My Brother My Sister: Story of a Transformation Hardcover (29 page)

down onto a surface so hard it could have twisted an ankle or even the

spine (it was the only one about which many participants complained

afterward). She always worries that if something happens to her she’ll be in the apartment alone, with no one to help. And suppose she broke or

sprained something on the eve of my visit. She had to have been the oldest person in it; most were in their twenties and thirties. But the temptation, the challenge, was too much, and the success clearly exhilarating.

That’s Ellen, I thought.

She’d hoped to pass unnoticed by her friends at Pine Mountain, but

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those who lined the course supplying water and snacks quickly relayed

reports, so that by the time I got there, the whole mountaintop— or the fairly large year- round group who knew Ellen— was abuzz with the news.

“We didn’t think she’d do anything to muss up her hair!” laughs

Liz, the young, recently married administrator at the Nature Founda-

tion and my first “interview.” She’s also the organizer and leader of

well- reviewed trips to such places as Banff and hiking trips in Canada.

Like everyone at Pine Mountain, she has only known Ellen as Ellen.

“She is so much a lady,” Liz continues, “prissy, hilarious, Southern;

I can’t even imagine her as a man. The coolest person ever, way more

of a chick than I will ever be.

“I also think she’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. I watch

her interact with people and they adore her. If she ever chose to leave Pine Mountain, it would be one of the biggest losses, especially to the Nature Foundation. She gives her heart and soul for us. If we have an

event we always wait with baited breath, hoping Ellen will come.

“This place is both conservative and open. She disarmed everyone

with her honesty, the way she approached the Mountain Women. She

never tried to present herself as anything other than what she was.”

“But there must have been ticklish situations . . . ?”

“Yes, we were very protective of her, especially the first year or two; we came to her defense in situations with people she didn’t know. Then

we realized we didn’t have to. She’s very funny, she’s fine on her own.”

The surprise over Tough Mudder was not restricted to the hair is-

sue. There was also her age. A lot of the men were intimidated, think-

ing if
she
can do it, I can and should. Everyone teased her, demanding ocular proof, something more than the headband provided those who

finished the race. So pictures were e- mailed to everyone, showing an

Ellen triumphant but suitably bedraggled.

I’m nonplussed by one reaction to Ellen that seems universal among

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her coterie at Pine Mountain. They see her as a quintessential Rich-

mond lady. Refined. Genteel. Outgoing, charming. Always made- up

and well dressed (that may be, but certainly not in the conservative

style of Richmond, which inclines toward the “classic”— moderately ex-

pensive suits and dresses that are of durable fabric and “never go out of style”). This strikes me as funny in ways I can’t begin to count. Mainly, what would they say in West End Richmond if they knew that somewhere not so far away, they were being represented by a transsexual!

Maybe all those miles clocked at cotillion and debutante parties have

paid off, giving Ellen the social confidence and “social skills” required.

After all, dancing requires an attunement to the other person.

For the people of Pine Mountain, who’ve been all over the world,

but probably not to Richmond, the “Southern Lady” is an archetype, a

social myth, which Ellen embodies. If she’s not completely convincing

as a female (the voice; the size), her portrayal of the “Richmond lady”

is Oscar- worthy.

But this view, expressed by everyone I talk to, also brings home to

me the disjunction between the way others see us and the way we see

ourselves. I talk to Ellen about it. Neither of us thinks of herself that way. Richmond lady certainly never occurs to me as a definition of

myself. For I assume that although I still bear remnants of my up-

bringing, I came to New York to avoid being (just) a Richmond lady,

or someone who is primarily thought of as such. It’s not a rejection of Richmond, just a marginalization of it in my psyche, a desire to escape the constraints of decorousness. Yet, I’m sure it’s high on the list of traits by which others perceive me.

With Ellen it’s slightly different. Her ladyhood is hard- won, requires constant vigilance and application. The women of Pine Mountain

laugh and tease her about always being “perfect,” saying they dress

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like slobs while she always has on lipstick, earrings, and is well- dressed (well, carefully dressed, I would say). Many of them are of an age, and at a place, where they can thankfully shrug off such concerns, care less and do less about clothes and makeup. But Ellen brings them up short.

But she reminds me, “I don’t just do it because I’m so ‘feminine,’ but

because it’s dangerous not to. They sometimes forget that I always

have to worry about slurs or worse, about an attack in a public place. It could be a matter of life and death, therefore I have to do everything I can to be a convincing woman. I am getting more relaxed about it

now, at least on the mountaintop. Four years ago I would have put on

lipstick and fixed my hair to carry the garbage out and sweep the snow

off my car. Today I slipped on some hiking pants to cover my pajama

legs, put a heavy coat on over my pajama top, pulled the hood over my

head, and out I went. No lipstick, no nothing. Admittedly, I was pretty covered up. But I guess that means I’ve ‘arrived’!”

Sue, the lovely, warm and adventurous woman and free spirit I’d

met in New York, says she first knew about Ellen through Mountain

Women. Her reaction, when told of Ellen’s request to join the group,

was simple curiosity.

“I immediately went on the Web to find out about transgender. I’d

seen something in Japan, a
Cage aux Folles
– type of revue, with all males dressed as women. I noticed them all looking at me— I was the

only blond in a sea of Asians. Afterward, someone asked me if I’d like

to come backstage and meet them, and I said yes. I got to talking to

one— they were mostly males planning on having surgery to become

females— and asked why they’d focused on me. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘we

were so afraid of offending you!’

