The Queen and I

I remember the ‘A-HA!’ moment very clearly — you know, the point when a particularly poignant point of truth becomes clear to you. However, for me it was more like an ‘Oh-No!’ moment.

The moment came when I was sitting with a number of ‘sisters’ after a support group meeting I had attended. The subject of t-friendly night clubs came up. I listened for awhile as they chatted about a number of clubs in their area. That was interesting and I took note of one club I might want to visit on a future occasion.

Then it was my turn to chime in: “Did any of you ever get to visit the Queen Mary?” Always before when I mentioned this former institution in Los Angeles there was someone in any group of a half dozen t-girls who spent at least one evening at the Queen Mary or knows someone who did. This time I was met with only blank faces. Not one of my new companions had ever even heard of the Queen Mary. That was my ‘Oh-No!’ moment. Oh no! My memories and I were getting old. How could I share stories with others about my visits to the Queen if there was no one who could relate to the stories? Surely you had to have been there to understand all about the ambiance.

Linda Jensen

Fortunately, one of the young members of the group gave me an opening. “Where is the Queen Mary?” asked one of the younger girls who of course was named Amber or Ashley or Brittany.

“The Queen Mary WAS in Los Angeles,” I replied, “and for many years through three generations of ownership it provided great drag entertainment for the people of L.A. and a place to go for the transgender girls of the world. It was our Mecca.”

“Are you talking about the ocean liner?” asked Paula, the most cerebral member of the group, who could easily pass for a Jeopardy contestant.

“Hardly,” I replied as I felt myself warming up to tell the story of how a much younger and inexperienced version of me first visited the Queen Mary. “This was a show lounge in the San Fernando Valley part of Los Angeles. It had opened in the late ’60s or early ’70s and was a well-established institution by the time I first visited it.”

I paused. I expected my companions to ask a question that would allow me to continue but it wasn’t happening. Then I guess Paula realized that I was looking for a cue to continue. “When was that?” she asked half-heartedly.

“It was just after New Year in 1987. I remember it well. A few months earlier my live-in girlfriend and I had parted company and I was giving’ Linda’ a lot more room to grow. I spent most of my Christmas vacation in Hawaii, doing not much by day but going out to clubs every evening as Linda. Then I had an inspiration. I decided to leave Hawaii early and spend a few days in Los Angeles checking out this club I’d heard about, the Queen Mary. At that point I only knew that it was on Ventura Boulevard so I booked a room at a Holiday Inn on Ventura and changed my airline ticket.”

“Ventura is a pretty long boulevard,” offered Paula.

“I was about to find that out.” The hotel was in a community called Thousand Oaks. I knew I would have to drive east to find the Queen Mary so that is what I did. I drove for about thirty miles down a boulevard lined with shopping plazas, restaurants, night clubs and hotels before I came to Studio City and the Queen Mary. Luckily it was very distinctive with its large neon sign.

“That evening I was in drab. It was fairly quiet as just the night before a large crowd had been there to celebrate New Year’s Eve. Many of the regulars were recovering. However it was a very useful evening of reconnaissance. One of the girls recommended a close by hotel for me to stay and assured me that I would be most welcome at the club as Linda. She also said the next two evenings, being Friday and Saturday would be much busier.

“I was elated by the information. My trip back to Thousand Oaks was much quicker via the 105 and I had determined that the next evening I would be staying at the Sherman Oaks Motel, only a few blocks from the Queen Mary.”

“Hey girls, what’s happening?” another of the support group regulars was pulling up a chair. A few seemed to give her unspoken looks of warning to stay away if she knew what was good for her but Paula chipped in, “Linda here is just telling us about an experience she had in L.A. a quarter century ago.”

I could have killed her for that but I took it as a joke. I also took it as a cue that I should speed it up and spice it up a bit. “Hi there, I was just telling the girls about my first experience at the Queen Mary in Los Angeles.”

“The ocean liner?” asked the new girl.

“No,” replied several in unison which showed that at least they were listening.

“So the next day I checked out of the Holiday Inn and moved to the Sherman Oaks. I spent the day relaxing and watching people come and go. I didn’t think much of it at the time but there were quite a few men checking in alone with rather large suitcases and boxes that I realized after could have contained make up kits or wigs.

“Finally the evening came and I started to prepare myself for my coming out at the Queen Mary. I tried my best to look beautiful, not wanting to be put to shame by all the beautiful girls I’d heard about. In truth there was a wide range of girls there, from the very petite and gorgeous Asians to the retired linebacker types. I’d say I came somewhere in the middle…”

“How busy was it?” asked one of the girls.

“It was a Friday night. As I remember, it got pretty busy particularly after about 11 p.m. You know I’d like to say that from my first visit I’d found my home away from home at the Queen Mary. But frankly after that night and the Saturday that followed I thought I’d never return.”

“Why was that? I thought you loved the place?” said Alice.

“At that time there was a lot of street prostitution going on outside the club and pretty brazen drug use inside. I came across a girl openly taking a line of cocaine in the washroom. Other girls told me to watch out, that fights were pretty common and don’t even think of trying to pick up a guy that a street queen has marked as her own. ‘How would I know that?’ I asked. ‘Don’t worry. They’ll let you know.’ That wasn’t a problem for me. At the time I wasn’t much into guys but I generally didn’t like the rough atmosphere of the back bar. I loved what I saw of the female impersonation show in the lounge but I didn’t think I’d ever be back.”

“What got you to go back? Obviously you went back?”

“It took almost four years but in that time I changed and the Queen Mary changed. I became more liberal in my thinking and more attuned to the male attention Linda was getting. Studio City laid down the law to The Queen Mary management; clean up your act or we will close you down. When I eventually returned the street hookers were gone, drug usage was invisible if it was there at all and security was ever-present from the time you arrived at the club and even walking you back to your car. That was for their protection as well as ours. They wanted to keep cruisers, some of whom might have been undercover cops, away from the girls. Anyone who transgressed their morality rules would be ‘86ed’.

What was that?

“I’m glad you asked as I didn’t know what it was when I first heard the term. To be 86ed apparently means to be permanently banned from a place.

“So then I had found my home and a pattern of vacations emerged for me. When I had a weekend or a long weekend I would go to Montreal, Toronto or sometimes New York. Give me a week and I would be off to Los Angeles ostensibly to play golf or do some training for triathlons but in reality it was to live my evenings at the Queen Mary. If you have time I can tell you of some of my adventures.”

“Oh maybe next time,” said one of the girls. “They want to close up shop now.”

That sounds like a deal. Next time and for a few months following I will be telling you of the fascinating characters I met and the wide range of experiences I had at the Queen Mary.

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Category: Transgender Fun & Entertainment, Transgender History