A Measure of Sympathy for Linda Lovelace

The cognomen “Lovelace” originated with her suitcase-pimp husband Chuck Traynor. Star of a painfully tawdry film that somehow became the subject of academic discourse, she had good reason to abhor it—and him. Since the name is so well known, however, I will begrudgingly use it here.

Linda Lovelace (1949–2002), born Linda Susan Boreman, was the daughter of a New York City policeman and a waitress; her mother administered corporal punishment liberally. She attended Catholic schools and was no teenage slut, being known for a certain probity with the boys. But her life was a mess by the time she turned 20. Having moved to Florida with her family, she conceived and was forced to give the baby up for adoption, and was in a car accident that left her with a big scar on her stomach; a botched blood transfusion gave her hepatitis and would necessitate a liver transplant in 1987.

So Lovelace was in a vulnerable state when she met Traynor. Kind and solicitous at first, he soon turned cruel and domineering. Within weeks, he showed her who was boss by making her “entertain” five men at once. Traynor half-persuaded and half-forced her to turn tricks and go before the camera in a series of smutty 8-millimeter loops. Such films then were illegally made, transported and watched by desperately lonely guys in peep-show booths. He controlled her with beatings, threats and an introduction to cocaine and speed. Traynor, who always carried a gun, pushed her into increasingly taboo areas such as bondage, urolagnia and bestiality.

Attractive but no great beauty, Linda Lovelace had frizzy hair and crooked teeth, and was small of bosom. (Traynor later compelled her to undergo silicone injections which in turn led to cancer and a double mastectomy.) It would seem she had no future in porn. But one thing set her apart—she was a world-class fellatress. At a risqué New York party in 1971, they met hairdresser-turned-pornographer Gerard Damiano. He and other guests watched with amazement as Traynor instructed Lovelace to demonstrate her skills. That was the genesis of Deep Throat, a 61-minute movie made with $30,000 of Mafia money. Shot during a single week in January 1972 at Miami’s Voyager Inn, it had a ludicrous and paper-thin plot. The male “talent” was a Jewish ex-Marine with legitimate theatrical aspirations—Herbert Streicher, a.k.a. Harry Reems.

Deep Throat might have been forgotten if not for a rave review by Al Goldstein of the infamous Screw magazine. Almost overnight, people who had previously scorned “blue” movies were standing in line at the New Mature World Theater on 49th Street to see Deep Throat. The New York cops shut it down, some Hollywood people (Jack Nicholson, Martin Scorsese, Brian De Palma, Truman Capote and Frank Sinatra, to name a few) came to its defense, and it turned into a cause célèbre. Estimated profits have ranged as high as $750 million. Lovelace received a pittance—$1,250—and Traynor took every cent. She was briefly a celebrity and appeared to be having a wonderful time. Lovelace’s face adorned magazine covers, she pranced down red carpets and she chatted with Johnny Carson on the Tonight Show. She posed for Playboy, gave upbeat interviews, said how much she loved sex and urged other women to throw their inhibitions to the wind.

Deep Throat Part II (1973) flopped, as did Linda Lovelace Meets Miss Jones and Linda Lovelace for President, both soft-core movies. She “wrote” two pro-porn books, Inside Linda Lovelace and The Intimate Diary of Linda Lovelace, pandering to her male fan base. She tried various stage shows but steadfastly refused to strip or do any more sexual shenanigans. After two failed attempts to escape from Traynor, she succeeded. Lovelace divorced him and soon found a bit of happiness and security with husband number two, Larry Marchiano, a Long Island blue-collar worker. They had two children.

This poster girl for progressive female sexuality changed her tune considerably in the late 1970s. She began saying that none of it had been done voluntarily and that Traynor had forced her to show her stuff. With help from a ghostwriter named Mike McGrady, she co-authored Ordeal (1980). He agreed to work with her only if she would take a lengthy polygraph test. She did and passed. On the day of the book’s publication, Lovelace was joined at a press conference by three feminist heavy-hitters: Andrea Dworkin, Gloria Steinem and Catherine MacKinnon. Leading members of Women Against Pornography, they gave Lovelace credibility and emotional support.

