I was really pumped to be straight. I had plans—from the goatee specs (tight, mousy) to the hair (bad fade, gel), to the jeans (Gap) to the cap (Narragansett promo). I was this close to putting a cell-phone holster on my belt.
In my application to compete in the first-ever Mr. Heterosexual contest, I explained that I was from Fitchburg (true) and worked in finance (not true), that I wanted to perform “Maneater” for the talent competition (ultra-true), and that I wanted to enter this contest because, as a heterosexual (not true), I was tired of seeing people unable to celebrate their straightness just because of PC bullpoop (actually, somewhat true—although I didn’t say “bullpoop,” and by “celebrate,” I just meant that straight people should have sex).
To my shock, I failed to make the cut. Of the 30 hopefuls who contacted Mr. Hetero Productions, only seven were selected. According to Pastor Tom Crouse, the head Hetero in charge of organizing the pageant, his decisions were based on “not really any criteria,” though I’m pretty sure I would have made it if I had dropped a few J-bombs in my application. When asked who his favorite straight dude of all time is, Crouse laughed: “Jesus!”
I wouldn’t have thought of that, especially considering that a prerequisite of being a straight dude is banging chicks.
Of course, Crouse’s blog is full of things I’ve never thought of. His blog goes from cutting scientific acumen (“The odds of Evolution having happened, or that we came from apes is so improbable that it is way beyond scientific probability”) to a sort of Gospel Dilbert: “[I]t is not good when I find myself spending more time checking the comments on the blog than I do in the Word of God. That cannot be pleasing to God.”
Suffice it to say, Crouse—a popular, parish-pumping pastor/personality (and former pro-wrestler)—does better on the mic than in print. His idea for Mr. Heterosexual, for example, was the result of an impromptu brainstorm during his daily AM radio show.
“Back in November,” he said, “there was this Mr. Gay International [contest]—and I said on the air that you never hear of anything for heterosexuals! Kind of tongue-in-cheek. So maybe I should just have a Mr. Heterosexual contest.”
(He’s right, you know. There’s hardly anything out there geared toward straight people.)
“I didn’t just want to have a goofy event,” he added. “I wanted to have the Gospel in there.”
Sounds tame enough. Why, then, after publicizing the event, did Crouse receive death threats? And why was Mr. Hetero ousted from its original venue in Sturbridge, the home of his Holland Congregational Church?
“The controversy all came when I decided to have a man who formerly lived a homosexual lifestyle give his testimony of how he’s been forgiven of all his sins through Jesus Christ.”
Ohhh.
That man is Jonathan Owens, whose two previous flings with men sent him into a grueling period of self-questioning that prompted him to connect with Jesus, and to disconnect his internet service. His testimonial was the centerpiece of the contest. After all, there’s really nothing more hetero than a repressed gay.
“We’re not telling homosexuals they don’t need to be homosexuals,” Owens informed me. “But I can’t tell a murderer not to murder if he doesn’t believe in the Bible. We’re telling sinners they need Jesus, no matter what background they come from.”
So I went.
***
Outside, throngs of cops guarded Mechanics Hall from a menacing group of 30 or so protesters (students and what appeared to be Unitarians) staging a “Queer Kiss-In” and a candlelight vigil. John Healey—whose fave straights are Ben Franklin and Albert Schweitzer—kept having his candle blown out by insanely cold winds.
“This contest is to find out who’s the most macho, butchest, baddest badass in the Commonwealth,” he said. “But the real purpose is to mock gay and lesbian people. It’s marketed as a fun, lighthearted way to affirm straight people. Well, I’m a straight guy, and I don’t buy it.”
Reverend Aaron Payson of Worcester was equally cold and miffed. “As a representative of the clergy, I take particular umbrage that this evolved out of a religious institution,” he said. “To say they’re not acting in a hateful fashion, when one of the contests is to tear up women’s magazines—it’s not macho and, frankly, it’s a form of symbolic violence.”
Payson also won for best answer to the favorite-straight-guy question: “I wouldn’t be here if my dad hadn’t fully exercised his heterosexual tendencies.”
***
Inside, the hall was half-filled with families and clusters of smiling teens. Some milled around a merch table bedecked in “100% Hetero” T-shirts and mugs, and “Take Back the Rainbow” bumper stickers—you know, because Noah saw that rainbow first. According to merch guy Pat Shea, the rainbow “actually means” that God won’t destroy the world in a flood again.
