SEXIS WRONG

a sensitive issue. Either they’re wary about divulging warehouse
locations, or they’re embarrassed about the unorganized
conditions. Or perhaps I haven’t sufficiently groveled
enough to worm my way into the inner circle. As an alternative,
Howard Ruppel does agree to give me a tour of the
Institute’s libraries, which contain thousands of Archive items
considered important and useful enough to be made readily
available for students.
“Get your galoshes on,” he jokes, and we walk down a hallway
garnished with colored drawings of wild sexual scenarios:
a cartoon of a doctor sneaking pills to his beautiful,
naked female patient, a Commedia Del Arté clown engaging
in cunnilingus, a group of nude Rubenesque women in a pile,
a woman tied up and getting spanked, an old man examining
a young girl in his lap, a soldier surprising his friend in a bed of
hay with a woman. According to a provenance,
these items come from a four-volume work titled
Bilder Lexicon, published in Germany from
1928 to 1930, which was banned by the Nazis.
Howard explains that historians have turned
up copies of these books with burnt bindings,
suggesting that they were removed from fires
in the nick of time. He points at one drawing: “Look at this
one. That looks like an enema.” He taps the drawing with a
finger. “I never noticed that before. Huh. An enema bag.”
The next room, with a circular table and chairs, is where students
relax between classes. It’s called the Mac Room, so
named after the late Dr. Don McAllister, an early Institute
member who also contributed designs for the Doc Johnson
sex-toy company. Beautifully carved dildos fill a glass case.
On another wall is a plaster cast made of a woman’s bare
torso, supposedly a prominent Hollywood actress “known
primarily for her legs.” Howard refuses to tell me who it is. I
examine it more closely. She appeared to be wearing Levi’s
jeans. One of the original Charlie’s Angels, perhaps?
He shows me the hot-tub room, an area with floors and walls
covered with redwood. A few fake plants decorate a corner.
The tubs were used a lot more in the past, he says. Students
and faculty would hop in for a dip after classes. These days,
students are more inclined to go home and do their work after
hours by themselves.
We then enter a room of the library, lined with books, scholarly
papers, and bankers boxes stacked to the ceiling. Howard
then ushers me into the video room, walls and walls of Beta
and VHS tapes. And what might the students be studying?
Bunbusters. Edward Penishands. Women Loving Women.
The Dirty Debutantes series. Evolutionary Masturbation. Bizet’s
Carmen?
What are the new trends in porn? I ask.
“The anal is very popular.” Howard gestures to a wall of
tapes. I follow him around a corner. “B and D [bondage and
discipline] stuff in here. Over in this corner, all the extreme
stuff, from Germany. The urination stuff.”
Howard says that more sensitive materials, involving celebrities
and semi-illegal activities, are safely stored under lock
and key, available only upon serious request. Much of this
library comes from people whom you and I might call “pornhounds.”
But to the Institute, these salivating pervs constitute
a valuable resource.
“Some people think they’re going to live forever.” Howard
shakes his head. Collectors often promise their archives to
the Institute, then refuse, not wanting to give up the goods
just yet. Sometimes these people will pass away without
On the final day, students are
subjected to the Institute’s most
controversial educational tool,
a 45-minute multimedia barrage
called the Fuck-A-Rama.
leaving their collection to the school. The Institute will “discreetly”
approach the deceased’s heirs, hoping to snag the
porn. But the executors often are disgusted upon discovering
Dad’s smut library, and they throw it away. Howard grows
somber when he speaks of this. Clearly, it’s been an ongoing
problem.
He introduces me to librarian Jerry Zentara, who is reviewing
a pile of postcards depicting muscled, nude men. Jerry also
wears a graying ponytail and possesses the ultimate openness
of someone who’s seen just about every conceivable
type of erotica man has ever produced. Whatever donations
come through the door—films, books, videos, periodicals,
pop-culture ephemera—Jerry opens the boxes, appraises
their value, then files and catalogs everything and sends the
least-usable items off to a warehouse.
I ask Jerry if he’s completely jaded or if he can still be
shocked.
“Disgusted, but never shocked,” he replies. “Mostly, it’s the
same old stuff.”
What are the most commonly donated items?
He sighs. “We’re not interested in any more copies of The
Hite Report.” (A 1970s collection of women’s questionnaire
answers about their sex lives.)
“We want more fetish collections,” he continues. “We have
a pretty good collection of sex toys. It could always stand
THE ARCHIVE 87