The Veil Between the Worlds

By Jewelle Gomez–

I loved Halloween when I was a kid in Boston in the 1950s, especially when I got to “trick or treat” at the Regent where my father, Duke, was the bartender. Ironically, in a place I was not meant to enter, I felt most safe in the arms of community there.

The Regent wasn’t a middle-class cocktail lounge. It was a corner joint; Brits would call it their “local.” Whoever came regularly was a regular, even if they weren’t that regular. The neighborhood guy in his middle years meeting a woman on a date for the first time; the drag queen who stopped by after work at the trucking company before she changed into her heels; the off-duty ladies of the evening; betters and bookies on a time out; the old aunt from upstairs who never left the block. It was a world in miniature. And the white postman sometimes stopped for a freely given cup of coffee on his route.

On Halloween, patrons dropped money in my trick or treat bag since people rarely carried around a pocketful of candy apples or chocolate bars. So, before I had any understanding of the history or meaning of All Hallows’ Eve or its relationship to pagan feast days such as Samhain, I always associated the night with friends and elders watching out for me.
It’s supposed to be a time when the veil between the worlds is thinner, meaning the connection between us and our ancestors is stronger. As an adult, I came to like the holiday even more and use it as a time to think about the wonderful experiences and learning I had with my family who are now ancestors. As I get older, I also think about the friends I’ve lost along the way.

Diane and I decided to get married (when the law finally allowed it) on the Halloween weekend, feeling like it was a chance for our ancestors to pierce that veil and be with us as we made our commitment official. I rented a wedding gown for my costume to answer the door to trick or treaters, which was worth it for the looks on parents’ faces! The actual wedding theme was Barbary Coast bordello, so I spruced up in a shiny corset and Diane in a matching vest for the ceremony held in the San Francisco Public Library. That truly enhanced the sense of our dear ones joining us.

This Halloween month, I think of two folks we recently lost and how much I counted on them to ground me in the Bay Area. They will always peak through that veil for me.

Peggy Moore ( https://bit.ly/3zIb0go ) was an Oakland-based politician. I think of her more as a community activist who pulled people together. When she invited me to a lesbian picnic in an Oakland park twenty years ago, I knew I belonged. Bumping into her at an event was like meeting up with sunshine.

Kevin Fisher-Paulson

(https://bit.ly/47TxSX4) was a Sheriff’s deputy and a columnist for The San Francisco Chronicle who wrote lovingly about his family—his partner, a dancer, his two adopted (bi-racial) sons, along with his late mother, Nurse Vivian, and Brother X and Brother XX (maintaining their anonymity). He didn’t deliver the Lifetime TV version of his life, but revealed a tough reality for which love seemed to provide a good landing. He, his husband Brian, and the kids could have come trick or treating at Duke’s bar any time.

Jewelle Gomez is a lesbian/feminist activist, novelist, poet, and playwright. She’s written for “The Advocate,” “Ms. Magazine,” “Black Scholar,” “The San Francisco Chronicle,” “The New York Times,” and “The Village Voice.” Follow her on Instagram and Twitter @VampyreVamp

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Published on October 3, 2024