The Prairie

has a Rainbow

R. Lee Ingalls

with Brett Cullum

The Prairie Has a Rainbow
Copyright © June, 2023 by R. Lee Ingalls.

All photographs are owned and hold copyrights with the author and family.

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author. For information, email ingallsontheprairie@gmail.com.

First edition published in 2023.

Book design by KiNetek Design.

ISBN 979-8-218-26744-5

My life has been filled with amazing people, so this book is dedicated to them, my family, and my friends that have become family.

A special dedication to the man that walks through life with me, my husband Brett.

Table of Contents

Preface

Chapter 1: There is something wrong?

Chapter 2: Do I have a gift?

Chapter 3: North Minneapolis, I am different

Chapter 4: North Thomas and Willow

Chapter 5: Anoka

Chapter 6: The flood

Chapter 7: Back to North Minneapolis

Chapter 8: Moving to the farm

Chapter 9: Childhood to adult

Chapter 10: My new world

Chapter 11: Coming out

Chapter 12: Louisiana

Chapter 13: Moving to Texas

Chapter 14: On my own

Chapter 15: My new life

Chapter 16: A new boyfriend?

Chapter 17: My friend David

Chapter 18: Bob and I

Chapter 19: The Gay Games, 1998

Chapter 20: Bob and the Mansion Men

Chapter 21: My new life, once again

Preface

Me editing the first draft of this book.

This is my story and the book I intended to write first. Some of the story lines will seem familiar if you read my first book. The first few chapters are about my childhood and let me say they might be difficult to read because my childhood was difficult, in fact, a horror to say the least. The time in which I was raised adults didn’t try to be supportive of a gay child. The plan was to fix them without mentioning to the child what it was. I don’t blame my parents or my siblings; it was just how things were done at that point in time. I am telling my story honestly and from my perspective while at the same time trying to keep the societal norms intact for that period. These were my realities for the time I lived in. I lived in the transitional time where no one talked about “it” to a revolution of sorts where gay people can live openly. Overall I have had a spectacular life, one with enough sadness and happiness to fill multiple lives.

Chapter 1

There is something wrong?

Barbara, Babette, and Teresa giggled with glee as they realized what they had just done. I felt silly, but I was so eager to play with my sister and cousins rather than having to scrap and roughhouse with the boys that I did whatever they wanted. I stared down, and wondered why this was all so funny. I was standing there in a dress that had originally been intended for one of their dolls, and surprisingly the clothes fit me just fine. It was supposed to be an outfit for one of those life size style dolls that girls played with back then, and they decided this was a fun game to have a living doll for the afternoon.

“I can’t believe this dress actually fits on him!” one of them crooned.

“It’s so much fun! Let’s show our parents!”

Before I knew it, I was being shuffled off downstairs in a lacy getup with my legs showing. The adults did indeed find it funny, and everyone had a good raucous laugh at me posing as a “living doll.” I was happy because I was getting all the attention, and everyone was tickled. After a few minutes we went back upstairs and the three of them put a different dress on me, but this time I started to feel uncomfortable with the whole thing.

“A skirt? C’mon! This one’s even shorter than the last one,” I pleaded. By nature I was shy, and I was afraid this outfit showed way too much. I guess I was willing to do whatever it took to be the center of attention, so I simply let them do it all over again.

“They’ll LOVE it! Just like they did the last time!” one of my cousins assured me.

The reaction from the adults this second time was more mixed. My Uncle Les and my Aunt Gwelda seemed genuinely amused by this whole thing, but over in the corner I caught my dad scowling. One of his eyebrows shot up, and I knew that meant he was none too happy with me parading around in the doll clothes. My mother also looked concerned once she caught the expression on my dad’s face and what it meant to my father. This was the first time I remember thinking something I thought was fun made Dad angry. I felt like I did something wrong but wasn’t exactly sure what it was.

Barbara with the doll years later.

The next time we went to visit my aunt and uncle the adults told them not to do it again. They explained that dressing me up in doll clothes was “not a good thing,” and I was at a loss to figure out why. It seemed harmless enough! I wanted to play with the girls inside and look at the dolls and the clothes rather than go outside with the boys. I had always been that way, and it felt like nothing was wrong with wanting that. But somehow, I knew something was wrong. The adults saw all of this very differently, and I asked myself, was there something wrong with this? I didn’t know what might be wrong, but Dad was not happy. Was I not supposed to do this? I wasn’t supposed to prefer playing with the girls? I was different than the other boys, not the roughhousing kind of kid and for some reason it seemed that is what people didn’t like. I didn’t know any better and didn’t see myself that way, but even at this young age I was quickly learning some things I liked to do upset everyone. It also seemed that I was the only one like this. There were no other boys I knew in my family or outside their circle that had the same interests I did.

I was born in 1953 on October 22nd. I was the first child born to Mom and Dad after Mom suffered a miscarriage from falling down a flight of stairs. That entire ordeal was quite hard on my parents, so my birth was auspicious. It is commonly known in the Midwest that the first baby born after a miscarriage is called a “Rainbow Baby.” I never caught onto the irony of that moniker until much later in life, but there I was…a colorful blessing among what was eventually to be eight kids in total. Four boys, four girls, and I was the only one who grew up to be so wildly different and on a different path than all the rest of them. I was the second in line after my sister Barbara, and the oldest boy.

Barbara holding me in 1953.

According to my mother my birth was not bad, but she was concerned the entire time she was pregnant after just having lost a baby. She was cautious and careful to a degree she hadn’t been before, or with any of the following pregnancies she would go through. Once I arrived, I was surprisingly a good baby who was easy to care for. I never cried much, and I seemed pretty happy, always smiling. Mom said I was easy to tend after, but then she also said my older sister Barbara had been easy to raise as well. My brother Brad was born a year and 3 days after me, and he too seemed like a happy-go-lucky kid from the start. We were the original three kids in my family, and we had a bond that extended past our childhood because of that.

One of my favorite photos. Grandma and Grandpa Ingalls standing in back.
Barbara on the right and Uncle John is kneeling with his arms around me.

My earliest memories were when I was three or four years old. Barbara, Brad and I would play, and it was the three of us doing the things kids do when they are that young and discovering the world. We had plenty of toys, and we each learned board games and card games at a young age. I remember my mother showing us how to play cards. War and Rummy quickly became my favorites. As I look back now nothing during this time seemed out of order, I was just one of the kids; the three of us entertained ourselves very well, and we were all happy to share with each other. Early on we developed this bad habit of following Mom and Dad’s instructions while they were in the room, but when they were not where we could see them, all their instructions instantly became optional. In those days, spankings were the way you were punished for bad behavior, and we were well acquainted with a firm hand on the backside. We were not bad kids but from the very beginning we were curious and just a little mischievous.

The first house I remember living in was outside the city of Osseo, a small town just north of Minneapolis. Barbara, Brad, and I were babies. My brother Kurt was not born yet, and I was 3 years old. I remember being fascinated by a hand water pump in the kitchen which was the only water source in the house. It looked much like the old pumps you still see as decorative lawn art, but it was smaller, and a bright red. It emptied into the kitchen sink. Mom would pump the handle and water would eventually start pouring out filling a pot. If warm water was needed, she would take the pot and heat it on the stove. I don’t recall a bathtub in the house at all even though I am sure there had to have been one. Dad would stand at a sink in the kitchen, take off his shirt and wash up there every morning and again right before dinner.

Barbara, Mom and me, about 1954.

The only toilet was an outhouse which even as a child I remember hating and dreading the very idea of using it. I can recall the awful smell of it to this day. I was convinced at some point I was going to fall into the enormous hole in the bench I was supposed to sit on. I wasn’t a big guy for my age, the hole was much wider than I was. I had the help of Mom, but the thought of tumbling into it was horrifying and the gaping maw of the outhouse still haunts me. It was never a good thing to have to use it, but during the winter it got even worse. It was freezing outside so you had to put on winter clothes, a jacket, boots, sometimes two pairs of pants…ugh! It was bad, but that was normal for the time. We didn’t live in this house very long before moving back into Minneapolis, a gleaming city with real toilets.

Barbara, Brad and me at Christmas time.

My family always put a great value on getting together, so there were many visits to relatives and to see aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins. Aunt Gwelda and Uncle Les were always close with my mother and father, so we visited them often. That was how I ended up getting conned into the doll clothes incident. My cousins Babette and Theresa made me happy, and I wanted to play with them. It was odd because Brad was all about the two boys, Greg and Rod. He would immediately run off with them, while I would linger behind hoping that I would get to play with my sister and the girls. The adults didn’t seem to mind what happened with the kids. They mainly played cards and had adult conversations while the children did their thing. The only time any of that changed was when they put me in the doll clothes and made a spectacle of me. My father later confided in me that in moments like that he suspected something. He was even a bit angry at the girls thinking they had somehow pushed me into being something different, but he knew better.

Me at about 2 years old.

Visiting Aunt Gwelda and Uncle Les’ farm was indeed one of my favorite things I did as kid, and it had more to do with the entire place than just getting to play with girls. There was always so much to do, and their farm was picturesque and perfect any time of year. I loved the teardrop shaped circle drive, the old farmhouse, red barn and the out buildings. They kept everything neat just like someone was about to snap a photo for a full color magazine. They also had a kid’s playhouse in the yard that was built for the girls, and there was a small kitchen in it. It had a living area too, and out the back window you could see the barnyard where the cows were. I liked playing in the little house, but I sensed I had to be careful not to be so happy or enthralled. I would try and make sure I could not be seen from the house or Dad and Mom would get upset, and I would once again be in trouble and playtime would end. I know now that my mother did not care but she went along with what Dad wanted.

I was fascinated by the cows. I watched them for what seemed like hours, and wanted to go out and pet them, which we did often unless the bull was out in the pasture. Then if we went into the barnyard the bull would attack us. I remember one of my cousin’s asked what I wanted to be when I grew up? I must have been 5 or 6 years old at the time and I said, “I want to be a cow!” which made them all laugh hysterically. I asked what was so funny and they told me I couldn’t be a cow! I thought to myself, “Well fine. Then I will cross that off my list!” I was embarrassed and pretty sure I turned a very bright shade of red.

In the hayloft of the barn there was a window that led out to a metal roof that we could climb out the window and slide down the roof, and this quickly became one of my favorite places. It gave us hours of fun. That was playtime where I really enjoyed being with the other boys. It was the sports that I didn’t like so much, anything competitive and involving tossing a ball around.

Uncle Les was far ahead of his time introducing or perfecting several methods of farming that changed the farming industry. One of the items he invented or helped perfect was the automated milking system. This way of milking took a very labor-intensive job and automated a lot of it, so the entire process was quicker and smoother. When they were milking the cows, I would stand there and watch them go through the entire process. I was absolutely fascinated with this and very impressed with what he had engineered here.

I was beginning to understand playing with girls and their toys was a problem for everyone. The adults continued to try and direct me toward boy toys and playing sports. I did not like to play sports and didn’t want to play with toy trucks and cars or participate in the games the boys enjoyed. I wanted to play with my sister Barbara and her dolls and toys, but even she didn’t seem pleased with this idea. It was more because I was her younger brother, and Barbara preferred her friends to keep her company. As for sports, even at this tender age I didn’t like playing games I couldn’t win. I did not have the aggression or anger in me to hit or throw anything with the same force as the other boys. I knew this was true, but why couldn’t the adults see it?

I was learning I had to present myself in a certain way for people to be okay with me and not get upset or in the case of other kids choosing to ignore me. I began to develop a contrasting inner voice that would tell me something different than whatever I was seeing or hearing. The first voice was the external voice reflecting what people would say to me or the expression on their face. Even at this young age I knew what was being said, and their reactions were very telling. When I was playing or doing something with others and I demonstrated any behaviors that “they” didn’t like, we stopped whatever we were doing and they moved on, often without me. I was learning what to say and how to respond so that both kids and adults were okay with my being there. This meant I was included, although just the parts of me I knew would be acceptable. At least I wasn’t being ignored or teased.

