When I was heavily involved in pet rescue, I worked alongside a strange straight man, and together we became addicted to trapping the throwaway dogs of O’Fallon Park. Apparently, saving dogs wasn’t enough of a hobby for me. I needed a little uproar and City adventure mixed in there, too.
Besides saving homeless dogs through my rescue work with Stray Paws Rescue and Saving St. Louis Pets, the medical pet donation 501(c)(3) I started, I had the pleasure of finding new friends and meeting the owners of the famous adult store, Simple Pleasures Boutique on Chippewa, next to the dive bar now called The Drawing Board. I would often see my new buddy Cindy walking her muscular well taken care of pit bulls out front.
Phil and Cindy. Photo credit: Simple Pleasures
Cindy is Phil’s wife, without a doubt, and you would know this because he had her face tattooed all over his body. Different stages of their life together, inked and etched into his skin for life. Her name and face, in black ink, told the story of their longtime relationship. Some people buy flowers. Phil went with the permanent, full-body scrapbook.
I would often see Cindy crossing the street headed to QT, feeding people holding up cardboard signs asking for food. Cindy and Phil had watched our city change through the puppy-licked glass of that large erotic shop window.
For all the years, way too damn many to talk about, that I was involved in pet rescue, Cindy and Phil were some of my biggest fans. They helped save hundreds of dogs with me through donations and phone calls. They would hand me a huge roll of money held together with a rubber band. When I drove over late at night for the pickup and handoff, I began to feel like a South Side lesbian gangster.
I felt nothing but love and kindness from both of them. I never asked questions, and I never told a soul. This was their way of giving back as some intense dog lovers. No press release. No big announcement. Just a rubber band, a wad of cash, and a whole lot of dogs who needed our help.
Their generous donations helped cover the medical care for so many of the pets I took on through Saving St. Louis Pets.
As a matter of fact, I eventually left my own 501(c)(3) over a fight about Cindy picking up an extremely sick kitten. The admins on the rescue page went crazy behind the scenes as the dying kitten hit social media, and a war broke out between us.
I believed the conflict had to do with judgments about tattoos, motorcycles, and our South Side sex store. Why else would someone care? Pit bulls and cats are often among the hardest animals to get help for. We are flooded with them.
I’m absolutely not a person who judges people by their appearance or what they do for a living. Anyone who knows me knows that isn’t how I operate, especially being a South Side lesbian myself. I mean, come on. I’m not exactly walking around with a clipboard checking everyone’s respectability credentials.
Cindy outside of her store. Photo credit: Lindy Drew, Humans of St. Louis
But I knew Cindy well enough to speak up about what I believed was happening. This was exactly what rescue was supposed to be about.
That kitten was safer in the Wallace family than it would have been anywhere else I could have placed it, as far as I was concerned. Cindy had the financial means and the ability to bottle-feed a kitten while selling the newest electric rose, the plug-in replacement that all the women claim means you no longer need a sexual partner.
She could do this while working in the store. I can hear her in my head saying:
“You put the thing on the thing and you go OMG!”
All while heating up a bottle of formula.
I guess, to me, that sells itself. And honestly, if the product demonstration is that convincing, who am I to argue?
I ultimately left Saving St. Louis Pets after the conflict involving the Wallace family. After everything Cindy and Phil had done and donated to help our animals, I felt I had to walk away and leave the organization in the hands of its admins and board.
Years later, Saving St. Louis Pets became the subject of a criminal case involving its former president, Constance K. Kruse. According to the Missouri Attorney General’s Office, Kruse pleaded guilty to one count of deceptive business practices involving donations collected in the charity’s name. Officials reported that $104,482.02 in donations had been used for personal expenses. Her sentence was reported as four years in prison, stayed on conditions that included five years of supervised probation and restitution.
That case came years after my own decision to leave, and it was separate from the disagreement over the sick kitten.
But I still think about the contrast.
I started Saving St. Louis Pets because I wanted to help animals whose owners couldn’t afford urgent medical care. It was my own dream, the thing I poured myself into. Yet I walked away after a conflict over a kitten I believed would be safe in Cindy and Phil’s care.
