Susan Maria Moreno - Wommontown

 

I was born and raised in Davenport, Iowa, the corn belt of the United States. It was a great childhood growing up in Iowa, but I always felt a little out of place. I always just was kind of different, and my mother would say, "Suzy, you really beat to a different drum." [audience chuckles] I know I did, but I just kept looking and searching and being myself. So, I had an opportunity to go to the University of Iowa. They were recruiting for diversity. And also, I was a shot putter, Title IX, was then. [audience cheers and applause] 

 

And so, that was 1975. And I thought, “This is great. I'll find my people. I'm looking for some lesbians, [audience chuckles] some lesbians of color.” I thought, “Yeah.” So, I go up there and I'm looking, I'm searching, [audience laughter] and I'm like, “Well, I'm still in Iowa.” [audience laughter] But I see a few women in that and I'm just happy. I always wanted to be an art teacher. So, I went and pursued my education degree at the University of Iowa and had an opportunity after I was there. I was on the seven-year plan. I was still searching, looking for lesbians, [audience laughter] and they had an opportunity to move to Kansas City and do my student teaching. I thought, “I'm going there. I'm searching for those lesbians. [audience laughter] Maybe a bigger city, more people, they'll be like me.” 

 

I came down here. One suitcase. I'd never been to Kansas City before, but I knew it was the Midwest, so I was happy. Started teaching, doing my thing, meeting other teachers. Still no lesbians. [audience laughter] Well, we did have a magazine that was called Lesbian Connections that came out of Michigan. Woo hoo, it's still out there. [audience chuckles] It was like the African-American Green Book where you could look and see and find other lesbians or safe places to go while you travel. So, I'm looking through and it came in the mail with a brown paper bag, because it was considered pornography or I don't know what. You didn't want any-- It just was not cool to be a lesbian during the 70s. [audience chuckles] So, I was looking through there and I went around Kansas City, and I found The Phoenix Bookstore, 39th in Maine. [audience cheers and applause] 

 

Yeah, you remember, you know. We used to have the only way of communication back then, because remember, we didn't have Internet, we didn't have cell phones. “Oh my gosh, how could I find some more lesbians?” [audience chuckles] The bookstore, the women's bookstore. So, I went up there and I had my little note card and my tack and there was a bulletin board up there. I started writing, “Single Mexican woman, long walks in the park, dog friendly, looking for friendship.” [audience chuckles] Nobody answered, nobody called me. [audience laughter] So, I thought, “Oh well, I'm just going to keep becoming a teacher, pursuing. They're out there somewhere.”

 

I got invited to a baby shower of a good friend. I went and I go, and there across the room, oh my gosh, I saw the most gorgeous African-American woman with these honey brown eyes. Just beautiful, just reeling me in like I had a magnet going towards her. So, of course, I have to go over there. Introduce myself, and she says, "Hi, I'm Beverly Powell, I'm a teacher, too." And I was like, “Oh, hi.” We talked and talked. It was like we were in our own world. We started dating. It was about a year or so later, and we were sharing what were your dreams and things. Bev had always wanted to own her own house in Kansas City. And so, I thought, “That sounds great.” I hadn't lived with a woman before, so I thought, “Oh, this is going to be wonderful.” 

 

So, we started going to banking institutions. The first thing that they would say back in the early 80s and mid-80s was, "What does your husband do for a living? Can you bring your father into cosine?" “What?” Because we were professional teachers, and at that time, it wasn't cool to put down there that you were a lesbian, and we were looking for houses together. It just wasn't cool, or accepted. So, we were disappointed, because it was just blatant discrimination in the financial institutions. And so, Bev didn't give up the dream. But we just went looking. 

 

And one day, Bev comes home. She was a teacher also, and says, "Sue, Sue, I found out there's going to be an informational meeting." I said, “What? What kind of information?” “There is this pack of lesbians, and they're trying to form a neighborhood, an intentional neighborhood called Womontown.” [audience chuckles] I thought, “What?” [audience cheers and applause] 

 

Yeah. Yeah. And, I thought, “What?” I started thinking, “I have my woman. I don't need to be around a bunch of pack of lesbians. [audience laughter] Uh-uh. No, No, I did that before.” I said, “Okay.” Bev was like, "Sue, I don't care what you say. I'm getting a house." And I thought, if Beverly Powell moved to the end of the world, I was going with her. That's how much I love that woman. [audience applause]

 

So, we go and start looking at these houses. The houses were all boarded up or abandoned, but people were still living there. But it was not the best neighborhood in Kansas City. Bev was all excited, "Sue, we can do it. We're going to do it." And I was like. “Hmm?” But I said, “Well, let’s see.” She said, "Well, let's try to put some information up there at the bookstore." So, we put it up there, and there was a couple that founded it, Andrea Nedelsky and Mary Ann Hopper. They had gone to music festivals and started advertising through Lesbian Connection and inviting women to come to this intentional neighborhood. We just wanted women to come over and help us get the house fixed.

