Valerie Solanas: The Defiant Life of the Woman Who Wrote SCUM (9 page)

Jeremiah reveled in Valerie’s intelligence and ability to provoke: “She had a very high IQ. She was a thinker. You could tell that she was always thinking. She would always ask questions.” Certain of Valerie’s deep connection with her manifesto, Jeremiah understood the sacrifices she had made for it, the price she had paid to write it, the self-made revolutionary she had created in
SCUM Manifesto
: “She felt she paid for her manifesto with her own life.
She put her own life into it.
It was a very passionate thing, the
SCUM Manifesto.
”
8

SCUM Recruitment

With men and Daddy’s girls as her primary targets, Valerie maintained a take-no-prisoners tone throughout her manifesto. She wanted revolution and for a time held SCUM meetings in New York to circulate her ideas and to recruit members. The meetings attracted a wide variety of so-called degenerates: masochistic men, angry women (including women who had experienced sexual violence), queer youth, and butch lesbians, as well as the purely curious. Some women who attended SCUM meetings reacted with dismay and confusion to the presence of men. Despite her sweeping critiques of men and her claim that they should be wiped off the face of the earth, Valerie had created (and unwittingly recruited) a category of men who would be welcomed into the ranks of SCUM: the men’s auxiliary. In a flier advertising a SCUM forum she hosted in May 1967, she wrote, “SCUM has a men’s auxiliary to accommodate those men who wish to perform a public service and hasten their inevitable demise.
”
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In the manifesto, she describes the men’s auxiliary more fully and colorfully:

Men in the Men’s Auxiliary are those men who are working diligently to eliminate themselves, men who . . . are playing ball with SCUM. . . . Men who kill men; biological scientists who are working on constructive programs, as opposed to biological warfare; journalists, writers, editors, publishers, and producers who disseminate and promote ideas that will lead to the achievement of SCUM’s goals: faggots who, by their shimmering, flaming example, encourage other men to de-man themselves and thereby make themselves relatively inoffensive.
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The seriousness of SCUM and Valerie’s intentions for SCUM recruitment have spurred ongoing debates about the meaning of
SCUM Manifesto
. Was Valerie actually recruiting others to join SCUM, or did these meetings represent a rather elaborate and satirical performance of the self? Did she have an organization or did she merely want to disseminate ideas? Perhaps Valerie simply wanted access to like-minded people, people who had a SCUM state of mind. Maybe she sought an audience. She posted fliers and circulated recruitment posters for SCUM throughout 1967 and did lead some SCUM meetings, where she talked about her ideas in
SCUM Manifesto
. Radical feminist Anne Koedt remembered attending one of these meetings and noted that it was a lively occasion.
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Living at the Chelsea Hotel until October 1967, Valerie used the location as a hub for her SCUM plans, running auditions for her play, posting advertisements for SCUM, and distributing mimeographed copies of fliers. She placed an ad in the
Village Voice
, announcing the formation of an organization called SCUM, which the
Voice
viewed as a humorous concoction.
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Her ad listed forty-seven ways that men had made the world “a garbage pail,” among them war, fatherhood, poisoning of air, suburbs, friendship, and love. She posted another ad in the April 21, 1967, issue, and a week later, again in the
Voice
, a notice appeared: “Valerie Solanas. SCUM. Fri., April 28, 8:30 PM/Farband House, 525 4th Ave (at 12th). Men $2.50. women $1.00.
”
13

In response to one of the ads placed in the
Voice
, a woman named Wilda Holt showed up. Wilda had a pen name, Wilda Chase; she was, according to the radical feminist Ti-Grace Atkinson, a sweet woman with a horrendous story. Wilda had grown up in the Tennessee-Kentucky area. Her grandfather had raped her. A case was brought that had gone to trial and Wilda lost, leaving her humiliated and without further recourse. She was attracted to SCUM and to Valerie’s philosophies, and she and Valerie quickly became friends. Wilda, who lived most of her life at a woman’s hotel, developed a somewhat sadomasochistic dynamic with Valerie: she would shriek at Valerie and hurl obscenities at her, which would stop Valerie from harassing her and put her on better behavior. “You have to talk to her like that,” Wilda claimed. Petite and “sort of Southern Belle looking,” Wilda had a reputation for outbursts at early meetings of the National Organization for Women (NOW). If she heard anything discriminatory or upsetting about a man, she would shout, “Kill him! Kill him!” at the top of her lungs.

