Tag Archives: Georgina Spelvin

“Blush”

By Rich Moreland, October 2012

This post is dedicated to two most gracious individuals I had the pleasure of recently meeting.

Decades ago an old high school chum and I went to Las Vegas, the first time for both of us. In those days, Vegas was Frank Sinatra’s“Rat Pack,” rumors of mob control, and hookers on the Strip. One adventurous evening we decided to find a local grindhouse for a new experience, a porn movie. These were the pre-VCR days; adult film was in its infancy and not yet in America’s living rooms. I remembered stag films in my college fraternity and I’m not sure to this day that my pal had ever gone that far. We were truly clueless about filmed pornography.

After some wandering, we found a theater and paid our money with some of it undoubtedly going to an in-house checker who skimmed profits off the top for the mob. We settled in for what is known today as the double bill that birthed pornography’s golden age, “Deep Throat” and “The Devil in Miss Jones.” I remember little about either film, though I did appreciate the artistic adventure of “Devil.” I left the theater never anticipating that one of the performers on the big screen that night would be a someone I would get to know years later.

*      *      *      *      *      *

I’ve just finished a delightful lunch at Victor’s Delicatessen in Hollywood with people I am fortunate to call friends. Among them is David Bertolino, an off-Broadway producer, and a charming couple, John and Chele Welsh. The Welshs are senior citizens whose love for each other is the stuff of teenage romances. Their marriage of many years is filled with a warmth and adventure that is evident to those who know them. They were especially kind to me when I arrived at their home before our lunch date, but more on that in a minute.

You see, among Chele Welsh’s collection of show business AKA’s (also known as) is Georgina Spelvin whose portrayal of the fictional Justine Jones drove the sexual escapades of the second feature that Vegas evening long ago. To have seen her on the silver screen is one thing; to sit between this wisp of a woman and her husband almost 50 years later is the moment of a lifetime.

The occasion is my way of taking Chelz up on an offer she extended to me a couple of years ago. We established email connections because I am working on a book exploring feminism in adult film and wanted her spin on porn’s early days. She concluded one correspondence by insisting that I save a spot on my “dance card,” as she put it, if I ever got to Southern California. I was cashing in the ticket now.

At our table is Chele’s husband John Welsh, a retired veteran of TV and film. They married decades ago after meeting on the set of an Irish play, The Hostage, in North Hollywood. The other member of our group is photographer Bill Knight who makes my job as a journalist much easier. I’m next to Chelz and across from David, the best seat in this house!

Yours Truly with David and Georgina at Lunch Photo by Bill Knight

Yours Truly with David and Georgina at Lunch
Photo by Bill Knight

David is along for a reason beyond a good meal and history revisited. He is producing “The Deep Throat Sex Scandal,” a play scheduled to open at L.A.’s Zephyr Theater in mid-January 2013. The show is about the government’s attempt to prosecute the film in Memphis, Tennessee, in 1976. Its theme is free speech and offers a look at porn’s early battles with censorship.

The table conversation turned to the late Gerard Damiano, the director of “Devil” and “Deep Throat.” His talent propelled Georgina (as I’ll now address her for the show biz part of this post) onto a public quite ready to embrace filmed pornography. “He was the sweetest, most wonderful man,” she said, “a real pussycat who just wanted to make movies.”

Today at Victor’s, Miss Jones will meet a modern interpretation of the dust-up surrounding the other film on that notorious double bill because our luncheon is more than a historical check-up. The atmosphere is building to a moment that will enhance the authenticity of David’s play. He wants to recruit Georgina for the show.

Ever the persuader, David explains that he has a cast of ten, with two members rotating in weekly. Temporary actors will play the judge in the Memphis trial and the role of the theater ticket taker where the drama begins. These cameos will include personalities from mainstream studios and the adult business. Hollywood will contribute Adam Glaser, Bruce Villanch, and Christopher Knight, to name a few. Adult film will see its own hall of famers on stage.  Hershel Savage, Paul Thomas, Ron Jeremy, Bill Margold, John Stagliano, and Nina Hartley are on the rotating schedule, with Veronica Hart in a permanent role, an impressive lineup for any theater marquee.