The second voice was mine, but it spoke only in my head. I could tell when people were not happy with me, and I wondered if something was wrong with me. I didn’t feel like anything was wrong, but the reaction I was getting from others suggested otherwise. I searched everywhere for someone that was like me, but I came up with nothing every single time. One part of me was telling me, “You are the only one. There is no one else like you.” This was terrifying to think my entire life would feel like this, and the other part of me was saying “You can’t be the only one, there has to be others like you, but where are they?” It was difficult to continue to tell myself I am okay, I was good, there is nothing wrong, and to be convinced that was true when everything around me said otherwise.

During the summer of 1959 I stayed at Aunt Gwelda and Uncle Les house for a week, and this became one of my favorite memories. My cousin Greg was assigned to me, and he showed me all around the farm, the different buildings, and what they were for. I helped him with his chores, and he taught me to drive the little child sized tractor his parents had got him. I remember the driving lessons very well. When I first arrived Greg would drive this tractor, and I would ride along with him, and only after much badgering he agreed to show me how to drive it.

I climbed into the driver’s seat. I knew how to start the tractor after having watched Greg do it so often. Greg hopped on ready to help. He was patient and showed me which pedals to step on and how to shift the tractor into gear. He then explained how to move forward, and how to steer the tractor. We began to move, and all was going well until I started to head directly for one of the buildings, and even with Greg shouting directions to turn I was turning the wrong direction. Suddenly he grabbed the steering wheel and turned us away from the building a second before hitting it. After this near miss I quickly became comfortable with the mechanics of driving the tractor, and all was good from that point forward.

I was always fascinated with the photo of my Aunt Gwelda and Uncle Les’s wedding that was on top of the piano. I became mesmerized by how beautiful Aunt Gwelda was! In her wedding photo she looked like a movie star but much prettier. Aunt Gwelda was a schoolteacher, and her instinct to instruct others carried through all parts of her life. There was a piano in the family room of their house, and I adored hearing music when the keys were hit. I wanted to learn to play it, so it sounded like a song rather than me just hitting random keys in no discernible pattern. She was patient with me, and gave me a music book for beginners, marked the middle C on the piano keyboard, and then showed me in the music book where it was in the cords and the rest of the notes. By the time I left that summer I was able to read several songs and play them on the piano. This was the beginning of my interest in music; I loved it more than anything else I had discovered. I am sure I drove everyone crazy playing the piano all day.

Even though this is one of my fondest memories as a child there was a problem that came up while I was visiting them. I believe the plan for having me spend part of the summer with Aunt Gwelda and Uncle Les was to give me time with my cousins, Rod and Greg. Rod was older than I was, so he didn’t want to have much to do with me which meant Greg and I would have the most time together. Even as a child Greg was truly fearless! He would go full force with everything he wanted to do, and never hesitated. I did enjoy working on the chores with him and driving the tractor, but his roughhousing was too much and my more delicate side came to the surface. It caused problems between us, and eventually his parents got involved. Even though the problem was nothing serious, Gwelda and Les along with my mom and dad agreed that me spending time with them during the summer would never accomplish their goal. So it never happened again. There was so much for me that was magical about this time, but it didn’t toughen me up like my parents seemed to wish.

°°°

When I got back home we moved into a house in Crystal, Minnesota. I returned to my normal life, and this new house quickly became one of my favorites. It had a front porch that we rarely used, but there were two sets of French doors that connected the front porch to the living room. I loved those fancy doors, and possibly that was the reason I found this abode so much fun.

The Crystal house. This is the back of the house.

The issue with me wanting to play with toys and games that were for girls and not boys continued. Mom didn’t seem concerned, but Dad was not happy about it. When I tried to play with toys that would have been considered “for girls” Dad would try to redirect me to other toys. He would begin to engage me in games like playing ball, or replacing dolls with cars and trucks, but I was not interested. I learned to make the effort to play with the boys’ toys or Dad would get upset. The best thing to do was keep my mouth shut and attempt to do what Dad wanted. Us kids did have a lot of toys including the most popular cars and trucks, but we also had Tinker Toys which I liked along with my brothers Brad and Kurt. We would play with them for hours, building all kinds of fanciful stuff. One of my other favorite toys to play with were Lincoln Logs. These were two sets of toys I could happily play with, and no one seemed to be upset.

Our family always enjoyed sitting around the TV on Saturday nights to watch whatever movie would come on. One night around the holiday season, we were all gathered in the living room to watch television as we always did. Mom would make a couple huge bowls of popcorn, one for her and Dad then one for us kids. Once the popcorn was ready, she would melt a whole stick of butter and drizzle it over the popcorn and then salt it. All the kids were sitting on the floor and Mom and Dad cuddled on the couch behind us, when all of a sudden, The Wizard of Oz came on as the movie of the week. I was glued to the TV, and I couldn’t believe it. Dorothy seemed so beautiful, and the little dog was so cute. I loved all her friends and hated the witch. I hate to admit I did want to be one of the flying monkeys, because who doesn’t want to fly? I completely blocked everyone and everything out and immersed myself in the magical land of Oz. It felt like I was there with them. This is the first time I remember tuning out the real world and living in a fantasy even if I was only able to enjoy the imagined life infrequently and in small bursts. My family would look for this show to come on TV every year until I was in my teens. I became obsessed with Judy Garland, having no idea it would become cliché, and a hallmark for most gay men.

Mom standing in front of the French doors I loved so much in this house.

I only remember one Christmas at the Crystal house, and it was good and bad in equal doses. It began with Barbara, Brad and me looking through the toy section of the Sears and Montgomery Ward catalogs. The catalogs were big and heavy, so Mom set us on the couch, and then set the catalog in our laps to page through. We would flip through pages to the toys section as quickly as we could and point out items, we wanted Santa to bring us. This particular Christmas, Barbara had selected a girl doll that had a matching boy doll next to it. Barbara wanted the girl doll, and I selected the boy doll. I made sure Mom and Dad knew what I wanted right along with Barbara. What neither Barbara nor I knew was that these dolls were anatomically correct. I didn’t find this out until years later, and even then, it wasn’t immediately clear what that meant. Eventually I would understand, but the photos in the catalog were careful to not show anything that might not have been appropriate for children. In the end neither one of us got the doll we wanted, and we didn’t know the reason why.

Me and the punching bag.

Dad was determined I would get a toy fitting for a boy, not a girl. My big gift that year was a punching bag. My inner voice was saying, “Really? A punching bag? What did I say that made you think I would like this?” Anyway, it was a platform, you stood on one end, and the punching bag was mounted on a flexible rod on the other. I was supposed to stand on the platform and then practice punching the bag. When I saw it I was not happy, and I let everyone know I did not want this gift. Mom was trying to help and showed me how to play with it. I didn’t want to touch it, but somehow miraculously they managed to get one photo of me on the contraption while I was smiling. Believe me when I say I was not happy and made sure everyone knew it. Mom wanted me to act as if I liked it, and at least try to play with it so I wouldn’t hurt Dad’s feelings. She wanted me to convince Dad I was pleased, but that was not possible. Mom and Dad began to argue, and Dad caved in and shouted “Fine! Just throw it out then!” That never happened, but I never played with the accursed punching bag again either.

I was becoming more aware and knew I was different in a way everyone around me felt was not good. I realized to make everyone happy and okay being around me I needed to figure out how to hide that difference, whatever it was. I made an effort to spend more time by myself and away from others. The time spent alone was the only time I could allow my mind the freedom to feel comfortable and just be happy. I was troubled by the idea that something might be wrong with me. People didn’t treat anyone else like I was being treated, and I was the only boy I knew that didn’t like boys’ games.

The four oldest kids. From the left, Kurt, Brad, me and Barbara.

My inner voice was telling me I was okay, I didn’t feel bad about the interests I had, it was everyone else that had a problem. My time alone was the only time I would have peace and I could find internal happiness. Unfortunately, alone time was unheard of in a family of 10. Feeling lonely in a crowd is a staggering thing for a kid and even though I couldn’t have said it that way the sense of loneliness was overwhelming at times. I couldn’t grasp what all of this meant, and I was often finding myself in a nonsensical world where everyone had a different view. I felt like I was in a sea of “others,” they were all so different and as much as I didn’t want to be there, I had no option. I internalized everything and started having long conversations with myself. Not the traditional type, as in one person talking to another person, but I would talk to myself to reinforce my thoughts. At school I didn’t go into the playground during recess with the other kids. I learned early on that was the quickest way to get picked on, teased or worse bullied. I hovered right outside the entrance, waiting to go back inside as quickly as possible. I felt safest and most transparent when the school was in session, and everyone was focused on schoolwork.

My sister Cheri was born when we lived in the Crystal House.
This is Mom showing all the kids new baby Cheri.

We moved many times, which meant I changed schools frequently. That worked in my favor. By the time the other kids were getting to know me, and the teasing really set in, we moved, and I got a fresh start at another school. I knew Mom and Dad didn’t know the full extent of my struggle, or the trouble I was having at school, but never staying put for too long was a good thing for me. I had a few months of comfort whenever we initially relocated. Sadly I kept making the same mistake by being open and engaging with my new classmates. It never took long before the other kids began to realize I was different, and the teasing would begin. I had to go back to being the introvert that seemed to work best for other kids. When you are born into this it all seems “normal,” having feelings of desperation was the way it was supposed to be, even though I did not see this “condition” in my siblings. My internal voice was telling me, “I wish this was different, that people could be okay or happy with me,” but I never remember wishing I was not me. I felt life would be easier if I didn’t have this thing with no name or word, but at the same time I felt that I was “my kind of normal.”

There is no way I could have articulated what was in my mind, but I remember how I felt. I saw how people responded to me. I was the Ugly Duckling. I was the one that never fit in, and I could tell it was not good. For a child to know they are alone in the world with no glimmer of hope, yet simultaneously know this was my “normal.” Years later my mother told me she knew before I even started school, I was gay, even though that is not what they called it then. She knew, but in those days, you tried to “fix” your child, not try to make them okay with it. I still have a difficult time understanding how a parent could know this about their child and still allow them to grow up in a world where they think they are broken, damaged, and all alone. I can’t fault my parents for living in the time they did, because both the medical and scientific communities believed that this was an illness that could be treated. Even with this, there were so many others that knew, and I would think someone out there cared enough to help…but not in those days. Kids are pretty resilient, and I certainly was I had to be and more so than the other kids around me. Life would continue to be difficult for me, but I was ready to accept that. I didn’t have a label or an idea of what or who else was out there, but I was determined to trudge onwards.

Chapter 2

Do I have a gift?

From the Crystal house in Minnesota my family moved to Wisconsin; the next place we lived was next to an A&W which served hamburgers and root beer. Nobody realized when we set up residence that the house had issues. We had a bad torrential rain one day, and my brother Brad and I ran from window to window watching water rise in the streets, and then into the yard. Our sister Barbara was so afraid she wouldn’t step foot near any of the windows for fear she might catch a glimpse. Brad and I were glued to the water rising, and we could see the A&W out one of the side windows. The water slowly creeped up the parking lot trapping the servers on what looked like a small island with the building and a small part of the parking lot around it.

Brad asked, “How are they going to get out of there?”

I shrugged and said, “Maybe they have a boat.” We then watched and waited to see when they would all come out on a raft holding root beers or something.

This rain flooded the basement of our house, but none of us were aware of it until Mom opened the door that led to the basement and the water was right at the door. I was too small to be afraid, but I could tell Mom was significantly concerned. Dad was working as a traveling salesman, so he was not home. The water outside went away quickly, but the water in the basement took days to drain and a musty damp smell lasted the rest of the time we lived there. As if all of this were not bad enough, all the kids got sick shortly afterwards. Mom was certain it was because of the mold and mildew from the basement taking on water. She had a lot on her plate: six sick kids, trying to dry out the basement, and they had lost everything they stored in the basement. She had to manage this all on her own without the aid of my father.

