CHARLES LESLIE

ARTIST

Charles Leslie (left) and Fritz Lohman at their 131 Prince Street gallery by unknown, unknown. Collection of Leslie-Lohman of Gay and Lesbian Art.

I have been trying for over a year to get through to Charles Leslie. I would be referred to one person, who would refer me to someone else who would take weeks to get back to me, and then I would have to schedule an interview a month in advance. I would not miss it for the world. Charles Leslie is in his 90s. He is a main mover and heavy hitter who, in 1969, along with his life partner J. Frederic “Fritz” Lohman, staged their first art exhibit dedicated to advancing LGBTQ+ artists. Their gallery has subsequently morphed into the Leslie-Lohman Museum of Art, which has 22,000 objects, including paintings, drawings, photography, prints, and sculpture.

— August Bernadicou, Executive Director of The LGBTQ History Project

“I was born in Deadwood, South Dakota. It was a very small town, and it was a beautiful place to grow up because it was in the middle of the Black Hills, which are the most beautiful part of the Dakotas.

I can't even remember how I always knew I was different. I was born knowing I was different because I never had even the slightest iota of interest in girls. I was constantly looking at the boys, and I became a fairly successful seducer. I was seducing school chums. I was very good at making myself available to even adult men when they had any interest in boys.

I just acted on my native impulses. I was always trying to get next to the boy, and I was fairly successful at it. By the time I was in high school, I had no doubt about what I wanted. I just naturally grew into my gay life. It never bothered me. It never troubled me. It made me happy. My mom had no idea what it was about, but she loved me. She was a lovable person.

I was offered a scholarship to the University of South Dakota for Theater Arts. But I thought, ‘Wait, come on, Theater Arts in South Dakota, give me a break.’ I just wanted to get far away from South Dakota, so I saved enough money to buy a one-way ticket to Los Angeles. I was 17. I just graduated from high school, and when I got to Los Angeles and Pasadena, I discovered that there was a world of slightly more mature men who were happy to give a young wastrel from the sticks some advice and some help and so on. I graciously accepted all the help they offered. I have had no regrets about it. When I understood what gay was, it became my total identity. I loved being gay, and I loved having finally realized that that's what I was; it thrilled me. I loved it.

At theater school, I met people who were more progressive and others who were less so. If you're going to a theater school, let's face it, you're bound to meet lots of gay people. I mean, theater isn't exactly a jock's idea of education.

Then I got drafted into the army, and I was sent to Germany because we were still exercising an occupation of Germany, years after the war. I got sent to the best post in Europe —Heidelberg, Germany—Allied headquarters command, which was the cushiest post you could imagine. I had so much sex in the army, I can't even… it makes my head spin when I think about it.

I could have said I was homosexual, and they would have just dismissed me. It never occurred to me that that was a good reason. So, I just let them draft me, and off I went to Europe—put on my little soldier suit, and marched around. I never got sucked off so much in my life. When I was in the army, it went on and on.

After the army, I lived in Paris for two years. There was a huge gay scene. I lived in Amsterdam. I lived in Venice, Italy. The Europeans had a much easier attitude towards gay issues than the Americans did. The Americans were so fucking uptight about everything. You know, our Puritan ancestors laid that crap on us.

When I came back, I met the love of my life, Fritz Logan, and we were together for 50 years. Before I met Fritz, my experiences had been more like just hookups rather than deep love affairs—Fritz, I fell truly in love with, and that love was reciprocated, and so he became the love of my life. When we started our gallery, anything gay was scary, essentially because you could be ruined, you could be put in jail in those days. If you were caught in a homosexual situation, you could be arrested and thrown in jail. I never let that get in my way very much.

I just remember that in that period, if there was the tiniest little gay bar, it would suddenly be attacked by the police and everyone would be arrested and hauled off in the paddy wagon. That one night at Stonewall, the reaction was so furious, and people in the neighborhood came out, whether they were gay or not—they joined us because they hated the idea of the fucking cops trying to close places down here. Finally, there was that one wonderful policeman who made a statement to the papers. He said something like, ‘They weren't hurting anyone.’ He was wonderful. I can't remember the quote exactly, but it was a great point.

Fritz had a brilliant career as an interior designer. He had a very classy clientele, and I can mention some names, but you're too young to know who they were. Anyway, when we got together, we decided we should formalize all the gay artwork and make it public, because it was always hidden. Then, anything that smacked of anything gay was hidden in a back room or in a closet, or in a basement. We said these things should be seen. So we opened our first little gallery and started showing works that were definitely gay. One of our first shows was called Man As A Sex Object—the artist in that show was a woman named Marion Pinto, and she got a notice in The New York Times. Her work was so good.

Then, the Village in general had always been separated from New York. Everyone thought it was kind of—they thought of it as kind of a naughty place. I don't know what they were thinking, but when they talked about Soho, they talked about it as like, you know, that place Downtown, where all those queers are and all those odd people. But once we were on the map, the attitude began to change.

Charles Leslie (left) and Fritz Lohman by unknown, circa 1970. Collection of Leslie-Lohman of Gay and Lesbian Art.

Federal agents came in one night, during Marion's show. They came in, and they identified themselves. So I said, ‘Well, good evening, officers. Are you here to see the show?’ They said, ‘No, but we had a complaint.’ I said, ‘Really? Who complained?’ They said, ‘We can't say.’ I knew who it was. It was an old lady named Mrs. Christadina, who was an old bitch, and I knew exactly which piece she complained about. I finally said, ‘Would you like to buy it?’ They got so flustered they just left.

It never occurred to me to be a public figure. But when you're put in a position where you have to defend something that is so under attack, you automatically become a public figure. It just comes—it's just automatic.”