Manuel Betancourt

“Gay men were at the forefront of that community of misfits, happy to have found in Garland a performer whose tragedy and resilience (like their own) went hand in hand. Those “boys in the tight trousers,” her “ever-present little bluebirds” 10 as Time magazine euphemistically referred to them at the time (William Goldman was not so kind, outright talking about the “flutter of fags” 11 that filled up Garland’s closing night at The Palace in 1967), were drawn to Garland precisely because she spoke their language. As queer theorist David M. Halperin notes in his cheekily titled book How to Be Gay, this had little to do with a synchronous identification: Garland “wasn’t a gay man,” he writes, “but in certain respects she could express gay desire, what gay men want, better than a gay man could. That is, she could actually convey something even gayer than gay identity itself.” 12”
― Manuel Betancourt, Judy at Carnegie Hall

“Dear Ms. Garland, I am writing this to you And I’m hoping you can read this from up above Your passing made me sadder Cause your singing made me gladder And I thought I’d write this to tell you so Judy you made me love you I didn’t want to do it I didn’t want to do it Judy you made me love you And I wish you knew it I really want you to see this I know that you’ve ascended to heaven up above And when I get there too I can tell you you’re the one I love Judy, you know you’ve made me love you. 13”
― Manuel Betancourt, Judy at Carnegie Hall