Persona Press • San Francisco

fiction $ 7.95


          --The Weekly News

a light and fast-paced fantasy

          --The Advocate

tightly written, nicely conceived

          --The Sentinel

fantastic yet wholly believable

          --GPU News

a vision of the future...very well written...hugely satisfying

          --Mom...Guess What!

a fun book that will keep you warm with California sunshine on a gloomy winter evening

          --Where It's At

Ed Dean Is Queer begins with former actress Benita Ryan and her Children's Crusade Against Homosexuality who gains national attention in the 1977 Miami election. This is just another assignment for journalst Luis Rivera, but soon he too is drawn into the battle for human rights which lesbian activist Joanna Lee Jefferson turns into an international issue during the fantastic San Francisco election of 1983.


Benita Ryan knew something was terribly wrong when she turned into Blossom Court and saw the house ablaze with light. The gate was already open and three police cars were parked in her driveway. She got out of her car, hurried across the front lawn and rushed up the front stairs toward the man in blue uniform standing by one of the pink columns which flanked the entrance of her home.

What happened?

Now don’t you worry, Miss Ryan. It’s nothing serious.

What do you mean nothing serious?

Looks like someone broke into the house while your were away.

Broke into my house?

Well, I don’t think they had enough time to take anything of value. Probably some kids by the look of it. Out for kicks. The usual vandalism.

How long ago did it happen?

I’d say about an hour ago. We got here right after the alarm went off. Whoever it was was gone before we got here. Must have had ten fifteen minutes at the most.

Have you looked for them?

We’ve searched the whole house and grounds. Now if you have any more trouble tonight, just call this number and we’ll send someone our right away.


She walked through each room to reassure herself that they had really gone and to take inventory of the damage. On the first floor everything seemed to be in its place except for the broken window through which they had entered the house. On the way up to the second floor she picked up a child’s crayon on the stairs.

All her cosmetics and toiletries had been dumped into the bathtub of her dressing room. The dresses had been pulled from the hangers in her closet and lay in a heap on the floor. And the rest of her clothes had been pulled out from all her drawers. She wanted to scream but restrained herself.

Her husband’s study was a shambles. The desk and files ransacked. Papers and books scattered everywhere. And on the wall in bright red crayon someone had written ED DEAN IS QUEER.


How vile, how utterly filthy and depraved, she cried as she began to scrape the wall. Oh God, what have I done to deserve this?

The sponge in her hand and the bucket of water were soon the color of blood. Oh, Jesus, Blood of the Lamb, she cried, save me from this terribly sinful world.

From time to time she paused to brush back loose strands of hair from her damp face and to wipe her eyes with the back of her left hand.

Help me, sweet Jesus, she prayed as she dumped both the dirty water and the sponge into the toilet and flushed everything down.

copyright © 1978 by N. A. Diaman