For David, Georgina Spelvin is a game changer. She’s the “Grand Dame of Adult Film” and the only surviving member of the original trio who put filmed pornography on America’s cultural landscape.  Linda Lovelace died in 2002 and Marilyn Chambers, the all-American girl sensation of “Behind the Green Door,” passed away in 2009.

If she agrees, Miss Jones will once again be in a “devil” of a show the instant her cameo lights up the theater.

At this point, Georgina relates how she ended up in Memphis, revealing the kind of information historians love while filling in the blanks to complete the story.

She was doing a summer stock production of “Anything Goes” in Brunswick, Maine. On the day of the show’s final rehearsal, the casting director suddenly approached her and said, “don’t go to your dressing room.” Aware that something was amiss, the play’s comic urged Georgina to “go back in the wings and say you’re not dressed.” What was going on? Two “suits” had walked into the theater, Georgina explained, “one tall, one short,” armed with an arrest warrant fully listing all her stage names. The feds wanted to their woman, aliases and all!

Theater owner and the play’s producer, Vicky Crandall, informed the Feds that their mission had hit a snag. Ms. Spelvin could not accompany them, Crandall pointed out, her presence was required for that evening’s opening night. The “suits” backed off. An appearance at the Judge’s office the next morning would suffice.

In the meanwhile, the producer suggested Georgina call an old friend, “a local big wig judge,” as Georgina puts it, and “get this straightened out.”

The next morning his honor ruled that Georgina be released to Ms. Crandall’s custody for the duration of the theater’s season. A victory, but Memphis was still on the table.

Georgina later described how a civil liberties attorney in Maine helped her find a Tennessee lawyer. She traveled to the Bible Belt in a converted school bus, the “Dorabelladonna.” An amusing account of this journey appears in her autobiography, The Devil Made Me Do It.

The Memphis lawyer let her park her bus in his driveway and accompanied her to the police station where she was fingerprinted and posed for a mug shot. With true southern grace, Georgina signed fifteen Polaroids for the assembled officers. Even in their most devilish moments, show biz people always create a buzz.

At the trial, she was on and off the stand in a wink. She gave her name, Georgina said, was asked about how much she got paid for “Devil,” and “where the film was shot,” all very quick and without controversy. A free bird at last, Georgina departed Memphis and headed to California via New Orleans.

Forty-six years later, Shelly Graham, a native Texan who sought fame on Broadway in the 1950’s, is an honoree in the pantheon of porn. David promised to treat her like royalty, not unusual for him actually, if she would walk across his stage. Equity rules are weak when it comes to benefiting actors David reminded us. The pay is low and to get simple amenities like water, juice, and fruit is rare. David guaranteed Chelz that her dressing room would be well stocked and pay would exceed equity expectations (a personal practice of his, by the way).

The now seventy-six-year-old turned to John and asked if he’d take time to drive her to the theater. It was the sweetest moment of our gathering. Hubby gallantly acceded to her request with his characteristic smile and everyone headed triumphantly out. Coincidentally, David just happened to a have a script in his vehicle to give to his newest star!

*      *      *      *      *      *

We left Victor’s and headed back to John and Chele’s home. On the way I played the tourist role to the hilt because they live near the Hollywood sign and I needed to take some pics back to the east coast to impressive my friends. At John’s insistence we made our way to a massive dog park that is just below the historic landmark. I’m forever thankful for John’s lead in this endeavor. Got some great photos and experienced one of the most remarkable settings in recent memory, dogs frolicking with their owners on a hillside with the valley below providing a remarkable backdrop, in fact a real drop for those whose fear of heights acts up in these environs!

