When William Peter Blatty's novel came to my attention, in 1971, I was all of sixteen, and taking a phase elective English course in high school called Popular Modern Fiction. We had to read
books according to one particular category, so I chose "The Supernatural." My teacher recommended the
book to me. I knew exactly where I could get it.
My mother's friend, Jean Smith, who lived on the corner of Ninth Ave. and Abbott Street in Highland Park--across the street and sideways to the Katzes--was a tremendous reader. She had more books than anyone I knew, and belonged to every book club of the time out there. Many evenings, I would be riding home, at dusk, on my bicycle, and, going down Ninth, pass Aunt Jean's (as I called her) house, seeing her through the window with the green awning, sitting indoors on her sofa, lamp on, reading. This was sort of the vision I had of my life, in adulthood, after work. Well, I asked her to loan me the book, and she said she would, when she was done. Then she read it.
A few days later, she phoned my mother, saying she did not want to loan me the
book because of its graphic nature, and its depiction of the Black Mass. This only served to titillate me (not that I was leaning toward any Black Masses; I mean I was watching "The Song Of Bernadette" by this time!), and my recollection is I latched on to a library reserve copy, which I don't understand, considering that there must have been hundreds of holds on it, and how would I get it past those two scolds, Shirley Berkowitz and Eunice Marowitz???? But, somehow, I did.
I hid the book upstairs in my room; my parents did respect my privacy, maybe because I was clearly not a substance abuser. I was enthralled by it; so much so, I would sneak off for installments. This was during the pre-Christmas season, and, as we were in the process of decorating our annual by now famous Christmas tree, if I had to run upstairs to get extension cords, wrapping paper, ornaments, etc., I used that time to sneak in more reading time for "The Exorcist." Of course, my parents wanted to know what I was doing; what took me so long, and I said I had to use the bathroom, having drank a lot of fluids. They bought it. When I finished the book, I returned it, and at one point, unable to keep the secret any longer, cackled to my mother that I had read it. She was appalled, but what could she do? The "damage," if there was any, had been done, and I had something to write on for my class.
I knew from reading it "The Exorcist" would be a hot film property, and a showcase for any of the actors involved, especially the young person selected to play Regan. I wanted that role, let me tell you, and could have done a fabulous job, but it was not to be.
Moving into the present, these past thoughts flowed through me, when I saw the picture above. So, we, homosexuals, are possessed by demons???????? Well, I don't see any of us turning our heads 180 degrees, spewing pea soup vomit, or, more importantly, using our powers to get rid of these low life idiots, who truly believe such nonsense. If I were truly possessed, don't you think I would have magically arranged for Monsieur and I to move into Bay Ridge, instead of the paint by numbers way that ordinary folk move??????? You better believe it, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!
These morons better hope we never gain possessive powers of any kind (good or evil) whatsoever. Because the first thing we would do is banish these folk to the slag heaps of Staten Island, where they can spout their nonsense to the garbage sludges there, who won't listen to them, anyway!!!!!!!!!
But, Linda Blair aside, I wished I had been cast in "The Exorcist." That Oscar nomination could have been MINE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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