At one point, Valerie made sexual advances toward Wilda but Wilda turned her down flat. According to Ti-Grace, “Wilda was filled with rage about sexuality. Valerie had a habit of exposing herself. . . . She would undo her jeans and fiddle with her clitoris. . . . Apparently, she did this at a SCUM meeting and was making some sort of sexual overtures at Wilda, who would have none of it.
”
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Wilda shut Valerie down fast and got her to stop such bizarre advances. This cemented their years-long friendship, and the two of them had many similarities: both grew up with the experience of incest and other sexual abuse, both felt enormous rage toward men, and both jockeyed for power and dominance as an expression of love and affection.

In a document some have likened to
SCUM Manifesto
for its scathing tone, Wilda wrote a piece called “The Twig Benders,” a story in which schoolmistresses sexually abuse boy pupils in order to socialize them into manhood. In this story, the abusive female “Director” pokes boys’ penises with needles, behaves nonchalantly when one of the schoolboys kills himself, and uses the boys’ miserable compliance to “catalyze her sexual energy into a blast of an orgasm that sent her into orbit.” Boys clamor to look pretty, wear makeup, and please their mistresses, causing them plummeting self-esteem and self-loathing.
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At the conclusion of the story, Wilda employs a Valerie-esque strategy, reversing the gender roles to expose the absurdity of men’s violence against women: “It is men’s destiny to suffer, and they must accept it.” In an iteration of the tragic end met by many of Valerie’s friends and sympathizers, in the mid-1970s, Wilda took a .45 Dobson gun and blew her own head off.
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Indeed, my search for Valerie sympathizers and friends has led to many dead ends, as several committed suicide, others chose to cut their ties to her, and still others have fallen into obscurity.
SCUM Manifesto
was witty, intelligent, and violent, sure, but it was also lonely. Isolation followed Valerie, however much she recruited and connected, attacked and provoked. She ate many meals alone at Nedick’s at Eighth Street and Sixth Avenue (called the “Orange Room”), a restaurant in a one-story building where a lot of queer people hung out in those days. “There were all these phone booths on one side that you could sit in and there would be junkies dining out in the phone booths,” Jeremiah recalled. “It was quite a reputable place. People wouldn’t bring their children there but the food was cheap and good.
”
17
Occasionally, Valerie staged readings at Nedick’s.

Valerie found some companionship with women through sexual encounters. Writer and activist Magie Dominic disclosed that she had had a sexual relationship with Valerie while Valerie lived at the Chelsea Hotel. “I can’t remember how I met Valerie. One day she was suddenly there. Valerie and I slept together on two occasions. At her room in the Chelsea Hotel. Valerie was the only woman I slept with in the ’60s. We never called it forbidden love. We just called it sleeping together. And we did. In each other’s arms like two old tired women.” Valerie told her, affectionately, “Someone should write a play about you . . . and call it Cleopatra.” Magie, who had faced incest, rape, and violence, reflected, “I think if people had tried to harm me while I was with Valerie, she would have killed them with her bare hands.” Still, Magie, too, stopped taking her calls. When the Chelsea yet again threatened to evict Valerie, Valerie asked Magie if she could stay with her and Magie responded with “a difficult no.
”
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Valerie, the loner, often traveled temporarily with other misfits and outcasts, those tossed out of the mainstream for one reason or another. On one occasion, she went to Nedick’s with Candy Darling, one of New York’s most famous drag queens, who would eventually become a Warhol superstar. Both Valerie and Candy regularly frequented Washington Square Park (a hangout for beatniks, folksingers, and lefties since the 1950s), talking, eating, and keeping each other company. Valerie liked and admired Candy, who felt the same way about Valerie. “Candy could never be called a drag queen,” Valerie’s friend Jeremiah said, “That’s why she inspired so many artists. There was never anything common about her. She had an androgynous quality.
”
19
Around this time, Valerie met a bisexual prostitute named “English” Ingrid Pat. Valerie took a particular liking to Ingrid Pat, who let Valerie stay at her house and with whom she formed a close friendship.
20
These early encounters allowed Valerie to have some companionship at the margin, though for the most part she walked alone.

