Reproduction is permitted by non-profit and not-for-profit SM groups for educational purposes with acknowledgements given to SAADE and Hardy Haberman.  Used by permission of Hardy Haberman. © Hardy Haberman

You are just turning 20, and though you have a good job working in the same factory your father did, you can't stay. Oh the work was OK, and the pay was darn good, but there are some things that just have to be done. You know that there's a war and you are going to be part of it. That's just the way things are.

Boot camp. Some of your friends call this place hell, and in some ways they're right, but there is an order here that is different than anything you've ever known. It's damned hard work, and at the end of every day you just don't think you're gonna live 'til sunrise, but you do. And you learn to like it. A life with other men. A life of structure and rules. No guessing. As long as you follow the rules, and trust your commanding officers, you not only survive, you thrive.

The war. Real hell. Blood. Killing. Cold nights and mud encrusted days. It seems you are never dry. You're either covered in sweat, rain, mud or grease, and those nights in boot camp on that rickety cot seem like heaven. You don't sleep at all. You lose so many friends you stop counting, and you just get numb. There are breaks though. A few days in some foreign town where you are treated like a hero. People here love your uniform, and you do too.

Home again. After all the emotional welcomes and the congratulations, you find yourself with part of you missing. Did you leave it somewhere "over-there" or is it just so deep inside you can't reach it. You go back to the job you left, but only stay a few months. You just don't like the restrictions, and you miss your friends and you miss something else, the company of other men.

Searching. You try to find the others like yourself. Those guys who came back changed. Not from the war. Everyone was changed by that. You miss the whole structure, the order of it all. You buy a military surplus motorcycle, and take off on the road. You are looking for those others you know are there.

Found. It only takes a few days before you meet up with another guy on a surplus bike just like you. He could be your twin brother if you didn't know better. Something about him strikes a resonate tone in your soul, and that missing part of you begins to shake it's way loose from the depths of your being. He's got an old leather jacket, and a hat that looks almost military like. He tells you about a group of other guys like him that ride together. They're not a gang, but they have a few laughs with each other. Once you meet them, you know this is where you belong. They are mostly vets, like you. They still retain some of the military protocol, even though they don't have formal ranks. Some of them dress more like officers, broad brimmed caps and chain for braid. Others act more like grunts, walking behind, eyes down, speaking when spoken to by an officer. This is where you belong.

So what does this story have to do with the Leather community. It's part of our heritage. Hundreds of returning GI's found themselves missing something they found in the service. The order, the discipline and the constant testing of their endurance and strength. Back home, some of them ended up in the new phenomenon of the motorcycle gang. A pseudo-military environment where order was preserved through rank and experience.

Soon, Hollywood picked up on this powerful imagery and with the help of stars like Marlon Brando and James Dean the male icons became firmly entrenched in the collective psyche of America. Men, wanting the company of other ultra-masculine men sought the biker image as well as the men themselves. Many of these guys played rough. Having learned the intricacies of discipline in their boot camp days, they now incorporated these kinks into their sexual activities. Many were having sex with other men, something that would have been unthinkable in the 50's. Doing it rough made this "pansy" activity seem more masculine and acceptable.

By the 1960's the gay leather community had emerged as a way of life and love, and after Stonewall it began emerging from the shadows.

Now before anyone gets the wrong idea, I am not old enough to have served in W.W.II. Many people consider me to be Old Guard leather, but in relative terms I'm somewhere in between. I was lucky enough to experience some of the legendary leather bars like the Gold Coast in Chicago, the Anvil in NYC, and in Dallas, the Sundance Kids.

I was not steeped in the traditions of "old leather" but I was mentored by a few people who were. What they created was a community of like-minded people who were intent on living and loving outside the societal boundaries. Did this mean they were anarchists? Far from it. They developed a true subculture with rules, traditions, rituals, and hierarchy of it's own. It is that early subculture that we are building on today.

When Larry Townsend wrote the Leatherman's Handbook in the early 1970's he was attempting to not only create a how-to guide for people interested in leathersex, but to document and preserve some of the traditions and knowledge that had been passed on to him. The success of his book, now in it's second or third incarnation is testament to what his readers wanted. A book describing how to swing a flogger or handle a whip would be of only passing interest. He wrote more about the "who" and "why" than the "how-to", because readers wanted to know more than technique. It is that information beyond the technique that is the real legacy of the Old Guard. Even the idea of "safe sane and consensual" sprung from the minds of Leatherfolk many would consider old-timers.

So what good does all this do someone who is new to the leather/fetish/BDSM scene? It gives them roots. Having a cultural history can serve as a firm foundation for growth, experimentation and new ideas. One thing is constant in the leather community, change. Leatherfolk are rarely content to trod over well worn paths. Exploring is a big part of what the scene is all about. So with that in mind, I will try to answer a few questions I receive on a regular basis from newer people in the leather scene. These are not the definitive historical answers, merely what I have learned. For a more precise history of the Leather community, I suggest checking out the reading list at the end of this article.

