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My Messy Ol' Gay Life
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DOUBLE TROUBLE
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My Messy Ol' Gay Life
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DOUBLE TROUBLE
Late in the summer of 1976, I stood on the landing outside of my building while the telephone rang and rang in my back-garden apartment. As soon as the front…
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BADLANDS
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BADLANDS
By the age of twenty-two I had a new life in a new city, but I wanted a serious romance. I soon discovered that although I was experienced in sexual…
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HAPPY CAMPERS
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My Messy Ol' Gay Life
My Messy Ol' Gay Life
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HAPPY CAMPERS
In January of 1979, I moved into a studio apartment after an ugly break-up with my partner, Geoffrey. The moment I saw the small jewel box of windows perched on top of an old Victorian, it felt like the right place to be.
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Esprit Memories
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Esprit Memories
My old boss and mentor, Doug Tompkins, passed away last December after a kayaking accident. He was a world-class entrepreneur, devoted outdoor enthusiast and a major conservationist.
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Potential Human
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Potential Human
When I arrived in California in 1973 at the height of the gay liberation movement, many San Franciscans were turning their attention inward as a robust Human Potential Movement became the newest revolution to sweep through the Bay Area.
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Too Much Me
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Too Much Me
A red bandana held my long black hair away from my soggy face as I hurried to finish my shift. I couldn’t wait to get to Potpourri, a nearby gay bar, to reunite with Colton.
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Holding Hands in Hell
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Holding Hands in Hell
Dad endured a six-hour operation to remove a five-inch tumor attached to his larynx. Since the cancer had metastasized, he also lost one-third of his tongue and most of his teeth.
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Twilight of Sundown Soldier
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Twilight of Sundown Soldier
“Dad’s got cancer.” Barbie’s voice quivered between fear and indignation.
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Green
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Green
When the holidays rolled around that year, I was a thirty-year old, sober gay man living alone in a studio apartment perched on top of a Victorian in Presidio Heights. My picture window faced westward and looked onto a teepee of green lights atop the Fireman’s Fund Insurance Building about a half-mile away.
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Three Dollar Bill
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Three Dollar Bill
After suppressed memories of my father surfaced a few years ago, I began to wonder if PTSD was the only thing that he brought back with him from the war.
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COMING UP … COMING OUT
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COMING UP … COMING OUT
This is the story of my coming out. In telling it, I have tried to recreate the voice of the eighteen-year-old Ralph whose formative years were steeped in an alcoholic home. Although I was insecure and scared, I projected a cocky, superior persona to the world. Before college, I had successfully avoided facing difficult feelings and, despite my cynicism, I was a romantic at heart.
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IN SPIRIT
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IN SPIRIT
Whenever Easter comes along, my thoughts return to my spiritual upbringing, mainly how lucky I was to be a kid who didn’t have religion rammed down his throat by his family, or by his church.
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A Friend of Mr. W.
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A Friend of Mr. W.
Many more older gay men crossed my path after I settled in San Francisco. Although they had come of age when homosexuals were considered mentally ill criminals and the word “queer” had not yet lost its sting, most of them had lived more open and happy lives within the gay enclaves that sprung up on the coasts after World War II (more on this later).
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Tragedy Queen
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My Messy Ol' Gay Life
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Tragedy Queen
Unlike Willy and Sandy, my parents’ friend Brodrick Westcott did not live in the closet because he was yanked out of it. During a routine police raid of the public men’s rooms in a park in St. Louis, he was discovered having man-on-man sex, arrested and thrown in jail under the prevailing sodomy laws. Word of his transgression spread quickly among his peers in the elite West County suburbs and, within a short time, he lost his his marriage, his child, his livelihood, his friends, his reputation and eventually his life.
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