The Drag Queen And The Mummy 294424

W.E.B. Du Bois Institute

The Drag Queen and the Mummy Author(s): Edward Conlon Source: Transition, No. 65 (1995), pp. 4-24 Published by: Indiana University Press on behalf of the W.E.B. Du Bois Institute Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2935316 . Accessed: 20/11/2013 08:14 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/.jsp

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T R A N S I T ION

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QUEEN

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MUMMY The late star of Paris Is Burning and the mysteryman in her closet

Edward Conlon

Dorian Corey Brian Lantelme

The apartment on West 140th Street in Harlem was filled with bolts of fabric, feathers, sequins and beads, headdresses, tailpieces, and elaborate gowns which were thrifty facsimiles of exorbitant foreign fashions. A prior tenant was a drag performer who also had a business as a dress and costume designer, and she-polite usage requires the feminine pronoun-required clothing for theatrical, millinery, and everyday use. The apartment was not large and, in addition to her considerable personal effects, contained the belongings of her boyfriend and his brother. But whatever the clutter and overcrowding, the remark by a sergeant from the local precinct that "You could lose a small child in there," was both a truism and an understatement,becausethe body of a grown man had been concealed there for years. The drag performer was named Dorian Corey, and she thus inspired three headlines in 1993, in even, two-month

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intervals-a coup for any entertainer,but something of a triumph when the first story was her obituary. Corey was a principal subject of Paris Is Burning, a successful and acclaimed documentary about the drag balls of Harlem, and when she died last August, at the age of fifty-six, the New York Times ran a picture of her in drag, the first and only time it has ever done so. In October, two men went to her apartment in hope of finding a costume for Halloween. Their search, led by a friend of the deceased's, took them to a large closet space, the size of a small bedroom. Finding nothing to their immediate satisfaction among the dresses and costumes, they were intriguedby the sight of a large, musty garmentbag. They asked permission to open it and received casual approvalto do so. Inside, they discovered the mummified body of a man, bound up and wrapped in plastic, folded into the fetal position with a bullet hole in his head. He was identifiedas a onetime Bronx

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residentwho was lastseenby his brother around1968. The incidentwas the sort of gory but routine oddity that rates a tabloidparagraph, buriedfarfromthe first page. For some reason,it was not until Decemberthat Dorian Corey was connectedwith the story,when it madethe gossipcolumnof theNewYorkPostbefore beingpickedup by the wire services.Chi Chi Valenti, a hostess and producerat variousdowntownnightclubs,was quoted saying "This makesher more legendaryin deaththan she was in life." The word "legend"is one of the thematic comesof ParisIs Burning,and it is invoked in the dual sense of great statureanddubiousreality.It takesits title froma dragballof the samename,which washeld in anElk'sClubon 129thStreet in Harlem,andit too is a hub of doubled andtripledmeanings:the capitolof black Americaas the City of Light,its burning suggestiveof a sudden fashionabledemand as well as a progressiveannihilation. The legendsarethe eminences,gray and otherwise,of the drag scene, who arriveand endurein statusby force of At the balls, personalityandperformance. they "walk"in variouscategories,andthe original"grandesdames"who modelled themselveson figuresfromLubitschfilms or Las Vegas floor shows became,over time, only a smallpartof an eclectiageant of talentsand tastes.The old divas whosecostumesforbademuchmovement beyond the statuesqueentrance were edby breakdancersandvoguers,who fluidlymovedthroughthe histrionic,almost hieroglyphioses of fashionphotography.As the expansioncontinuedto an egalitarianextreme,ostensiblymundane categoriessuch as Executive,College, and even Homeboy"Realness"are

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lent pathosandbiteby the sensethatthey representlives that areas out of reachto the walkersas those in the rarefiedrealm of celebrity.For some, the exclusionis final, beyond mediation.Others perfect theposein orderto rejectit, so thatwhich for others is the laborof a lifetime becomes a light-operaticamusement,done and dispensedwith in a moment. The ironiesaredouble-edged,and cut deep.

WhenI grew up, you wanted to look like MarleneDietrich,Betty Grable.I didn't know I reallywanted to look like LenaHome The film was attackedby the AfricanAmericanscholarBell Hooks as exploitative,andthe immediateprospectof poor black men who want to be wealthy and famouswhite women suggests,at least,a subcultureof acute maladjustment.But many of the devotees of the more aggressivelytheatricalcategoriesaresecure in theirunderstanding thatthe walk, and the life, is a performance,an artform,suffusedwith a senseof fun andplay, howeverseriousin purposeandexpertin craft. The breachbetweenlife, on andoff-stage, lendsa tensionthat is vibrantlyexplored: an off-duty drag queen, unshaven,in a t-shirtandjeans, might not look so differentfrom an off-dutyfireman.Others seek to put as much distanceas possible between them and their originalcondition, through hormone treatmentsand breastimplants,a medicaltransformation towardfemalenesswhose radicalconclusion is referred to as "the change."

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The ambitionsof the ball-goersveer betweenbold dreamand pure delirium. Somehavea talent;others,merelya wish. The ratherseveredivide between those who fail and those who do not seemsto lie in whetheronewantsto do something, or simply be something. Willie Ninja sought celebrityas a dancerand choreographer,andin largemeasurehe hasattainedit in the fashionand musicindustries.A slim, knobbyblonde namedVenus Xtravaganza,on the other hand, wantedto be a "richwhite girl," and a famousactressor model;she alsowanted to be "loved,takencareof, spoiled,"and marriedin a church,wearingwhite. But Venuswasequidistantfromthe worldsof NormanRockwell and ParisMatch,and as unlikelyto attainconventionalfameas she was to makea conventionalhome. A teenagerunaway,she ittedthat she once hustled but demurelyinsisted the dangersof that life persuadedher to put it behindher.Shemightseea "veryhandsomeyounggentleman"on occasion,who might give her some money "to buy a dress,or someshoes,to makemyselfmore beautiful."Most of the time-"99 percent, or ah, 95"-there was no sex exchangedfor the money, and in any case, sheinsisted,it wasno differentfromwhat a housewifedoesfor a new washer-dryer. While she mayhavebeen makingajoke at the expenseof the camera,it would be wrongto believethatshewasin anything but deadlyearnest;in a culturesteepedin the doubleentendre,it is the rarestatementwhosemeaningis unmixed.A friend tells of her unambiguousending:Venus was strangledin a motel room, and days edbeforeher body was found. In spite of its tough-mindedness,its countlesslessons in hard luck, the ball

