Monika: If someone has not heard of Sandra Sexton (1939–2022), she was a true showbiz legend. Born in Havana, Cuba, she started performing with her family at the famous Tropicana nightclub, later dancing across the U.S. and Canada. She even made headlines at Super Bowl IX in 1975, strutting down the field in just a bikini and boots, and looking absolutely beautiful while doing it. Bold, talented, and unforgettable, Sandra Sexton was the definition of womanhood. Can you share any unforgettable stories about her?
Patti: I only hung out in the dressing room at the Frolics a few times, and honestly, I was a bit in awe of her. Sometimes just being in the same room with someone like that is unforgettable in itself.
Monika: Seeing the showgirls of the past, I am always stunned by how feminine everyone was back then, without plastic surgery on every corner. I imagine it was a hard no-go for those who could not pass, right?
Patti: Nighttime and low lighting helped what we referred to as the dolls, the working girls. Unfortunately, there was also the infamous silicone doctor, who was not a doctor at all, dispensing black market silicone for cheeks, boobs, butts, and lips. Many later regretted it because they got too much, it shifted, or it eventually made them very sick. I was fortunate that the only procedure I needed was bottom surgery, and I occasionally feel a bit guilty when I hear about all the different surgeries some girls went through, especially those who transitioned later in life and struggled to pass. There was a real cost to femininity back then that people today often forget.
Monika: Drag shows require so much effort with dresses, makeup, and overall performance. How did you go about learning all of that?
Patti: I learned from the other drag queens. Drag was not nearly as elaborate in those days for most of us, mostly because we were too poor to be elaborate. I was popular because I looked really fishy, I took great pains with my lip syncing, and I was very nice and friendly. Back then, being kind and professional actually mattered.
Monika: When I interviewed Meghan Chavalier, she described the 1980s as feeling like one long, joyful party. Did that decade feel anything like that for you too, or was your experience of the eighties very different?
Patti: It was definitely a party. Dancing all night, snorting poppers at Le Bistro, the discotheque across Bourbon Street from the Bourbon Pub, smoking grass, and lots of alcohol. In those days, unless you were blatant, the cops did not bother us too much, but that was limited to the French Quarter.
I personally had two run ins with cops, and it had nothing to do with the gay bars. It was because I was trans, pretty, and they wanted sex. Even in the middle of all that freedom, there were reminders of how exposed we really were. The first just raped me and the second raped me and beat the crap out of me. It was not because I was on the street hooking. Thankfully, I never had to do sex work because I could type and had no problems with passing. Too many of us, even today are put out on the street at a very young age with no marketable job skills and have no choice but to do sex work to survive. Both encounters happened at different times, when officers saw me walking to my car after getting off a bartending shift. After the second incident, in 1981, I left New Orleans for good.
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| Patti in the 80s. |
Monika: What became of the other showgirls you performed with? Did they go on to become wives, mothers, even grandmothers?
Patti: I lost touch with most of them. One of the psychiatrists I had to see in preparation for GRS in 1982 told me that because I could pass so easily, if I wanted to live a “normal” life as a woman, I needed to disassociate from my transition life and keep my medical history to myself. Worst advice I ever got. I have reconnected with a few from back in the day, but we lost too many to AIDS and suicide. It’s heartbreaking to think of all the talent and beauty that’s gone.
Monika: Olivia has been in your life since the early 1990s, one of your longest and deepest friendships. What has it meant to have someone who knew different versions of you, and stayed?
Patti: I met Olivia in 1993. She sold a house to a friend, and we discovered that we both lived in the country not too far from each other. We immediately clicked and became as close as sisters. When I made the decision to come back out in 2007, I had real concerns how it would affect my relationships with several friends, Olivia among them, as well as my two stepsons and their mom, and I have been very fortunate that those relationships are still intact. Everyone was a bit shocked at first, but after the shock wore off, I told them my story. I am truly blessed.
Monika: Drag was a doorway for you, but not a destination. What was the moment when you realized that performance wasn’t enough, and that transition wasn’t about the stage, but about survival?
Patti: As soon as I found out from Samantha how one goes about getting surgery. From that point forward, my whole focus was on having surgery. Surgery was survival. Anything less was unacceptable.
