Still Where the
Boys Are

After reporting, editing, and reading dozens of stories about homophobia stinking up Fort Lauderdale this year, I received quite an interesting e-mail in October. The first line of the missive read: "Gay and Lesbian Press Trip: Fort Lauderdale, Timed to Coincide with the 8th International Conference on Gay & Lesbian Tourism." The e-mail had no mention of the city's hateful mayor, or that incident in May when some guy named Jethro Monestime took over the public-address system at the Fort Lauderdale airport to quote Leviticus (he went with the old standby, "If a man lies with a man as one lies with a woman, they should be put to death"). According to the press release, Fort Lauderdale is all about gondolas, guesthouses, and gay, gay, gay! I wouldn't have missed this for the world.

On the flight to Florida I brushed up on my Lauderdale news: In July, Jim Naugle, the city's Democratic mayor, made a push for private bathrooms on the city's beaches, telling the local Sun-Sentinel newspaper, "We're trying to provide a family environment where people can take their children who need to use the bathroom without having to worry about a couple of men in there engaged in a sex act." Naugle also dropped this bon mot: "I don't use the word 'gay.' I use the word 'homosexual.' Most of them aren't gay. They're unhappy." Judging from my friends, he may have a point, but I wouldn't recommend a straight person saying something like that.

Naugle then announced a press conference where it was assumed he would apologize. He did say he was sorry -- for not taking gay public sex more seriously.

Reaction was swift: A San Francisco LGBT paper urged a boycott of Fort Lauderdale, and a planned regional convention was put on hold by one group. Broward County commissioners responded by booting Naugle from the county's Tourist Development Council, and a group of fair-minded folks initiated the "Flush Naugle" campaign, which blasted the mayor's homophobic remarks and mailed toilet paper to city hall.

This whole brouhaha was going down at the Greater Fort Lauderdale Convention and Visitors Bureau was prepping for November's queer tourism conference -- which, wouldn't you know, had long ago picked FoLa as its 2007 host city. Oy.

Luckily for the visitors bureau, Naugle has zipped his lip since the summer. But was the press trip, which had been set up for the three days preceding the conference, just damage control? "Not particularly," says Robert Einhorn, a publicist hired by the Fort Lauderdale visitors bureau. "We're just trying to show the gay journalists that Fort Lauderdale is still a great place to visit and an accepting vacation spot." And after landing in Miami, I was immediately whisked to the Fort Lauderdale fabulousness Robert was talking about. But had gays turned their backs on FoLa to burn their disposable income in friendlier climes?

Traffic from the airport derailed my participation in a water taxi ride and a tour of the new W Hotel, but I was heartened by my enormous suite at the Elysium, a lovely -- and quiet -- gay guesthouse. In hushed tones I was alerted to the clothing-optional policy.

Robert picked me up and brought me to Sidelines, a gay sports bar in the town of Wilton Manors, Fort Lauderdale's adopted gayborhood. Even between happy hour and Friday night prime time, the place was packed. I was too busy with meet and greets to ask barflies if they were tourists or locals, but most patrons seemed extremely comfortable, so I'd guess the latter.

After a stiff scotch, my fellow queer journos and I walked over to Galanga Thai Kitchen and Sushi Bar -- which was as packed as Sidelines. We were sequestered in a private room, so I couldn't quiz any patrons where they were from. The sushi was good, though.

Following dinner, we all grabbed a drink at Georgie's Alibi, a bar down the street. It was unsophisticated gay fun -- Beyonce videos and tight T-shirts. One of the journalists starting talking up a local fella who announced, "I just moved to Fort Lauderdale, but I haven't met anyone, which is surprising, since I'm so good-looking." I alerted the tourism board -- that guy could do more damage than Naugle.

The next day we were brought to Butterfly World. The butterflies come right up and rest on your shoulder -- you feel like Snow White! While I highly doubt many gay tourists are going to drive to Butterfly World (about 10 miles outside of Fort Lauderdale), I found it a nice distraction from the beach and biceps.

We had lunch at the Grand Luxe Cafe, a chain restaurant that serves portions so massive the CEO should be given the "hungry kids in Africa" speech. Of course, this was near a mall, so no sign of tourists.

Next up were tours of Fort Lauderdale beach on a Segway, and even though I crashed mine and got a hideous bruise on my inner thigh, I had a great time. The weather was simply perfect -- about 80 and mildly humid -- and the canals of Fort Lauderdale were really lovely. The beach wasn't dead, but hardly hopping.

We retired to our respective guesthouses to freshen up. Like moths to a flame, the foreign tourists emerged from their rooms for the Elysium's cocktail hour. For the first time since my arrival, the hotel felt occupied. The visitors were oblivious to Fort Lauderdale's recent image problem, but during dinner at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino (where Anna Nicole Smith scored her last methadone hit) I discovered that many of the gay American journalists weren't aware of the scandal either. Maybe FoLa had nothing to worry about.

After dinner we were delivered to more bars/nightclubs. The visitors bureau knew what it was doing -- press people love to get pickled, but gay journalists, well, they'll drink witch hazel if it was served in a martini glass. At a swinging hot spot I spoke to two gents from New York, and a homophobic mayor and a hateful hick were the furthest thing from their minds; Fort Lauderdale's beaches and boys held way too much sway. Even through my boozy haze, it was clear that Fort Lauderdale's $1 billion in gay tourism dollars were not in jeopardy. Ignorance is bliss, especially when you're on vacation.