world sees the largerworld, at least in potential,as a place of delicacyand exquisitepromise.Throughoutthe tessellatedpatternof the film, its fragmentsof livesbrokenor neverwhole, the motif of indignantoptimismis almostperversely repeated."Life hasn'tbeen fair to me," said one queen, relaxing in a negligee, "Not yet." Paris Is Burning treads the minefields of race, class, and sex with a light and stylish step, provoking without crude polemic and letting the subjects tell of their predicament with aching poignancy and a sometimes refulgent wit. Its most compelling presence is Dorian Corey. Almost fifty at the time of the filming, she was a generation older than most of the subjects; given the velocity of the life-cycle in that milieu, perhaps more than two generations older. Tall and plump, lightskinned,with a smooth and rueful, smokeburnished voice, she speaks, for the most part, as she looks at the mirror, daubing on eye shadow and rouge. Amid the vanities and mockeries, hers is a singularly generous perspective, self-possessed and self-assured but never dismissive or jeal-

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The detritus of a lifetime: Dorian's apa. Inient on West 140th St. in Harlem Brian Lantelme

ousof hercompetitors.Coreysketchesan astuteoverview of the cultureand customs of the balls,providinga lucidview into its festivityand bitterfeuds.While the youngercrowdis franklymercenary, Coreyis refreshinglyretrograde,an oldtime Broadwaytrouperwith a rugged workethic,a shrewdsenseof historyand a knackfor pleasingthe crowd.The generationalpointsof referenceareas different,in eraanddimension,asCindyCrawford and SarahVaughn. "With the currentchildren,the childrenthatareyoung,they'vegone to television,you know,"she muses."I'vebeen to severalballsandthey actuallyhad categories-'Dynasty!'You know,theywant you to try to look like Alexis, or Crystal. I guessthat'sjust a statementof the times. When I grewup,you wantedto look like MarleneDietrich, Betty Grable.Unfortunately,I didn'tknow thatI reallywanted to look like LenaHome. When I grew up, of course,you know, blackstarswere stigmatized.Nobodywantedto look like LenaHome. Everybodywantedto look like MarilynMonroe." The criticism,or connoisseurship,of the gay life uptown is never madefrom anarrogantremove,asthe stakesandrisks are ones she has undertakenherself: "When you're undetectable,when they can walk out of that ballroominto the sunlight,and onto the subway,and get home, andstill have all their clothesand no bloodrunningoff theirbodies-those arethe femmerealnessqueens."And the frivolity,while undeniable,is also hardwon: "Daytimes,if they go out they're only goingoutto tryto hustleupa quarter or two, to get theirthingsfor the ball, or go to littlejobs. A lot of them havelittle jobs,theywork-don't thinkthey'relazy.

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In New York City, you work or you starve. You work, some kind of work, legal or otherwise, but you have to work to sustain yourself." But Corey also has an acuity of insight that makes many of her observations resonate beyond the world of the balls. She translates in a way that the street corner carollers of "All I want for Christmas is my two, front tits" do not. "If you have on a label, it means that you've got wealth, when it doesn't really. Because any shoplifter can get a label," she said, noting a trend that was hardly confined to her own subculture."(There) was a time when you could spend a great deal of time making outfits, and preparingfor something. Now they come very quickly. And the moods change, very quickly. But I come from the old school of big costumes-feathers and beads. And they don't have that anymore. Now its all about designers. And it's not about what you create, it's about what you can acquire." Jennie Livingston, who produced and directed Paris Is Burning, recalls meeting Dorian Corey in 1985 or 1986, just after moving to New York after graduating from Yale. She noticed the dancers in Washington Square Park and, intrigued, began to go to the balls. She began filming in 1987, in part at Dorian's apartment at 150th Street and St. Nicholas Avenue, which Livingston recalls as "quite a neighborhood": "The first shoot we did, there was a gun battle right outside. And there were crew in the van, and they had to go down to the floor of the van so they wouldn't get caught in the crossfire."Corey moved to another apartment, ten blocks down, around 1988, and Livingston was relieved to continue her visits in less hazardousterritory. "We got

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to be friends,and I'd go up to her place to play scrabble,which was something she likedquitea bit. Shealwayshada TV set or two going on. She was alwaysone of the moreentertainingpeopleI've met, she was greatto hang out with." Dorian Corey studiedat the Parsons School of Design, and had a successful businessas a dressmakerand costumer, sellingto boththe ballworldandthe local community.LoisTaylor,anotherfriend,

"Didn'twe meet last night at Riker's Island?" saidthat she was an exceptionalgraphic artist.In her vivid phrase,"Doriancould painther ass off." But Corey considered herselfan entertainerfirst,andfor several years she travelledall over the country with a drag show called the Pearl Box Revue.Shedancedwith a boaconstrictor, and laterregaledfriendswith anecdotes of the suddenmoods and inconvenient deathsof the snakes.Jessie Torres, another friend, managedto communicate the impressionit must have made: "It would bite her, affectionately.She was bleeding,but it was partof the act." Dorian performed most often at Sally'sII, a TimesSquaredragclub,where she lip-synchedand sometimesservedas mistress of ceremonies.Betweensongs,said Livingston,she did "a great,slightly insulting sort of patter,a kind of AfricanAmericanverbal eloquence with a gay camp sensibility, one-upping someone before they got you." The lush, dark satiresof the forties and fifties, such as SunsetBoulevardand All AboutEve, could

