Zoe Leonard - photographer - quote

I knew Zoe Leonard as a young woman in the late 70s. She was young then. I was in my twenties. The East Village was a slum. We had fun together. She became a photographer.

Well known.

Political as would anyone who lost so many friends to AIDS.

Zoe became an ardent lesbian.

I remained somewhat straight.

She was not scared of saying her mind.

“I want a dyke for president. I want a person with AIDS for president and I want a fag for vice president and I want someone with no health insurance and I want someone who grew up in a place where the earth is so saturated with toxic waste that they didn’t have a choice about getting leukemia. I want a president that had an abortion at sixteen and I want a candidate who isn’t the lesser of two evils and I want a president who lost their last lover to AIDS, who still sees that in their eyes every time they lay down to rest, who held their lover in their arms and knew they were dying. I want a president with no air-conditioning, a president who has stood in line at the clinic, at the DMV, at the welfare office, and has been unemployed and laid off and sexually harassed and gaybashed and deported. I want someone who has spent the night in the tombs and had a cross burned on their lawn and survived rape. I want someone who has been in love and been hurt, who respects sex, who has made mistakes and learned from them. I want a Black woman for president. I want someone with bad teeth and an attitude, someone who has eaten that nasty hospital food, someone who crossdresses and has done drugs and been in therapy. I want someone who has committed civil disobedience. And I want to know why this isn’t possible. I want to know why we started learning somewhere down the line that a president is always a clown. Always a john and never a hooker. Always a boss and never a worker. Always a liar, always a thief, and never caught.” ― Zoe Leonard

I've only ever been arrested for civil disobedience, although te police came up with other charges.

Zoe spent two years in Alaska during the 90s.

I love these shots and more.

SNOW

CARDBOARD NOIR by Charlotta Janssen/Shannon Greer

Art: Charlotta Janssen Photography: Shannon Greer Text: Peter Nolan Smith Styling: Liz Teich Grooming: Sabrina Rowe Digital Tech: Robert Bredvad Model: Brock Gloor

Shannon's On The Case

Shannon woke with a hangover. It had lasted two days.

The phone rang.

Bill, his partner said, "I need you."

The next sound was a death rattle.

Bill was now his ex-partner.

Shannon got out of bed with his hangover intact. He picked up his gat. Someone was going to pay for Bill.

Outside in the night air he stopped at the newsstand. "Cigarettes."

Ali said, "You stopped smoking three years ago."

Shannon lit up and said, "It was three years too soon."

The taxi to Bill's place cost $10. He told the driver to wait. The cops had yet to show on the scene. It was the change of shifts.

Bill was lying on the floor. A gun in his left hand. Blood stained the floor.

Someone was in the other room.

It was a girl.

Not a woman.

She looked at Shannon and asked, "Is he dead?"

Shannon looked over his shoulder. "Yes." He believed in telling the truth only because he was too lazy to tell a lie.

Shannon was no cut-out detective. He was the real thing. There wasn't many of them left around.

Sucker Punch

In the winter of 1967 I stood outside the parking lot of BC High with a Southie girl. The G Clefs were performing soul hits on stage. Debbie and I had danced to their version of MUSTANG SALLY. We were talking about school. Her eyes widened in surprise and I turned to see why. A fist of knuckles stuck my face. It was her boyfriend. He was from Charlestown. They didn't fight fair. I backed away from his next punch, but then my assailant was knocked out my another sucker punch. My older brother Frunk had saved me from a more serious beating. Frunk and I left Debbie to take care of her boyfriend and he said, "Guess we should call it a night." "That's a good idea." Charlestown boys traveled in packs. We went outside and got in my father's Olds 88. He was behind the wheel. "What's wrong?" "Nothing, just tired." My older brother was rubbing his hand. My father drove us back to the South Shore. It had been a good night, because I had learn everything is fair in love and fights. Debbie's boyfriend knew that too. ps foto is from the late 80s. Shannon Greer suckerpunching Albert. Something must have been said about that weird leather jacket.