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Pen Points
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Sylvia Rivera's Memorial Service
She declared that it was better to have the pending legislation defeated rather than bow to the "accomodationists" who would leave the part of the community behind. She saw Sylvia's refusal to compromise on principle as one of her bright sterling qualities, something which made her special and unique. Ten speakers told stories of the Sylvia they knew. Bob Kohler talked about the sit-ins at NYU when ten policemen lined up at the opposite end of a hallway, lowered their rifles and clicked them open, started the countdown from ten to "fire". Kohler thought it was time to "get out". Sylvia stated the "give me a 'G" in the "Gay Power Chant". Kohler shut her up saying, "What are you doing? Trying to get me killed?" He said Sylvia always urged him to tell that story in the years that followed. Rusty, the woman who ran Tansy house where Sylvia and Julia lived talked about Sylvia's last two wishes: that the bill pending in the New York Legislature would include protections for transgendered people and that a shelter would be started specially aimed at helping transgendered homeless youth. After the service, as Sylvia requested, some of her ashes were sprinkled outside the Stonewall Bar. Then, a horse-drawn coach with Julia carrying Sylvia's ashes traveled down Christopher Street followed by a Dixieland-style band and a former Uncle Sam Puppet, which had been transgendered into an amazing likeness of Sylvia by radical gay youth. At a pier just south of Christopher Street, a memorial wreath was thrown into the water while musicians played and dancer acrobats did ballet tributes. Everyone of importance in the gay community was there. But lost in the crowd were some very important people in Sylvia Rivera's life. Foremost among them was Frank, her lover for 22 years before Sylvia meet Julia. He was the "forgotten man" at the funeral. Rusty had paid him tribute but no one realized who he was. I let others escort Marsha P. Johnson's sister, Norma Michaels, down Christopher Street. I took it upon myself to put my arm around Frank and reassure him how important he had been in Sylvia's Life. David Carter, the ultimately fastidious historian, followed along as Frank reminisced about how he had fought with Sylvia to get her to give up alcohol, all to no avail. It would only be after Sylvia met Julia Murray and became involved with her that she would finally achieve sobriety. Yet, at the end of the memorial service, Julia would declare herself "unworthy" of the love Sylvia had given her. Actually, those who "knew" realized that Julia had been the only person able to free Sylvia from her alcohol addiction. Cameras from NY1 and Public Television covered the entire service. Even representatives of the Italian Press were present. Sylvia Rivera was elevated to 'sainthood" at tonight's memorial. Her ashes will be entombed in a shrine at Metropolitan Community Church where she finally found a home and a job feeding the homeless. It was my honor to be the tenth person to share memories of Sylvia. Many of the other testimonials were better. However, for what it is worth, I will share with you what I had to say on this historic evening: A Story to Remember
At a forum in 1989 celebrating the 20th anniversary of Stonewall, Sylvia exploded in anger at my presence on the panel. She exited the community center screaming at me as she circled behind the audience. I stood there confidently declaring: "You are not a typical homosexual" which greatly pleased my traditional homosexual friends who saw it all on the Gay Cable News Show. Marsha P. Johnson followed Sylvia outside. "You know, Sylvia," Marsha pleaded, "Randy has taken me in and given me a home for the last nine years. He really isn't such a bad person. You should try talking with him." "No way!" Sylvia retorted. "Talk to that fascist creep? Never!" It took the death of Marsha P. Johnson to initiate the extraordinary journey that Sylvia and I would travel: the amazing journey from becoming arch enemies to becoming the best of friends, soul mates, ultimately physical saviors to one another At Marsha P. Johnson's funeral, we decided to tell Marsha's life story by having those who knew her speak in the order that they were involved in her life. That meant that Sylvia Rivera preceded me in that memorial service. When Sylvia arrived at the church, we both agreed: "Today, for Marsha, we must bury the hatchet." Together with Marsha's family, some of whom are here tonight, Sylvia and I carried Marsha's ashes from the church down Christopher Street to the Hudson River. For the first time, we talked and discovered each other in a very special and different way. We would later marvel that the magic of our mutual patron saint, Marsha P. Johnson, had healed our wounds and brought us together.
"Why not?" I thought. She will prove herself worthless. I'll give her a try anyway. To my amazement, Sylvia was not only a good worker; she was an extraordinarily good and hard worker. Whenever traffic in the shop slowed, other employees lit cigarettes and chatted among themselves. Sylvia cleaned the dirty showcases, replaced merchandise that had sold, made herself invaluable. In late 1996, we had the snow of the Century, 33 inches. Sylvia and a two of her best friends from Gay Pier moved into my Hoboken apartment to survive the blizzard. Sylvia lived with me for the next six months. That was really the beginning of our becoming close. During the next few years, Sylvia became my most dependable and valuable employee, the manager of my shop. Even during those first couple of years while she was still an alcoholic, she was a functional. I really offended her once by telling her "You have no class". She certainly proved me wrong on that one. She could greet the top decorators from the Upper East Side-"Hello darling, what do you need today"-and charm them into spending their entire budget at our shop. In the early years, Sylvia would work till the beginning of June and then take a few months off, collecting unemployment, to indulge her activism until business picked up in the Fall. When things became difficult, Sylvia not only took a pay cut but also worked weeks at a time without taking a single day off. I remember one month changing her rate of pay to hide the fact she had worked 222 hours that month. Indeed spending so much time together in close quarters could make us both testy. I just learned a few weeks ago from former employees that whenever Sylvia was really getting mad at me, she would commence humming or singing 'Yes, we have no bananas, we have no bananas today". So, my old archenemy had not only become my best friend, my activist soul mate, but also my physical savior by literally running my business. Sobriety really enabled her to bring things together and get things done the last couple years. When Sylvia got the opportunity to work at the food pantry here at Metropolitan Community Church, many mutual friends told me how "guilty" she felt. She felt she was deserting me. She worried that the Captain of the Titanic couldn't preside over the final days of his failing business. "Sweetheart," I reassured Sylvia when she finally told me what I had already known for weeks, " I am so happy that you finally have gotten a job that pays you the salary you deserve." Still, Sylvia insisted on remaining "on call" whenever I might need her. I knew that Sylvia would always be there for me. That was the amazing thing about Sylvia; she was there for anyone who really needed her. They had open prayers at the end of last Friday's viewing. I am not religious but I wanted to say:" Thank you Sylvia for carrying the spirit of Marsha P. Johnson into the 21st Century." I hope Sylvia has touched your life as she has mine. I hope you will always remember this story of how two old enemies became the best of friends.
Randolfe H. Wicker |
Sylvia Rivera at a reception of the National Transgender Advocacy Coalition 
Rivera at the Greenwich Village lamp shop of Randolfe Wicker 
© 1997-2002 BEI