be quoted at length, and a heckler, or someone who merely caught her eye,

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mightbeasked,"Didn'twe meetlastnight at RikersIsland?" Sally'sis on West 43rd Street,across fromthe New YorkTimesandnext to the Hotel Carter,which sits $49 nightly rate as "cheaperthan most cab rides."On the stairswhich leadup to the bar,thereis theatricalmemorabiliaanda programfor the next week's entertainment, which features Go-Go Boys, MotherHerselfSally,andDorianCorey's Drag Doll Revue.Aroundthe dark,circularbar,red-litfrom above,the patrons were roughly, evenly divided between drag queens and their irers.Some queens succeeded irably in their "realness,"elegantor funky but impeccablyfeminine;otherswere aging endomorphsin helmets of platinumblonde, with gothic mascaraand powdercaking about the dewlaps.The sartorialmales werejust as diverse,a "gorgeousmosaic" sent up from central casting: a young toughin a white t-shirt'andleatherjacket, a classic Brooklyn cornerboy with"Heya doin'!"-accent to match; two athleticyoung blackmen, in sweatpants andwindbreakers, who looked like high schoolfootballcoaches;a suitedexecutive and a goateedbohemian;a middle-aged manwith a long beardand thick glasses, in a white shirtandblackgabardinesuit, with an anomalousblue baseballcap:an OrthodoxJew disguisedas a Metsfan, or a Metsfandisguisedas an OrthodoxJew. The music was a deafeningalternation betweenbump-and-grind disco and sentimentalballads.Whitney Houstonwas a favorite,aswas"AWhole New World," the themesongfromAladdin,andperhaps Sally'saswell. Below the baris the stage, with gold tinsel on the curtainand gold glitter-dustedrecordssuspendedfromthe

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ceiling. White plastiicnic chairsline the peeling walls and surrounda dozenodd fiberboardtables.The atmosphereis both seedyand earnest,its almostcomicallyoverripedecadenceundercutwith an insistent,stage-struckidealism. Raphaela, husky-voiced and Latin, with long, straightblackhairanda black miniskirt,waspointedout asanold friend of Dorian's.Raphaelastruttedwith deceptivespeed,and had finisheda lap and a half aroundthe barbeforeI caughtup with her. A tap on the shoulderbrought a sensuous,polysyllabic"Hello!"in avoice that droppedhalf an octave when press credentialswere rapidlypresented:"Oh. Sure."SheknewDorianforovertenyears, andrecallsheras"Fabulous!" When asked whatDorian'sfavoritesongwas,shebelted out, "I ... can't stop thinkin'about you, baby!" The conversation ended somewhat abruptly,as Raphaelagrew somewhatteary-eyed,andalsoattempted to frisk the interviewer,"to make sure you'renot a cop." Jessie Torres, who lived with the eponymousSallyfor over ten years,now managesthe club. She was a close friend of Corey,"notfamily,butoneof thegirls." She reher as prodigiouslytalented,kind-hearted,andengaging:"You would be somewhere serious and she would crackyou up. She had the gift of the gab.Shewas a headliner,evenbefore ParisIsBurning. Shewaswhatpeoplecame to see." Her costumescombinedexpert skill and extravagantfantasy,andJessie recalls "dresseslike chandeliers,"centaurs, wolf-women, and Marie Antoinette, completewith guillotine."When people come to a dragshow, they don't want to see a dressthat couldbe bought on 34th Street."Offstage,aswell, Dorian

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could not be takenlightly: "Shelived in a hardcoreneighborhood,andhadto take careof herself." "Therewas definitelyan edge, a hard edge," agreedLivingston."The life she led was not easy although she made a greatgo of it, and had everythingpretty well worked out, particularlycompared to otherpeople in that world. She'dsurvived and gone on and found a way of living the way shewantedto live. Dorian hada lot of talentandan abilityto parlay her-I don'tknow if it's a needor a propensity,howeveryou wantto sayit-she in a waythat certainlywasn'ttransgender Venuswas transgender, but to parlayher campsensibilityandherlove fordraginto survival.Not aneasything to do. Shewas a hardperson,becauseshe'dbeenthrough some hardthings, and she said a lot of nastythings behindpeoples'backs-you wonderedwhat she saidaboutyou when you leftthe room.ThatI thinkgoesalong with the wit, the pickingthe worldapart, asa way of remainingdignified.Andclear aboutwho you are." Who she was, originally,was FrederickLegg, a boy raisedin relativecomfort on a farmoutsideof Buffalo.Asked if there was any with the Legg family,Livingstonsaid,"Not much, not much.I thinkthe cordhadbeen cut. She talked about 'the farm,' and the wood stove,andthe memories,becauseshe was not originallyan urbanperson.But she didn'ttalkto me aboutparticularpeople, it was somethingshe definitelyput behindher.Therearepeoplewho canwalk on backhome and say 'Hi, what do you thinkof my tits andmy spangledgown?' And there are people who can't. Most people can't." Forthe lastelevenyears,shelivedwith

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Dorian lip-synching to Regina Bell's "If I Could" at her final perfolrunance, May 8, 1993 Brian Lantelme

a mannamedLeon,a thirty-fiveyearold employeeof the trophyshop,which supplies awardsfor the balls.They met at a barnearTimes Square,andmovedin togethernot long after.In the wordsof one friend,theywere"anunlikelycouple.An odd match.But they were together,and therewasa homethere,andsomecomfort there." There was a slight tremble in Leon'svoice when he spoke of Dorian, and most of his answersdid not extend beyond one or two words. He recalled that her favoritesingerwas EarthaKitt, butcouldnot a particular song,

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or anyjokes she told on stage."I moved in with Dorianbeforemy parentsmoved out of the city," he said. "She always helpedme out when I wasdown andout, you know, when I neededcarfareto get to work and all. I loved Dorian very much." Dorian Corey was diagnosed with AIDS not long beforethe releaseof Paris Is Burning,and though she went on one last tour in the wake of publicityfor the film, she was hospitalizedintermittently duringthe three yearsbefore her death. Livingstonwas disturbedby the lack of

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visitors when she was sick, but Lois Taylor, who said she was the reigning Mother of the House of Corey, said that she wanted still less, preferring to be left alone. They agreed that her treatment at the hospital was "appalling," with the strain of terminal illness exacerbated by what they considered callous treatment by her physicians. Nor was Dorian a tractable patient. Taylor said she often had to "outslick" her just to get her to speak with her doctor. She continued to drink, and Livingston was torn between the desire to make her kick a bad habit and the wish to see her as comfortable as possible in her last days. When she asked for a prescription for tranquilizers, in the hope that Corey would switch to a less toxic balm for her nerves, she was told, "You know, that's habit-forming." A promised move to a specialized AIDS unit never materialized. In August of 1993 she slipped into a coma and died several days later. After her cremation, a memorial service was hosted by Sally and Jessie Torres at the club. "Dorian was just there for a lot of people," said Torres. "We played a couple of songs in her honor-Patti Labelle, 'You Are My Friend,' Regina Belle, 'If I Could.' People from all over came, from all walks. She was very well-liked, and had a wit about her, a humor. She was very theatrical, she could do anything. She was a very specialperson, very special. Dorian was Dorian, just legendary." Two months later, after two men expressedan interest in having a look around Dorian's apartment for Halloween costumes, Lois Taylor agreed to show them around.Taylor saidthat they were straight men, looking for a black cape for a vampire costume. In the closet, they came