The landlord who Mom and Dad rented the house from should have taken responsibility for the damages to the property, and Mom and Dad felt he had ownership in part for what they lost as well as the medical expenses of the kids. They learned this sort of event had happened before, and the owner failed to mention it when he rented them the house. The landlord said he was under no obligation to disclose the house had flooded previously, or that it could flood again. Dad wasn’t having it and took him to court. The judge agreed with the landlord and said that he did not have to share that information. Mom and Dad truly did lose everything that was in the basement and had to cover all the medical bills themselves. They were disappointed, yet had to move on. Dad always felt the decision made by the judge was biased because the landlord lived in the city, while our family was new to the area. We were always taught to do the right thing and now I understood why some people needed to be taught this.

And then there were five. Taken in about 1957, Barbara standing
in back, from the left, me holding Margo, Kurt and Brad.

The residence was deemed unlivable, so we were able to move to another house quickly. This next house was in a picturesque part of the Wisconsin countryside surrounded by farms, and it was painted white with windows and doors trimmed in red. It had a built-in banquette in the kitchen and a huge family room in the back of the house. It sat on a large piece of property so us kids had plenty of area to play.

At school I was getting along fine but did not look to make friends. I was surprised to find there were areas I was better than my peers which continued my sense of separation or “otherness” but perhaps not in a bad way. While living in the country house there was a Christmas show the school put together, and all the students in our class were supposed to do a dance. At the time Ballroom dancing was still being taught in grade school as part of gym studies, so I learned the Slow Waltz, Foxtrot, and what they called a Fast Waltz. In later years I would find out the real name for this dance was the Viennese Waltz. For the Christmas program we were going to dance the Slow Waltz, and we were all partnered with someone of the opposite sex. I quickly became aware I was pretty good at this Slow Waltz thing, and I thought to myself, “this is fun and I am better at this than these other kids.” The teacher was praising me for how well I was doing. This had never happened! I was surprised that not only did I pick up and remember my routine, but I quickly memorized the part for the girl I was dancing with as well. I was able to help her with what she was supposed to do.

The routine was simple, and it wasn’t anything I had difficulty in wrapping my head around. There were about twenty couples, and we were taught to watch each other to make sure we were all doing the same steps in the dance and stay in lines both in front of us and on both sides. I had no problem with navigating all the choreography and positioning simultaneously. Before long the other kids were watching me to make sure they were doing what they were supposed to. For the first time I felt good about my accomplishments, and myself in general.

We were never wealthy growing up, and Brad and I had one outfit to wear to school every single day. Barbara got hand me downs from our cousins, but our cousins that were boys had younger brothers. Hand me downs were not an option for the two of us. We had one shirt to wear to school, and they both matched each other. It was a red glittery short sleeve shirt with a black velvet collar. Everyone called it “our Elvis shirt.” We also had one pair of pants that were black. For this Christmas show most of the kids were talking about the new clothes they were going to wear. I thought that we must be getting new clothes also.

One night after school I asked Mom, “Are we going to get new clothes to wear for the Christmas show?”

She said, “No…”

“All the other kids were going to get new clothes to wear, why can’t I?”

It was the first, but not the last time, I heard, “We can’t afford new clothes right now.”

This time Mom said it, but Dad would remind me many times throughout the years. I would end up wearing the same shirt and pants I wore every day to school. I was embarrassed but I had no choice. It didn’t matter to anyone else, but it was the first time I became aware our family was not as financially able as others.

Taken in the living room of the country house in Wisconsin. From the left,
Kurt, Barbara holding Monty, Brad, Margo, Mom holding Cheri and me.

The night of the performance was here, and we arrived at the school gymnasium where the Christmas Show was being held. Mom and my brothers and sisters were there, but Dad was traveling so he couldn’t attend. All the students that were performing got out onto the floor where we were supposed to be, and before starting I spotted Mom in the bleachers, so I waved. I got the girl in the dance position and looked around me to make sure everyone was in their spot, and they were. Soon after the music started, I started the routine just as we were taught. “WAIT!” I thought to myself “WHAT THE HECK!” The girl I was dancing with wasn’t at all doing what she was taught, and I was doing my best to get her back on the routine. I asked her, “What are you doing?” and she finally snapped to and started “following” me, if you could call that following. I looked around and no one was doing what they were supposed to do, and the lines were nonexistent. By this time I was thinking, “This is a mess!” I was very flustered, and after a few moments I had to stop watching everyone else and did the routine as we were taught. I could feel my body heat rising, but it seemed just as we started dancing the music ended and then it was over. I had the girl do her underarm turn, she curtsied, and I bowed. By this time, she was crying up a storm and I looked at her and once again thought, “What the heck? We are done!” I was in the second grade, and I am not sure I knew how to roll my eyes at this point, but if I could have, I would have. I was confused and wondered, “How did this disaster happen? Why didn’t everyone just do what they were taught?” When I met up with my mother and siblings, Mom said I did great, and it was fun to watch me. I asked her if she could tell the other kids didn’t do what they were supposed to, and she said no it looked really good to her.

Me in about 1957.

I can’t say I realized I had a talent in dancing at this point, but once I finished, I seemed to know I was good at this, and other kids liked me because of it. I picked up the routine quickly, the music made sense to me, and I enjoyed it. I am sure the music lessons I had with my Aunt Gwelda a couple years earlier helped with this. I was having such trouble coming to terms with the fact that other kids not only seemed to struggle, but they were a complete mess. Even though we were all shown the routine and practiced it many times. When it came time to do it in front of an audience most if not all of them completely forgot everything, they were taught…except me. They didn’t do the routine at all, and I was not able to understand why. I realized then and there that I rather liked dancing, and that I had a sense of it that nobody around me seemed to share.

°°°

It was about this time I discovered I was part of the Ingalls Family that was the subject of the Little House on the Prairie books written by Laura Ingalls Wilder. I was out in the school yard one day during recess.

One of my school mates came up to me and asked, “Are you the same family that is in Little House on the Prairie book? You spell your last name the same way.”

After thinking about it a moment, I replied, “I don’t know.”

That night when I went home, I told my mother what happened and asked her, “Are we related to the author?”

She said, “Yes. As a matter of fact, you are part of that family.”

She didn’t know exactly how, but she did recall my Grandparents talking about Laura’s family. I was so proud, and it was kind of cool knowing those stories were written by a member of my family and were part of our family history.

I went to school the next day found my schoolmate during recess and told him, “I asked my mother if we were part of the Ingalls family in those stories and she said we are part of that family.”

That was it, until I told my teacher. She said, “No you are not. Now go sit down.”

I was shocked and sad thinking to myself, “Why would my mother lie to me? Or why does this teacher think I would lie or make that up?”

I told my mother that evening, and she told me not to worry about it. That was a little hard to do, because now I felt like I hated my teacher. She thought my mother and me were liars. That was not the end of it. During the next parent teacher conference my mother did ask my teacher about the conversation, and then proceeded to tell her we were absolutely the same family. My mother had a way to make you feel little, like you had committed this horrible thing, which I was now watching her do to my teacher. I could see the teacher fidgeting not knowing what to do or say. It was an unusual experience, but I knew, I am part of the same family that produced Laura Ingalls Wilder. That seemed kind of cool!

I believe this event also planted a seed, one that in time would grow into my writing a book about my life or family.

°°°

During second grade in Wisconsin the school district had a policy that meant my brother and my birthdays didn’t line up with our classmates. Per their policy they held us back and made us both repeat a year. I was not happy about it and didn’t understand why that was the policy, but I had no say in it.

The yard at the Wisconsin country house was very large. Dad is practicing with his bow. I am in the tree, Barbara is standing near me, Brad is facing the camera.

I remember I desperately wanted to be in the small group of kids that were selected as the quick learners. During one of the teacher/student meetings we had I said, “I want to be in the advanced class.” I continued, “I can keep up and will work hard to be in that group.” My teacher did consider me for that group. She said, “I am going to give you a book to read and some math to work on. We will meet and go through it a week from now and then I will decide if you can join that group.” I took the work she gave me and worked on it. The book was very advanced but the math was easy for me. I met with the teacher again a week later and she quizzed me about the book. I was able to respond to the questions, but not with the clarity and understanding she was looking for. She was impressed with the math but in the end, she decided I should not join that group.

I still believe I could have been successful but my path for success in that group might have been different than the other kids. If I knew or suspected that then why didn’t the teacher? The school gave Mom and Dad a stack of books and told them Brad and I should spend the summer reading them, that it would help with our learning. At this time, I don’t think teachers considered some kids were more visual learners, and for someone like me it is hard to see the words in a line. I picked the words up from above and below the line as well. Eventually I made that work for me but for this time I was repeating the second grade, darn it! By the time we would start school the next year we would be back in Minnesota, but it didn’t make any difference Brad and I still had to repeat our grades.

Chapter 3

North Minneapolis, I am different

This was 1961, and we moved into the house on Thomas Ave. in North Minneapolis. We lived next to a family that had children about the same age as we were, but there were a couple boys that were a little older. Barbara and Brad got along with the older boys very well, and I tried initially to play with them, but it did not go well. I was always the one getting teased and drawing all the negative attention. I must admit, when us kids went outside to play with the other kids, I was dressed more like Barbara than Brad, so it was not hard to find something to tease me about. There was no way around it, when you pick style over comfort, as a kid you are going to stand out. At some point my sister Barbara and brother Brad told the neighbor kids about the time my cousins dressed me in the doll clothes and from that point on they called me “girl.” I hated it and everyone knew that, so they used it to get me to leave and go off on my own. I am sure that not being the most masculine boy contributed to this as well.

The difficulty being around other kids was cementing a sense in me that being alone was the best option. I needed to continue to figure out how I was going to be happy and keep myself entertained. We got to the point where it became time for Barbara, Brad, and me to go outside to play with the neighborhood kids, the two of them would but I wouldn’t. I would immediately head for the alley and go off on my own. The problem with this is I was beginning to enjoy my time alone and I didn’t want to be around the others. The adults believed I was very introverted but that was not the case; I didn’t want to be where I was not welcome. It was too difficult for me.

A couple things happened about this time that I didn’t think much of, but in retrospect it was significant. I saw a record album of the Everly Brothers and I thought they were very handsome. I knew I liked looking at them, but I didn’t know why. Somehow, I knew this might be a bad thing but if I didn’t say anything about it maybe no one would notice. This is the first time I remember being attracted to men, but at this age I was not able to form the thought that way. I just knew I liked them and wished they liked me. It was also the year of “The Twist,” a new song by Chubby Checker. It was all the rage and Mom had to have her copy of the record as well. One evening Mom and Barbara were in the living room watching one of the dance shows on TV and they were playing “The Twist.” Both of them were trying to copy what the people on TV were doing when I suddenly stood up and showed them I could do it also. Both Mom and Barbara stopped and were surprised I was actually doing “The Twist.” After the dance ended we all got a great laugh out of it, but this was the second time I was demonstrating I could copy and pick up dancing quickly.

Mine and Barbara’s school pictures.

Even though I was constantly being teased there were times I felt I had to participate in the games all the other neighborhood kids were playing. During the summer we would play baseball in the street out in front of our houses. I would play and I was not bad, but I was not one of the best either. I was always one of the last kids picked for a team, even after the girls. When I went to bat, I always hit the ball and ended up on base, but if I ever hit a homerun I don’t remember it. I was always assigned an outfield position which I was okay playing, but no promoters were looking for me. To this day I can’t throw a ball any distance at all.

During the summers Mom and Dad would keep the family tradition and send several of us kids to our aunt and uncle’s farms to help them during the summer growing months. I already talked about the year I spent with Aunt Gwelda and Uncle Les, and that Greg and I were not able to get along very well for long periods. Not that either of us didn’t like the other it is just we were very different, and after some time someone (usually me) would get their feelings hurt. I ended up going to Uncle Warren, Mom’s oldest brother and his wife Aunt Jean’s house several summers and really loved every summer I spent with them.

