The War Stories #1

The White Christmas

by Phyllis Randolph Frye, Attorney, Founder and Executive Director, ICTLEP. © ICTLEP

(Recently, I went back into my many boxes of diaries, letters and other records to retrieve something from the past. In so doing, I was met with a flood of memories of episodes in my life, what some might call my "War Stories".)

December of 1977 was a bleak month for my spouse and me. I had been unemployed for nineteen months since I was last fired for being "a dress wearing freak". Her job wasn't generating what we needed because during the time that we were both employed, we had accumulated much debt. We had used all of the savings while trying to learn how to downgrade our standard of living.

To make it worse, I had been unable to get unemployment compensation. My last employer did not fight it, but I had a homophobic Texas Employment Commission referee who chose to write up my interview in such a way that I was blocked from benefits. (We eventually won and got the benefits, but that was later.)

We felt very alone because neither of our families would have anything to do with us. (Her mom eventually came around and became a great ally, but that was later.)

The fight to change the [Houston crossdressing] ordinance was not making much headway. I'd already been lobbying against it for about a year. Every day, I never knew if I'd be arrested. Every day, my spouse never knew when she left for work if I'd make it home from job hunting, lobbying and such. (The ordinance was overturned in 1980.)

Christmas was going to be meager. We had shoes, but they were not winter shoes. We had some warm clothes, but they were a bit tattered. It was depressing as hell. Actually, it was all around shitty.

About the only things we did have were each other, our faith in God and our church family. Even though she and I loved each other (and still do) and were best friends (and still are) those years of hardship bonded us together. We felt that our faith was being tested, much as in the story of Job, but no matter how bad it got we always tithed (and still do) 10% of our gross. Our church family helped to keep the loneliness and the isolation at bay. We were with the Metropolitan Community Church of the Resurrection and we sang in the choir. (Today when I sing the Hallelujah Chorus, I get it all mixed up. In junior high, I memorized it as a tenor and in college I learned the bass line. There at MCCR I sang soprano and in later years I did the alto line. Now when I hear it, I just kind of sing it all.)

Each year at MCCR, as in most other churches, they have a White Christmas offering where people bring canned and non-perishable goods each Sunday in December, wrapped in white paper, and place them at the altar. The poor families are given this the day before Christmas.

As I sit here keypunching this out, I am starting to cry again, because they brought the food to us. We were the White Christmas family that year. It was really quite wonderful. We separated the eight boxes of food into category and took out ten percent. We then went to another transgendered person who had been living on the street because she'd also lost her job and gave it to her. We three cried a lot. With the money we saved from not having to buy food for several weeks, we bought some warm shoes and each a warmer coat.

As you all know, my spouse and I did survive and now are prosperous. The other transgendered person I referred to was an engineering graphics designer. She got a job several months later washing cars. Eventually, she made it back and got rehired in her previous profession.

I shall never forget.

[NOTE from Phyllis in 1997: If I could survive that way back in 1977, you can survive your trials in 1998. Take courage, stand tall, and be proud of your transgendered gift.]