While most people would be able to instantly recognize the names in the Famous Bis column, Scotty’s name may be a bit of a mystery. But fame is in the eye of the beholder, and Scotty was one of the most famous men of his day, known by name by many of the brightest stars of the Golden Age of Hollywood. A WWII hero who was instrumental in getting the Kinsey papers off the ground, Scotty is perhaps best known from his time as an erotic fixer for the stars and creatives of the Hollywood scene from the 1940s to the 1970s.
He started off running his business from a Richfield gas station in the heart of Tinseltown and was soon referred to as the “Male Madame of Hollywood". Scotty was known not only for arranging “tricks”, but also for performing them — with both male and female luminaries of the time.
That’s right — the mayor of the sexual underground of Classic Hollywood was bi.
Born July 1, 1923 in Ottawa, Illinois as George Albert Bowers, “Scotty” grew up on a farm, before his family lost the farm during the Depression; forcing them to move to Chicago in order to get work. While still living on the farm, he had an early sexual awakening that helped him realize sex made people happy, and it became one of his missions to help others feel that same happiness. As he grew up, Scotty was resourceful in bringing in extra cash for the family, selling condoms to brothels as well as taking on a paper route and other crafty enterprises.
When the war began, Scotty and his brother enlisted, with Scotty becoming a Marine paratrooper. Scotty was involved in numerous battles in the Pacific, including the Battle of Iwo Jima, where his life took a tragic turn. While under fire, Scotty came across a wounded soldier who informed him that his brother had just died in the scuttle on the same beach, not an hour before. In an instance of incredible chance and horror, as Scotty pulled away, grieving at the news, the soldier was killed in combat. Scotty survived.
As harrowing and incredible as that moment was for him, Scotty’s time in the Marines carved out an attitude and outlook that stayed with him for the rest of his life. The enormous grief and loss he experienced during the war made him decide to embrace life, without judgment or reservation. Scotty decided to live a life without shame — sexual or otherwise.
When the war ended and Scotty came back to American shores, he had no desire to go back to Illinois but instead stayed for a while in San Diego. He kept making weekend trips up to Los Angeles and was so taken by the weather he decided to move there. In 1946, Scotty got a job as an attendant at a Richfield Oil gas station on Hollywood Blvd and Van Ness Avenue (now a fire station), quickly earning the trust of the owner to run the station in the evening and leave the keys with him.
One day, character actor Walter Pidgeon pulled into the station, struck up a conversation with the handsome young WWII vet, and asked him to accompany him in his car. Bowers obliged, and so began Scotty’s foray into sexual matchmaking. Scotty got to work arranging liaisons between closeted actors and creatives and his friends and associates who needed work.
It’s crucial to remember that, at this time in Hollywood, there were often morality clauses in players' contracts; the studios wanted to promote a post-war image of success, and that included having actors promote squeaky-clean, conservative, heteronormative lives on and off the screen. This kept members of queer Hollywood from truly expressing themselves and addressing their romantic and sexual needs. And that’s where Scotty stepped in.
From 1946 to 1950, Scotty ran much of his side business out of the gas station, setting up encounters and pick-ups for sex workers both at the station and at creatives' homes. This was all done with the height of discretion (Scotty memorized all the phone numbers and never wrote them down) and without the knowledge of the owner of the gas station. At one point Scotty even convinced the owner to put a trailer on the lot under the guise of rest area for himself and the other employees, but this instead became a space for the conjugal encounters. It would not be accurate, however, to deem him a pimp; Scotty never took any money from the introductions — instead, setting up his male and female friends with their “tricks” — and having the financial transactions go directly from client to sex worker.
In 1950, Scotty took up a new business of working as a bartender at the private parties of the Hollywood elite, where he would often meet new clients — interesting work for Scotty, a teetotaler. He continued this work for the better part of 60 years, often working at a different party every night. This was in addition to side jobs as a handyman, gardener, and a swath of other side gigs.