When the proceedings began, the contestants came out onstage individually. The pool consisted of an 18-year-old, a 21-year-old and five men in their 40s—most of them married. One wore suspenders designed to resemble tape measures; another mentioned a “likeness for Journey and Whitesnake” in his bio; another listed “rich beefy gravy” and “tackle football with no equipment” among his favorite things.
Yup. All seems pretty straight to me.
The program was comprised of several pageant-inspired challenges that tested criteria vaguely related to masculinity; meanwhile, the trapdoor of tongue-in-cheek humor handily excused the need for any of it to make sense. There was, for example, a competition involving ingenious uses of duct tape. One man used it to remove lint, one patched up his septic system, one used it to tie his pant legs off to keep bees out (?!?), one stuck it in his hair for some reason, and another took his shirt off and had Pastor Tom rip the hair from his belly.
In addition to completely normal displays like this, there was a blind potato-chip-identification contest; a strength competition that involved tearing Oprah magazines to shreds; marriage proposal stories (when applicable); and a talent competition that featured, among other things, one contestant’s grippingly awkward solo a cappella rendition of “They’re Coming to Take Me Away.”
“Straight guys need a safe place to be goofy,” said sneaky gay activist Peterson Toscano, who had also tried and failed to land a spot as a contestant. “It’s just the hetero-normative roles they’ve been given. They’re in straightjackets, literally—so this is actually really great for them.” Toscano, who recently penned the one-man show Doin’ Time in the HomoNomo Halfway House, found himself identifying with the ex-gay Owens. “I spent 17 years in various reparative therapy programs trying to become straight. [Owens] has to maintain a certain level of victory over his sin, or he gets booted out. It’s not hate; it’s fear. These are men who are afraid that things will be taken away from them—like saying the Pledge of Allegiance, or ‘Merry Christmas’ or being heterosexual.
Sure enough, a defensive tone trounced the cheeky premise—and jarring lapses into political discourse somehow gave the wobbly contest a specious sense of purpose. Crouse regularly wished the audience a “Merry Christmas,” which prompted the soundman to trigger a “crying PC baby” sound effect over the PA. He railed against lawsuits attempting to delete “In God We Trust” from the dollar. He had the room recite the Pledge of Allegiance twice in a row, complete with tantrum-esque foot-stomping to emphasize “under God.” None of this had anything to do with banging chicks. I shouldn’t have felt cheated, but I did.
***
In the back of Mechanics Hall, there was a small break room. Inside, seated at a table with his sporadically chirping phone, was Tom Crouse. “Not the pastor,” he corrected me. “I’m his father. Probably not the best example of a good Christian you’d find,” he said in a deep, slow Georgia drawl.
His spot in the very back was as removed from the proceedings as his candor about the kerfuffle. “Ninety percent of the population is heterosexual—so it’s a pretty sad reflection on us heterosexuals that something like this would be such a big deal,” he told me. “The homosexuals are willing to put in the time and effort for their cause, while the heterosexuals sit and complain about it, but won’t put in the time—too busy watching the ballgame.”
“I’m 100 percent for doing it this way,” he continued. “You don’t have to badmouth, belittle or degrade. You state your position and live your life the way you believe. I can say I don’t believe something—but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. I could be 100 percent wrong. One thing I do know: Everybody, regardless of orientation, has feelings.”
Crouse Sr.’s favorite straight man: John Wayne.
***
The finale was about as anticlimactic as it gets. Readouts from the applause meter were magically integrated with a numerical scoring system, and a final decision was reached through a let’s-get-this-over-with scream-off. Jimmy Ottino, a 21-year-old student from Plymouth (whose favorite straight man is Jesus) took the heterotrophy in fits of fist-pumping praise—though, granted, his version of “Forever Yours” was pretty tight.
“The best part of this triumph is that we get to share the gospel of Christ,” he told me, just before completely undermining his hetero-cred: “I plan on being low-key, I don’t want to gloat or be boastful.”
Heading back into the cold, I met a pair of girls who were working on a documentary on the rise of bisexuality and waiting to speak with Ottino. Seeing as how the contest didn’t end up nearly as sexy as it might have, I asked one of the girls, Brittany Blockman, if she had discerned anything useful from the proceedings.
“I’m glad I’m not a guy,” she said. “I like being a woman. I like not having to prove it.”
