My connection with Dorothy started in the spring of 2001. Having just come out of a bad relationship, I moved into on apartment building on Minneapolis's south side. Within just a few months of living in the building, several unsavory people had moved into the building. From the drug dealing family on the second floor to the lady of the night on third floor, our building was in dire need of a transformation.

In the wee small hours of the morning one Friday evening, my buzzer rang. An intoxicated man was yelling at me to let him into the building. Instead of letting this strange man into the building, I peaked into the hallway to see if I could see the man through the front door window. There on the first floor landing was Dorothy, the building's new caretaker. Dorothy bellowed, "Get out of here. This isn't the hood. This is uptown. Leave now or I will call the police."

From that first dramatic moment, Dorothy and I were friends. Kindred spirits at once, we would smoke cigars and talk for hours. She would listen to my dating horror stories and job complaints. I would listen to her stories. Shocking, brilliant, awesome stories of life as a lesbian in the 1950's and 60's. Her amazing stories captivated me for hours.

One day, I asked Dorothy if I could interview her on camera. She agreed and the next day I brought over my camera and tripod and started asking questions. After watching merely the first hour of footage, I realized that a documentary film had been started.