Make it all make sense. Sometimes it just doesn’t.
I can’t speak for everyone involved or pretend I know every detail of what happened behind the scenes. I can speak to my own experience, the work I did, the animals I helped, and the reasons I chose to walk away.
Anyone who knows me knows I’m Bob’s daughter. I was taught to walk away from anything that doesn’t align with my values and morals. So I did just that.
I was told by Phil that he had significant involvement with the Mongols motorcycle club. Naturally, I ran home and Googled it. Federal law enforcement identifies the Mongols as one of the major outlaw motorcycle gangs in the United States.
In that world, loyalty and having someone’s back can carry a great deal of meaning.
I told him that was all I really needed to know. I was also told that if I ever needed anything taken care of as a woman living in South City, they would handle it for me.
Apparently, I was protected more than most people should ever dream of being.
There have been times in my life when I might have liked to make that phone call to Cindy and Phil. But I’ve always managed to handle the monsters surrounding my own life. I reassured them of this often.
Seeing Cindy outside with their rescued Frenchies and dedicated pit bulls always made my night. She reminded me of how we had worked together on one of the Frenchies she now owns. She always stopped to talk to me.
Sometimes I would go into the adult novelty store just to see Roxie, the pit bull who guarded the place. Other times, I would pick up a gift from the store and use Roxie as my excuse to stop in. Speaking in my best Oprah Winfrey voice,
“You get an electric rabbit. You get a vibrating tongue. And I get to see Roxie.”
Everybody wins, especially the women I have dated.
Honestly, it was practically a community service program. Support a local business, visit a beloved dog, and make somebody’s evening and mine a little more interesting.
Shop local, people!
I always said I wanted to do a reality show about the South Side couple who rescued dogs, ran in a motorcycle gang, and owned a sex store. Oh, the stories we could have told and the dogs we could have saved!
Roxie, Cindy’s beloved dog, recently passed away, too.
I’m sure that as we say goodbye to Phil, he has ridden up on his Harley to bring her home yet again. That’s Phil. And the only thing he’s missing now, I’m sure, is Cindy.
If you ever met Phil, you could clearly see he was truly addicted to Cindy. Completely, hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with her. It’s not often you get to witness that kind of love for a woman and for some dogs. The man literally wore his love for Cindy all over his skin.
I’ll make sure I grab a few of the newest battery-powered items and keep an eye on Cindy’s mental health in the coming weeks. We all know how hard this is going to be.
Grief is a monster of its own, and losing the person who has been beside you through all the years, all the dogs, all the chaos, and all the adventures leaves a hole nothing can easily fill. Sometimes all you can do is show up, check on your people, and make sure they know they aren’t alone.
I no longer have to take pictures of the funds donated, send them through to the 501(c)(3) board, and drop the money in the bank. But tonight, I’m missing those secret late-night handoffs.
Old-school South City shit.
I never cared to ask questions about where the funds came from. Either they sold a fuckload of dildos and lube, or Phil’s motorcycle shop behind the sex shop was bringing in enough money to make some very generous donations to pets in need.
Maybe it was a little of both. Who knows? I wasn’t there to audit the books. I was there to save the dogs.
Regardless, Phil was always one of the nicest, kindest people to me.
I will miss the sound of Harleys rolling through the alley. I’ll miss seeing that huge garage door open, with men standing around admiring a gorgeous bike. There was something about that whole scene that was so Phil and Cindy. A little rough around the edges, a little mysterious, and a whole lot kinder than people might have expected.
I hope Phil rides his final ride knowing how much I appreciated everything he did for our dogs and for the women who just needed the big O to keep them calm in a world so full of chaos and judgment.
Because apparently, you can save a dog, save a kitten, support your local motorcycle shop, and improve somebody’s sex life all in the same spot.
That’s South City for you.
Thanks, Phil, for the ride. It was a hell of one.
In memory of Phil Wallace.
Wallace, Philip G. — Kutis Funeral Home Inc.
Rena Noonan
Butch in the Streets
With The Lesbian Queer Society and the St. Louis Lesbian & Queer Supper Club.
Formerly with Saving St. Louis Pets and Stray Paws Rescue.