They had four children: Marie who was three years older than me, Wayne two years older, Bruce a year older, and Dwight four years younger. For the most part because everyone was so busy, I helped Dwight with his chores except when it came to time to milk the cows. I will never forget; I would wake up in the morning before anyone else. I would get dressed and go down to the kitchen and sit on a chair just inside the door leading to the porch outside. The first time this happened I startled Uncle Warren when he came into the kitchen and turned on the light. He wasn’t expecting me to be sitting there and he was concerned something might be wrong. He rushed over to me and knelt putting his hands on my knees.

“Are you okay?” he asked me.

I replied, “Yes I was waiting for you so I can help.”

“Does anything hurt?”

“No.”

“Okay let’s go. You can help me get the milk cows into the barn.”

So off we went. I am not sure what I liked about this but bringing cows in to be milked was one of the highlights of the time I spent with them.

I loved the farmhouse so much I can still feel the air in my lungs at the thought of it. Standing in the road looking at the front of the white Victorian style house it was about a quarter of the way up a very steep hill. There were steps on the left side going up the hill and then to a large, covered porch across the entire front of the house. Then behind the house the hill continued its steep climb to the top of the valley. Uncle Warren and Aunt Jean owned the entire valley. They purchased it from my grandfather when he decided to retire. Part of the hill was fenced to keep the cows in, and it was used as pasture because it was covered with trees and couldn’t be farmed for crops. There were paths all through the pasture from the cows making their way from the gate which was on the far right of the house near the road.

This morning Uncle Warren told me, “Pay attention because the rest of the time you are here you can go and get the cows down to the gate.” I was so happy; I loved it! Every morning I got up, sat quietly until Uncle Warren came into the kitchen and he would head off to the barn and get it ready and I went to herd the cows and drive them down to the gate.

Barbara and I at our confirmation celebration in the North Thomas house.

They were a typical farm family of that time. Uncle Warren worked the land; he spent from dawn to dusk out in the barns or fields every single day. When we went anywhere, they always had to be home to do evening chores. There were no vacations for them. Aunt Jean was one of the hardest working women I have ever known. She ran the house, cooked every meal from scratch including the breads and cakes. She managed a hen house and worked the vegetable garden. As I said I spent several summers with their family, and they were some of the happiest times of my childhood. I don’t know if any of them suspected there was something different about me but if they did, they never said anything about it and treated me like part of the family. The time spent with them were some of the only times I felt I could be happy without fear.

It couldn’t last though, because at some point I had to go back home, and on more than one occasion I cried the entire way back. I didn’t want to return to my life at home because life was so hard for me, and I simply didn’t want to do it. I don’t believe anyone knew the real reason I didn’t want to go home. They all thought I just didn’t like my life at home, but it was so much more than that; I didn’t like the world I was forced to live in! My normal was living in a world that took every opportunity to make me feel bad about myself. Uncle Warren mentioned my reluctance to go home several times even when I was an adult, but I don’t know to this day if he knew the full scope of reasons I didn’t want to go back. I can still feel the sadness in my heart from those trips back home. Returning meant that school would start soon after getting home and the summer would be over, and for me the sadness was almost unbearable.

One small item that made returning home better was my favorite season of the year would be coming soon, the fall. It meant it would be cooler outside, the leaves would begin to turn and fall off the trees, and the holidays were coming quickly. During the fall when the leaves began to drop there was an unmistakable smell in the air that provided another element to the sense of the season. People would rake the leaves that had fallen off the trees into the street near the gutter and then burn them, filling the air with an amazing scent. It was magical. Eventually this would be outlawed, but I enjoyed it and can still smell it today. It was a time of year that I could feel the embrace of the season and being alone didn’t feel quite so bad. I could take time to myself walking through the streets as the leaves were turning and falling. The neighbors were out burning the piles of leaves and I could do some introspection, dreaming about a future where I was happy and the ugliness in my life was gone.

Soon after the fall season the first snow would come and then it was all about the winter activities. This also meant the outerwear would come out of boxes and the smell of the storage moth balls filled the house. A long line of coats and boots would line the mud room at the back of the house. Getting ready to go outside during the winter was a chore and took several minutes for each of us to suit up. Mom and Dad would help us when we were young, but once we were old enough, we would help the younger kids and then get ready ourselves.

Minneapolis is a very hilly city, so finding a hill to slide down was never hard or far from home. Mom and Dad would let us older kids go to the parks alone, but on school days we had to be home early, and on weekends we had to be home before dark. When they could, Mom and Dad would go with us and bring the younger kids. Having the younger kids was a good news/bad news thing. For Kurt, Brad, and me it was always a good thing. It is kind of funny to see little kids slide down the hill, hit a small bump, and go flying off the sled. They would try to walk around not knowing where the ice was and next thing you know it is feet over head and a loud thud as they hit the ground. Not that the three of us would do anything on purpose to make this happen, but it always occurred with more frequency when we were around. Mom and Dad would try to yell at us to stop, but they were laughing so hard they could barely get out the command. No one ever got hurt and even the younger kids would get up laughing up a storm and begging to do it again. How could we resist?

Another photo at the Confirmation celebration. Barbara
and I in back, Brad in the middle, Margo, Cheri and Kurt in front.

Most of the schools in Minnesota at this time would create an ice-skating rink in what would be the playground or a sports field during the warmer months, and the school near us was no different. All the older kids in our family had ice skates, and we went to the rink as often as we could. We all were good skaters in no time. For me ice skating was something I could do alone, so I did plenty of it. One of the ways I was able to enjoy myself while doing some outside activities. Life was not all bad, but when I look back at the times I was truly happy I was also alone.

Chapter 4

North Thomas and Willow

While living in the Thomas house there was a kid that lived two doors down from us that was my age with whom I developed a good friendship. He had some visible scars on one side of this face and neck, but I didn’t know what it was from. Early in our friendship we were walking around not doing much of anything but talking when he told me. “When I was 2 years old, I was in the kitchen with my mother and sisters. Mom was cooking a meal and had a pot of water on the stove bringing it to a boil. She turned away for just a minute, and I reached up and grabbed the handle of the pan. The water spilled out and down one side of me. They rushed me to the emergency room, and I received treatment for severe burns, but one side of me from the hair line all the way down to my knee is scarred by the burn.” I could see the burn on his face but during the winter he was covered by clothing so I couldn’t see the rest of his burn. He was a nice-looking kid, but because of his burn he was an outcast, like me, so of course we became friends.

We lived in this house for a couple years, and I attended the second and third grades while living here. I was of an age where we did kid things like riding bikes and exploring the neighborhood. The school we attended was within walking distance of our house and had a great playground. There were a couple sets of swings, the teeter totter, a jungle gym that we could climb all over, and a community swimming pool that was only open during the summer. We spent a lot of time there during the summer, early fall, and late spring months. Kurt, Brad, and I began our fearless playing about this time. None of this changed the fact my life was difficult, and it was easy to blame everything on that part of me that everyone seemed to have a problem with, but I was more comfortable with family than I was with the neighborhood kids. I was more outgoing, and even though I knew I still had to hide “that” part of me I could have fun or work with them and not feel so much like an outcast. It was as if they had to be with me, like it or not. Even though we fought like normal siblings, we also played and worked together. So when I was with my family, life was not horrible.

Despite this house full of people and activity, I knew I had to keep my distance and the loneliness was constant. I had friends and family, but there was no one I could confide in. Those parts of me that were the core of who I am had to remain hidden and kept to myself. I would see other kids, both in the family and outside, huddled up telling secrets, and talking about everyone else, but I didn’t have anyone I could do that with. At least not completely. I was a good listener so others felt they could tell me their secrets and they did, but I knew my secret had to stay with me. Even if I felt I could or wanted to tell someone exactly what would I tell them? I didn’t have a word or description of what made me different; I just knew I was. I had a secret that I must not tell I repeated to myself over and over. I continued to say it because every day when I woke up it was the first thing that came into my mind and the horror it could bring if anyone found out. I worried and wondered was something going to happen during the day that is going to be a new horror? Can I manage to make it through the day without something bad happening? For most people they have a support group or place. If nothing else when a marginalized kid went home, he or she would be with people just like them, so they could relax, be comfortable and enjoy themselves. I didn’t have that, no matter where I was or went, I had to hide at least part of myself just to be sure I was okay. Even at home, I was part of the family, but I couldn’t let them know my secret. I was in a crowd all the time, our family gatherings were very large, but even when we attended those, I knew I was the only one. This was my hidden thing, and I had to suppress it, keep it covered at all costs! I knew all of this with absolute certainty. I was always afraid of being teased or worse yet being attacked and beat-up. At seven or eight years old this was becoming my normal.

°°°

We moved from this place to another house close enough that we could walk between them, but it did require crossing several busy streets. I am sure Mom and Dad would not have been happy with us had they known how often the four older kids made the trip between the two houses on foot. The house we moved into turned out to be one of my favorites. It was an old Victorian style house with a grand staircase just inside the front door, dark wide baseboards, crown molding, and 6 panel doors all original and in excellent condition. I often wonder if the house is still standing, and what I might think of it today.

We moved into this house in 1963, the year President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. This tragedy began a very hard time for our country and our family as well. You could feel the heaviness everywhere you went. I remember the day this happened and the days that followed vividly. There was an overwhelming sadness in the country even in our house where us kids would normally play. We were sent home from school early that day without being told why.

This photo was taken in the summer of 1963 after moving into the house on Willow.
It was the summer before President John F. Kennedy was assassinated.

The day began like every other day, everything seemed normal. Mom got all the kids up, fed us breakfast and sent us off to school. Shortly after the kids left for school she got in her car and went to work. I remember I was in the 4th grade, and my teacher was Mrs. Wagoner. Shortly after lunch she left the classroom and returned a few minutes later with a very somber look on her face, and it looked like she had been crying. She stood behind her desk, faced the class, and called for our attention. I will never forget what she said, “Class you are being dismissed for the day. You are to go right home with no playing along the way. I don’t want to see any of you in the schoolyard playing. When you get home your parents will talk to you about why you are being dismissed.”

When Mom and Dad got home, we were told what happened, and for the next several days all of us were glued to the television watching for updates. Normally us kids were never good at sitting still for very long, but we managed during this time.

All of us sat in front of the TV and a few days after President Kennedy was shot, we watched as J. Harvey Oswald was shot on live TV. Mom began to cry, and Dad was trying to comfort her while all of us kids were scared and wondering what happened? This time in our nation and family was difficult and hard to understand but in time the nation and our family moved forward.

My life returned to what was normal for me, even though my life at home was better than my life outside that wasn’t saying much. I was the oldest boy, and that seemed to give me a different circumstance than all the rest of the kids in our family. It is hard to explain, but the younger kids looked up to me and even those closest to my age treated me differently. I believe this is what made life at home more palatable. It is hard to write these words, but my life as a kid was anything but good, and certainly not what would have been considered normal when you compare it to my siblings. My brothers and sisters included me with everything that was happening, but I always felt I had to hide behind a façade that everyone would find acceptable, even with family. Everything I did I was always holding back and careful that I did not slip and show too much. On those rare occasions I did expose more of the real me, it ended whatever we were doing, and everyone left awkwardly leaving me solo to stew once again.

When I was outside the house, going to school, doing household chores like mowing the grass, or even our playtime with the neighborhood kids I had to keep myself in check so that I did not draw the wrong type of attention. By this time, I was afraid I was the only person like me; I continued to look for someone or something to confirm I was not the only one, but I was finding nothing. I couldn’t give up; the world was too difficult for me. I began to fantasize that everyone was like me, except they were able to set their feelings aside and act in conflict with their natural instincts. It is crazy to think like this, but with no reference or experience my mind went to all kinds of crazy places to try and make sense of all of this. If the latter is true and everyone is just like me, why am I the only one having such difficulty doing acting in conflict with how I instinctively feel?