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across "one of those old-time cloth bags that you put suits in and fold it over. It was dark blue with checks on it, one of those old-time bags." Taylor tried to pick it up, but was unable to: "And I couldn't, you know, because I'm only 135 pounds! And I went to lift the bag, and I couldn't! You know, because I knew Dorian had some heavy, heavy stuff up there in that closet. And I just said, 'Honey, well just go on and cut the bag.' You know what I'm saying? And he cut the bag, and he says, 'This is a lot of plastic here.' So I say, 'Maybe its one of her beaded gowns,'

The news that Dorian Coreymay have been in possession of a body for almost half her life was greeted with uniformshock 'cause, I mean, she's got some tremendous beaded gowns. I didn't know what the hell was in there. So then he stuck it, and then he cut the thing, and then he says, 'There's a scent!' He says, 'I don't know. Is there a dead dog, or what?' And I said 'Dead dog!' and I ran like hell. And then, honey, he says, 'Well, I don't know what it is.' And then he identified himself as a policeman. And I says, "Ohhhh!" So he says, 'Well, I'm going to call the precinct.' And I say, 'Sure, go ahead, do it.' That's when they discovered it. I probably should have gone back there to look at it, because I would have saw something that I never would have got nowhere in my life. "After that, they forgot about the costumes."

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The news that Dorian Corey may have been in possession of a corpse for almost half her life was greeted with uniform shock. Rumors then began to spread in manner befitting a society skilled in extravagance:there was talk of a diary that explained the event, and a deathbed note. At Sally's, the doorman said, "You know they were lovers, right? He was a shady guy, used to beat her up." He then remarked that the body had been dead two or three years. When it was asserted that ten times that amount of time may have ed since the death, it did not seem to unsettle his . Chi Chi Valenti told a tale that cast Dorian as a blend of Douglas Fairbanks and Gracie Allen, dashing but flighty, handily foiling a burglary but too busy dressing for a show to bother with the clean-up. Among her friends, an initial amazement was often followed by an avowal that whatever happened, Dorian must have been richly provoked. "God only knows what he did. Dorian never mentioned a word to me. If she did do it, he had to push her," said Lois Taylor. "The whole thing is," said Jessie, "Dorian was not a violent person but, excuse my expression, she was not going to be fucked with, either." "I guess anyone I know could possibly be a murderer, could possibly be framed for murder," said Livingston. "I guess anyone in this city, in self-defense, could do just about anything. It struck me always as more likely that she would be framed than she would commit this murder and then carrythis thing around. She always struck me as such a normal, balanced person who was in control of her life. I certainly don't Dorian as a perfect person, but this is beyond my picture of who she is or could have been."

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"I don't know if she had a gun," she continued. "I wouldn't be surprised.I think actuallythat when the gun battle erupted,when we were filmingin 1987, thatshe might havesaidsomethingabout havinga gun. I would have had a gun if I lived in thatbuilding." Jessieconfirmedthat Doriandid own a handgun."One time she was going on stage,and she told me to hold this little eveningbag,"she said."When she gave it to me, my handwent down,andI said, 'What the fuck do you got in here?'It was a little .22. She would have these jokes, 'Someone'sgonna mess with me, I'm gonna shoot 'em up with lead.'We had a standingjoke then, that the thing was rusty,and it would neverwork." When a detectivesaidthathe hadbeen told, in the course of his investigation, that Corey "hada temperwhen she hit the bottle,"the prospectsof her unblemishedinnocenceseemedstill moredoubtful. One can watchParisIs Burningover and over without the slightest, subtlest hint of violencein DorianCorey,or duplicity, or fear.But she was, afterall, an actress.The closest she came to what might be consideredcommentaryon the situationis the last scene of the film, as she sits in front of the mirror,applying colorsto her face:"I alwayshadhopesof being a big star.Then I look-as you get older,you aim a little lower andyou say, 'Well, you still might make an impression.' Everybodywants to leave something behind them, some impression,a markupon the world. Then you think, you'veleft a markuponthe worldjust by getting throughit. And if a few people yourname,you'veleft a mark. You don'thaveto bendthe whole world. It's betterto just enjoy it. Pay your dues

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of explanation, not a verdict. There is no statute of limitations for murder, however, and the police were obliged to proceed as if the crime had been committed

Drag Queen City: Sally's II

and enjoy it. If you shoot an arrow and it goes real high, hooray for you."

Model: Monica Mugler. Photo: Brian Lantelme

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If Dorian Corey killed a man fifteen years ago, there would have been over 25,000 homicides in New York City between that time and the present. If the death was in 1968, which appears to be the better estimate,there would have been more than 40,000. In that context, the event might seem a historical curiosity, like the vanished settlersof Roanoke, an event in need

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yesterday. They began with the elementary information: Dorian Corey moved from 150th Street to 140th Street in the late eighties, and a dead man was found in the apartmenton 140th Street.These two facts bred a sizable family of possibilities, and while some were more or less likely than others, the entire episode had long departed from the realm of the probable. There was not one mystery but several, and the first-the identity of the dead man-was not the least difficult. The photographic record of Dorian Corey is extensive, flattering, and fond, a wealth of old snapshots and glossies, and hours of documentary footage. The only known picture of the man found in her apartment is a polaroid, which has the grisly universality of a mementomoriand the clinical circumscription of unique misfortune. The body is set against a black background, posed in half-profile, from the chest up, hunched over as if to listen closely. The complexion is purple and yellow, the nose and ears are nibs of cartilage, and a slight overbite is exaggerated by the loss of flesh. Pertinent facts are noted on an information sheet below: the body is of a black male, 5'10", 140 pounds, wearing blue and white boxer shorts. The case is one of many in a red ledger in the office of Raoul Figueroa, a licensed mortician and a detective in the Missing Persons Squad of the New York City Police Department. Many of the other pictures in the ledger are as gruesome, though some had en-