The Dog Park at Old Hollywoodland Photo by Bill Knight

The Dog Park at Old Hollywoodland
Photo by Bill Knight

Winding down the hilly road we returned to the Welsh’s home. My affection for them had grown. I posed with Chelz and John on the terrace behind their house and just briefly remembered my parents long departed. Bill secured a memory that preserved the three of us in a family-like moment, perhaps routine for the Welshs who are most proud of the lovely terraced hillside that is their backyard, but much appreciated by me, nonetheless.

Sitting on the Terrace Photo by Bill Knight

Sitting on the Terrace
Photo by Bill Knight

Before we left, John showed Bill and me a photo of the Hollywood sign a half century ago. It spelled out “Hollywoodland” and the winding hillside road that the Welsh’s call home today was visible in the brownish-gray photo. I’m a historian who plays at journalism so the snapshot’s frozen moment marked the end of a perfect experience for me. My time in Hollywood served as a constant reminder of the history that was everywhere I went. Americans rarely have an institutional memory of what came before them. Not true of the Welshs, they recognize that they are part of Hollywood’s collective past and narrators of it for those who will listen.

Later I sent Chele an email thanking her for her time. Meeting a legend is rare, if it happens at all, I noted, and she is most memorable for me.

I envisioned her and John looking at my message and smiling together.

“Blush” was her typed reply, a singular gesture from the sweetest, most wonderful woman who altered American culture and befriended an academic striving to chronicle a business so many don’t understand.

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An Air of the Extraordinary

Annie Sprinkle, Gloria Leonard, Veronica Vera, Veronica Hart, Candida Royalle. Photo courtesy of 3hattergrindhouse

by Rich Moreland, June 2012

In mid-June Amtrak took me north to New York City for day trip. I haven’t visited the Big Apple since its transition to the “gentrified” New York. My last remembrance of the city was walking to Times Square with a couple of my buddies, looking for smut shops while avoiding the winos, druggies, and other assorted street people. That was a few decades ago.

This excursion to Manhattan was not a whim; it was book related and by invitation. I was accompanied by a friend and colleague in academia who doubles as my photographer. If nothing else, I’m assured of good pics  if my writing fails to capture the scene.

In 2008, I discovered the apparent contradiction that feminism and adult film are bedfellows (or bed sisters) in an industry that is patriarchal to the core. Deciding to chronicle this odd combination, I first wanted to know what other historians, journalists, and commentators had to say on the subject. At every turn in my research, the name “Club 90” came up. Scholarly paths pointed back to this circle of five women, actresses in adult film when acting was valued and expected.

On a cool and rainy June evening in mid-town Manhattan, the Museum of Sex on 27th Street paid homage to this venerated “club.” The museum is a storefront with a basement bar and an upper floor gallery. On this night the upstairs contained a long table and folding chairs neatly arranged into a relatively cramped space. Everything was ready for a panel discussion featuring these “Golden Girls of Porn,” as the event was labeled.

Josh and I made an effort to arrive early. I had communicated with all of the ladies individually, but up to this moment I had met only two in person, Annie Sprinkle and Veronica Hart. Gloria Leonard and Candida Royalle were telephone voices to me and Veronica Vera was an email correspondence and a postal address.

The women were “stars” in the “porno chic” days of the 1970’s when 35 mm film reigned and the big screen was where sex came alive. Adult movies demanded dialogue and plot to compliment the cinematography. Making a good picture required location and days of shooting. Nowadays porn films are cranked out quickly and, with some exceptions, very little style. Needless to say, there is rarely an aspiring actress in sight. But the seasoned Club 90 performers were blessed, if that can be said in pornography. They worked for some of adult film’s noted early directors like Radley Metzger, Gerard Damiano, and Joe Sarno, true artists who considered movie-making to be a craft. A sense of panache and acting ability was requisite.

As the “porno chic” days wound down, the five were transitioning away from being on camera. There were reasons: the HIV menace was one, while marriage and family became another. In short, they were getting on with their lives.  They organized a mutual support group to ease through the changes and named it after the address of Annie’s Manhattan apartment where their initial get together took place. Over the years, their collective friendship has endured.