I searched without saying anything to anyone for the answers to why and how could I be so different? We always lived in houses where there were a large number of neighborhood kids, and I had a large group of “friends.” I watched them to see if anyone was demonstrating the behaviors that would match what I was feeling but no…not even one. I had an incredibly large family, and at our frequent family gatherings I looked for someone that was similar to me that I could talk to but no, not even one. I was consciously telling myself there HAS to be others, but I was not finding them. My reasoning even without evidence was telling me, yes you are special, and an argument could be made for a true one of a kind. I doubted I could be that special, so there must be others! If I was the only person in the world like me, no matter what I was going to live my life alone. That idea sickened me, and I kept trying to put it out of mind. It sounds like I was obsessing over this issue and believe me I was. The loneliness and time by myself provided an environment where I could drop into the deepest hole of self-loathing. The sadness at times was overwhelming.

At this time in history it was like living in a box, and all I and any of us kids could see is what was allowed inside that box. There was only broadcast TV with no gay characters at all. There was no Internet, so the only source of information is what could be found in books and periodicals that you had access to. Most of the media in any form stayed away from the issue of gay, and those that did address it were kept far away from children. The adults around us had much more control over what we saw, heard, and had access to. Decades later I would learn there were times and people in our lives that might have given me the clues I was looking for, but my parents, school officials and all adults were good at keeping me away from anything that would help me understand that I am not the only one. I am a kid and life is terrifying for me, can’t they see that?

I was too young to think in terms of physical interaction between two people, but I did know that there are one-on-one relationships, as in a boy and a girl. “Normally” a boy picks out a girl he likes, some flirting takes place, and if all goes well, they become boyfriend and girlfriend. The way I remember it being described is they “Like” each other. Even at this tender age this was going on. I knew I had to pick someone if I was going to fit in, but the problem was I wanted to pick a boy, not a girl. I knew even at this young age if I tried to pick a boy my life would be over, so I did just like everyone else did. I picked a girl.

The first one I remember was a girl named Dana. She was very cute and small but a lot of fun to be around. In retrospect I believe the reason we got along so well is we were a shield for each other; she might have been as into girls as I was into boys. She lived in a house on a very busy street with her mother, brothers, and sisters, but she would never let me go into her house. I had to wait for her outside, which I found odd, but I went along with her request.

We would meet after school or over the weekend and walk toward a favorite park, Sunset Hill in Theodore Wirth Park, where we would sit, talk and people watch. Sometimes we would walk the paths through what we called the woods but were more likely just a patch of overgrowth. At times it would be just her and I, but most times there were other friends with us. While on the way to the park we would pass a grocery store that she said her uncle worked in.

On one of our walks she said, “Wait out here, my uncle works in this store, and I am going to go in and see him.”

I told her, “I am coming in with you.”

She quickly said, “No wait here!” and shot me a look.

We were with another friend and the two of us stood outside the store while Dana went in to see her uncle. After a short period of time, Dana came back out with a bag full of snacks and candies.

She proclaimed, “My Uncle gave me these! Let’s eat them at the park.” and off we went.

We finished our walk to the park, sat and talked, and ate as much as we could. It never occurred to me these items might have been stolen but looking back, I believe they were. After a few months Dana and her family moved far enough away that we no longer saw each other, thus ending our boyfriend/girlfriend relationship.

Chapter 5

Anoka

After the school year ended, we moved to a house in Anoka, Minnesota, to be closer to Dad’s parents. The house was located just a block away from a park that had the Rum River on the far side, so it made for a great place for Kurt, Brad, and me to play. We were careful when playing near the river and never even tried to go in the river. Mom and Dad did a good job of putting the fear of drowning in us, so we never tested the river by trying to swim in it.

For our family, our move to Anoka did not live up to the promise Mom and Dad had hoped for. We moved to the new house just before the school year started, and all seemed to be going well even for me. School was good for a change, I was getting along with the other kids and the teacher. The following summer was when our life in Anoka began to take a turn.

1964 was a very difficult summer for our family. This day, Mom needed to do some shopping at Spartan Atlantic where she worked but didn’t want to take all the kids, so she made arrangements with her friend, and sister-in-law Marge, to babysit along with her kids at a swimming hole near our homes. We had been to this swimming place many times so this was nothing new to us, but it was new to Marge and her kids.

The urban legend of how the swimming hole was created went something like this. The plan was to build a community swimming pool, but as the backhoe was digging the hole it hit an underground spring. The backhoe sank within seconds, and the hole filled immediately with water. The city made the decision to leave the swimming hole as it was but cautioned everyone about an extreme drop off about 20 feet into the water from the shoreline. Our family did not know how to swim at this point, so we stayed far away from the drop off area.

The swimming hole had been there for a few years and some amenities were added around it. From the parking lot looking at the swimming hole there was a grassy hill which led down to a small beach. There was an L-shaped dock which was used to jump into the water and the lifeguard station, which was just a chair, was located there. To the far left side, far right side, and the other side of the swimming hole nothing else was finished at all. There was no direct access to the water from any of these areas because the natural brush was high and dense along with wild plants that blocked it. The ground met the water, and there was a three-foot drop around all the swimming hole, except the side with the beach and dock.

We arrived before Marge and her kids did, and Mom told us all to stay in the shallow waters or on the small beach until Marge arrived and could watch us. Mom then took Candy and put her in the back seat. These days there were no seat belts in most cars and Mom’s car had none. I remember seeing the baby standing in the back seat looking out the back window as she drove away.

A few minutes after Mom left, Marge arrived with her kids. All of us got in the water and began to play as we always did. Marge sat under a tree on the left side of the swimming hole. She could easily see us, but she could not get in the water from there. She didn’t think she might have to. After a while Kurt, Brad, and I along with Marge’s kids Steve, Bryan and Cheryl decided to play a game of water tag. I ended up being “It” and was trying to catch someone to tag. I started to chase Kurt, but quickly noticed he was running toward the drop off. I tried to yell to him to stop, but he was convinced I was trying to trick him into stopping so I could tag him, and continued to run.

I stopped chasing him, turned, and started to walk away, but I was still in chest-deep water. After a few steps I glanced back to make sure he stopped running but was startled to see he was still sprinting away from me. He did glance around and looked at me with a big grin, I yelled we had stopped the game and I was no longer chasing him. I turned away and was walking, but this time I went further and waited longer until I turned back around.

When I stopped a second time and turned around, I saw Kurt had stepped off the drop off and was now face down in the water with his arms flailing trying to swim out of it. He was not moving from that spot, and I knew he could not swim. I quickly got out of the water and ran over to Marge where she was still sitting under the tree reading. I got her attention and told her, “Look at Kurt” and pointed to him. He was maybe 15 feet away, but we could not get to him from where we were. I said, “Kurt can’t swim!” He was face down now and had been for a couple minutes. His arms were still flailing but slower than they had been. Marge looked at him and said, “He will swim out of it,” and went back to reading her book. I stood there for a second and thought to myself, “No he won’t,” and I ran to the dock where the lifeguard was. I reached the lifeguard and got his attention and told him my brother was drowning! He initially didn’t believe me but asked me to point to Kurt. When I turned to point to Kurt I was horrified and a sense of urgency was setting in. He was no longer there and I said, “He is gone but he was right there,” pointing to the spot I had last seen him.

This is Kurt being moved into the ambulance with the
emergency response team. George Collins is in the back.

The lifeguard said he must have swam out of it, but I told him, “My brother can’t swim.” He then instructed me to look in the water to see if Kurt was there. Quickly I scanned the water and said, “No, he is not there.” He then said okay and asked me to look on the beach and see if he somehow made it there. I quickly scanned the sandy part of the watering hole and repeated, “No he is not there.” He finally said look up the hill and see if he is up there, and yet again I scanned the hill and implored, “No he is not there!”

The lifeguard once again asked me to point to where I last saw Kurt and when I looked there was a piece of paper floating in the water. I pointed to it and told him that is where I last saw him. The lifeguard removed all but his swimsuit and got in the water. While he was making his way over to where Kurt had been I made my way over to where Marge was sitting because that was the closest place on shore to where Kurt had been.

The lifeguard dove in and came up several times. It seemed like an eternity, but when the lifeguard came up an arm came out of the water with him, and he pulled enough out that I could see it was Kurt. I was completely in shock. My brother was the oddest color purple I have ever seen and completely lifeless. The lifeguard made his way to the shore and laid Kurt near where Marge had been sitting and began resuscitation.

At first it was just me around the lifeguard and Kurt, but soon other kids were gathering and trying to push me out of the way, and I was not having it. This was my brother, and no one was going to get close but me. Finally, the adults started coming in and surrounded the lifeguard and Kurt and did manage to push me out of the way where my view was blocked.

An ambulance finally arrived, and I was able to see Kurt as they lifted him into the emergency vehicle, and before I knew it, he was gone. The crowd started to disperse, and an overpowering sense of loss came over me. I did what I had to do in the moment, but now I had no idea what needed to be done and what was going to happen to us kids. Where were the rest of us going to go, and how were we going to get there? I was stressed and I did not want to be close to Marge. I didn’t want to have to ride with her anywhere, because I was boiling thinking she should have done more. I don’t recall how we got to the hospital, but my next memory of the day was all of us kids sitting in the waiting room trying to be quiet which was just impossible. We were all irritable and did not want to be there. We were worried for Kurt, and the older kids knew that if he had drowned, he wasn’t coming back. We were still in wet swimsuits for several hours, and the boys had no shirts or shoes. It was uncomfortable and worrisome.

Mom and Dad waited for the doctors to come out and let them know the prognosis of their son. It was unimaginable for them; they were both so concerned Kurt would not make it. Dad was upset in a way I had never seen before. He was blaming Mom and questioned her how she could leave their kids, but Mom reminded him this was planned and not a spur of the moment event. Dad could not be reasoned with wanting to take his anger out on someone. He finally told Mom that if Giles and Marge had been there, he would have punched Giles. Mom asked him, “Why? It wasn’t Giles fault. He wasn’t even there.” Dad told Mom he could not hit a woman so Giles would have to do. When Dad got angry, he stayed angry for a long time, and this was one event that would haunt the family for years.

After Dad calmed down, he turned to Mom and told her if Kurt died, he was going to leave. He would not be able to get over this enough to stick around. It was almost more than Mom could take, one of her children was near death, her best friend and sister-in-law was partially responsible, and her husband was not providing the emotional support she needed. It was a desperate moment that seemed to keep spiraling.

After what seemed like many hours, the doctor came out to talk to Mom and Dad. He told them Kurt’s lungs had collapsed, and they had to restore them and get oxygen back into them. Kurt would be under close watch for an undetermined amount of time. His lungs could collapse at any point, and then they would have to act quickly, or he would be gone. Kurt was under an oxygen tent and would have to stay there until they had confidence his lungs had recovered. The doctor stated it appeared Kurt had been without oxygen somewhere between 3 to 5 minutes. This meant he likely would not be the same if he came back at all. The lasting effects could be anywhere from loss of memory to being a complete vegetable, and they could not say how long it would take for him to recover, or if he was going to.

Mom and Dad were able to go in to spend time with Kurt later that evening, but before they did, they took the rest of their kids home. Kurt surprised everyone by being awake and his usual self within days of the accident. He is not one to sit idle, so he was eager to get out of the bed and hospital. He would spend a week hospitalized before the doctors agreed to release him. Everyone including the doctors and nurses that tended to Kurt were amazed how quickly he recovered, and then wanted to go home. The doctors warned Mom and Dad Kurt would have to remain quiet and not go outside to play with other kids for at least 2 months. Kurt has never been one to be still, and within days he was back to playing with the rest of us kids like nothing happened. All of us were so happy to see him bounce back so quickly. In retrospect it was amazing he managed to do that.