Badges, Symbols and Rank.

That guy I saw in the leather bar with the club vest and all those patches and pins. Where did he buy all those neat pins, and why are some of them upside down?

Club colors (logos) originated with the motorcycle clubs, the origin of many present day leather clubs. These colorful embroidered patches are signs of club affiliation. Tribal symbols for anyone familiar with the club or it's orientation. My first colors were sewn to a denim vest.

This was worn over my leather motorcycle jacket, almost like armor. If you see early photos of infamous motorcycle clubs like the Hells Angels, you can see the same style vests over bike jackets in cold weather, and worn alone when it was too hot.

Within the leather community, the motorcycle clubs, usually indicated by the initials MC after the club name, were gradually replaced with LC and LLC. Leather Clubs and Leather/Levi Clubs offered much of the same camaraderie as the Motorcycle clubs without the necessity for a bike.

When members joined a motorcycle club, they used to have to do a certain amount of time as a "pledge", much like a fraternity pledge. During that time, they were give special pledge colors, indicating their position.

As in fraternities, the pledges are often asked to perform a certain amount of service work and or servitude to the full members. My pledge time was spent tending bar at club functions, and cooking several hundred plates of scrambled eggs at club "runs". This pledge service was one way a member earned their rank as a full member of the club. This was true in BDSM play as well. Pledges often bottomed to full members of the club to learn the ropes, and have fun!

The pins, known as friendship pins, started as tokens of affection and affiliation between clubs. A member of one club would become friends with a member of another and "pin" them. In Texas, as well as a few other states, this pinning was done in a semi-public place, usually a bar. The member giving the pin, would unbutton the receivers fly and after a suitable grope or in some cases more, would attach the pin to the flap of the jeans fly. The pin would be in an upside down position and would remain that way even when transferred to the members vest. It could be turned over by the giver only after a play session or sexual encounter with the receiver. Today, with the importance of safe sex, most friendship pins are given without the sexual caveat, however many people do adhere to the inverted pin until the two friends have a BDSM play session together.

Pins are also used as souvenirs of special community events. These "run pins" started with old style "campaign button" pins. Today, most are enameled or cloisonne. They, too, are badges of rank. Run pins show the history of the wearer, and when they are pins from prestigious invitation only events they hint at his or her standing in the community.

Most people know the left and right symbolism of left for Top and right for bottom, but I am still asked about armbands and shoulder chains. Armbands might be a fashion statement for some, but in most cases they are a pretty good indication the person wearing them is into leather. A band on the left is a Top, Dom, Master or Daddy and the right is a bottom, sub, slave or boy. Armbands on both arms indicate either a switch, (a new leather concept) or someone who is clueless.

Chains hanging from the shoulder epaulets of a motorcycle jacket could either be because they are pretty and jingle, or they could mean that the person wearing them is into heavy bondage and SM or even an official in a motorcycle club.

Today, many people call themselves Masters. They use the title as an indication of their preference and not as a rank. In the past, a Master became a Master only when someone else called them Master. Masters were experienced and skilled in their "work" (what the Old Guard used to call SM play). Most of the Old Guard Masters I have known learned their skills as both bottom and later Top. They were trained and mentored by other Masters or sometimes by very experienced bottoms. The most prevalent sign of a Master in the Old Guard was the motorcycle cap. The broad brimmed leather caps resembled officers caps in the Armed Service, and had much the same meaning. Boys and bottoms wore baseball caps or none at all. Slaves were shaved and went without any head covering at all.

I had just clipped the end of my cigar, and was rolling in between my fingers. I like the feel of a fresh cigar, the firm and slightly moist outer leaves snugly restraining the tobacco inside. I like to moisten the surface slightly with my tongue, just enough to put a glisten on the rich brown surface.

I had done just that when I heard a voice nearby. "Sir," he spoke in third person, "this boy would like permission ask a question, Sir?"  I turned to see a head of close cropped hair atop a reverently bowed head. The boys hands were behind his back and his posture was almost that of military "parade rest".  "Ask your question, boy", I said with just enough authority to let him know I appreciated his respectful demeanor.  Sir, this boy would like permission to light Sir's cigar, Sir."  I could no longer contain my smile. "Permission granted", I said as I brought the cigar to my lips.   He raised his eyes only far enough to maneuver his lighter below the tip of my cigar. He snapped the lid off the Zippo and struck the flint wheel. It lit on the first try, and I moved the cigar just above the edge of the flame. Puffing slowly, I watched the tip turn bright red, then as if he had done this a thousand times before he pulled the lighter away and snapped the lid shut.  "Sir, this boy thanks you for the privilege, Sir."  With that little exchange I knew that this was no ordinary bar patron. This boy had been trained in the fine points of protocol by someone from the Old Guard.  In fact this boy could have passed for military, and for all I knew he was a G.I.  So what went on during this exchange of formal pleasantries? A ritual that spoke volumes about both of us.