In Ordeal, Lovelace described her relationship with the malevolent Traynor. She told a tale of non-stop bullying and intimidation: “Every day, I either got raped, beaten, kicked, punched, smacked, choked, degraded or yelled at. Sometimes I got all the above.” A few of her claims are hard to swallow, if you will forgive the pun. Reems, Damiano and others on the Deep Throat set said she had been a willing—nay, joyous—participant.

This was the time of the so-called Feminist Wars, when a wide spectrum of women argued, protested and most of all, blamed heterosexual men. Lovelace, who once spoke disparagingly about “women’s libbers,” found herself in the middle of a storm as righteous anti-porn feminists battled equally righteous sex-positive feminists like Camille Paglia; they disagreed loudly about gender politics, sexuality, pornography, erotica, prostitution, lesbianism, sadomasochism and related issues. She was being pushed and pulled, and she neither understood nor enjoyed it. Lovelace would later assert that the feminists had mistreated her almost as badly as Traynor, Reems, Damiano, et al.

Please do not call me prudish or judgmental, but I regard “X” as a ruinous business, a meat-grinder for females. It is a disturbing world of abasement, drugs, violence, organized crime and early death. The number of women who have done the sex-on-camera thing and come to regret it is legion. Some talk candidly about the gritty reality of porn, while others change their names and hope nobody ever recognizes them. With the Internet, however, once it’s out there it stays there. I realize the adult entertainment industry is very profitable and far more accepted than 50 years ago; an annual convention in Las Vegas draws 30,000 people.

Lovelace was no innocent waif, however. Media-savvy in her own manner, she testified before the Meese Commission and spoke on several college campuses. After Ordeal was published, she advocated in a surprisingly articulate way against porn. It might not have been necessary to repeat herself in Out of Bondage (1986), but she did.

She, Marchiano and their kids moved west to Denver in 1990. (It’s interesting to note that her Deep Throat co-star, Reems, also had quite an odyssey. He became a homeless alcoholic and then cleaned up, adopted Christianity and made a nice life for himself as a real estate broker in Utah. Always speaking affectionately about Lovelace yet still denying she had been coerced during those seven days in Miami, he gave $1,000 to help pay for her liver operation in 1987.) Life was not easy, as her husband lost his job and they went on welfare. An amicable divorce took place in 1996.

In her final years, Lovelace’s health deteriorated. She scrambled to make ends meet by delivering newspapers, cleaning downtown Denver office buildings and doing data entry. Never able to escape the shadow of Deep Throat, she had few marketable skills. I doubt she liked it, but she posed in sexy lingerie in 2001. She also signed autographs—for a fee, of course. A New York tattoo festival that year featured a large banner which read “America’s First Adult Film Superstar / The Legendary Linda Lovelace / Deep Throat / Appearing Here Live in the Flesh! / Get an Autograph and Have Your Picture Taken with an American Icon!”

Back in Denver, Lovelace was driving to a dialysis treatment (the bad boob job had led indirectly to kidney problems) on April 3, 2002 when she lost control of her car and hit a concrete post. Because she had not buckled her seatbelt she was thrown through the windshield. Hospitalized for 19 days with a brain injury, more than 30 broken bones and collapsed lungs, she died surrounded by Marchiano and their two children. Linda Lovelace, a woman with more stories than Scheherezade, was buried in an unmarked grave at Parker Cemetery. It was a sad end to a deeply troubled life. Dr. Judith Lewis Herman, a well-known psychiatrist, has stated that the abuse Lovelace endured may have caused her to suffer complex post-traumatic stress disorder resulting in a “fractured personality.” She made some poor choices in her 53 years, no doubt about that. Nevertheless, I would posit that her legacy of fame, failure, survival and redemption merits respect.