Monika: Did she tell you about the surgery performed by Dr. Biber in Trinidad, the place many U.S. trans women used to go for SRS? I’m hearing legends about him.
Patti: Yes, she did. Many of the girls went to Biber; he was referred to as the “pussy doctor.” I didn’t go that route. I had talked to some of the girls who had problems with depth and function. In San Francisco, I found out about Edward Falces, a plastic surgeon whose specialty was nerves. He agreed to do my surgery after I saw both a psychiatrist and the psychologist Paul Walker, who was very knowledgeable.
I was fortunate that, because I was intersex, my medical insurance paid for my surgery. They also sent me to their psychiatrist. The surgery cost more than four times what it cost in Trinidad, Biber was charging around $18,000 to $20,000, while the bill in San Francisco came to a little over $80,000. It was worth it, though, because six months after surgery, I was orgasming. That sense of wholeness was priceless.
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| Patti in the 90s. |
Patti: When I woke up from surgery, I just laid there for the longest time thinking, finally, I am who I’m supposed to be. It was nice to have that time by myself while feeling lovely from the morphine. After a bit, my mom came in, and we cried and then laughed together. It’s funny, despite the post-op pain, the challenges of peeing, pooping, and all the dilating, I actually didn’t mind it. The good drugs helped, and back then they were much more liberal in dispensing them. Knowing it was all part of the process made it feel manageable, even almost joyous in its own way.
Monika: Were your friends with you at the clinic during that time?
Patti: My mom was with me. I had my surgery at St. Luke’s Hospital in San Francisco. I had told my friends to wait until I called before visiting. At first, I only wanted my mom there. I stayed in the hospital for two and a half weeks, and a generous friend who lived in the gay resort area on the Russian River, north of San Francisco, invited me to stay with him until I was ready to be on my own. That support made all the difference.
Monika: In the early 1980s, doctors advised you to go back into the closet after transitioning, and you followed that advice for 25 years, living as a straight woman, marrying and divorcing twice. How heavy is a secret when it lasts that long?
Patti: As heavy as you can possibly imagine. It colors everything in your life. No matter how close you get to anyone, especially intimate partners, there is always that fear of discovery. I remember in later years, people thought I must have been crazy to move to a rural community in the Missouri Ozarks. At the time, for me, it was about getting out of the city, the low cost of living, and having good friends who had moved there. In hindsight, I think the fact that most people were unsophisticated and probably not LGBTQ savvy actually gave me a sense of security.
Monika: You’ve said neither of your husbands knew, and that secrecy slowly poisoned trust and intimacy. How do you explain to people what it costs to be loved for a version of yourself that isn’t whole?
Patti: You can’t really explain it, because it’s not real. You want so badly to be loved, and you hope a circumstance of birth shouldn’t matter, and it really shouldn’t, but in our society, it’s all about the penis. If you have one, it seems to define everything. If your girlfriend used to have one, no matter how tiny or what her chromosomes are, it’s unthinkable. That tension, that impossibility, shapes every relationship.
Monika: How did your first marriage come about, what was the wedding day like, and what eventually led to its end?
Patti: I met him the old-fashioned way, in a bar! LOL. It wasn’t love at first sight, but once we went out, things progressed pretty quickly. On our wedding day, I slipped into a pink dress and was positively giddy, it felt like a dream come true. As for why we parted ways, it’s a long story. He was in the Navy and cheated, and I, being such a control freak, was completely blindsided and couldn’t get past it. The same pattern repeated in my second marriage.
Monika: How did your first and second marriages shape your view of love and relationships, and what did you take away from them?
Patti: It took me several years to process my first marriage. After the second, I was done. I had already decided I needed to live authentically and on my own, my battered psyche couldn’t take another betrayal. The second marriage was a happy accident: my friend tended bar at the local VFW, and when I went to see her, he was playing pool. I beat him, and he and his friend took us out to breakfast. But like the first, it didn’t last. I’m too controlling, and I chose men I thought I could control, until I couldn’t. After two marriages, I realized I’m happily, terminally single!
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| Another shot from the 90s. |
Patti: For me, it was always a refuge and never a punishment. I get bored easily, and it was the one job I had that didn’t bore me. I could completely relax in my truck, crank up the music, and just be alone with my thoughts. It gave me freedom in a way nothing else did.