There are people that have come into my life and left an impression that they were or are completely unaware of. One of those people was the lifeguard that pulled Kurt from the water, and then spent the next 25 minutes providing the resuscitation that saved us from losing Kurt that day. The lifeguard’s name was George P. Collins. He pulled Kurt from the water that fateful day and maintained resuscitation until the ambulance arrived. Sadly, 5 years later George was killed in Vietnam while he was serving our country in the Navy. Our family and I will remain forever in his debt.

This was a traumatic event in Mom and Dad’s life, and one of the few times they were not sure their marriage could survive. Dad told Mom he could not recover from this, and if Kurt died he was going to leave. In the end Kurt didn’t die and recovered in record time. Kurt would prove over and over again how tough he was. I have to say as kids Kurt, Brad and I were typical brothers; we played hard, fought hard, and managed to have the best time doing both. These were the good times in my childhood the times where my being so different didn’t seem to matter or come into my mind.

Chapter 6

The flood

For several months after Kurt’s drowning, we were all so focused on his recovery we didn’t have time to do much else. The school year started, and all seemed to be going normally. I was relieved once again my secret was not known or suspected by anyone, but I knew I still had to be careful. This school year was not that bad, I continued my strategy of keeping a low profile and only have a friend or two that would have been called misfits like me back in those days. Even with those friends I didn’t let them get to know me very well.

Christmas in this house is one I remember vividly. We older kids thought it was going to be a bad one with few gifts because Mom and Dad were having a difficult time financially. They didn’t talk about monetary issues to us kids, but at times they didn’t have to. We knew when things were difficult, and this was certainly one of them. The season began as it always did with the tree being brought in, and Mom supervising us kids while we decorate it. I personally loved hanging each of the ornaments on the tree making sure they hung just right, and they were spread equally throughout the tree. I loved the weeks the Christmas tree was in the house. It just filled the air with the scent of pine and at night when the lights were on the room was filled with a soft warm light. It seemed to happen too quickly but before we knew it, it was Christmas Eve. All of us went to bed knowing it was going to be a small Christmas, but all Christmases were good no matter what. To our surprise when we went downstairs that Christmas morning under the tree and the surrounding area was covered with plenty of gifts for everyone. By that measure we were shocked that it turned out to be a great Christmas.

Life in the Anoka house was moving quickly, and then in the spring our house flooded during the record-breaking thaw making the home no longer livable. The city would not allow the houses on our street to be restored or rebuilt so we had to move again. We spent the next several months moving around from place to place a little. After the flooding we stayed at Uncle Giles and Aunt Marge’s house for a couple nights, but it proved difficult for them having 10 extra people in the house, 8 of which were loud and extremely active kids. Mom and Dad had to make the difficult decision to split the kids up and place us with different family and friends. Kurt, Brad and I were with a family that lived in north Minneapolis. Dad worked with the husband, and they were kind enough to take us in and try to help Mom and Dad through this difficult time. The problem was the household was a violent one and the neighborhood wasn’t very safe either. The three of us did not feel safe at all.

One of the Christmas trees from my childhood.

One night the fighting between the husband and wife escalated past the loud arguing to a physical altercation between them. Kurt, Brad, and I were terrified. We had never seen anything like this and wanted Mom and Dad to come pick us up. I asked them repeatedly to call Mom and Dad, but they would not call them. Finally, Kurt’s lungs collapsed, and he couldn’t catch his breath. He was struggling for air, and I could see the terror in his eyes. I again asked the parents and their children to call Mom and Dad, and the parents once more refused. The doctors told Mom and Dad after the drowning this might occur so they would have to watch for it and if this happened, he needed to get to a hospital quickly. I knew this and was trying to let everyone know how serious this was, but no one would do anything to help. Finally, I convinced one of the daughters and she ran across the street to a neighbor’s house and called the police. When the police arrived, they saw Kurt’s condition. He was losing consciousness. His eyes were only half open and he was barely responding to people talking to him including me. The police immediately called an ambulance and took him to the hospital. They also called Mom and Dad who came to pick Brad and me up. We spent the next couple of nights at Grandma and Grandpa Ingalls’ house before going to a shelter located in the basement of a church.

This was our house during the flood.
The boat is moving along where the street should be.

We stayed in the shelter for a few weeks. There were several families there, but it was not set up to house that many people, and certainly not for extended stays. One night all of us kids were being taken to a local high school so we could take showers and get cleaned up. At this time we only took one bath a week, Saturday night, need it or not. Cliché I know, but that is how it was. I am sure that as long as we were at the shelter, we had to have smelled pretty bad.

Mom called all of us into the area sectioned off for our family and said, “You are going to go to the local school and take a shower. A bus is here, and I need you to get on it and follow the instructions given by the men and women that are taking you.”

We all got into the school bus and off we went to the school. When we got to the school the girls went with the women to the girl’s locker room and us boys went with the men to the boy’s locker room. When we got in the locker room one of the adults was instructing us to use one of the lockers and put all our clothes into it and then go around the wall where we would all shower in this open room.

I believe this is the dam that was in Anoka. I remember looking
at it as we drove away thinking the dam has all but disappeared.

I said to myself “WAIT! WHAT!?! No way that is happening…I repeat NO WAY!!”

I was mortified! No way I was going to take off all my clothes and shower in the same room with everyone else…I repeat NO WAY! I was not happy and was deeply committed to not doing this. I had never heard of, nor seen a common locker and shower arrangement like this. I had no idea this even existed and now here I am, and they want me to do what? I was going to have to think quickly to get out of this, THERE WAS NO WAY!!

The man in charge of us could see I was not undressing and came over to me and asked, “Are you okay? Is there a problem?”

I told him, “Yes, I am okay, but I am not going to take off all of my clothes. I am just going to keep my underwear on and shower like that.”

He smiled at me and waited a couple seconds before saying, “I am sorry, but you can’t do that, you have to take off all of your clothes.”

I stared blankly.

He then said, “How about this, you take off all your clothes and take your shower very quickly. You can be in and out of there in a couple minutes.”

I can still feel the sense of horror at the prospect of having to take a shower with all the other kids. I was out of options, my mind was a blur, and I finally bit the bullet, and did it but that was the fastest shower I have ever taken. I am not sure I even got wet it was so quick. I was upset! I had no reference point for this or why it would be so upsetting for me, and only me. I was different and somehow that had to be another part of “it.” It seemed to continue this never-ending horror, one thing after another and each addition brought a new level of torture. I not only didn’t want to see the other boys nude, but I also didn’t want them to see me without clothes. It was difficult, and the adults thought I was shy and would get over it. It was so much more than that. I absolutely felt violated by the whole experience and was left with a sense no one was concerned or caring for me. What I was feeling didn’t matter and now I felt even more alone.

The backyard after the water began to recede.

I did, however, survive it and life went on. We stayed in the shelter a few weeks and watched most of the other families leave until we were one of the very last ones there. Finally, the church decided they needed the space back, and all the remaining families had to leave. We were on the move once more.

The next temporary stay was at the improbably named Pink Pony Motel, but we were only there about a week when Minnesota was hit with some of the worst weather in recorded history once AGAIN. The day of the storms all of us were outside playing in the wind. It was so strong you could throw anything into the air, and it would come back to you like a boomerang. Kurt, Brad and I were having a blast, but once the rain started, we all had to go into our cabins. There were so many of us we had two of these cabin rooms which were only separated by a small drive. Mom, Dad, and the girls were in one and us boys were in the other.

There were between 5 and 7 tornadoes in Minnesota on the ground at the same time, and two went right by the motel we were staying in. The devastation was huge, there was debris everywhere, and entire buildings were gone. Mom got us up the next morning for school and everything was very quiet. The storm the previous night was so loud and the winds so strong but not anymore. I found it odd. Mom was driving us to school, but by the time we got there she was in tears after seeing all the damage, knowing how close we were to another natural disaster. We did make it through the bad weather without anyone getting hurt but Dad’s car, which was a suped-up hearse, did not. It was destroyed and he was only able to locate parts of it.

The Red Cross was supplying most of the help keeping us with a roof over our heads and food to eat, but they were ready for us to get into a permanent home. Mom and Dad found a house in North Minneapolis they wanted to buy, but because of all of the expense of recovering from the flood they didn’t have the $400.00 for the down payment so the Red Cross gave it to them and we were once more on the move.

Chapter 7

Back to North Minneapolis

The next move took us to North Minneapolis and a house on Sheridan Ave. It was here that I began to move from a kid to a teenager. Part of my transformation was self-confirming, that I liked boys in the same way girls liked boys, and by everyone’s measure but mine…this was a bad thing. I knew it previously but without clarity. I believe I was afraid to say it or even think it. Now I knew with certainty that is the thing that made me different. Somehow this caused me to act differently, and this is at the core of what people didn’t like about me. I was different, and I had found no evidence there was anyone else like me. I truly appeared to be the only one. I was continuing to change physically, my voice deepening and I was growing hair where I never had any previously. I don’t know if it was the difficulty of my life that caused me to go through the physical changes of maturing this early, but I was a full two years ahead of everyone else my age. None of the kids in my neighborhood or my class at school were going through these changes as quickly as I was. This was just another thing that made me stand out when all I wanted to do was fit in. I wanted people to accept me as I was. There was nothing wrong with me, and the world just seemed to dislike some of my behavior and interests. I was quietly defiant. I was not willing to change what I liked. Yet to get along successfully, I was willing to only show the parts of me they were okay with.

I also began having more confrontations with the adults around me. One of my coping mechanisms was staying distant and not engaging with other kids. Adults, teachers, counselors, and parents thought I was excessively introverted and having difficulty socializing with others. What they were not seeing is that if I did engage with the other kids, it always, always led to being teased and bullied relentlessly. It was easier for me if I stayed away and to myself.

I was in the 6th grade which was my last year in an elementary school. I continued my safe method by refusing to go out into the school yard and standing just outside the entrance of the school. When the recess ended, I would go back to my desk in the classroom where I felt safe. My teacher followed me out one day at recess as I took my usual spot just outside the door.

She came up to me and said, “You really need to go out into the school yard and get some exercise.”

I was surprised by this but did manage to stammer out, “I am good. I am just going to stand here until it is time to go back in.”

She wasn’t taking no for an answer. She took me by the arm and began pulling me out away from the door while saying, “No. You can’t simply stand there every single day. Why don’t you play dodgeball with the other kids?”

The photo is not clear, but this is the front of the house
on Sheridan and one of our family gatherings.

There were a group of kids that played dodgeball every day during recess, but I was not interested in playing that sport. I had no choice but to let her pull me into the middle of the school yard, but then I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there. The teacher looked back at me, and as if the universe knew how uncomfortable I was the bell rang to return to class. I looked at her for a second and then we both walked back into the school. Thankfully that never happened again, but this was nowhere near the end of it.

°°°

I don’t want to sound like I had no friends and didn’t talk to anyone at all ever, because I did on occasion. There was one of the Johnson kids that was my age, and he and I hung out going back and forth to school together. The group of neighborhood kids did hang out together and I was included, but I always knew and so did they that I didn’t fit in. I was not firmly in the guy camp or the girl camp. I was an odd combination of both. I was physically strong like the guys and there were sports that I excelled in like volleyball and badminton. I was good at both games and maybe even a little aggressive. With volleyball, if the ball came over the net anywhere near me, I was going for it even if that meant I ran over another kid. With badminton, I was able to cover the court, running from side to side if necessary. I never got winded, nor did I sweat like everyone else did. I was also surprisingly a fast runner and the longer the distance the better I would place in a competition. I would normally come in first or second whenever I competed.

