Is Calpernia Cashing In on the Murder of Barry Winchell?

Although this has seemed to become less frequent as the years have gone by and my record has spoken for itself, a few people occasionally accuse me personally of “cashing in” on my boyfriend’s heartbreaking murder. I don’t know what they base this on… perhaps some idea that I collect a fee every time “Soldier’s Girl” is viewed, or a check from every interview I ever did about the murder. As I always respond, I waited a year after his death to share the story with artists and filmmakers I trusted. I offered to work for free, and ended up accepting a small payment for my consultation which covered my expenses for about two months. I receive no royalties, payments or other monies for anything connected with Barry or his murder. I am never paid for interviews, and in recent years I specifically ask that it not be a topic of discussion.

Isn’t your book, Mark 947, “cashing in”?

Only the last few chapters of my book talk about Barry. It’s a book about growing up in a Southern fundamentalist Christian cult, serving as a medic in the first Gulf War and becoming a successful showgirl. The name of my book, “Mark 947″, is a reference to a Bible verse, and my struggle with feelings about God is really the major theme. I did not, and am not interested in, writing a book about Barry’s murder.

Why did you try to get famous from the murder? Was it to launch your media career?

Notoriety, not “fame”, was thrust upon me via the national and international media coverage of Barry’s murder. I was required to be interviewed by military police after the murder and I attended the trial (which was covered by local and national visual and print media) out of love for Barry and a desire to look at the killers face to face. By the time the New York Times Sunday Magazine cover story (which would have been written with or without my participation) and the Rolling Stone full feature article on the case were published, I was recognized on the street by complete strangers at home in Nashville, and even in New York city and Chicago. Vanity Fair and countless other articles followed. I suppose I could have refused all interviews, but I was already being photographed and written about, and the AP and other outlets were initially reporting that it was a “gay hate crime” and that I was Barry’s “male boyfriend”. I spoke to reporters to correct these and many other errors, to protect Barry’s good name and my own, which was already permanently etched into the infosphere at that point.

I think that suggesting that my “outness” was the result of a choice shows a lack of comprehension of the scope of what happened after Barry’s murder. Until you’ve been in the national spotlight (much less used as a football for GLBT politics), you can never understand the choices I had to make.

Suggesting that I made the decision to “launch a career in media” is equally ignorant and insulting. The implication that I could be considering my career in the wake of one of the most wrenching experiences in my life is incredibly hurtful. I am learning that people outside the entertainment business think that appearing on television for anything is the gateway to becoming the next hot starlet. But actually, being on television, in print and portrayed in a movie as the subject of a real-life brutal, disturbing murder story would be a terrible way to “launch a career”. Seriously, think about it.

I already had an entertainment career before Barry’s murder. I was already a “celebrity” in Nashville for seven years, based on my talent as an entertainer. I’ve been on stage since I was a child, as a stack of old VHS tapes would show if I wanted to embarass myself by showing them. From comedy shows I made with my brother when we were children to a serious sequence I shot at the Dachau concentration camp in Germany when I was 17, I was putting myself on video at a very early age. While my showgirl career was certainly a small, underground type of fame, nonetheless I knew what it was like to go to the front of most any line at events, get drinks and dinners comped by fans at nice restaurants and approached by admirers on the street. I was satisfied with that, and had no aspirations to national fame.

After the media blitz, all that changed. People would shout “I’m sorry your boyfriend got killed!” at me in the middle of an upbeat comedy routine while tipping me on stage. Strangers would approach and ask if I was “that guy on the news”, and then say “Oh that’s so sad, they shouldn’ta killed your boyfriend, don’t you think?” Instead of a local celebrity beloved for my funny, sexy stage act I was a grief magnet to be clocked and pitied by anyone and everyone.

In Hollywood, I know I’ve been passed over for comedy roles, hosting jobs and other things not only because I’m trans, but because I’m “that one whose boyfriend got killed.”

To say that I decided to launch my media career by participating in coverage of Barry’s death is just plain wrong, and nowadays I only assume that when someone makes these implications that they are specifically trying to be hurtful to me. Heaven only knows why.