Valerie famously rejected, alienated, and repeatedly threatened to kill nearly every friend she had. Whoever found her cause to be sympathetic was often eventually met with hostility; whoever took her seriously in the end found her overbearing, frightening, or excessive; whoever tried to help her usually regretted having done so. Rarely did she earn and keep people’s affection, as was apparent for those still alive to reminisce about her. She often resisted ingratiating herself, preferring instead to offend and incite.

Still, those who gravitated toward her acknowledged her contradictions and felt a certain fondness toward Valerie. As one person who knew her remarked, “She was always known to be odd even within a pretty odd scene. But she was friendly, very warm. All her hate was in her writing. In person, she was gentle, not aggressive at all.
”
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Auditions for
Up Your Ass

While living at the Chelsea, Valerie began recruiting actors for her play,
Up Your Ass
, circulating mimeographed literature in the lobby (about which resident Arthur Miller complained to the hotel manager).
22
She posted an eye-catching advertisement that read:

S.C.U.M. (Society for Cutting Up Men)

Is looking for garbage mouth dykes (butch or fem) with some acting ability (experience not necessary) to appear in garbage-mouth, dykey anti-male play (a comedy) called UP YOUR ASS or UP FROM THE SLIME or FROM THE CRADLE TO THE BOAT by
Valerie Solanas
—to be presented in four weeks at the Director’s Theatre School. Excerpts of the play are going to be published in EVO (East Village Other) and Down Here Magazine. Author Valerie Solanas is to be interviewed in a few weeks on Randy Wicker’s interview show (WBAI-FM).

Also looking for talented garbage-mouth, pretty, effeminate looking males and regular straight-looking males. If interested in trying out for a role, call CH3-3700 X606 [Chelsea Hotel, room 606]. If not interested, don’t throw this away—give it to a friend or a friend of a friend who might be interested.
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Jeremiah Newton, seventeen years old and gay, saw the advertisement and responded. “I guess you could say I fell into a category of being effeminate/straight looking and took the ad off the wall and called the Chelsea asking for room 606.” It was the spring of 1967 and he had gone to St. Mark’s Bookshop on St. Mark’s Place. On the wall of a kiosk in the middle of the store, he saw Valerie’s sign seeking actors for
Up Your Ass.
Jeremiah’s call to Valerie would herald a longterm friendship. He described the call: “‘Hello,’ a voice shouted on the other end. ‘I’m having trouble with my phone—can you hear me?’ I could, but just barely. ‘Meet me in the lobby of the Chelsea tonight at 9PM and I’ll read you.’ ‘What’s your name?’ ‘Know where the Chelsea is?’ I certainly did. I gave my description—tall with long brown hair and asked what she looked like. ‘A butch dyke.’ Then the phone went dead.
”
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Valerie arrived ten minutes late for their appointment, “marching out of [the Chelsea’s] wheezing elevator, mumbling some unheard words to the nearby bell clerk.” Staring at Jeremiah, she called him over and, liking his “type,” asked for the key to the basement. “Just don’t touch the steam pipes,” she warned. Jeremiah remembered the meeting vividly: “She was a slight woman, dressed in a sweatshirt and I think she might have had a cap on. She said she didn’t want me up in her room because it would ruin her reputation. It was very flattering to me because I was probably seventeen years old. She wasn’t very frightening. She sort of had a squint. She wasn’t physically beautiful or anything or that glamorous. She seemed to be sure of what she was doing and I admired her. Here was a person totally sure of who she was and her craft as a writer.
”
25

Valerie unlocked the basement door, and told Jeremiah that she had no intention of killing him. Once in the basement amid the rumbling sounds from the Chelsea’s ancient plumbing, she handed him a dog-eared script and asked him to read several lines. He read for her from a spiral metal staircase. “She wouldn’t let me take it with me and she gave it to me one page at a time. She was very proprietary at that. I don’t think she had many copies. In those days there weren’t Xerox machines. You had to crank up the mimeograph stuff.
”
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