Author Cate Culpepper was friends with
just about everyone in her life. Our friendship began in 2006, when
we met in Olympia, Washington for a signing. In 2007 my
sweetheart-to-be and I visited Cate’s hotel room at the Golden
Crown Literary Conference in Atlanta, Georgia. Cate was wearing
over-sized, faux-furred brown bear slippers, a vision I will never
forget -- and never allowed her to forget.
I have a plethora of words to describe
this loving, lovable, talented, empathetic, funny, irreverent,
raunchy, generous lesbian storyteller and counselor. Those who read
her Facebook page or her books will see evidence of all of this. She
earned a living working with street kids, got a masters’ degree so
she could earn bottom dollar wages doing it. The good karma she
accrued in this life will surely propel her to a long, happy and
fruitful next-time-around.
Cate’s friend Cheryl Craig said this:
"She was one of the most courageous people I have met. Onward
she goes to bring her wisdom heart and joy to many."
Friend and author Gill McKnight said,
of the day Cate died, “It was a long, hard Saturday and I had to do
some little thing to mark her bravery and honesty. I went down to the
little church by the harbour, the one the fishermen use, and lit a
candle for her. It's Greek Orthodox and Cate would have loved the
cool, dark interior with its gilt iconography and the smell of stale
incense. I always thought one day I could lure her over here for a
look-see at my island. To my mind she's just arrived. I'm talking to
her all the time.”
Rather than repeat the many tributes to
Cate, like Victoria Brownworth’s at Lambda
Literary, let me share a bit of Cate and her extraordinary
imagination to demonstrate what the world has lost.--
Cate the film critic days before she
died: “I ate a pizza with green peppers and black olives and then a
big dish of Ben & Jerrys and I watched Hunger Games. It was
good! Jennifer Laurence makes a lot of faces in it.”
Cate the political pundit/landscape
designer on the water feature that came with our new home: “Top o'
the evening. Please ask Elaine to take a picture of the now-clean
ugly cement carp vomiting water. This feature alone should endear
your home in your heart -- how many of us get ugly vomiting cement
carps? Name it Sarah Palin.”
Cate the literary critic upon news
that I plan to memorialize her and her dog in my next book: “Don't
forget that Cullie Culpepper and Kirby move in with you at the
beginning of Rainbow Gap. I want that very top room so I can pelt
you with water balloons.”
Cate the gourmet, a day after we
dropped off cheeseburgers and fries on our way out of Seattle: “I'm
still sitting here with my no more fries, and I've been holding the
empty styrofoam container for 23 hours now. Where are you!?”
Cate on her beloved mother who was a
Rolfing practitioner: “I wish my mom could have worked on you. I
never had the full ten sessions, but Mom happily dug her ELBOW or her
FIST into any sore muscles I had to hone her skills. I always
assumed she was good, but I was amazed at the small crowd at her
memorial service -- folks I'd never met, Mom's clients. They said
wonderful things.”
Cate the generous, knowing she didn’t
have long to live, emptied her life savings, took her sister and
their childhood friend on a cruise to Alaska to cushion the blow of
her bad news.
Always deflecting her troubles, this
was Cate the hard up regarding a reading at which we were expected to
bring our books to sell: “Honey, I'm saving up now for the gas and
hotel -- can't afford to pre-purchase my books, but I'll bring
whatever spares I have. Can I pretend I wrote your books? I do all
the time anyway.”
Cate the Amazon Dyke: “Tell me when,
just one time, I have been thought about with clean thoughts? You
know I inspire ravening sexual fantasies. Well, in butches I inspire
terrible feelings of inadequacy, by comparison.”
Cate the animal lover when I asked how
she’d like people to honor her in lieu of flowers: “Ooh, yeah, I
like the ‘in loo of flowers option!’ I'd love it if folks wanted
to donate to any agency or program dedicated to protecting and
healing abused animals. Like DAWGS! But okay, cats too.”
Cate, on our surgeries: “I'm afraid I
heard from my ex-uterus. She has not been able to locate your left
knee. She's mumbling something about some renegade kneecap down in
hell that keeps smashing into the testicles of Republicans. You're
going to have to hop around on one leg up there, but your first
ex-knee is living the life we all have dreamed of.”
In response to a photo we sent of the
Cate Memorial on our coffee table: “This is so cool!! I need to put
you two in charge of the many theme parks and cathedrals sure to
arise in my honor in coming years. You make me look good! SMOOCH.”
On the nomination of her eighth and
final book, Windigo Thrall, for a Lambda Literary Award. “I think
if Windigo wins a Lammy it will be a sign of end-times, globally, or
the miraculous beginning of a new age.” She then instructed Bold
Strokes Books author and editor Shelley Thrasher, Bold Strokes Books
Consulting Publicist Connie Ward, my sweetheart and myself to accept
another award, from The Golden Crown Literary Society, if her book
should win a Goldie. Cate provided us with the following script.
Evening, ladies and also Lee --
I love that I'm planning an acceptance
speech for a book that hasn't even been shortlisted yet. But Nurse
Connie asked if I could expand last year's speech, the one I foisted
on poor Lainie, to include all four of you. Should my epic
masterpiece win, and if you're in a hammy mood that night in New
Orleans, this might be fun.
Lainie, Lee, Shelley, and Connie walk
to podium.
Lee and Shelley, as authors, are
obviously very unhappy about doing this. They slouch along like
sulking children, and Lainie and Connie have to urge them along with
subtle pushes.
Once assembled on stage, Lainie pulls a
folded piece of paper from her pocket (or cleavage) and begins to
read.
LAINIE: Cate Culpepper is, hands-down,
the greatest lesbian writer who ever lived.
Lainie hands paper to Lee, who just
glares at her.
LAINIE: Well, it's not my fault!
(Shakes paper at Lee.) I didn't write this dreck!
LEE takes the paper and reads,
begrudgingly. I am a writer today only because of Cate Culpepper’s
genius. Cate Culpepper taught me everything I know about
storytelling. Were it not for Cate Culpepper . . . oh for fuck’s
sake.
Lee slaps the paper against Shelley’s
chest in disgust. At Connie’s insistence, Shelley sighs deeply and
reads.
SHELLEY: What’s more, Cate Culpepper
is easily the sexiest woman who ever lived. I’ve never known such
a sexually desirable woman as Cate Culpepper. (Connie folds her
arms, jealous.) Those hypnotic eyes, those ruby lips, those two
taut, perky little breasts –
CONNIE snatches paper away from Shelley
and reads, (sincerely): Cate thanks Cindy Cresap and Bold Strokes
Books, and she sends her love to her GCLS family.
All exit.
Shelley responded: “Absolutely nuts,
and I love it all. I'll do my hammy best to pay homage to the most
revered writer in the history of lesbian literature.”
My sweetheart responded: I will rock my
cleavage in homage to Cate and in rhythm to the amazon drums that
Cate will endeavor to thrum over the auditorium to the bewilderment
of those thousands attending.
Connie and I maintained a butch
stoicism.
Cate, in response to our willingness to
do this: “Woo-hoo!!! Thank you so much for everything, Lainie,
especially the image of you whipping that piece of paper out of your
cleavage! You know I'll be watching you guys and giggling, were I
not too butch to giggle. I love you. Hee hee hee hee! My work here
is done.” C.
[Editor's Note: Lee Lynch is the author
of over 13 books. Her latest, An
American Queer, is available for pre-order.
You can reach Lynch at LeeLynch@ontopmag.com]
Copyright 2014 Lee Lynch.