Queering The Redneck Riviera

Queering the Redneck Riviera recovers the forgotten and erased history of gay men and lesbians in North Florida, a region often overlooked in the story of the LGBTQ experience in the United States. Jerry Watkins reveals both the challenges these men and women faced in the years following World War II and the essential role they played in making the Emerald Coast a major tourist destination. In a state dedicated to selling an image of itself as a “family-friendly” tropical paradise and in an era of increasing moral panic and repression, queer people were forced to negotiate their identities and their places in society. Watkins re-creates queer life during this period, drawing from sources including newspaper articles, advertising and public relations campaigns, oral history accounts, government documents, and interrogation transcripts from the state’s Johns Committee. He discovers that postwar improvements in transportation infrastructure made it easier for queer people to reach safe spaces to socialize. He uncovers stories of gay and lesbian beach parties, bars, and friendship networks that spanned the South. The book also includes rare photos from the Emma Jones Society, a Pensacola-based group that boldly hosted gatherings and conventions in public places. Illuminating a community that boosted Florida’s emerging tourist economy and helped establish a visible LGBTQ presence in the Sunshine State, Watkins offers new insights about the relationships between sexuality, capitalism, and conservative morality in the second half of the twentieth century.

Poised on the edge of the United States and at the center of a wider Caribbean world, today's Miami is marketed as an international tourist hub that embraces gender and sexual difference. As Julio Capo Jr. shows in this fascinating history, Miami's transnational connections reveal that the city has been a queer borderland for over a century. In chronicling Miami's queer past from its 1896 founding through 1940, Capo shows the multifaceted ways gender and sexual renegades made the city their own. Drawing from a multilingual archive, Capo unearths the forgotten history of "fairyland," a marketing term crafted by boosters that held multiple meanings for different groups of people. In viewing Miami as a contested colonial space, he turns our attention to migrants and immigrants, tourism, and trade to and from the Caribbean--particularly the Bahamas, Cuba, and Haiti--to expand the geographic and methodological parameters of urban and queer history. Recovering the world of Miami's old saloons, brothels, immigration checkpoints, borders, nightclubs, bars, and cruising sites, Capo makes clear how critical gender and sexual transgression is to understanding the city and the broader region in all its fullness.

"Within the realm of U.S. culture and its construction of its citizenry, geography, and ideology, who are Southerners and who are queers, and what is the South and what is queerness? Queering the South on Screen addresses these questions by examining "the intersections of queerness, regionalism, and identity" depicted in film, television, and other visual media about the South during the twentieth century. From portrayals of slavery to gothic horror films, the contributors show that queer southerners have always expressed desires for distinctiveness in the making and consumption of visual media. Read together, the introduction and twelve chapters deconstruct premeditated labels of identity such as queer and southern. In doing so, they expose the reflexive nature of these labels to construct fantasies based on southerner's self-identification based on what they were not"--

The rise and fall of a Texas Democrat: “A definitive, richly detailed biography [and] an engrossing history that sheds light on our own fractious times.” ―Kirkus Reviews (starred review) A former Golden Gloves boxer and WWII bombardier, Jim Wright entered Congress to fight a different kind of battle, making his mark on virtually every major policy issue of the later twentieth century: energy, education, taxes, transportation, environmental protection, civil rights, criminal justice, and foreign relations among them. He played a significant role in peace initiatives in Central America and in the Camp David Accords, and was the first American politician to speak live on Soviet television. A Democrat representing Texas’s twelfth district (Fort Worth), he served in the US House of Representatives from the Eisenhower administration to the presidency of George H.W. Bush, including twelve years as majority leader and speaker—and his long congressional ascension and sudden fall in a highly partisan ethics scandal spearheaded by Newt Gingrich mirrored the evolution of Congress as an institution. Speaker Jim Wright traces the congressman’s long life and career in a highly readable narrative grounded in extensive interviews with Wright and access to his personal diaries. A skilled connector who bridged the conservative and liberal wings of the Democratic Party while forging alliances with Republicans to pass legislation, Wright ultimately fell victim to a new era of political infighting, as well as to his own hubris and mistakes. J. Brooks Flippen shows how Wright’s career shaped the political culture of Congress, from its internal rules and power structure to its growing partisanship, even as those new dynamics eventually contributed to his political demise. To understand Jim Wright in all his complexity is to understand the story of modern American politics.

