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GreeningFrogtownMarchApril19

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FROGTOWN FIGURES<br />

The Archivist of Gay History<br />

Frogtowner Jean Nickolaus Tretter amassed a vast special collection, now at the University<br />

Jean-Nickolaus Tretter (who everyone<br />

calls “Gene”) lives with his beloved cat<br />

Maximillian Alexander and a huge stamp<br />

collection in a small apartment on Dale<br />

Street. His now-quiet existence hides a<br />

life history brimming with achievement<br />

and untold secrets. After all, how many<br />

St. Paul seniors have a library collection<br />

named after them?<br />

Born in Little Falls, Tretter lived in St.<br />

Paul as a teen before joining the Navy<br />

during the Vietnam War. Although by his<br />

own account he tested out of many<br />

college classes, he never formally<br />

received a degree. Nevertheless, Tretter<br />

speaks several languages, including fluent<br />

enough Russian to serve as an interpreter<br />

during secret missions to Laos and<br />

Cambodia. “I had a top-secret<br />

cryptographic code word security<br />

clearance, with presidential access,”<br />

Tretter recalls.<br />

That wasn’t the only secret Tretter was<br />

keeping. As a closeted gay man, he hid an<br />

identity that could have ruined his career.<br />

Once out of the Navy, “I started coming<br />

out of the closet as well,” he says. That’s<br />

when the collecting started.<br />

“I was always<br />

interested in<br />

studying<br />

anthropology,<br />

but I wanted to<br />

study my own<br />

gay culture, not<br />

the culture of<br />

some remote<br />

island,” Tretter<br />

explains. He<br />

began to amass<br />

gay and lesbian<br />

materials of all<br />

kinds, anything<br />

he could get<br />

his hands on.<br />

Eventually, the collection filled his<br />

apartment; thousands of books,<br />

photographs, posters and other<br />

memorabilia. “It was floor-to-ceiling in<br />

every room. I had a sleeping bag in front<br />

of the television, and that’s where I<br />

rested,” he recalls.<br />

Tretter donated his collection to the<br />

University of Minnesota Libraries in<br />

2000. Moving the materials to the<br />

University<br />

allowed them<br />

to be better<br />

preserved and<br />

made<br />

accessible to<br />

scholars of gay<br />

history. Tretter<br />

visits his<br />

namesake<br />

collection<br />

offices often,<br />

and still serves<br />

on its advisory<br />

board.<br />

“There aren’t a<br />

lot of people<br />

like Jean in<br />

this world,” says current Tretter collection<br />

curator Rachel Mattson. “He was<br />

persistent and enthusiastic and amassed<br />

an unusually large collection, on his own<br />

salary, with no support most of his life.”<br />

Tretter is proud of the collection’s vast<br />

holding of safe sex posters from<br />

Germany, as well as the historical papers<br />

of the Minnesota AIDS Project, and an<br />

extensive series of videotaped interviews<br />

with gay, lesbian and transgender<br />

activists. A prized item is a book Tretter<br />

believes was burned by Nazis in 1 933.<br />

The volume—a biography of the Marquis<br />

de Sade—was owned by the Hirschfield<br />

Institute in Berlin. The institute and its<br />

libraries were destroyed by Nazi youth<br />

brigades, who burned its books and<br />

documents in the street.<br />

“Street sweepers called in to clean up the<br />

mess picked up the book, and eventually<br />

it made its way to a book collector in<br />

Switzerland, to another collector in Los<br />

Angeles, and finally to me,” Tretter<br />

explains. The book, with its scorched<br />

cover still intact, is kept in a “clamshell”<br />

archival box to preserve it from further<br />

damage. It can be viewed by special<br />

request.<br />

On a recent visit to the Tretter collection,<br />

Jean-Nickolaus Tretter handled the<br />

burned book carefully, but with obvious<br />

pleasure in its existence. “The fact that it<br />

was saved; that’s what makes it<br />

important,” he observed. Secrets become<br />

valuable history when they are openly<br />

shared, acknowledged, and saved.<br />

PAGE 8 MARCH/APRIL 2019

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