By sheer happenstance I broke into their group. I attended one of Annie’s university speaking engagements and later sent an inquiry to Feminists for Free Expression which resulted in a surprise email from Candida. That began three years of correspondence with the group that formed the linchpin of my research.

Stealing Moments Before the Show

I got a big hug from Gloria Leonard before the gala began. She is classy (an overused word, I know) and a butt-kicker through her devotion to the political principles she holds dear. She also is the group’s grand dame. Gloria entered the adult business in her late thirties, much like the Club’s dear friend and another of porn’s venerable ladies, Georgina Spelvin. Working in adult paid better than nine to five, Gloria later told the audience, a bonus because she had a daughter to support.

A Hug From Gloria
Photo courtesy of 3hattergrindhouse

Gloria has her views and the personality to back them. She and I have a mutual acquaintance in the adult biz, Bill Margold, who has his own set of notions about the history of adult film. Bill has told me much about Gloria. He adores her and I can see why. She has a political conscience in an industry that often lacks ethical behavior, and she cares about performer health and welfare. Her position on safer sex in the infamous 1998 HIV scare is a testimony to her concern for the industry. As President of the Free Speech Coalition, the political wing of the business, Gloria got funding for the start-up of Adult Industry Medical (AIM) so that talent could be more secure health wise on the job.

Reminding the audience that defending free speech is important to everyone, Gloria believes in the principle that “no one should tell you what to watch or hear.” Her words raised a bright round of applause.

I also stole a moment to impose on Candida Royalle to say “hello” face-to-face. Phone conversations and emails are not foreign to us and her support for my work is appreciated more than she will know. Like Gloria, Candida brought an air of the extraordinary to the room. Both women were elegantly and conservatively dressed as if they planned to attend a charity bizarre . . . at the country club, of course . . . sponsored by the ladies auxiliary. But the country club set could never imagine the elegance that comes from Candida. She is an industry luminary of the first order and has no parallel. She runs her own production company, FEMME, out of New York and specializes in woman-friendly erotica and couples porn. To suggest that Candida is a ground breaker in adult film erotica is a mammoth understatement. She not only turned the soil, she constructed the edifice that is feminist pornography, though I know she shudders with my use of that word; erotica is her preference. In the initial Feminist Porn Awards in Toronto years ago, Candida was the first honored. That’s what it means to be a living legend.

Chatting with Candida before showtime!
Photo courtesy of 3hattergrindhouse

Candida told the audience that during her acting days she felt “ambivalence about being in adult movies” and was “conflicted” about what the impact might be in her life. Seeking therapy, she learned the value of self-analysis and decided that there was nothing wrong with performing in adult film. A woman’s voice was what the adult product lacked. Candida vowed to correct that perception and make pictures for women. It was fortuitous timing. The arrival of home video provided a safe place for women to view porn, she said, and a market was birthed.

Annie Sprinkle was her usual loving self when I renewed acquaintances with her. Annie’s career as a sex worker and lover of men, women, and transpersons is too vast and complex to even attempt to summarize here. I was honored to interview Annie in her home (we sat in the kitchen and enjoyed some iced tea) on a visit to San Francisco a couple of years ago.

No Tragic Endings Here

Annie was the lead-off hitter in the panel line-up. When everyone was finally seated, she mentioned that many people have the widely accepted belief that porn stars have “tragic endings.” “They don’t know us!” she said with her typical high spirits. During her brief remarks, people continued to trickle in; the shortage of chairs turned the event into SRO. I don’t know how many the museum planned for but attendance must have exceeded expectations. And, not every face in the crowd was an old friend or admirer. There were a number of young people who perhaps were looking to understand the past through a vision of the present.

Annie after the show.
Photo courtesy of 3hattergrindhouse

In the opening moments of the discussion, Annie put the almost thirty years of Club 90 in perspective when she declared her time in porn has been an “amazing journey” and her goal is to keep it rolling. “I want to get to fifty years in sex!” she said with the innocence and playfulness of a flower child whose years have been spent pleasing and being pleased.