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duredfurtherindignityafter death, and ashe turnedthepages,Figueroaexplained the reasons for bloat or discoloration, dents, cuts or "that shiny spot" with economyandcalm.Wheneverthe viewer might adjustto the faces,in the dulling samenessof theirestate,somefreshhorror would disruptwhatevertentativeacclimationhad been made. An old woman who hadsufferedmuchfrom"whattime and water does" was accompaniedby a circulardistributedby her family,which showed a smiling, well-coiffed grandmotherin a Sundaydress."Alzheimers," saidFigueroa."Sheeitherjumpedor fell in the water.There'snothing to suggest a homicide.It happens."Foranothercase, therewasno photograph:"Thisis a torso. There'sno sensein takinga picturehere becauseit would not help. The doctor sayshe might be anywherefrom sixteen to twenty-two,I thinkhe mightbe younger, so I cover everything.You'll notice he's a male, most likely black, could be dark-skinnedHispanic. And that's it. Somebodythrewhim in thewater.Where are his arms,head and feet? I still have everyhope thatI will get him ID'd. You never know." While the rate of identificationis generallyhigh, factorssuch as prolonged homelessnessor illegal immigrationdiminishthe prospectsfor success. In general,said Figueroa,men are harderto identify than women because "women normallyhave a close attachment to somebody.They can be on the street-drug addicts,prostitutes-they formsomeclose attachment.Veryrareyou do haveit-but its veryrarethatthey completelycut all ties. Men, on the other hand, they're macho, they take off and they may call their mothertwice a year,

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Christmas,Easter, stuff like that. The rest of the time they could be anywhere on earth." The man from Dorian Corey's apartment presented formidable technical and logistical difficulties. Though a body can be identified through dental or medical records, hospitals do not ordinarily keep such information after six years, and initial estimates of this case put the time of death as much as fifteen years before. No witness to the event was likely to come forward.And fingerprints,which were the most promising means of identification, would be a macabre challenge to obtain. "So I cut the fingers below the second t, and then it took me several days to work on it because, technically, even

Fluid in the body settled, rather than evaporating. "There was all this muck" though it says 'mummified'-he was in a mummified state, but in a soupy sort of mummified state," he explained. The plastic prevented the loss of moisture necessary for true mummification, and fluid in the body settled, rather than evaporating. "There was all this muck, many pounds of muck. You have to clean it off, but you gotta do it soft because you don't want to destroy it, it's a painstaking sort of process. The minute it gets destroyed, you do the wrong thing, it's gone forever, and then you got nothing to work with. "So I was working on secondary skin, the lower one, beneath what you see. Secondary skin slippage-you've seen a floater come out of the water, you've seen the

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hand,like a glove, comingoff?That'sthe slippage.The secondaryskin, it's not as pronouncedas your regularskin. It's a twin of whatyou mightlose in a sunburn, or regularwear and tear. "So I hadto come up with something to try to be ableto dealwith the fingers, becauseof the skin, it was-we all have thateitherwerenearthe microorganisms, when he was enclosed, or on the body body itself. They will eat through the skin,leavingthesemicro-littleholes,that you can'treallysee but where you can't injectanythingbecauseits gonnaleakout. Very slowly, but it leaks out. So there's not much you can do. If you try to put ink on thatit will not adhereto the skin. It was a problem,andI endedup-I can't give away secretsbecause,well, it's beneficialto us to keep it moreor less secret. But I workedout something,and I was able to close those holes. Then drying, which is a common-knownthing with acetoneanda varietyof otherthings,drying the skin,thenusinga littlebit of heat. You might have to soften it, put it in specialliquidsto softenit. And I was able to securethe print." To do so, Figueroaput the skinon his own fingers,like a glove, over the latex gloves he wears, inked them and rolled themfor the print.His successwasbetter thanhe expected,andhe was ableto get printsfrom all ten fingers.A matchwas madewith one RobertWells, who was bornin December,1938, and arrestedin the Bronx in 1963. A sisterwas located in Fairmont,North Carolina,who informedhim thathis realnamewasRobert Worley. Anotherbrother,who lived in Harlem, told Figueroathat he had not seen his brothersince 1968.

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"He seemedlike a very nice individual,verycourteous,verydecent,"saidFigueroa."He was surprisedthatwe found [his brother'sbody]. He used to live in the Bronx, he lived with him, and he The weirdthing, he was livdisappeared. ing not too farfromwhere the bodywas found.He spokewith the restof the family andhe gaveuspermissionto buryhim. He says, 'We know where he's at, we know what happenedto him."' Were it not for his arrest,therewould be no usefulsocialrecordof RobertWorley. Familyandfriendswouldbe deprived of the consolationof at least knowing when to mourn,andwhy. A law-abiding citizenin a like circumstance would simbe a number and ply assigned put in the ground.The occasionwhich enabledthe stateto informthe Worleyfamilyof their brother'sdemiseoccurredon March27, 1963, when he was arrestedfor rape. Foranyonefamiliarwith the criminal justicesystemin New York City, to hear the number347/63, andknow thatit refersto an Aprilindictmentin the Bronx, is to be sent into a raptureof nostalgia. 347 indictmentsby April suggestsa rate of just over one thousandper year. In 1993, therewere over 9000, andthe record, set in 1990, was 10,892. In 1963, New York City was saferthanit is today in mostmeaningfulandmeasurable ways, with the compellingexceptionof sexual offenses.The abuseof childrenandcrimes occurringwithin the home were rarely exposedto publicview. Rape,in particular,has undergonea dramaticlegal and social transformation.The entire category of acquaintancerapewas virtually exemptfrom prosecution,andwholesale classesof victims,from prostitutesto di-