The other side of me made sure I was always dressed properly when I left the house. Keep in mind almost no one agreed with how I dressed. Even at this tender age I took my style choices from both camps. During the summer I would wear socks that went to my knees with shortish shorts and a nice shirt. There were no other guys that dressed like that. The girls wore knee high socks with their shorts not the boys. My closest friend David Johnson’s mother knew exactly who I was, and she did not like it. She would glare at me when I went into their house and at one point she said, “He ain’t coming in here dressed like a girl.” When she realized I heard her she turned a bit red and left, but nothing changed, David and I still hung out together all the time. David was so friendly and at one point I wondered if he might be like me, but his interest and eventual dating of one of the neighborhood girls cleared that question up.

Back at school, during the next parent/teacher conference my teacher and the counselor talked to Mom about the issue they were seeing with my being so removed and distant from all the other kids. They suggested to Mom that I get enrolled in an after-school program for children that needed “additional socialization.” I don’t know that Mom agreed right away, but eventually it did happen. By this time, I was so comfortable being by myself (or introverted if you want to call it that), just the thought of having to go into a place with other people I didn’t know caused great anxiety.

I went to this after school group every day for a week. The group met in an old house. There were four adults that were hippie types. They didn’t dress like the teachers and school staff but were very casual and usually slightly unkempt. They were nice and asked me a lot of questions about what I liked to do and what I wanted to talk about. I didn’t know them well enough to confide in them my “secret,” so I fumbled with a response as best I could. I didn’t want to play any of the games they were proposing and as far as a conversation I was not going to pick a topic to cover. I would talk about whatever you want to, but my responses were what I thought you wanted to hear, not what I actually thought. The entire time I was there the adults kept trying to get me to participate in the activities and interact with other kids. It was horrible, I didn’t want to be mean or appear rude, but I just wanted to be alone. I was okay being on my own, but my inexperience couldn’t anticipate the danger of this decision. In retrospect, I believe the adults that were managing this group must have known I was gay, but they didn’t say anything or try to direct me toward the topic. I was living in “those times,” but the question continues to be: how could they allow a child to live in what was a horror? Didn’t anyone think they should relieve me from this? Didn’t anyone have the courage to at least let me know I was not alone in the world? The answer is no, the adults in my life felt the best option was to let me live in this horror and believe I was alone in the world.

°°°

I made it through 6th grade and the next year was junior high, but none of my neighbors and friends would go to the school I was headed off towards. I was going to a new school with a whole new group of kids. I changed the school systems entirely in 1966 and would now go to school with my older sister Barbara, instead of Brad and Kurt. Barbara was none too fond of that, but I liked the idea. This all turned out not too eventful. I was the new kid once again, so I was comfortable. No one paid attention to my being off by myself. I continued maturing faster than the other kids my age, so I was taller and weighed more than most of them. That only meant they were less likely to pick on me. I found that I would have to shave which was weird, because no one else in my class had to do this yet. I knew I was attracted to boys but I continued with the struggle of having to contain it so no one knew. Hanging out with Barbara and her friends gave me an outlet to daydream about the boys as they talked about them, but in reality, that added more frustration.

I was beginning to learn to say no when I thought it was the right thing to do, even if others did not. In my history class I was assigned a desk that was against the wall. I would sit in it sideways with my back resting against the wall. The person behind me was the chatty one, and he kept talking during the class. I never said anything, but the teacher kept telling me to keep quiet. I would respond with, “I didn’t say anything,” but that didn’t matter. One day during class she got so angry she came over grabbed me and physically turned me in my chair in an aggressive way. I was so upset I could feel my body heat rising and I was turning flush. That action didn’t do anything to change my behavior, all it did was solidify my commitment to sitting in the chair sideways. She continued to get angry about it and eventually Mom had to come into the principal’s office. I was called out of class to meet with them, and the teacher said I was continually talking in class and being disruptive. I said I was not the one talking, the kid behind me was talking to me I just turned to look that was all. In those days it did not matter if you were right or wrong, and Mom took the side of the teacher telling me to sit in the chair the way I was supposed to. She turned to the teacher and said, “Did you ever consider moving him to another desk away from this particular kid?” The teacher appeared to be surprised by my mom’s question, and after a moment she said, “No, I had not. I will look at what can be done.”

Grandma Ingalls on the porch of the Sheridan house.

From that point on I was sitting in the front row, right in the middle. After all the years of being teased and feeling like I had to be transparent I finally stood up for myself. It was a small gesture, but I felt empowered and proud. That was the most exciting thing that happened in the 7th grade. The next year I would change schools again and rejoin the kids I had gone to school with in elementary school. I would be in the 8th grade and the next two years would be the beginning of the most difficult years of my childhood.

°°°

My friendship with the neighborhood kid, David Johnson, continued to be pretty good. His family had a foster child by the name of Tom living with them and he too turned out to be a pretty good friend. The three of us were in the same grade at school and typically went to and from school together, and then we hung out with the other neighborhood kids after school and on the weekends.

There was a large group of kids that lived within a few houses of each other, and we were all about the same age. Our family’s four older kids were the same ages as 4 of the Dooher kids next door. The Bolduc family across the street had 5 kids that were in the same age range, and behind them was the Johnson family which had 4 kids within our age range, including the aforementioned foster. That meant there were almost 20 kids trying to get along. Needless to say, there was much conflict within the group. At any given time, things could get heated; however, issues were often resolved expediently. When there was no conflict going on, we all hung out and had a great time together, but I knew I had to maintain my façade. My secret was always there, always part of my conscience thought and dictated my behavior.

All of us were pre-teens, so our time was filled with sitting around talking about little or nothing, but we were coming to an age where a couple of “pairings” were going on. Fortunately for me when the dust settled from these couplings there were no girls left for me to choose from. I was very happy with that. We would all gather at the Bolduc house. Mrs. Bolduc was not married so she enjoyed having the local kids gather at her house. We all did everything together in those days. We walked the streets, rode our bikes all over that part of Minneapolis, fought like cats and dogs and shared some great times.

At home, our family was always split in two. There were the oldest four kids: Barbara, me, Brad and Kurt, and the younger kids Margo, Cheri, Monty and Candy. They were too young to participate in all that we did, and so they had their own paths and activities apart from us. Barbara had her life with her girlfriends and didn’t have a huge social connection with the three boys. Barbara did her thing with her friends and the brothers did ours.

Christmas was always good for me. This is the tree at the Sheridan house.

Around this time, Barbara and I began to fight almost all the time. She wanted to have her social life with her friends and not have to deal with me. The first year we lived in the house on Sheridan, Barbara was attending junior high school while I was finishing up elementary school, so we didn’t attend the same school. The second year we were both going to junior high, so that meant we walked to and from school together, and I was participating in her social life more than she liked. That was a source of agitation for us, and at home Mom and Dad were beginning to leave me in charge instead of Barbara, which did not help our strained relationship. The only good thing was Barbara hung out with a bunch of cute boys. If they were having a gathering I could quietly be there and watch them without drawing any attention. That was as much as I felt I could do.

The year was 1967 when I was entered the 8th grade in junior high, and it coincided with the time that kids start transitioning from kids to teenagers. At this point boys were pairing up with girls and everyone was going to the next step with kissing or make-out sessions. I was completely stuck! I felt peer pressure to pick a girl even when I didn’t want to, and I knew it would not be satisfying to either of us in any way. I had to keep my instincts hidden, and that meant keeping my own hormones in check. The three areas humans are most passionate about are love, hate, and desire. I had to contain and keep all my own hidden. If I felt the need to demonstrate any of them, in any way, it would have to be a lie. The best part of any day was the time I spent alone inside my own head dreaming of a life that couldn’t be.

I visited this fantasy world when I had time to myself. I would put the music that moved me on the record player and completely immerse myself in that world. Nothing existed outside of the music and my imaginary world where I was free to express myself in a way that felt natural to me. People liked me, and there was always one young man that was willing to set the world on their ear and express his interest in me without reservation. I would imagine him holding my hand and putting his arm around me while we did the most mundane things like watching TV or taking a walk around the neighborhood. The brief moments I could get away were too short, and the real world always came crashing through.

The reality for me was I was struggling inside, and my frustration was off the charts. Suppressing your instincts at this age with no more life experience than what I had is like building a bomb that will explode at some point. My way of dealing was to continue to remove myself from everyone and everything. I did not participate in team sports like football or baseball, but my running did give me the physical outlet I needed. This was a sport that I could practice on my own, and even in competition I was able to perform without a lot of interaction with others. It seemed like a good fit, so this became my sport of choice.

In time I would learn the adults around me knew what was going on, but people didn’t talk about this. My parents and teachers were not thinking in terms of making me, or any child, comfortable with being gay; instead, they tried to “fix” or repair the child. I have often said, “You cannot blame someone for living in the time they lived.” When a child only gets disapproval from the people they look up to, it messes a kid up. I am surprised no one had the courage to make sure the right information got in front of me even if it was made to look like an accident or a mistake. The adults in my life had complete control over what I could see and what I would learn, and unanimously they decided the best option was to allow me to feel or believe I was the only person like me in the world. All the adults were doing what they thought was the right thing. They could not have known how bad my life was, but I ask myself…should they have known?

°°°

Later in life I would learn some family history that could have helped. My Grandfather Ingalls’ brother, Uncle Alvie, was gay and had a lifelong partner by the name of Will Smith. From what my mother told me they were the source of gossip at her and Dad’s wedding when Uncle Alvie brought Will to the reception. Grandpa and Grandma Ingalls also had neighbors that were a same sex couple that were their best friends outside of the family. They spent every weekend together cooking and playing cards. The neighbor’s name was Fred Poole, and he also had a “live-in partner.” They were at all the family gatherings I remember growing up, but I never knew they were gay until my brother Brad and I were talking about it. We were in our thirties by this time. There were other Ingalls family members that were either gay or bisexual as well, so it is clear that this ran in the history of my storied family. In later years Mom said she knew since I was a baby that I was gay, but at that time she didn’t have a name for it. They believed it was something they could change or fix. She also said it never mattered to her, but she was afraid for the life I would have and the difficulties that were a certainty. She did not want that for me or any of her kids. She also said they didn’t call people gay or lesbian; they called the men “bachelors” and the women “old maids.”

Grandpa on the left and Grandma on the right with Uncle Alvie in the center.

°°°

When we moved to the Sheridan house in the mid-1960s I was a kid doing those things kids do, but added to that were the behaviors of a gay kid. This made me the subject of intense teasing and many times ostracized by the other kids. My life was all about doing what I had to do. We rode our bikes everywhere, hopping from one city park to another. Once there, we would spend time riding around or playing on the equipment at the park. I sometimes liked to hop on one of the city buses and head to downtown Minneapolis. There was always a lot to stimulate your visual interest, from the odd assortment of people to the window shopping. I liked going into the Dayton’s store on Nicolette Ave. and look around on each of the floors. I didn’t have any money, so buying something was out of the question, but this was one of the things I could do on my own and get lost in the crowd. No one paid attention to me, and I was free to be myself and relax.

I always had an interest in music and believed I had a talent for dancing, but this was when my love for music began, and my dancing was becoming something people were impressed with. The very first .45 rpm record I remember buying was “Dominique” sung by The Singing Nun. I loved the song so much, and played it over and over again. I made everyone within ear shot exhausted. I discovered that I learned dances quickly, and after watching people doing a particular dance for a short time I could do the dance as well. Mom didn’t want us boys to be clumsy, so she made sure we participated in the dance classes that were available to us. Kurt and Brad hated it, but I loved it. This cemented my lifelong interest in music and dancing.

Then it happened! I bought my first record album. Diana Ross and the Supremes’ Greatest Hits. It was a two-album set, and inside the folded cover was a painted portrait of all three of the Supremes. I loved every song on both records and played them over and over again. These songs became a touchstone, and every time I hear a song from the collection I am taken back to this time. At school during lunch break several of the students would get together and take over part of the lunchroom and dance together. I would watch them, and when I got home, I would copy the dance moves they were doing. I loved this part of my life; at this point music and dancing was everything. If I wanted to be happy, I would play the music that inspired me and daydream myself into a world where everything was possible, and people actually liked me. I was able to completely escape, and I was happy.

