Something Evil This Way Comes

Monday, February 26, 2007 (SF Chronicle)
SAN FRANCISCO/Friends mourn Fat Bottom Revue creator/Pagan march, service
for performer, activist who ‘didn’t see differences’
Delfin Vigil, Chronicle Staff Writer

Nearly 150 people attended a memorial service and procession Sunday
for Heather MacAllister, the “Reva Lucionary” San Francisco underground
goddess and creator of the Fat Bottom Revue burlesque act.

Many were able to attend the funeral only because MacAllister helped
them avoid theirs. On what would have been MacAllister’s 38th birthday, members of the
gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender community gathered to say goodbye to
the performer and activist who ended her life Feb. 13 in Portland, Ore.,
through assisted suicide after a battle with ovarian cancer.

“Heather literally saved so many of their lives. She helped people
who were suicidal and felt worthless and showed them for the first time that
they could be powerful and sexy, even if they were fat,” said Cholla,
the officiating priestess for Sunday afternoon’s ceremony, which included a
procession to El Rio bar led by a woman playing bagpipes.

Cholla wore a black robe and wielded a ceremonial knife to cut a
symbolic
passage in the air to help send off MacAllister’s spirit. Like many in
the crowd, the priestess went by one name only.

It was a misty afternoon at Precita Park in the Mission District when
the elaborate pagan ceremony began with songs and words of tribute to the
performer’s activist work. An enlarged photo of MacAllister was placed
against a tree.

“We waited for Heather to change the world. We cannot wait any longer.
Go out and change the world,” Cholla said to the grieving crowd, nearly all
of whom described themselves as fat.

“It’s not obese — that’s a diagnosis. It’s not heavy. It’s not
overweight. It’s fat, and Heather helped reclaim the word ‘fat,’ ” said
Deva, a 46-year-old San Francisco woman who helped direct traffic as the
procession slowly made its way along Precita Street to the neighborhood
bar on Mission Street.

MacAllister, a Michigan native, moved to San Francisco in 2005 to
create the Big Burlesque and Fat Bottom Revue, featuring and celebrating large
women. The revue not only received critical acclaim but also had a
profound effect on her audience, according to Julia Caplan, an Oakland
woman who came to pay her respects.
“She was a beautiful, brilliant and bold visionary who was courageous
enough to fight for people who don’t have many allies,” Caplan said.

At El Rio, the mourners signed farewell cards to MacAllister and
shared stories of captivating first impressions. In the patio area, people took
turns bowing their heads at her memorial altar. Holding back tears, Anderson Toone, a 48-year-old drag king, paid his final respects.
“What made Heather such a special activist is that she didn’t see
differences in people,” said Toone. “She saw connections between them.”

E-mail Delfin Vigil at dvigil@sfchronicle.com.
———————————————————————-
Copyright 2007 SF Chronicle

For folks who don’t know this tidbit, I work in a sorta healthcare facility generally helping folks who have active addicts, desperate poverty and/or nasty mental health issues.
I spend a lot of time in doctors’ offices, clinics and labs.

So, imagine my flurry of emotions when, for work, I had to take one of our clients to the Women’s Clinic at the local hospital. The clinic where I went when I had to meet my surgical oncologist for the first time. The next time I met him, we were all in those blue gowns and all of us had stupid bandana type things on our heads. Errr, the rest of it is kind of a blur for me, but you could ask the good doctor about it, he may still remember. Though probably not. I expect he has tossed quite a few scalpels in the sharps container in the last couple of years and my innards may or may not ring any bells for him.

Still, there I am, in his office, but not there to see him.

The receptionist called the name of the client I had brought and she trotted off to see her doctor. And I sat there for about a half hour.
I looked at the enormous number of files they had behind the counter and wondered if one of them was mine.

My surgeon wasn’t a terribly chatty guy, but I am fine with that.
In my flood of emotions, one of the things going through my overworked brain was that I’d like to see him again. Shake his hand and say thanks. Thanks for staying two and an half hours for a surgery that was only supposed to take 45 minutes. Thanks for staying late on a Friday afternoon, when I am sure you had some sweet young thing waiting for you on your sail boat down at the harbour. Thanks for explaining all that bad stuff to Elaine, and for writing it down and drawing little diagrams that I still find floating around the house from time to time.
Thanks for doing however many extra years of training it took to become a surgical gynecological oncologist. Thanks for being one of only 5 in my city. Thanks for apologizing when my incision got infected. I really don’t think it was your fault, I blame the rat-bag government who had just got the cleaning staff’s wages by 15% that very week.Besides, it seems to delight more than a few people that I now have 2 belly-buttons.

I work in a crazy ass job where I get burnt out, don’t get enough support, sometimes people throw things at me, sometimes it’s worse than that.
I do that because I really do believe that what we do with our lives is important and trying to help folks who are having a harder time than you is really what it’s all about.
Thank you for deciding to help other people.
What we do, sure, it’s really different, but it’s really the same.

Thanks, doc.

I just, you know, don’t have a boat.