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I vorcees, might not have been considered presentable to a jury. At the same time, those rapeswhich were prosecuted might be pursued with great vigor, especially when a woman's "virtue" as well as her body had been subject to violence and violation. In several states, generally southern ones, rape was a capital crime. Linda Fairstein, Chief of the Sex Crimes Unit of the Manhattan District Attorney's Office, said that the most salient reform of the rape statute was the abolition, in 1972, of the corroboration requirement. Three elements of the crime had to be established independently of the claims of the victim: the identification of the assailant;the sexual nature of the of-

fense, usuallythroughmedicalevidence; andthe useofforce,eitherthroughvisible injuryor the recoveryof a weapon. "If all three of those elementswere not independentlyproved,then the case could not go forward.Forexample,as the New YorkTimesprintedin 1970, more thana 1000 men were arrestedin New York City for sexualassault,andonly eighteen were convictedof the crime. The overwhelmingnumberof cases,before1972, never got pastthe arrestphase." Accordingto courtdocuments,Worley forceda womaninto the vacantstore below his apartmentand raped her. It might be supposedthat they were acquaintedbeforethe incident:the woman

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Are we not men? The crew at Sally's II BrianLantelme

lived right aroundthe cornerfrom him, andthe arrestoccurredwithin hoursafter the crime.Worleywaschargedwith kidnapping,assault,and having intercourse with "a female,not his wife, againsther will andwithoutherconsent."The woman was employedas a nurse'saide, and she had a commonEnglishname,which makesit likely thatshe, too, wasAfricanAmerican.Worley gavehis "truename" as "RobertWells," and stated that his parentswere dead,which was also false. His occupationis listedas "finisher,"his raceas "C"for "colored."In an affidavit, Detective RobertRose wrote that "the defendantstated that he did perpetrate acts of sexual intercoursewith the deponentat the abovelocation.He alsostated that he had been drinkingwine and

was able to offer the following observations:"A confessiondoesn'tautomatically satisfyall the requirements.It sounds like he's ittingthat he's the guy, but he'snot ittingforce.My guesswould be that it's a bettercase than many if it was indictedandgot into the system,but it musthave been lackingsomethingfor thereto be that kind of pleabargain.For the time, the bail is probablyhigh. The whole thing reallydependson an evaluationof the victimandher story.Whether or not they knew eachotherwould be an issue.Is she somebodywho was drinking with him at that location?That case is morelikely to be pleadeddown thanif they'd never seen each other beforeand he just pulled her off the street in his drunkenstate.There are too manyvarididn't know what happened to him." ablesmissingfor me to say much, but I There was no record of any prior arrests. would say that there was certainlysome His bail was originally set at $3500 and merit to the case and it sounds,with an then reduced to $1500. Three weeks after assaultcharge,that he certainlysmacked his arrest,he pleaded guilty to assault,and her aroundat some point. It might well was sentenced to two to four years in state have started-I'm guessingthis because prison, of which, his brother recalls, he of proximityof location-as an evening served almost the full term. drinkingtogether,and that'swhy it was was the Worley Legal pled down. That's simply an educated, represented by Aid Society, and there are three different attorneys of record at arraignment, plea, and sentencing. None are listed in the most prominent directoryof attorneys,and neither is the prosecutor and the judge. They may have retired, or they might not practice law, or they might practice, but not at a law firm. They also might be dead. According to police records, there have been two detectives named Robert Rose. One was eight years old in 1963, and the other died in 1991. While the information in the court file is too sparse to permit all but the most speculative interpretation, Ms. Fairstein

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experienced guess." Frederick Worley is a wiry man of medium height in his mid-sixties, with thick glasses and a broad, gap-toothed smile. We spoke in a vacant apartmentin the Harlem building where he is superintendent, as he awaited a prospective tenant. He wore a corduroy baseballcap, and a sweatshirt with a picture of a bandoliered Mickey Mouse with pistols blazing. His speech was measured and judicious, with sly, suggestive pauses, and his voice rose and fell in southern-inflected, preacherly rhythms. Mr. Worley and his six brothersand sistersarefrom Fairmont,

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a small town in the cotton and tobacco countryin the southeastcornerof North Carolina.Fourof the Worleys came up to New York City, but Frederickis the only living siblingwho remained."Ihad losttrackso manyyearsago.At sometime I hadsomenotionthatsomethingwasn't quiterightwith his lifestyle,but I didn't knowwhich way he went. My sister,one of my sistersand I, who lives in North Carolina,we resignedto the ideathatpossibly he was dead," he said. Bobby, as they

called him, had complainedof ing blood in his urine, and his brothersand sistersfelt it might lead to a seriousor even fatal medicalproblem.When detectivescalled his sister,he went to the localprecinctto "piecethingstogetheras best we could. But there'sa lot of gaps becauseof the fact that, like, he fell off the face of the earth." Mr. Worley left Fairmont in 1956, and Bobby followed him sometime later on: "I was twenty-six at that time, so he was seventeen, right? He might still have been-what was he doing at that time? Just out of school? By the time he'd reached a certain age, I'm courting, getting myself marriedand getting out. I was a young man with a wife and child, needed to work, so I came to New York." For ten years, the elder Worley worked in a Bronx lumberyard, rising to the position of foreman, and then he became an insurancesalesman. "In fact, I still sell some when I'm industrious enough," he said. Since 1985, he has been working at the building on 158th Street, as superintendent and managing agent. The difference in age between the two brothers, and the distance in time from their last meeting, made recollection difficult. "I don't recall exactly when I

THE

learnedwhenhe hadcometo New York," he explained."I think I learnedthrough backwith the family.At correspondence that time, my mother and father were living. You know how it is, when Mom andPopswereliving, the correspondence is moreregularthan when they on. "Well, he was the babyof the family. I don't-he was like anyother kid growingup. Afterall, we were born into a family that had a no-nonsensefather, and a no-nonsense mother. And when you're born into a situationlike that,you got it going andcoming.So you haveto, got to prettymuchkeepyourself in line. However,I do a letter frommy mother.He worriedmy mother quitea bit, beforehe left North Carolina. He got intoafew littlescrapesdownthere, I neverreallyknewhow serioustheywere or anythinglike that.But I knowthatshe finallywroteme, andI wroteto herwhen I found out abouther spendingmoney, getting him out of little scratcheshere andthere...." Askedif it was anythingas seriousas, for example,stealingcars,he responded with an emphatic denial: "My father wouldhavewhuppedhim!What I would have calledmischievousthings, like getting into fights, a little public drunkenness, becauseyou know that for many years,NorthCarolinawasa drystate.And if you drankpublicly,you were going to the caboose,right.Shemusthavepaidfor him to get out of a few things like that, right. At this time, she was in declining health,andI told her, 'You mustturnthis boy loose. Lethimgo. He's got to runhis course.' You couldn't tell her that, she's gotta make up her mind. She's gotta cut this kid off the string. Finally, I , she wrote me a letter. She told me,

