San Francisco Sentinel
July 26, 1990
Street Talk
Miss Sushi Takes a Walk
By Doris Fish
“A day without a lesbian is a day without sunshine,” was a piece of graffito I used to see each day scratched into the sidewalk near the Castro. Well, I had a lovely sunny weekend.
Saturday my gorgeous boyfriend, Marcel (“Don’t call me Maurice”), gave a swell farewell soirée for a darling girl from his office at Golden Gate University. (I know I’m not supposed to call them ‘girls’, but she’s so young and well, ‘girly’.) The woman in question, the Guest of Honor, is going to a far-flung corner of Japan to teach English. Her name is Sue Ann Morgan, which I only mention because I know it will embarrass her. Also present were a lot of Marcel’s AIDSwalk sponsors from the University, who were very generous, contributing nearly $500.
But back to me. I put on my best bad-girl Kabuki face and did a really funny version of the Pearl Cream commercial starring a still-gorgeous-after-all-these-years Nancy Kwan. “Have you ever wondered why it is so hard to tell how old Oriental women are?” One of the best opening lines on television. Anyway, I thought I was very amusing, but perhaps it may have been less amusing to witness.
What was really popular was a clever little show cooked up by Sue’s friends and co-workers. I was surprised how many show tunes contain the words “Sue Ann Morgan”. My favorite was “Oh! Sue Morgan” (although I am musically illiterate it did seem similar to “Oklahoma”) sung by John Gilbert, a very funny and talented performer who unfortunately had to leave early as he was doing some high-brow Pinter shit at the Phoenix Theatre. Accompanying Mr. Gilbert were those East Bay chanteuses, Deb and Anne, plus guest cloggers, Marcel and the notorious Jean-Marie Helmick, who steadfastly claims to have won the “Miss America” title four years running and who later regaled us all with tales of her ‘Bad Dates’ with sone of the rottenest men on the planet. For some reason, she attracts the scum of the dating pool, and she’s such a lovely lass.
“Who is that funny old man?” Jean-Marie asked. “I think he fancies me.” Ever on the lookout for rotten scum, Miss Helmick had unerringly zeroed in on the most potentially humiliating date-material within miles.
“He’s 65, slightly drunk, and definitely a bit of an old perv. But he’s recently had by-pass surgery so he’s probably impotent.” I reassured her, “Oh, and he’s my father.”
‘Ace’, as we call him, was by this stage forcing a reluctant but brilliant Bill Goddard back to the keyboard for some singalong, which sent party guests scurrying from the room.
Well, the date never eventuated, though Jean-Marie gave it her best shot by giving Ace a ride home, but I’d made him promise to get to bed early so he could accompany us on the AIDSwalk.
Thank you all a lot for helping me raise $175, the most I’ve ever collected for the walk. And I must say it was a lovely bunch of walkers, many of whom are my readers and said nice things, except for one poor fellow who said he had trouble getting sponsors because many people he approached were “sending their checks to Doris.”
I looked less-than-perfect, but it was awfully early. In fact, hardly anybody looked good, but luckily it was a typical San Francisco summer morning, a pearly gray cool day, which is a bit more flattering than harsh sunlight. There were a few glaring exceptions: Ann Block, star of “The Bug” (a wonderful show playing downtown on the 17th floor of the PG&E building and another favorite of mine, Brian Thorstenson. Call 863-4793.) Anyway, Ann managed to look ravishing with her bright red hair and glowing skin and — was it just my imagination? She seemed to be surrounded by adoring women.
Speaking of adorable women, we had our own bevy including my dear friend, Lori, who I’ve often coerced into doing shows, and her new roommate, a gal from Uganda, Nakalema. I kept forgetting her name, so Lori said, “Let’s just call her Judy,” which I thought was a terrific idea, but Nakalema refused to answer to her new moniker, so I was forced to learn her real name. She also taught me a new word, ‘kahay’, which means something like ‘damn awful’. “Nancy Reagan is ‘kahay’,” and I understood immediately.
Rounding out our little troupe was the lovely Gwyn Waters, who lives near the park and abandoned her own bevy of friends to “bask in the glow” of my celebrity. Although I was there as a private citizen, I did feel duty bound to encourage the adoring horde from time to time. I would stand up on a high place and wave, “Bless you for being here, you little people.” It really boosted their morale and made me feel superior, too.
As we were leaving, Lori and Naki managed to wrangle, from a glamorous Whoopi Goldberg-type, an invitation to a party at Angela Davis’ house in the East Bay. Although it was still very overcast, I got the feeling there was going to be a lot of sunshine that evening.
