Andrews Inn
Andrews Inn, circa 1981. Thom Herman, center. Photo by Jeremy Youst. Collection of Andrews Inn Oral History Project.
Photo by Evie Lovett
1969, I came to Antioch, which was on Putney mountain, because I knew as a lesbian I'd want to come out, New England appealed to me. I mean, I had to get out of the Virgin Islands. The women's movement was happening in this country. I mean, there have been many women's movements, but this was profound. And many a lesbian jumped in because we didn't want to serve coffee. I never wanted to serve coffee to the to the activists, you know, males. I wasn't interested. I mean, let's all do it together. But I was also struggling with coming out. I knew that it was—there was a place that was fearful. I mean, madness reigned. And oppression is, it's very much stuffed away and hidden, and the subtlety of it is quite profound. Yeah. So I lived up on Putney mountain, and for me, the resources I had was a mouth. And, you know, it wasn't a wallet. And when you make a decision, no matter how much money you have in your wallet, to stand for certain things, it's about waking up and supporting and being a part of the world. The church of the community. I knew and met a number of women, lesbians who were not talking about being lesbians, who were tough dykes, who worked their farms and did various things. And, you know, nobody said anything or did anything because you just didn't. So in Vermont, the old timers, they respected, or seemed to respect or at least didn't have judgment on, the other as much because the winters were harsh. And the idea that if you needed help from someone, you didn't want it—you don't have enemies.
Bus loads of gay men came from Boston. And I remember seeing the bus pull up and they unload on a cold winter night, you know, and people came from all over. There was a time when a very fundamentalist religious group came and sang out from the end and there was a drag queen who came out and conducted them, and it freaked them out. There was another time when a guy led a demonstration up and down the street against the inn. And, you know, those kinds of things happen, and over and over again with humor rather than anger or—anyway, I can tether somebody to their own suffering. I find that that's when transformation takes place. So the Andrews Inn was a good spot for that to happen. You're part of that—a big part now—of that transformation, and what you give, and what you wake up to is where we're headed. So continue to wake up, not just to you as a queer, but to every quality of oppression. And at the same time, celebrate. Be able to celebrate as well as to push for change. That's your work. It's our work, too. — Eva Mondon