He Outed Elvis, Became Charles Manson's Penpal & Was Threatened by Sinatra
Remembering the fearless gay gadfly and James Dean stan from Michigan who became the pre-Perez Hilton gossip king of Hollywood in the '70s
February 2, 2026
A perfect quote to summarize who Bill Dakota was arrives in the preface to his 2010 book The Gossip Columnist, in which Dakota wrote of himself, in the third person:
“Bill Dakota was born in Flint, Michigan. He claims to have been gay all of his life but never came out until in his late teens.”
Such a late bloomer.
When I wrote a review of his book, in which I marveled at its handiness as a guide for what it was like to have been a fan and a fag for the loudest member of the Silent Generation, I don’t think I quite realized how much I — and this is uncomfortable to admit — shared in common with its delightfully bonkers author.
Dakota, an entrepreneurial publisher of L.A. gay and entertainment publications in the ‘70s, had initially appealed to me for his gonzo approach to reporting gossip and his status as a fanboy; I was into Madonna, while his lifelong obsession had been James Dean, whose tragic death led him to relocate to L.A.
He struck me as a sort of softer Kenneth Anger, another pre-Stonewall gay creative I have always found darkly fascinating.
But as compelling as Dakota’s fandom was, I was even more enthralled by his detailed memories of queer Flint in the ‘50s and ‘60s, a time and place about which he had a unique understanding as the owner of a lavender lounge called Studio D, various theaters that showed salacious queer films and bookstores that introduced nudist magazines and so-called midnight readers to Flint 25 years before I had so much as come out of the closet.
Dakota and I were both born in Flint, Michigan, albeit 30 years apart. Though I grew up in the suburb of Flushing as Flint endured a period of urban decay, my dad worked there and my extended family had and has deep roots in that city.