In this volume, authors explore the interconnected issues of spirituality and community as they relate to queer issues in the Deep South. The book begins with explorations of queer spiritualities and LGBTQ people in religious settings. Next, authors investigate and document the rise of the religious right political movement in the South. Finally, the authors of this text document community life for LGBTQ people in the Deep South, including efforts to create affirming queer spaces inside otherwise hostile locales. Through the chapters in this text, the peculiarities of spirituality and community life for LGBTQ people in the Deep South are explored. However, this volume also points to trends, themes, and dynamics at work in the Deep South that are also implicated in the queer experience in other parts of the U.S. The authors of this text push readers to think deeply about these issues, probe the limits of queer potentialities in Southern religious and community contexts, and clearly point to the interweaving of Christian religiousness, communities of practice, the operation of white supremacist heteropatriarchy in oppression of LGBTQ people, and the possibilities of affirming spiritual and community praxis.

"As LGBTQ people gain more legal rights, it's important to think of more complex ways of being included in society. From the Mardi Gras celebrations in the Deep South to the Mummers Parade in Philadelphia to the Portland Rose Festival, communities across the United States gather together to celebrate, participate in parades, encourage tourism, cultivate local traditions, and craft a sense of place. I am interested in large public festivals like Fiesta San Antonio that are intended to include everyone in the city, because these festivals are supposed to be a time when the city comes together as one to appreciate the diverse contributions of people within the city. During festivals, whose culture gets included and valued, which events are allowed, and how different communities are represented, become socially significant and fraught questions. Festival participation can be a rich site for LGBTQ participants to be valued for their cultural differences and find a sense of belonging in the city"--

Former high school classmates reckon with the death of a friend in this stunning debut novel. Along the Intracoastal waterways of North Florida, Daniel and Aubrey navigated adolescence with the electric intensity that radiates from young people defined by otherness: Aubrey, a self-identified "Southern cracker" and Daniel, the mixed-race son of Jamaican immigrants. When the news of Aubrey’s death reaches Daniel in New York, years after they’d lost contact, he is left to grapple with the legacy of his precious and imperfect love for her. At ease now in his own queerness, he is nonetheless drawn back to the muggy haze of his Palm Coast upbringing, tinged by racism and poverty, to find out what happened to Aubrey. Along the way, he reconsiders his and his family’s history, both in Jamaica and in this place he once called home. Buoyed by his teenage track-team buddies—Twig, a long-distance runner; Desmond, a sprinter; Egypt, Des’s girlfriend; and Jess, a chef—Daniel begins a frantic search for meaning in Aubrey’s death, recklessly confronting the drunken country boy he believes may have killed her. Sensitive to the complexities of class, race, and sexuality both in the American South and in Jamaica, All the Water I’ve Seen Is Running is a novel of uncommon tenderness, grief, and joy. All the while, it evokes the beauty and threat of the place Daniel calls home—where the river meets the ocean.

Gay bars have been closing by the hundreds. The story goes that increasing mainstream acceptance of LGBTQ+ people, plus dating apps like Grindr and Tinder, have rendered these spaces obsolete. Beyond that, rampant gentrification in big cities has pushed gay bars out of the neighborhoods they helped make hip. Who Needs Gay Bars? considers these narratives, accepting that the answer for some might be: maybe nobody. And yet... Jarred by the closing of his favorite local watering hole in Cleveland, Ohio, Greggor Mattson embarks on a journey across the country to paint a much more complex picture of the cultural significance of these spaces, inside "big four" gay cities, but also beyond them. No longer the only places for their patrons to socialize openly, Mattson finds in them instead a continuously evolving symbol; a physical place for feeling and challenging the beating pulse of sexual progress. From the historical archives of Seattle's Garden of Allah, to the outpost bars in Texas, Missouri or Florida that serve as community hubs for queer youth—these are places of celebration, where the next drag superstar from Alaska or Oklahoma may be discovered. They are also fraught grounds for confronting the racial and gender politics within and without the LGBTQ+ community. The question that frames this story is not asking whether these spaces are needed, but for whom, earnestly exploring the diversity of folks and purposes they serve today. Loosely informed by the Damron Guide, the so-called "Green Book" of gay travel, Mattson logged 10,000 miles on the road to all corners of the United States. His destinations are sometimes thriving, sometimes struggling, but all offering intimate views of the wide range of gay experience in America: POC, white, trans, cis; past, present, and future.