“Ellen was so open,” says Sue, “so gracious, and she had such a

sense of humor, that I found myself quite charmed by her, and more

and more open to her condition. As did all the Mountain Women.

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“We all travelled together, were comfortable with her, and she won

everybody over. She was clearly raised in a family that valued good

manners. Another thing is that she never put her issues on us. Many

do. They’re hurt and angry and confused. And their anger spills over.

This happened in the women’s movement, with the confusion about

roles in the seventies and eighties. I didn’t sense that in Ellen. She’s older, more mature, and had led successful life as a man, which perhaps made a difference. There was no chip on her shoulder but instead

that Richmond gentility, plus her own personality, open and patient.

She won the community over. I never heard anything against her ei-

ther up on the mountain or from the women in the valley. And she’s

one of most courageous people I’ve ever seen.

“Also, I think this may be why it’s been so hard on her wife— to

have to leave someone so loving. No one walks out on a good provider,

either. It’s much easier to divorce if the husband is bad.”

We talk about how we occasionally get mixed up, and Sue agrees.

She says Ellen always opens the door for her. “She does the guy thing—

driving a sports car, lifting heavy bags. Her gallantry combined with

her empathy. It’s like having a girlfriend and a boyfriend.” Sue pauses.

“If I’d known her as a guy I could have fallen in love with her.”

She agrees as to Ellen’s impeccable presentation. “She takes such

joy in being female, so much more than those of us born that way. The

rest of us are retired, run around looking like death warmed over,

without makeup. But she gets up and gets dressed, always beautifully,

loves jewelry and makeup. It’s why we were all so shocked at Ellen do-

ing the Tough Mudder. For instance, her makeup. The rest of us went

through all that in high school, trying different looks, learning to use makeup. She never looks like a slob. She’ll ask me to look at an outfit she’s just bought, and it’s fun having a woman friend who enjoys all

that.”

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I ask her about Ellen’s effect, or impact, on others, since it’s one

thing I’m blind to.

“Here, she’s in a safe place, but she’s very tall, and she almost ex-

pects people to figure it out, ‘read’ her. I think she’s especially afraid of men in groups. That’s a lot of stress. And then there’s ladies’ rooms,

where she won’t talk at all.

“When she first came to me and said she wanted to work at the

Nature Foundation, I told her, if the foundation leadership is comfort-

able with you, then do it. She worried about taking people on hikes,

especially children.

“But why this anxiety about children!” Sue explodes. “When Chaz

was on
Dancing with the Stars
, some women’s group complained, ‘How do we explain it to children?’ Why explain it to children! He’s Chaz

and he’s dancing with the stars.”

I could only applaud her wisdom. We agree that when it comes to

sexual issues, children filter them out or register them only when

they’re ready.

Ellen has such a lot of friends; I ask her about the social life Chevey had— or didn’t have— with Eleanor.

“We didn’t have one but that’s just the way our marriage was. We

saw a lot of her relatives, but Eleanor’s friends, her whole social life, were centered on the church and Sunday school, and mostly they were

all women. I’d promised when we married to go to church occasion-

ally, and I did, and to special occasions, but the women and their hus-

bands never came to our place. She never said anything about wanting

people over.”

“But you were never exactly Mr. Party Animal when you were

married to Beth.”

“True, though she was more of a hermit than I was. I always liked

a moderate amount of social life, but up here it’s nonstop. Of course

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we’re like pioneers in a one- horse town and the next settlement is

miles away. But it’s true: whether because of hormones, or being re-

tired, or getting older and more relaxed, I enjoy being with people; I

even enjoy writing thank- you notes!”

We’re sitting in her apartment, and now her transsexualism is no

longer the central fact of our lives— it either comes up or it doesn’t.

We’re both trying to open a tightly sealed bag of chips by pulling out

the two sides (so it can vacuum- close more easily) and having a hard

time of it. “We need a man,” she says. And she tells me about the inci-

dent at the supermarket, emblematic of many others. She arrived at

the check- out line and the cashier, eyeing her three heavy bags, says

“Don’t you need someone to help you with that?” Ellen thought about

the hassle involved in the “female” option— waiting for someone to

come and fill a cart, take it out to the car, load up the trunk, etc., as opposed to her carrying it all herself and potentially giving herself

away with the manly show of strength.

“I’ll just take it,” she says.

One of the great ironies, the paradox of it all, is that she’s a control freak in the position of actually playing God with nature, or at least

the anatomy, while being utterly helpless to anticipate or control those all- important reactions of others.

“Now I know that the people who knew me before—

understandably— have a much harder time with this. It’s like they are

witnessing someone close to them who died and then came back in a

different body. It’s almost like some 1950s science fiction movie:
Ma-bel, don’t you recognize me? Just because I look like a gigantic ant? It’s
Fred! Don’t you recognize me?
And I feel this way, but it’s not really funny in real life. It’s tragic. As I said before, the sorrow you inflict on others you can never get away from.

“I haven’t really had any bad reactions here. I’m sure they’re talk-

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ing behind my back, although I sense it’s probably nowhere near as

bad as I once thought or some people once thought. I think that prob-