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she said,'You know something?I finally put Bobbyin the handsof God." "Well, you will neverguesshow happy that made me, becausetruly, I don't knowwhatyourattitudetowardGod the Creatoris, and I'm not aboutto askyou that, but I felt that that was reallywhat she should do. Becauseyou can't make anyoneover.If a personis inclineda certain way, that personmust come to see the errorof theirwaysin orderto change the errorof their ways. She finally told

Lifein New YorkCity could not have been moredifferentfrom Fairmont,North Carolina me that she had given him up. And it musthavebeenafterthatthathe cameto New York. That's what might have promptedhim getting out from down there, that she wasn't going to bat no morefor him. So this put him constantly on the run. Of course,that'sonly a guess on my part." When askedif he knew anything about the name "Robert Wells," Mr. Worley laughed: "I would suggest that he had gotten into some kind of trouble." He was told that Bobby had been arrestedfor rape, but didn't know any of the circumstances. He vaguely recalls something about prison at Dannemora, but he did not discuss it with his brother, who lived with him for some six months to a year after his release. It was not a pleasant time for either of them: "I could tell that his lifestyle wasn't something that was gonna set well with me and my family. But he stayed on

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with me until he finally ... moved on. He at thattimewas drinking.I would say borderlinealcoholism.He was drinking vodka, straightfrom the bottle. He got so inebriatedone night, when he came home, my wife had-we had a low-boy radiatorand our childrenwere going to school at the time, and she had laid a sweateron the radiator.He camein during the nightandI guesshe wasso stewed he thought he was in the bathroom. 'Well,' I said,'Hey, no. No! This is not going to makeit."' Between the drinkingand his unemployment,relationsbetweenthe brothers were strained. Bobby went out with friends,but Frednevermet them. When Bobbyfinallydid landajob, his firstprioritieswere not practicalones: "He saw this woman that he just had to have, apparently,and when he got his firstpay, he went straightto her.In the meantime, he didn'tgive me anyof the moneyI had given him, and I approachedhim about it in the basementof my buildingthere. And,oh, he startedtellingme, 'Theytook the restof the moneyout of my pay!'And I said,'Well, where'syourpaystub?''Oh, I didn't get one!' And I said, okay, fine. To makea long storyshort,shortlyafter thatI toldhim, I said,'Listen,don'tworry aboutpayingme any money. Saveyourself somemoney,get yourselfa place.Because my apartmentis for me and my family, and this is the way it has to be. You musthaveyourown place.'So it was afterthatthathe droppedout of sight on me and I didn't know which way he went." The life which Bobbyled, andthe life which manyseemedto leadin New York City, could not havebeen moredifferent

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from the one Frederick Worley knew in North Carolina. A small town in a rich, agriculturalregion, Fairmontwas the kind of place "where teachers are very familiar with the families of the children they are teaching. Parentswill still tell you, 'Look, you have any problem with him, we'll take care of it. And let me know!' It's a nice quiet town, not a lot of notoriety. People arebasically church-going people, a lot of them living quite well, nice houses with two cars in the garage. Doing better than I am!" Mr. Worley's father was an engineer, in his words, who made ice for the town. His mother died in 1964, and his father died some twelve years later. "Generally, we came up in an area where any adult could speakto us, and we recognized that, because God forbid, an adult would speak

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to me and I gave that adulta hardtime, andmy fatherfoundit out! It was to the woodshed!When we came along, this word 'child-abuse'had not been coined. In those daysif you got out of line you got whatyou hadcomingto you, andthat was it."

LindaWorley Thompson'srecollections of her brotherare less recentthan Frederick's,and more affectionate.The last time she saw Bobby was in 1962, beforehis drinkingandlegaltroublesbegan, and her regretswere untaintedby with his later,lesserself. bitterexperiences In a letter,she saidthatBobbygraduated from RosenwaldHigh School in 1957, that he was an activestudentwith excellent grades,and that he enjoyedsports, especiallybasketball."He loved music very much and played in the band. He

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wanted to be a musicianone day," she And that'sreallywhere his troublestartsaid, and her "fondest memorieswere ed. My father,he was a strictdisciplinarwhen he wouldtalkaboutdifferentthings ian.Andhe would let the boysknow that thatmight affecthim reachinghis goal." they would haveto do rightto stayin his Bobby was spirited,she said, rambunc- house.Well, a lot of times,I don'tknow tious anddriven,andwas "definitelynot whatBobbywouldbe doing,buthe would a Mama'sboy," although "my mother be gonea lot. Accordingto whatmy older wouldalwayshelphim get whathe want- brothersaid, he would be with his girled."He was an assiduousworkerandhad friend.She would send for him. And so jobs in the tobaccowarehousesand as a he starteddoing things that my mother veterinarian'sassistant.After he left for and fatherdidn't agree with. And they New York,he would sometimesslipinto triedto help him, but then theyjust had town for a visit with his mother,and he to turnhim loose, let him go. Becausehe would alsocall or write.Mrs.Thompson had sort of a wild streakin him. And it did not evade mention of his problems, washardto get him,you couldn'tget him but treatedthem with a certaintact and under control. But he was so smartin indirection.He had a temper,she said, high school!He wasvery good in school, andhe "nevercausedtrouble,butif some- but then when he got out, I don'tknow, one botheredhim, he would fight." At he just startedgetting into trouble." "This girl said he did something to the end of his daysin Fairmont,"I feel that Bobbywas very disappointedat life her.In Fairmont.That'swhy hejust left. and decidedto go away to make a new But the girl, she was alwayscallinghim, life for himself." alwayswantedhim aroundher.Andwhen on she elaborated On the telephone, they had a falling out, she accusedhim the good qualitiesand ominous trends. of doing somethingto her." Her son, Eric,was five when Bobbyleft, Bobby left Fairmontto escape one but his memoriesof his uncle aretender girlfriend,but she was not the only one andwarm."Bobbywould spenda lot of he left. Therewas another,by whom he time with Eric,"she said."He seemedto hada daughter,who nevermetherfather. carea lot abouthim."Ericrecalleda time "Shedidnot knowone thing abouthim," when he was aroundfive yearsold, and continuedMrs. Thompson."When she he "somehow"threw out Bobby'shigh foundouthe wasdead,shewasveryupset, school classring. The boy was terrified, becauseshe never got a chanceto know buthisunclewaskindandunderstanding. him as a father.And, of course,she has "He does have fond memoriesof him, three children.Shejust wished that she becausehe wouldtakethetimewith him," could have had a relationshipwith him. she said. "But he was like that during He hadthe desireto do somethingin life, thoseyears.Then somethinghappenedto but some way, some how, he got off him. track...." "Atmy recollection,Bobbywasa good person but he would, well, he got involved with girls. I don't know. While he was in high school, I was in college. As of thiswriting,DetectiveJohn Roe of Womenseemedto be-hejust lovedgirls. the 26th Precinctstatedthatthe homicide

