and awkwardness.”
For the sex scenes and nudity with co-star, Harry Melling — who excels in his portrayal as Ray’s submissive Colin — Skarsgård talked very early on with Lighton about how he wanted to shoot those scenes, and why they were in the film.
“I often find sex scenes quite boring in movies because a lot of the tension is in the drama leading up to two people hooking up, or several people hooking up, as in our movie. But what I really enjoyed about these scenes — they are all pivotal moments in Colin’s journey and his development. It’s the first time he gets a blowjob. It’s the first time he has sex. It’s the first time he has an orgasm. And these are pivotal moments for him, so they mean a lot. And that made those scenes impactful and important.”
Skarsgård was happy that Lighton’s script didn’t have gratuitous scenes that shock for the sake of just shocking. “I really appreciated that because I find that when this subculture is portrayed, it’s often dangerous and crazy and wild and something like transgressive.”
He continued: “I really love that Harry wanted it to feel real. It can be sexy and intense, but also quite loving and sweet. And you can have an orgy in the woods, rub up against a Sunday roast with the family. And that kind of feels real.”
One of the obstacles Skarsgård had to work with was Ray’s emotionally distant personality.
“Ray is so enigmatic throughout the film and you obviously never find out anything about him, his past. He doesn’t reveal much. He doesn’t expose himself. And that was a challenge to try to make the character interesting, because that could easily feel quite flat…That was something that I thought quite a lot about in pre production…there are no big dramatic shifts in his arc.”
For the film, Lighton consulted the GMBCC, the UK’s largest LGBT+ biker club, attending their annual meetup at which 80 riders were present.
“Working with these guys was extraordinary and it brought so much texture and richness to the film to have them present,” said Skarsgård. “They were incredibly sweet and guiding with us — I can’t imagine making this movie without them. I’d go on a road trip with them anytime.”
Added Skarsgård: “To sum up ‘Pillion’ in three words: lube, sweat, and leather. I hope people will connect with Colin and his journey, and come to understand the nuance and complexity of his bond with Ray.”
This year is shaping up to be a busy one for Skarsgård. “Pillion” premieres in select cities on Feb. 6 and then moves into wide release on Feb. 20. After that for Skarsgård is a role in queer ally Charli XCX’s mockumentary, “The Moment,” which premieres at the Sundance Film Festival. HIs sci-fi comedy series, Apple TV’s “Murderbot,” which he also executive produces, will begin filming its second season. And this weekend, he hosts “Saturday Night Live.”
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