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Louie Crew
377 S. Harrison Street, 12D
East Orange, NJ 07018

Phone: 973-395-1068 h


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Louie & Ernest Clay-Crew
Married February 2, 1974


Louie Crew's Natter [BLOG]

Louie Crew's Natter [BLOG]

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Re: [LS] Casper, Wyoming, Anti-gay message will stay

> In the late 70's and early 80's we frequently had difficulty bulk mailing
> our Integrity/New York newsletter. At New York's main post office it would
> be held up for inspection to make sure it wasn't pornography, something
> that included even the word 'gay' in those halcyon days.
When I moved to Newark in 1989, one of my students worked in the main post
office and explained to me that it was no accident that some of the
periodicals addressed to me arrived "used" and "abused" -- especially
publications like FAG RAG, GAY SUNSHINE and THE ADVOCATE. Occasionally one
would be marked "faggot mail."

My student told me that his night supervisor encouraged this behavior and
made great sport of mocking the queer at Rutgers.   (Did she think I was the
only one?!)

Without revealing the identity of my informant, I reported his night
supervisor to the local postmaster, with no response.

After waiting weeks, I reported the local postmaster to both U.S. senators,
together with copies of defaced mail, and copies of my earlier complaints to
the night supervisor and the local postmaster.    The senators promised to
investigate.  Later, they reported that they were not able to identify the
culprits.   I spotted fewer markings outside my mail.

Ernest was still working in Hong Kong at the time, and in the fall of 1990
gave me an airline ticket to visit him in Hong Kong.  It required me to use
it within a narrow range of dates, but we had worked those out well in
advance, and he mailed the ticket to arrive in plenty of time, sent by
registered mail.

It did not arrive until after the date I was to fly back to Newark.  I was
unable to make the trip and as best I can remember he lost all or part of
value of the ticket.

I made my way with the delayed ticket to the office of the mail room
supervisor of our huge Post Office.   "Hello, Doctor Crew," she said before
I could introduce myself or explain what I was holding in my hand.   With a
sickening smile and saccharine voice she said, "I believe you already know
the address to use in making any new complaint."

I left quietly, but I vomited when I reached home.   I was licked.

I worked in a cotton mill at home in Alabama during the summer of 1954,
between graduating from high school and heading off to college in the fall.
As a prim sissy boy and a Southern Baptist, I had never been exposed to much
swearing until that summer,   I loved the inventiveness of my co-workers. I
especially remember one who said in informal competition to see whether he
could out-do another wordsmith, "When I die and go to hell, I want to be the
plumber so that when you call for ice water, I can send you steam!"

I also relish the Quaker who not allowed to swear shook a fist at someone
whose buggy lurched in front of her own:  "I hope that when thou returnest
to thy kennel thy mother biteth thee!"

Louie/Lutibelle of the Alabama Belles