Logging town welcomes transgender group

RAEANN HEWITT threw on a dress and drove 400 miles last weekend to Washington's Olympic Peninsula with an ear-to-ear smile, starting a journey toward the person she feels she was meant to be. Now, learning to negotiate the art of the high heel with several others outside a Red Lion Hotel, she knows her escape will soon be over.

That's because she is really a he, an internal conflict that ultimately tore Hewitt's marriage apart. Five years ago, this truck driver from small-town Idaho gave in to the urges that had chased him for years and started wearing women's clothes.For Hewitt to wear her black blouse, smoky brown skirt and sun-yellow wig back home would be asking for trouble. But in the logging town of Port Angeles, where the Esprit transgender conference this week celebrated its 19th year at the Red Lion, Hewitt's cross-dressing is not only tolerated, it's welcomed.

The conference "has changed my life," she says. "A 10-ton weight was lifted off my shoulders. I've never felt this good."

For the 165 people at this year's event, life outside the box is what brings them together. Targeted largely at men ranging from those who feel more themselves in women's clothes to those who want a full surgical transition, Esprit offers reassurance, bonding and guidance in the form of ladies' nights out, wardrobe help and workshops on, for example, how to better present as the women they feel themselves to be.

For Hewitt (not his real name), the event is a respite from a closeted existence demanding to be lived. Like most, he won't reveal his given name; many men haven't come out to their families, friends, co-workers or clients, or they fear the stigma could jeopardize their careers.

"I know when I get back, my real life is just gonna suck," Hewitt says.

THE WEEKLONG ESPRIT conference, which wraps up Sunday, is organized by Emerald City — Seattle's transgender social group since 1982 — along with Portland's Northwest Gender Association and Cornbury of Vancouver, B.C.

One of a handful of similar events around the country, it offers the nights out and seminars, as well as "S.O." activities for those with wives and significant others comfortable enough to tag along. There's also a "Big Sister/Little Sister" program linking those secure in their other skin with those just emerging from their cocoons; "newbies" are given butterfly pins at their weekending graduation.

Port Angeles might seem an odd choice for cross-dressers to congregate, but Seattle's Debra Darling and fellow event founders had a method in mind. The site, with its quaintly shabby country comfort, is an easy midpoint for the three Northwest transgender clubs and a safe, out-of-the-way locale for those afraid to "go public" at home.

Aside from the rare incident — an egging one year, or teens shouting names from passing cars — the town has warmed to Esprit. Local businesses offer free lattes, cupcakes or 20 percent discounts, and attendees mix it up with locals at transgender band Nasty Habits' raucous annual gig at Castaways, one of the local club's most popular events.

"They're a hoot," says Brenda Brat of the Red Lion's Crabhouse restaurant. "We have a blast with them, and they bring a lot of money to this town."

Retired businesswoman Lou Lawrence, who hosts an annual dinner for event committee members, estimates the economic infusion at about $300,000.

Says a clerk at Gottschalk's, a popular shopping destination for attendees: "They buy a lot here. Their credit cards are smokin'."

"And once you start talking to them," a Crabhouse server says, "you find out that — Jiminy Christmas, they're airline pilots, bankers, construction workers."

This year's event drew people from throughout the Northwest and as far away as Toronto, upstate New York and New Zealand. Families or co-workers might think they're away on business or a fishing trip. But some newbies never get past the registration area, much less venture outside.

"This is a huge mountain for me to climb," says first-timer Joan, a gruff, 62-year-old businessman from Victoria, B.C., who paid for wig repair with a $100 bill. "I've been dressing up since I was preadolescent, but I never walked out the door until yesterday."

Seminars address everything from feminine speech and movement to medical procedures and "Blue Monday," which preps attendees for the letdown that often follows their return to reality. Local salons offer on-site manicures, pedicures and makeovers; in a makeshift boutique, attendees could buy dresses, shoes, purses and panty hose.

GENDER IDENTITY can be a tricky concept. How can a man want to dress like a woman — yet be attracted to women? For a large number, that's the case. And if you're a family member of a man who, at age 45, has "come out," is that person still your dad? Or your husband? And what does it say about you?

Gender, those in the community say, is who you are. Sexual orientation is who you're attracted to. "To put it bluntly," says Leah, one of Emerald City's estimated 115 members, "gender is between the ears, and sexual orientation is between the legs."

As Michelle Murray, a retired truck driver with twin daughters and hormone-enhanced cleavage, puts it: "I didn't want to just date the cheerleader. I wanted to be the cheerleader."

Most are older, having embraced their urges in their 40s and 50s when they tired of societal limits and became financially and sexually secure enough to pursue a pricey second life. But many say they felt their urges as far back as grade school.

Growing up in the '50s and '60s, many fought to suppress their urges, isolated and depressed, coming of age when less was known about such identity and there was no Internet to link them together.

"For years, we thought we were the only ones in the whole wide world," says Seattle's Kelly Hansen (not his real name), a professional photographer.

They raided mom's closet, making sure everything was put back just so. Some got caught, scolded, sent to psychiatrists, and buried themselves even deeper, overcompensating later by pursuing typically macho sports or careers.

"I had a whole stash of my sister's clothes," says Suzanne Adams, a former law-enforcement officer whose outfits accentuate her shapely legs and whose grandkids call her "Grandma." "I had my own Brownie uniform. ... It wasn't until my 40s that I thought: I'd better face this. I don't have to be ashamed."

"Outside of sex, we feel like women," longtime member Karen Williams, an elegantly styled electrical engineer married to a woman for 26 years, told a Seattle University classroom earlier this year as part of Emerald City's periodic education and outreach sessions. "... So we change the outside to fit how we feel inside."

For some, it's as simple as a black dress with matching black purse; others, like Murray, are drawn to a path that may lead to sex-reassignment surgery. Some say they'd transition if they weren't married or so late in life; others aren't drawn to it at all.

They craft new identities, from signature wardrobes and business cards to credit cards issued in their chosen "femme" name. Few fit the stereotype of the flamboyant drag queen, choosing less flashy wear that simply helps them feel feminine.

Pamper yourself with makeup and jewelry, and "it's the greatest feeling," says Barbara Anne Love, a 64-year-old flight instructor. "Then, it's like Cinderella — the pumpkin comes back. And I have seven hours before my beard comes back."

But for a week, they can be the person they want to be.

In the conference boutique, engineer Stephanie Avion of Snohomish County flounced around in a wedding gown — jeweled and beaded, with a bit of a train — when suddenly, the Air Force vet burst into tears.

Later, she says: "It was as if something that had been tucked away was finally freed — and embraced. And it was OK."

Marc Ramirez: 206-464-8102 or mramirez@seattletimes.com