Wednesday, October 24, 2018

Ten Silly Questions with St. Sukie de la Croix

Sukie (left) and me at Halsted Street Market Days, Chicago, late 1990s.
Some twenty-five years ago, when we were both practically children, I met Sukie de la Croix at a meeting of the Newtown Writers in Chicago. Once he laid eyes on me and heard me read my writing, he was swept off his feet, in the deepest form of love imaginable.

He's never been able to say no to me, hence his agreement to answer these ten silly questions. His acquiescence, of course, has nothing to do with his wanting to promote his latest book, The Memoir of a Groucho Marxist: A Very British Fairy Tale

Without further ado, and without even saying adieu, here are his responses to my indelicate probing.


RR: If you could invite any famous person, dead or alive, for dinner, what would you eat?
SC: I would invite Jim Morrison from the Doors and we would eat each other.

RR: Who do you think you are?
SC: I’m not the person I used to be and I’m not the person you think I am. Nor am I the person I expected to become. Who do I think I am? I’m a deranged woman hiding behind a waterfall clutching the sun in one hand and a quill in the other. I am snarling at the world and screaming like a banshee.

RR: What’s your problem?
SC: Other people.

RR: If you could have one wish, would you give it to me?
SC: No, I wouldn’t. As my father often said, “I wouldn’t give you the snot from my nose.”

RR: Where you at?
SC: I am the person your parents warned you about, so I am everywhere.

RR: If you had to choose only one vice, what would it be?
SC: Chocolate eclairs with a creamy cocaine filling.

RR: What’s your favorite brand of cereal?
SC: A British one called Weetabix.

RR: When you wake up in the morning, what celebrity do you most resemble?
SC: Margaret Rutherford. I also resemble her for the rest of the day.

RR: Do you know your ass from a hole in the ground? And if so, how do you tell the difference?
SC: You can shove things into a hole in the ground, but nothing, I repeat NOTHING, is ever going to be shoved into my ass. Don’t be fooled by my girly ways.

RR: Do you have anything you’d like to plug?
SC: The quote below and my new book, The Memoir of a Groucho Marxist: A Very British Fairy Tale, which go hand in hand.

“I wish I could say I was dyslexic but I’m not. As a child, I was just strange when it came to language. I didn’t understand why all words had to mean something. To all outward appearances I was a student at Fosseway Junior School, but in reality, or sur-reality, I spent most of my school day unscrewing light bulbs at the Salvador Dali School of Fish Giraffes in Aspic, where I took classes in Worm Sewing, Castle Mirrors, and the Great Spanner Toenail. Schoolteachers were wasted on me. As was education itself.”

BLURB for The Memoir of a Groucho Marxist: A Very British Fairy Tale
On September 16, 1951, Darryl Michael Vincent, a fairy boy-child, fell out of a badger hole in Midford Woods. He grew up in a prefabricated house with his mother, Doreen, his father, Stanley, and a red butterfly called Karl Marx. He was born six years after World War II ended and the City of Bath in the West Country of England was still pockmarked with bombsites, the people bruised by the death of loved ones. Amidst the rubble, ration books, and despair, the fairy boy-child attempted to fit in. It soon became clear that Darryl Michael Vincent was not a regular boy-child. There was something different about him. Very, very, different. He was a Groucho Marxist.

As a Groucho Marxist, formal education was wasted on him. And so, Darryl Michael Vincent was educated in Midford Woods by fairies, the souls of homosexuals long gone from this mortal Earth. He opened books, dived into well-thumbed pages, and swam in a soup of words. In this woodland school, helped by psilocybin mushrooms and opium, he was taught by Oscar Wilde, Virginia Woolf, Rupert Brooke, and other occupants of Midford Woods.

Most important of all, Darryl Michael Vincent dipped the ruling class into bowls of custard and left them on the train track for the porcupine waitresses to laugh at.

BUY The Memoir of a Groucho Marxist: A Very British Fairy Tale
Amazon Kindle
Amazon paperback

St. Sukie de la Croix is an internationally published journalist, columnist, fiction author, playwright, and photographer. In Chicago, he has written for Outlines, Windy City Times, Nightlines, Nightspots, Chicago Free Press, and Gay Chicago. As a historian, de la Croix has published dozens of articles about Chicago's gay history, scripted and acted as tour guide on the Chicago Neighborhood Tours' gay history bus, and written a ten-week series on Chicago's LGBT history for the Chicago Tribune.

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