Scotty was also a gigolo and hustler in his own right, “tricking” many of the greatest stars of the Golden Age. While he goes into great detail about these escapades in his autobiography, Scotty’s partners included but were not limited to: Spencer Tracy, Vivien Leigh, Cary Grant, Randolph Scott, Lana Turner and Ava Gardner (in the same night), Cecil Beaton, George Cukor, Edgar J. Hoover, and the former King of England — just to name a few.
Scotty’s contributions to society were not just limited to servicing the stars. At one point he was put in touch with Alfred Kinsey, who was looking for subjects for his now-famous research books, the Kinsey Reports. The scientist was having trouble finding subjects who would speak to him about their sapphic experiences, so Scotty got him in contact with some of his queer and lesbian connections. Not only that, but through a tale that is too long-winded to summarize here, Scotty got Kinsey access to one the largest and most historic collections of ancient pornography in the known world to study for his reports.
Scotty conducted his own exploits as well as matchmaking for others up until the AIDS crisis in the 1980s. He always conducted his business with respect and great discretion, knowing that any reporting on his business could sink both the personal and professional lives of his clients during a time in America where the sexual norms were far more restrictive.
Scotty held onto his life story for years, becoming a bit of a legend around town. It wasn’t until he was nearly a nonagenarian that he finally decided to write his autobiography in 2012, concluding that nearly all of his friends and clients had passed and that “the truth could not hurt them anymore”.
I was lucky enough to meet Lionel Friedberg, who co-wrote the autobiography Full Service with Scotty. Friedberg is an artist in his own right — an Emmy Award-winning cinematographer and documentary film director. While he had been writing for magazines and films for decades, he had never written a book — until a chance encounter with our hero happened.
“I was a guest with my wife at a dinner party with Joan Allemand”, Friedberg explained.
She used to throw these wonderful Mardi Gras parties and dinner parties. And there was always this elderly guy who was the bartender, dressed in an absolutely immaculate white shirt — part of a tuxedo — and jeans. He was a sweetheart of a man. Always a big smile on his face, and terribly understanding of everybody’s little nuances.
Joan suggested that Lionel and Scotty chat, intimating that his life story was worth hearing.
So I got up from the table and went to the bar, and I said, "Scotty, Joan says I should talk to you about our background." And he said, "Well, what do you want to know, baby?"
[Editor’s note: Scotty called everyone “baby” as a term of endearment.]
When Friedberg finally got Scotty to talking about his past as a fixer to the stars,
I had no reason to disbelieve him. I have interviewed so many people in my life on camera … that I knew he’s not making it up, he couldn’t invent something. Particularly some of the details. So I didn’t doubt him for a moment.
Friedberg immediately offered to help Scotty write his memoir, but he declined. And he declined again at another party. But Friedberg persisted. “I said, ‘Scotty, you’re being unfair — you’re withholding information I think people would find valuable and maybe even helpful.’”
Joan encouraged Scotty as well, saying that Friedberg’s past and viewpoint would be ideal to help him tell his story. Finally, one day. Scotty called up Friedberg at home with a proposition.
[Joan thought I would be] sympathetic, and not sensationalize [his] story … So [Scotty] comes to the house with his dog. Baby, and we went into my office and we sat there and we talked. And he said "I’ve been thinking about this thing, why don’t we do my story?" I said, "I’d be delighted to do that. I will help you."
Thus began a writing partnership that would affect queer history as we know it, Friedberg verifying and recording the entire time.
I think I spent at least 150 hours with Scotty. I tested him, I checked him out. I would record every single word he said. And weeks later I would go back and ask him the same question, and he would answer exactly as he had before. He would never make an error. It was always the same story. It wasn’t like he pre-conceived the stuff, he just had an incredible [photographic] memory.
Friedberg was impressed by Scotty’s recall — including addresses and phone numbers of the time — even license plate numbers. They all checked out. “His sense of detail of everything in a room or a party, or whatever, was astounding.”
The cinematographer and Scotty bonded over the course of a year of Scotty telling his tale.