 

So, Bev was an incredible cook. She started barbecuing, I started getting the brushes and everything together. Our house, let me give you a picture of it. We opened the door-- This is the house Bev picked now. We open the door, and it has avocado green shag carpet [audience chuckles] wallpaper. 7 to 10 years of wallpaper. Paneling. You remember how popular that was back then. I was like, “Oh my God.” They had lowered the ceilings with some kind of foam that, I was like, “Ugh.” But underneath all of that was beautiful oak beveled, stained glass window. Just the bones of those houses were just beautiful. I told Bev, I said, “Bev, I don't think anybody's going to come over and help us.” And so, we're out there. She's like “No, Sue. Don’t worry.”

 

She’s getting the barbecue grill ready, I'm going out and buying my favorite beer. Pabst Blue Ribbon in Milwaukee. Best light, [audience chuckles] getting a little natural light in there, because we like that. [audience laughter] So, then, we're all ready. Next thing I know, women start coming. They start showing up. Some even had tool belts on. I was like, “Hey.” [audience laughter] It was great. Women came from all over out of curiosity, maybe they knew Bev was a good cook, they just wanted to hear what was going on in Womontown. So, it was great. 

 

We got the house going. We'd go around, and that neighborhood started to thrive. Women started moving from Hawaii, New York, California, all over the United States. It was fantastic. We met all kinds of women. We'd go around and help each other with the things that we could do. We even had a roofer come from Topeka, come and help the women. Whatever was needed, you put it out there and women showed up. It was a great community. Well, as we were living there, we wanted to become more of the neighborhood, so we thought, “Let's start going to the neighborhood association meetings.” We went, and of course, there was mostly older people that had inherited those houses, or else people that were really not happy the way that the neighborhood was changing. There was 12 of us that showed up.

 

In those days, it was so cool to have a rat tail coming down. [audience laughter] Don't forget to get your mullet trimmed up. It was the best style. I loved it. [audience chuckles] Of course, many of us had flannel shirts on our boots. We were ready to join. We went as a group. When we went in that meeting, silence. There was a hush. We got side eyed, we got the stink eye, people started whispering. I felt like I was this tall. It reminded me. It triggered feelings that I felt of loneliness and isolation back in Iowa. I was like, “Oh no.” Well, they obviously did not want us there. They thought that were going to be recruiting their daughters, their children. I don't know what was-- They were just afraid of change. We were pretty good-looking group of dykes. [audience laughter] 

 

So, what happened is that we joined the meetings. There was a lot of tension and resistance. I went home, I said, “Oh, Bev, they do not want us here. They do not want us in this neighborhood. They are not happy we're here.” And Bev was like, "Sue, just quit going. You know, we've got our house. You don't need to go anymore. We have what we need." I looked at Bev, with love in my eyes, I said, “You know what, Bev? I am fighting for this. We're staying. We are not going to say no. We are not going to be rejected from this area. We belong here.” [audience applause] 

 

Yeah. So, we kept going to meetings, showing up. We started joining committees. We started beautifying our own homes. Renters start moving into the place. We started, of course, having potlucks. We love those. People just were getting along women. At one time, we had 82 women that lived in that neighborhood in Longfellow Dutch Hills. 

 

[cheers and applause] 

 

Yes. Yes. And it was great. People were finally starting to see a little difference, but there still was a lot of mistrust. One day, one of the women said, “When women move in, we're going to give them a banner. And you put it on your front door. It had three tulips signifying Dutch Hills Longfellow neighborhood, and it was also our way to show that lesbians live there and that it was a safe space.” So, when women moved in, they got their banner, they displayed it, and it was just a wonderful feeling. It was the best community. 

 

They decided that we're going to have a tulip festival, because that was part of our flower for Dutch Hills. Somebody had donated a bunch of tulips. Everybody came that day. Bev was barbecuing, of course. We had garage sales in May. We had all kinds of things going on. It was in the fall, because we had to plant them. Everybody took home about a dozen or two dozen tulips that were donated to the neighborhood. Next thing you know, people were having fun and laughing. Other neighbors were coming by. We had it set up in a big empty lot. Of course, the craftswomen set up other crafts. People were tarot card reading, all kinds of different things. And lots of camaraderie. 

 

Later on, that spring, you started seeing the tulips coming up. The neighborhood is beautiful. It was then, and it still is. It just showed me in my mind and in my life, when you plant a seed, a bulb, and invite people through love and beauty, it will grow. Womontown is still there. In fact, our mayor will be putting a plaque up in Longfellow this June for pride and commemorating all the hard work and the contribution that this strong pack of lesbians gave to Longfellow Dutch Hills. Thank you so much for listening to my story. [laughs]