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of Robert Worley is still an open case. As such, a full and frank discussion was not possible for legal reasons, as well as frequent practical ones ("Not today, I got a fresh double murder").Roe conceded that Worley's death probably occurred not long after his disappearance,and he said that he was convinced that Dorian Corey knew of the body. To me, this knowledge

A black drag queen in possession of a cadaver could not expect more sympathetic treatment fromthe police than fromsociety at large strongly suggests responsibility. The theories that depend on proxies and oversights-that the body was there when she moved in, that she was "protecting" someone, and so on-began to seem desperately wishful and elaborate, although the ultimate conjecture-that Corey killed Worley, and brought the body with her when she moved-is hardly a prosaic deflation of the event. My initial guess was that it was a street pick-up that turned into a robberyattempt. Eventually, someone told me that something like that did occur, and though I found it persuasive, the information was of a piece with the rest of what I heard-speculative, sketchy, and never better than second-hand. Jessie Torres said that in her last days, Dorian began to tell Sally about her secret, on the phone, over two or three calls. Although Sally's health was fair at the time, she would die three months after Dorian. During one such call, Sally asked Jessie to listen in on the extension. "God

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forgive me," saidJessie, "And may she rest in peace, I said, 'Sally,that AZT is eatingthat queen'smind up.' She was in a delirioussituation.I saidit was impossible-she lived in two differentplaceswhy would she?Girlsdo havea tendency to exaggerate." Until October,all practicaland reasonablebelief dictatedagainstthe story, andJessieassumedit to be a melancholy delusion.Afterthe discoveryof the body, the lesserdetailsof the converged in of its implausiblepremise."In Harlemthereareguysthatwe would call take-off artists,"she explained. "They would come aroundandjust wantto take from the queensthe little bit you have. Fromwhat I'm told, this is the situation. He hadrobbedherbefore,fromwhat I'd heard.He was known in the neighborhood as a junkie. If he knew you had a littlebit of money,he wouldcomearound here, come aroundthere with the attitude,'Fuckyou,you-allarefaggots.'Fuck you bitch!He'd takewomen off too. Seeing that society frowns on junkies, they feel, you know, they could frown on us. I couldimagine.I havebeen in situations like that-guys who say, 'Go ahead,call the police, you faggot!' He had taken things from her a couple of times. One time, she was fed up. And she was not havingit." While there is no reasonto dispute the sincerityof the confession,Dorianwas sufferingfroma neurologicalimpairment andrecallinganeventof perhapstwentyfive yearsbefore, an event which itself may have occurredin a chaotic instant, amida welterof terror,fury,anddismay. The that Jessie overheardmay fromwhatin facttrandiffersubstantially spired.Then again,it maynot. If Dorian was entirelyjustifiedin her actions,she

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remainedablackdragqueenin possession of a cadaver,and did not expect more sympathetictreatmentfrom the police than she would from societyat large.At the sametime, it is unknownwhat force, still less lethal force, might have been called for; it is likely that her gun was unlicensed,andshe mayhavebeenreluctantto callthe authoritiesbecauseof some additionalculpability.Robert Worley's version of the incident will never be known. The greaterwonder, and one which will abide,is why she never disposedof the body.Those who understandherposition are unlikely to make public their own. As a movie buff,Dorianknew that it is the raremysterywhere some clue, sometrickof the plot does not betraythe identityof the killer. In a way, she read the situation correctly, leaving well enough alone until she was unavailable for comment.The Corey-Worleymysteryendedwith a twist thatshe couldnot predict,though one she would have appreciated,asshoppersin herclosetwanted a vampirecostumeandgot a mummyinstead.The ironies,at least, were to her taste. *

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Over half a centuryago, in placesin the countrysideto the northandthe southof the city,two womenheldchildrenwhom they cannot have expected would ever meet. Nor couldthey have imaginedthe

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way eachlife would takeshape,andwere they to seephotographsof theirsons,one shrunkenand stiff on a morgueslab,the otherwith breastsand a blondewig, gyratingbeneatha live boa constrictor,it wouldbe difficultto guesswhich woman wouldbe moreshocked.CoreyandWorley were blackmen without much money, closein age,who movedto New York City fromruralareas.As victimsof AIDS and homicide,they embodytwo of the main statisticalbasesfor abbreviatedlife expectancyin Harlem.Worley was buried in Potter'sField,on HartIslandin the westernLongIslandSound,in a common grave.Coreywas cremated,andherashes werescattered offCityIslandin theBronx. The two islandsare separatedby half a mile of water. Thereseemsto be an instructivelikeness between them but their moraland materialresemblanceis tangential,shifting. There aretravels,changesof name. One wassentto prisonfor a crimeagainst a woman,andthe othermadea living as a femaleimpersonator. When Coreyleft, came back. The relationis arWorley like the rhythmic, oblique, pattern of dropletsthat fall from a tap. The intersectionof their lives was brief,andnone were awareof it until both were gone. They left behindunanswerable questions, painedandfond memories,loved ones in mourning.One left a legend;the othera child. And for worse and for better,togetherandapart,eachmadea markupon the world.

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