"He was an honest man, and a sweetheart", Friedberg recalled. "And I knew he wasn’t a bullshitter; there was no ego involved. At all. I was just sharing a story.” The two men even clicked over their shared love of animals. “We’d drive around L.A. and stop to see a dog on the sidewalk. And that was Scotty through and through, he loved little critters.”
As the hours passed, Friedberg also marveled at Scotty’s energy — even in his evening years.
Scotty never drank, not even coffee — no tea, no stimulants, no alcohol ever, ever in his entire life. Didn’t need it. Which is why I think he lived to a ripe old age of 96. The reason why [I believe] his kidneys gave in because of these tablets they gave him during the [Second World] War for malaria.
Friedberg was the one who decided to frame Full Service with the first-person conversational tone as well. The reason was simple: “I wanted it to be in his voice.”
When Scotty explained the reason behind his sexual escapades, Friedberg was floored. “'I made them happy. What’s wrong with that?'" I told Scotty that that is the most open-minded philosophy I’d heard in years,” Friedberg recalled.
He really felt he was doing a service to people. And if the way to do that was sexually, what’s wrong with that? We are all sexual beings. He recognized that, as should we all, but our culture does not, society does not. Most of the world does not. But Scotty knew it as a kid. And I admired it.
Friedberg noted that in the course of the interviews, though, Scotty showed a very human side to himself.
He wanted to portray himself as the tough guy, as the Marines where... [But] when he talked about his brother being killed on the island of that absolutely horrific battle, he broke down absolutely sobbing … And he loved particularly his daughter. And when he started talking about her death, he, that whole façade, that whole stern tough guy façade of his just crumbled.
While the author knew he had something unique and valuable to offer the world of memoirs, he wasn’t afraid of the shock value of its content — he was just worried about whether he and Scotty would be able to get it published.
That’s when an intervention by a literary luminary rescued them.
I said, "Scotty, we need to let this be read by somebody who you respect and who I respect before we start to try to find an agent." And he said, "Well what about my friend, Gore [Vidal?]" And I said [gasps] "Are you kidding me?"
It turned out Scotty and Vidal had been friends for decades— so much so that Vidal’s last public appearance before his death was at one of Scotty’s book signings after the book came out. But how was he able to help get the book off the ground?
“So I sent I to Gore Vidal,” Friedberg continued. “I didn’t know him at all... [Vidal] said to me: “This book is amazing. And I want to help you find an agent.’” Within a few days, Vidal had found a connection to an agent in New York, and the book got fast-tracked to publish within a few months.
Full Service went on to hit the New York Times bestsellers list and has been distributed and translated worldwide — even in Poland. Friedberg remembered, “I was thrilled that it did as well as it did because I was glad that his story got out into the world.”
While modern pearl-clutchers sometimes question the authenticity of Scotty’s tale, most of the families of the names mentioned in his book confirmed the predilections of their subjects. In 2017, his life story was adapted into a documentary, directed by Matt Tymauer.
Scotty Bowers passed on October 13, 2019 at 96 from kidney failure. His contribution to the happiness of closeted Hollywood during a trying time for them will not go unremembered, due in large part to his works and book documenting the time. The LGBTI community owes him a great debt for telling so many untold stories, as well as his aid in bringing authenticity to the Kinsey Reports, which revolutionized sex education.
On a personal note, I was lucky enough to meet Scotty at a screening of his documentary last year. At 95, Scotty was as bright-eyed and funny as ever, making a good-natured pass at me within the first ten seconds of meeting him. I was charmed by him immediately and felt a great loss at the news of his passing.
Scotty was a friend to bi.org, and he will be deeply missed. His memorial on November 13th, 2019 was a testament to the great love that was felt by those who were lucky enough to be in his life. At his memorial reception, his loved ones handed out “goodies” — large, fake jewels and Easter egg decorations — that Scotty collected over the years. Just looking at them makes me smile.
That’s Scotty — making people happy, even in spirit.
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