From: [email-masked] (Rex Wockner)
Date: Sat, 21 May 1994 11:15:32 -0700 (PDT)

{ ARTICLE PULLED FROM FREE-LANCE JOURNALIST REX WOCKNER'S 
ARCHIVES. ARTICLE WRITTEN OCT. 1, 1989, IN COPENHAGEN, DENMARK. 
ARTICLE HEADED FOR QRD ARCHIVES. } 

Article #3 of 3

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THE OTHER SIDE OF DENMARK

News Commentary by Rex Wockner

        After the emotional high of covering the world's first 11
legal gay marriages in Copenhagen, I spent a few days in the
small Danish town of Odder, visiting Peter Jorgensen and his wife
Stine. Peter was an exchange student at my high school in 1974.
        Odder is about 20 kilometers from Aarhus, Denmark's second
largest city, on the northern Jutland peninsula, a rural and
conservative part of the country.
        It was a Thursday night and I headed off in search of the
only gay bar--The PAN Club. Like the Copenhagen PAN Club, the
Aarhus club is operated by the national activist group
Landsforeningen for Bosser og Lesbiske [LBL].
        I got a really nice t-shirt out of my brief visit to the
Aarhus club, but unfortunately Thursday night was "ladies night,"
as the bartender put it.
        "So, where do I meet gay men?" I asked.
        "The only place, really, is to cruise the harbor, down by
Pier 2," he said.
        Since journalists are required to be curious, I headed off
to do my duty. What I found, to my surprise, was cruising
nirvana. 
        Pier 2--huge, badly lit, and very warehouse motif--was
covered by large stacks of lumber with just enough space between
the piles for walkways and private niches. I wandered around the
maze in the cool night air for an hour or so, chatting with the
cruisers and doing whatever it is one does in such a situation.
        And then suddenly someone ran by shouting that we all had to
get out fast because two cars of fag-bashers had arrived on the
scene.
        Now, when you're from Chicago, it's a little difficult to
feel unsafe at any time in Denmark, but I figured the risk might
be real and wandered back to the pier entrance.
        The fag-bashers, it turned out, were five teenaged boys and
one teenaged girl. After they had scared away all the men, they
retreated to a picnic table at a fast-food stand across the
street from the pier entrance.
        By then, the only homosexual on the scene was me. The
journalist in me had to see the other side of the world's first
gay-marriage country.
        I sat in my car about 200 yards from the food stand and
watched the five boys put on a show.
        They blew me kisses. They kissed each other on the lips.
They yelled "fag" at me in Danish. They grabbed each other from
behind and simulated anal intercourse.
        My news nose led me closer. I parked at the food stand,
walked in, and ordered a hot chocolate.
        As I waited for the powder to dissolve in the tepid water,
one boy laid another down on a picnic table, threw his legs up in
the air, and began aggressive simulated screwing. 
        I walked outside and sat at the next table. The fake sex,
real kissing, winking and (I'm guessing here) verbal fag-bashing
continued.
        After ten minutes, I spoke. (Danes study English from fifth
grade on.)
        "In America...," I began in slow English. They stared
at me.
        "In America," I said, "when somebody seems to hate
homosexuals as much as you do, we believe that they are really
homosexuals themselves--homosexuals who haven't yet accepted
their homosexuality and are directing their bad feelings about
themselves toward others."
        Silence.
        And then all six of them quickly left.
        Within seconds, their car sped around the front of the fast-
food stand.
        "Faggot!" somebody yelled out the car window, in perfect
English.
        I wandered back over to the pier, but it was deserted.

==END==