Annie carries the mien of San Francisco’s hippie past. Her leopard print floor length gown reminded me that Annie’s performance art, and that of her club sister Veronica Vera, is studied in academia.

Veronica Vera had expedited my research by sending valuable documents my way. She, like Gloria, was intensely political in her younger days. When we briefly spoke, I imagined what it must have been like for her to testify before the 1984 Senate Committee investigating adult film. The Reagan administration was going after porn as harm to women and the industry was under siege. Veronica recalled the now famous bondage photo she showed Senator Arlen Specter on that October day. The picture is a historical precursor of modern day BDSM performance art that has captured the imagination of a sexually marginalized community.

Veronica got into the adult business through famed photographer, Robert Mapplethorpe. She told the audience she had worked on Wall Street then “decided to take an honest job” and went into adult entertainment.

Her wedding was the catalyst for this reunion, the group’s first in seventeen years.

As the event was breaking up, I finally got a chance to embrace Veronica Hart. Her 1983 baby shower brought the ladies together for the first time. I visited with Veronica in Las Vegas a few months ago and know her on a more personal level than the others. She is the youngster of the group and is considered one of the great beauties ever to grace adult film.

Veronica showing her big HeART!
Photo courtesy of 3hattergrindhouse

Except for a retired Gloria Leonard who now lives in Hawai`i, the women remain active in the adult world. Veronica Hart works in her hometown at Vegas’ Erotic Heritage Museum. She still directs in L.A. and keeps close tabs on the adult business. Candida Royalle continues with FEMME and has branched out into an adult product line, distributing through Adam and Eve, a Phil Harvey enterprise in North Carolina.

Annie Sprinkle and her partner, Beth Stephens, are expanding their venture into ecosex,  “a subject matter or identity,” Annie explains, that moves beyond a performance art. “We are . . . excosexual aritsts,” she says, exploring “a new area of research” that delves into “places where sexology and ecology intersect in art, theory, practice, and activism.”

If that sounds intellectual, it is. Beth, who moderated the event, is finishing her Ph.D. which will make two in the family as Annie already has hers.  Incidentally,  she is the first porn star gain such status. Sharon Mitchell, an old friend of Club 90 and long time director of AIM, is the second.

The fifth member, Veronica Vera, runs her own school for cross dressers, “Miss Vera’s Finishing School for Boys Who Want to be Girls” located in New York. The studio where many of her events take place is on 54th Street. Veronica’s program is for males and transpeople who want to challenge gender barriers and get in touch with their feminine side. Working with transpersons is a value shared with Annie. (I recommend Shannon Bell’s Reading, Writing, and Rewriting the Prostitute Body [1994] for an account of Club 90’s Franklin Furnace stage show in 1984 and Annie and Veronica’s performance art.)

With the evening winding down and attendees milling about, I allowed my imagination to have some fun. Among the audience were acquaintances of Club 90 who had been involved in adult film industry. Observing some of them reunite with the five in conversation, I mentally turned the clock back 30 years, erasing the nasty joke that time plays on all of us: age, something the young firmly believe will never happen to them. I fancied everyone in just such a room, setting up for a porn shoot: director, P.A.s, grips, and cameramen, hustling around with perhaps a make-up artist adding some final touches to faces destined to be hardened in a tough business.

In those early days of the modern adult film era, the business was east coast oriented. New York was home for Club 90. This Manhattan evening wrapped itself around them and their friendships with memories treasured. In the midst of skyscrapers and traffic punctuated with the ubiquitous New York cabbies, the affair had a small town feel and I was honored to have been invited.

When Josh and I headed back to the train station, the rain pelted ever hectic New Yorkers scurrying under umbrellas to get from here to there. The scene itself was a stage, a piece of living history, illuminated by lights embedded in mist and shrouded in the past.

———————

If you visit the Museum of Sex on the corner of 27th and 5th Avenue, consider in a quick snack across the street at Naturally Tasty. Ask for Magdalena. She’s service with a smile.

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