The boy knew enough to recognize I was a Top. He also, I came to find out, had a distinct fetish for cigars. He also knew that if he wanted to get to know me better he would have to show me that he was what I call a "player". In other words, his dialogue and ritual postures told me he was into the role play of either "daddy/boy" Master/slave", or some other formalized Top/bottom kind of scene.  By speaking in the third person, he let me know that he was very conscious of his standing, and let me know just what kind of position he would aspire to in any further relationship. When he asked a question, it was always bracketed with the formal "Sir", and phrased in such a way that even asking a question was a "permission" given by me.  By my responding to him with the shortest most concise reply I was telling him that I appreciated his request and respect and was willing to participate in at least some portion of a Dominant/submissive scene with him. As it turned out, what he wanted was to be my ashtray for the evening. It was a duty he performed with the utmost seriousness and care. In exchange for his diligence, I gave him all my cigar ashes, and occasionally rewarded him with a cloud of blue smoke. At the end of the evening he put the carefully saved ashes to good use in a private ritual of his own.  What this was all about was protocol.  One of the most asked questions I hear during BDSM workshops is about protocol.  Many people in the "New Leather" scene are hungry for the structure that the Old Guard developed in the established behaviors and rituals of it's protocol.  Now as I have said, I am not really "Old Guard".  I have only been in the scene since the late seventies, so that makes me a kind of "between guard", however I feel qualified to relay a few of the rules and practices that were common when I first came out into leather.

The first point, is one that was starting to fade when I stumbled into the scene. The practice of "earning your leathers" was around in the seventies, but it was far from the rigid rule I have heard about in the 60's. At that time, a leather vest was a sign that you had been trained by someone who found your service commendable enough to reward you with a gift. The leather vest, and in many cases a leather jacket were symbols of experience. Today, they are mostly symbols of a preference for leather and/or a well healed bankroll.  I didn't earn my leather. I was never apprenticed to a Master or involved in a Master/slave relationship. I did earn my club colors. Colors were the back patches representing the motorcycle club I belonged to. For those, I did a lot of service work in the community and spent a lot of nights tending bar at club events. The best thing about that time was finding my mentors, two men who gave me a good education in the basics of the scene.

From them I also learned that the basics of protocol are just common sense and good manners. Remembering to address Tops, Masters and Superiors as "Sir" or "Madame" whenever necessary. Practicing a little good old fashioned "chauvinism" in a twisted way, and remembering that rank had it's privilege. How did this work?  Simply and elegantly. A Daddy or Top out with his boy or boys was treated with respect.  The boys opened the door for him, lit his cigarettes, fetched his drinks and stood respectfully beside and slightly behind him throughout the evening. Most Tops I knew preferred having their boy's on their right side. If they were in collar, or slaves, they were often on leashes, and still stood behind, always keeping their head lower than the Master at all times. Eyes were down unless ordered to look elsewhere. Friends meeting a Top or Master in a bar, always addressed the Top and never the boy or slave. In some cases, the boy or slave was allowed to speak, but always with permission, and most of the time in third person. This was not a hard and fast rule though, high protocol was used mostly in more formal occasions. It would be rare to see a Top and his boy out at the supermarket and interact with such rigid rules. Yet, even during those "off duty" times, the level of respect remained.  As you might have noticed, I never capitalize the words boy or slave. That's a more recent part of the new leather scene, brought about mostly by the pervasiveness of Email. When a boy signs his name in an email letter it is always in lower case, signifying his subservient position.

So how do you tell if someone is on "High Protocol" head space or not? Well, mainly by the situation. In a bar on a busy night, it could go either way. At a big leather event or a big party, it's easier. Signs would be the behavior of the boy or slave. If they are very "on", then it's a good bet it's a "High Protocol" night. A leash is also a good sign, as well as full leathers on the Top. High or full leathers can be different things to different people. To many it means vest, cap, chaps, harnesses, boots and gloves. To some it can be the simple addition of a flogger at the side in addition to a few articles of leather, cap, vest boots. High leather is never shorts and tennis shoes with a vest!

I have never been a big stickler for rigid protocol, though I do enjoy it once in a while. Few things are as arousing to me as having my boy at my side, attentive and ready to serve. But I also enjoy kicking back on the sofa and just holding hands while watching TV.  I guess that puts me somewhere between Old Leather and Old Couch Potato.

For those interested in more reading on the leather culture and history, I suggest the following books:

The Leatherman's Handbook by Larry Townsend
Published by Carlyle Communications, Ltd. - NY, NY

Leatherfolk edited by Mark Thompson
Published by Alyson Publications - Boston, MA

Urban Aboriginals by Geoff Mains
Published by Gay Sunshine Press - San Francisco, CA

Ties That Bind by Guy Baldwin, MS
Published by Deadalus Publishing - Los Angeles, CA