Community Portraits: Charlotte Doclar From the convent closet to LGBT movie night with the Unitarians by Sandy Stutz

In 1986, Charlotte Doclar had just read The Color Purple. The story’s theme of a woman in transition, overcoming obstacles of our misogynous society, resonated with her. Charlotte had seen some transitions of her own. As the former Sister John Ellen, a feminist lesbian nun, she had decided to leave the convent in 1981, at the age of 47. By her own description: "The patriarchy was out the window! I couldn’t take any more of that!" She tried the Episcopalian Church, but found that there, too, was a paternal oppressiveness. One weekend, a friend told her that Bob Schaibly, the openly gay minister at First Unitarian Universalist Church, was going to give his sermon on Alice Walker’s inspiring novel. After the service, she knew she had found her new home. Today, Bob says affectionately, "She’s wonderful at recruiting and she’s good-natured about chiding us. We are probably the only Unitarian Universalist Church in the world with a Mother Superior!"

Although Charlotte and I already know one another from church, we met at Baba Yega’s restaurant to do an "interview" for this article. She smiled often during our conversation. Controlled in her movements, she is not the type to wave her hands in exaggeration as she speaks. But her spirited animation shines through her lively eyes.

Born in New Orleans in 1934, and entering the School Sisters of Notre Dame at the tender age of 18 in 1952, Charlotte is probably best known for her contribution to the 1985 book Lesbian Nuns: Breaking Silence. Charlotte joined 50 other nuns by speaking the truth that was supposed by many, but happily ignored by the majority of the population: The convent is home to many lesbians. Maybe no one wanted to know, but now they did. Being one of those first brave souls is quite an accomplishment. She was even profiled in Ms. magazine.

In the convent, many of the women were very young, some right out of high school. The really funny thing was that with Charlotte being out as a lesbian, some of the young women would ask her, "Do you think I am a lesbian?" As if she could somehow decide. "I really believe they were innocent," Charlotte said, "in the sense of lesbianism. We were friends, we were together, we were close."

Some forms of "closeness" were not allowed. To prevent what were referred to as "particular friendships," girls were seldom left alone in pairs. If PFs (as they were called) were suspected in the convent, the girls were separated. Often, one member of the offending pair was transferred to another convent. Stolen private moments were cherished. As Charlotte said in Lesbian Nuns: "My world ended every time . . . I can only say that I must have had an awfully good time between good-byes."

Charlotte would have preferred to be able to minister to the gay and lesbian community when she left the convent, but the funding wasn’t there. Instead, she continued the teaching she’d been doing in the convent, only this time in the public school system–which was sometimes difficult because she had to be careful about whom she could come out to. Charlotte was proud of the Ms. magazine article, but couldn’t really show it off to her friends for fear of word getting back to her job. Charlotte also worked for years as a volunteer at Omega House hospice. ("I worked there during the bad times . . . when it wasn’t in vogue and it had just opened. I’m kind of proud of that work.")

Now, on any given Sunday, Charlotte can be found at First Unitarian Universalist Church on Fannin Street. An Amazonian matriarchal figure if ever there was one, she greets everyone with a very Southern "Hello, dahlin’." She has soft wispy auburn hair and is always neatly dressed in slacks and a button-front camp shirt, ever the kind but strict elder teacher. This particular Sunday I’m late, as usual. Taking the order of service she has offered, I tuck my head and grin as I begin to walk through the sanctuary doors. "No, no, no, no, no," she says softly and holds me back with a gentle touch to my shoulder and the tone of her voice. After a long pause, I can hear piano music begin to play. "There now. You can go on in," Charlotte says. I obey like the good Catholic schoolgirl I never was.

I’ve known Charlotte as head usher and First Church member now for probably five years, and have shared many First Church activities, from numerous potlucks of the Lesbian and Gay UU group, to being fellow panelists on a discussion for sexual minorities, to the Rainbow Church Committee. Charlotte’s sense of humor is always good-natured . . . and wickedly dry. During one of the church’s LGBT movie nights, we all sat in the church library, silently watching the previews prior to our featured video. From the second row, a seemingly stoic Doclar pipes up, "Woo-hoo! Catherine Deneuve!" The silence broke into laughter as our collective grandmother figure spotted her favorite "sexy" film star!

In 2000, Charlotte retired from 46 years of teaching children. We laughed as she described the transition between teaching at the parochial schools and the public schools where she "couldn’t be a nun." For this past year, she has been living in a garage apartment above two women that she refers to as her roommates. I laugh at what seems like a sorority; Charlotte calls it her community. She feels like she is starting over for the second time. I ask her if having her new roommates is a little like going back to the convent. "I don’t think you ever leave," she says.

Charlotte has been a beacon for those coming out of what she calls "the two closets." She describes her former religious life as one and hiding one’s sexual orientation/identity as the other. She has many friends in both the gay and heterosexual communities. We’d do well, I believe, to honor people like her who broke that ground for us. There’s a lot more work to do, but we’ve been given a good head start."