1170
(2 votes, average 5.00 out of 5)
Written by Jamakaya
Jul 14, 2010
One of the lessons of the movie classic “It’s a Wonderful Life” is how one person’s life touches so many others. This has never been truer than for Carol Stevens, a Milwaukeean who passed away in June at age 86.
I first met Carol in 1976-1977 when I became immersed in the crazy, exhilarating politics of Milwaukee’s lesbian feminist community. It was most likely at one of Carol’s renowned lesbian potlucks.
Feminism then was at high tide. Sisterhood was powerful. There were women to be saved, wrongs to be righted, battles to be won. Is it any wonder that with all that passion flaring so many of us fell into each others arms?
It was the disco era, so there were places to dance like Sugar Shack and The Factory. But brawling butches at the Shack and sweaty, shirtless boys at the Factory were too much for “advanced” politicos like myself, who were increasingly drawn to the siren call of separatism.
Lesbian separatism produced extraordinary poetry, music and literature. It built institutions like music festivals, women’s land cooperatives and social and political networks. But it degenerated into paranoia and an ever-shrinking circle of zealots, some of whom condemned women for having babies and attacked transgender individuals for being who they are.
Through all the thrills and divisiveness of those decades, the most enduring vehicle for affirming solidarity and sustaining the women’s community was the lesbian potluck.
Carol Stevens was the doyenne of the lesbian potluck in Milwaukee. She and her partner Jai probably hosted thousands of women in their East Side flats over the years. They provided a safe, congenial space for women of all ages and political persuasions to meet, mingle and munch.
Most definitions of potluck refer to “whatever food happens to be available for a meal,” suggesting a rather humble affair with a thrown-together quality. But Carol loved cooking and sometimes spent days preparing appetizers, main courses, side dishes and unbelievably rich pies and other desserts. Guests added to the feast with their own favorite recipes or, if they were cooking-impaired like me, brought treats from local bakeries, delis or confectioners.
The feasting went on for hours. Conversation was animated and unceasing. There was gossip, there was flirting, there were hook-ups and break-ups. There was laughter and story-telling and singing. Jane, Mary or Deb would play the piano, and those not too shy to join in would sing Christmas carols, Irish folk songs, patriotic anthems or show tunes. Yes, lesbians have the musical comedy gene too!
Sometimes Carol’s and Jai’s place was so crowded I’m sure the fire marshal would have ordered it shut down as a potential hazard. In the colder months, coats, gloves, sweaters and scarves were piled shoulder high on the bed. The crowding could be nuts, but what better way to meet new friends or be thrown together with a potential new girlfriend? What better pretext could there be to ask someone to go out into the night for a walk and some fresh air? And what better way was there to find common ground with a political foe or an ex than “Mmm-mming” over a strawberry schaum torte or banana cream pie?
It was no surprise that Carol’s memorial service featured a big potluck. Many women talked about how an invite to Carol and Jai’s parties connected them to other women and a sense of community. Women found friends, relationships, volunteer opportunities, career guidance and sometimes a shoulder to cry on through the hospitality of these lesbian godmothers.
What a wonderful life Carol Stevens had and what a legacy she leaves behind! Unlike Clarence, who had to work for his in the afterlife, Carol earned her wings while still among us. Fly away and rest well, sister.