Monika: Satellite radio changed everything. OutQ became your lifeline. What did it feel like to finally hear voices that sounded like community while you were alone behind the wheel?
Patti: I discovered it by accident. I had just gotten a satellite radio because I was tired of constantly changing channels. I was scrolling through Sirius and heard the very gay voice of one of the hosts of the Derek and Romaine Show, Derek Hartley, and I was fascinated. I listened to every show and got hooked. For the first time, it felt like someone out there understood part of me, and that was a powerful feeling.
Monika: You’ve been very honest about discovering how little even gay and lesbian communities understood about trans and intersex lives. Did that realization hurt more, or motivate you more?
Patti: It absolutely motivated me. It took me a long time to figure out myself, so you have to give others grace. If you know better, you do better. That became a kind of mantra for me: educate when you can, and push for understanding wherever possible.
Monika: There’s a beautiful image you shared about picking oranges and tangelos from your parents’ backyard in Peoria, Arizona. Did your parents embrace you as their daughter?
Patti: My mother, from the very start. My dad took a little longer, but he came around. I was very lucky to have that support. It made all the difference, especially in those early years when acceptance felt so fragile.
Monika: Do you see similarities between yourself and your mother, in your behavior, your gestures, or small nuances? Have you ever caught yourself recognizing her in the way you move or respond to the world?
Patti: Absolutely. We have the exact same foot shape, only mine are bigger. I was pretty overweight for most of my adult life, which I think was another method of camouflage. It wasn’t until I lost a lot of weight that the resemblance to my mother really became apparent. I was closer to her than I’ve ever been to anyone. I think it was her unconditional acceptance of me. She was always my safe place.
Monika: Looking back, do you see your life as a series of closets, or as a long road toward the same destination, just with a lot of detours?
Patti: Definitely a long road with detours, and I hope I still have a ways to travel. Each detour taught me something about myself, and I like to think those lessons helped me arrive at the life I have now.
Monika: You’ve witnessed decades of change. How does life for transgender women in the U.S. today compare to the world you came up in?
Patti: There are too many ways to list. Transgender acceptance has really grown in the last 15 years, at least until the current political administration. When I started, New York, New Orleans, Los Angeles, and San Francisco were about the only places with any safety to transition. It’s so much better now, thanks to all the stories that have been told about people like me. Education makes all the difference. I’m hopeful that once this administration is over, progress will continue. Right now, if things get too difficult, it’s smart to have an exit strategy. I have friends in Canada, and I would love to visit Europe and see Suzannah.
Monika: Many trans women are writing their memoirs these days. Have you ever thought about writing your own book?
Patti: I have tried. I started a blog over ten years ago, but dragging up all that past trauma sent me to a very dark place. Therapy really helped. My problem with writing is that I can manage a coherent article, but I get absolutely lost trying to write dialogue. Also, I get bored too easily. Over the last twenty years, many people have told me I should write a book, and I always tell them to find me a ghostwriter!
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With Beau J. Genot, producer and director of Trucker Patti on the carpet at Outfest 2014. Photo by Pascal Halim Photography. |
Monika: Finally, Patti, if someone listening right now is still driving alone with a secret they’re terrified to name, what would you want them to hear from you, not as an activist, but as someone who’s been there?
Patti: I would say, don’t despair. You never know what might be right around the corner. Do whatever you need to do safely to live authentically. No matter what you think, you are no good to anyone else if you can’t be yourself. Give yourself time, and give yourself grace. And remember, even if the road feels lonely, there are people, and communities, out there ready to welcome you when you are ready to step into the light.
END OF PART 2
All the photos: courtesy of Patti Spangler.
The main photo by Pascal Halim Photography.
© 2026 - Monika Kowalska
My Dear friend Patti ! You are so brave honey! We are just so proud of you for being exactly you! You come and see me in London any time you like. You will be very welcome. We will go visit France too!
ReplyDeleteThat would be so much fun! Love 💜 and hugs 💜 sweetie 💜
ReplyDeleteThat would be so much fun! Thank you sweetie 💜 Love 💜 and hugs 💜
ReplyDelete