I also developed an interest in art, more specifically designing clothing for women. I would sit and listen to music and draw for hours. I had whole sketch pads with designs and would show them to everyone that even remotely showed an interest. One of the art teachers at school encouraged me to continue my drawing, and he was also trying to get me to move towards formalizing a career in clothing design. I was very eager and excited. I thought, “This is something I can do.” I am interested in it, and people liked what I was putting out. I could also make a living doing this, and it sounded like a really good career. Once Dad found out about it that option was short-lived. I believe this was one of the contributing factors for him to begin considering moving his family out of the city. He was unhappy about the influences he was seeing on his kids, and I certainly was chief among them, drawing dresses and looking towards a job in fashion.

In these last years at the house in North Minneapolis I entered my teen years, becoming more independent, and continuing to move away from people. I became more self-aware. Along with that came the full-on realization that my interest in boys was undeniable, and unlike my peers I was not able to demonstrate that interest in anyone I was truly interested in. The other boys and girls I hung out with were all into each other and making public displays of their affections toward each other. Not me. There was no way I could show affection for anyone publicly or privately that I was truly interested in. My secret had to remain my own. I continued to hang out with the group of kids living near us and our family time was always there, but it was changing for me. I continued to feel isolated and alone. It was deafening, the solitude.

Living in the city I could go for long walks alone and be by myself. During these sojourns I didn’t have to try to be something else for those around me. I don’t know how Mom and Dad felt about my disappearing for an hour or two, but it was my time. I was also looking at others to see if I could see something in them like me. I knew consciously I could not be the only person like me. What I had couldn’t be so different that there was only one in the world, but I was convinced it was so rare that meeting someone like me would take a long time if it ever even happened.

Mom and Dad continued to be concerned about me, and there were other things going on in our family, and the community we lived in, that convinced them the best move for their family was out of the city. Mom and Dad were watching the older kids change in ways they didn’t like, and there was social unrest and violent racial tensions not far from where we lived. They decided it was time to make yet another move, but this time out to the country on a farm which both of them knew well. They thought doing this would take their kids out of the situation they were growing more and more uncomfortable with. The most important thing for them was protecting us. I knew this in my heart, but they couldn’t have known the tremendously difficult time I was in for.

Chapter 8

Moving to the farm

In 1969 we made the move to Waconia, to a small farm just south of the town proper. We visited this new home several times before Mom and Dad purchased it. It was far from everything I had known for the last 4 years. I felt I was a city kid, and not a country kid. I did not and could not have known how large that difference was going to be. At this point I was 15 years old, entering high school, and once again starting all over with new kids and a new town. Just like before nobody would know me, and I would have a few months before I would return to a more reclusive life, once the façade slipped a bit. Most people were okay with me as long as I maintained a certain way of acting. They didn’t want to be friends or include me, but they were fine with me being there. I believed this was the best my life was going to be. My goals did not include being the “low man on the pole,” but I knew I would never be in high standing either. I did not see a place this world where I would be happy.

The first summer on the farm was spent cleaning everything up, and there was a lot to be done in that respect. The lower part of the barn had not been cleaned out in some time, so the straw and manure were 3 feet deep and packed down so hard it was difficult to break it up to get it out of there. Kurt, Brad, and I worked on it for hours on end every day. We started at the end of the barn nearest the barn yard. Brad and I would use pitchforks to loosen the muck, and then put it in a wheelbarrow for Kurt to then haul out to the barnyard. Kurt started dumping it about 20 feet from the back door of the barn, but soon found he was forced right back to the entrance of the door. That is when we figured out we had to wheel each load across the stack we just put out there and dump it at the end. It was a monumental task! The three of us knew it would take most of the summer to get just the lower part of the barn cleaned out.

At one point, Kurt and Brad went back into Minneapolis to spend a week with friends. I was left alone but I didn’t mind that. There was a radio in the barn, and I worked on cleaning it up from the time Mom and Dad went to work until Mom called me for dinner. The radio was to become my savior. Music remained my sole escape, and it motivated me. I played it loud, filling the old barn with songs like “Sugar Sugar,” “Aquarius,” “Build Me Up Buttercup,” “Sweet Caroline,” “I’m Gonna Make You Love Me,” and “My Cherie Amour.” I could not have been happier with a good summer spent mostly alone.

This photo was taken before we moved to the farm. We were there painting
and getting the house ready for us. I am standing on the right.

School started, and at the start I thought it might be okay. Barbara was accepted into everything quickly because she was a beautiful young lady and very personable. Everyone liked her from the moment they met her, while I idolized her. I am not sure why I continued to try and ride her coat tails, because that had never worked in the past. Still, I gave it all another go. She and I were invited to some of the “cool kid” gatherings, and there was music playing and dancing. Barbara was a good dancer, and by this time I was secure in my ability to dance and just as I suspected, it worked. The other kids were impressed, and wanted Barbara and me to show them how to do the dances we were doing. This unexpected euphoria only lasted a short time. Barbara was still not fond of me hanging around in the same group she was, and they were just enough older than me to have different interests. Barbara was a senior in school so the kids were getting to the point of more serious romantic connections, and that was something I was totally not interested in. I had no interest in having a girlfriend even though I knew at some point I would have to pick one.

As for my own class I was good at being the new kid and making connections all over the place. But as was always the case, after a couple months the other kids caught on that I was not like most boys. I was not into sports. I did not want to go hunting, camping or fishing either, so there wasn’t much in common after that. Add to it I was not a “real farmer,” and people knew immediately by the way I dressed, if nothing else.

The barn was a mess when we moved onto the farm.

Waconia at this time was a small farming community made up mostly of people of German heritage. They were intensely happy to stay in a small community and were never extremely welcoming to “outsiders.” Barbara, Brad and I didn’t fit in well when we first arrived. The high school was very traditional in how the students were allowed to dress and behave. They did not allow the girls to wear pants, and no one was allowed to wear jeans. Barbara had several very cute pant suits, and she was determined to put them on now and then. This would be the first year they allowed the students to wear jeans, but the school’s population looked like a throwback to the ’50s. The guys wore dark blue jeans with white t-shirts. Outside of Waconia it was the era of the Hippies, but gypsy chic dress was not well received in this small town, despite it being popular everywhere else.

Barbara and I got in trouble for what we were wearing several times. I had seen a guy in downtown Minneapolis with a scarf tied around his leg just above his knee, and I liked it. I found a scarf and wore it to school tied above my knee. I am sure it was “really gay,” but I was a teenager and experimenting with my style. Good or bad I liked it, but the teachers did not approve in the slightest. Most of them saw me, gave a sideways glance, grunted a little, and continued on their way; however, the mathematics teacher was not having it at all.

He sputtered out, “Take that off immediately!”

I told him, “No. There is nothing in the dress code that prevents it, and I like it. I’m going to wear it.”

“Not in my classroom you are not.”

I thought to myself, “You really need to work on how you punish people, because this sounds more like a reward.” I had enough sense not to say that out loud.

I ended up standing my ground and awkwardly said, “Okay…okay. I am not taking it off.”

He sent me to the counselor’s office, and I was directed to sit the class period out in the library. My thought was, “Whatever! I like it here better.”

I was exploring my sense of fashion.

I was able to make friends thanks to my interest in music and dancing. I also discovered an interest in art. As it turned out I was okay at painting and spent a lot of time in the art classrooms. This year they expanded that department and hired a new teacher, Mrs. Farm. She was gentle and supportive, so her classroom felt like a safe place. There was a group of us, Dave, Connie, and Joann that hung out in her art classroom as much as we could.

The years in Waconia were not good ones for me. Because it was a small farming community, the duality of my life was personified and cemented. I knew I had to maintain a façade. Now more than ever if I slipped and my secret got out, the effects of it would be far-reaching. Not just for me, but my entire family would have been impacted. I didn’t have any reason to know this for certain; nobody told me as much, but I could feel it in my bones.

°°°

Joe and Dorothy, great family friends.

Years later my brother Brad told me about an incident that happened while we were still in high school that I never knew about in its entirety. My parents were good friends with another couple that had just moved to Waconia, who also ran the diner that was attached to the bar Dad worked for part-time. Their names were Joe and Dorothy. They spent so much time with us they truly did feel like family. Joe had been an entertainer and stage performer, so he was a lot of fun to listen to when he talked. Dorothy was just like an aunt to us. They were excellent cooks, so their diner was doing very well. It quickly became a favorite spot for the locals. They had an All-You-Can-Eat BBQ Rib and Fried Chicken night once a week, and the place ended up packed. After the restaurant closed for the evening, Joe and Dorothy would bring whatever was left over to our house. We would all have a late-night dinner full of laughter and great food. I loved it!

Joe and Dorothy had both been married prior to them marrying each other, and Dorothy had several children from her first marriage. One of her kids still lived with them, and his name was Dennis, or rather “Denny,” which everyone called him. He worked in the diner as a manager when Joe and Dorothy were not able to be there. Brother Brad also worked in the diner as a cook part-time after school. Denny had befriended one of Barbara’s close friends Lynette, and most people thought that Denny and Lynette were dating.

Joann and I getting ready to go to the Prom.

One night, Denny was drinking while he was managing the diner. This was not uncommon, he would drink while working all the time, but this night he was totally drunk. Brad was working the kitchen and one of Brad’s friends was there just hanging out, keeping Brad company. Once the diner was cleared of customers, Denny made the mistake of trying to get fresh with Brad’s friend. Denny in his drunken stupor was not going to take no from Brad’s friend, and he began to actually chase him around the restaurant. Brad’s friend finally left, but that was only the beginning. Needless to say that was not acceptable at all! Once word got out that Denny was gay, and the details of this incident hit the gossip channel of Waconia the customers stopped showing up. Joe and Dorothy went from having a packed restaurant during every mealtime to no one showing up at all. My mother and father were the only people that continued to see them and support them, but that was not enough. Joe and Dorothy eventually had to close the diner and leave town. They were effectively run out of town.

I didn’t know at the time any of this happened. Brad told me this years later. What I do remember is the change in Joe and Dorothy. All the sudden they seemed worried and upset. I knew their business at the diner had dried up, but I didn’t know why. It was not long that they decided to move back to Minneapolis. Joe took a job at one of the hotel restaurants as their chef. Eventually even that seemed not far enough, and the two of them decided to move down to Mississippi. Joe and Dorothy were not the only two that this happened to. There was at least one schoolteacher that met with the same fate when it was discovered he was gay. Like with Joe and Dorothy, I was not entirely aware of this until years after leaving home. Something in me sensed it though, that being different meant you had to leave.

°°°

While living in Waconia my mother went to work at the hospital, and Dad along with his full-time job, had part-time jobs all over town. He was a bartender at two bars, a sheriff with the county, he worked security at the local ballroom, and worked as a machinist at the local manufacturing company. Life was difficult and hard for everyone, but it was never all bad.

We always had family gatherings several times a year. Mom loved to have potluck picnics on either Saturday or Sunday. I vividly remember her making her famous potato salad. She would buy a ten-pound bag of potatoes, and that was just to start the dish. She had a huge bowl that she would add all the ingredients and mix it up into. I know at least one time while mixing it all up she discovered a potato that had not been chopped up. It didn’t matter how much there was, there were never leftovers. I still make this salad to this day.

One night after dinner, Dad was reading the newspaper and going through the classified section looking through the real estate listings, something he did often. That night he found a five-hundred-acre ranch in Montana for $50,000.00 dollars. He was ready to move! He called me over and read the article to me, 500 acres, two sets of buildings on opposite sides of the ranch. He went on, if I would agree to move onto the property and manage the ranch, he would give me one set of the buildings. I could still get married, have my children, and raise my family right there while I was raising the cattle and tending to the fields. I was horror struck! The only thing I could think about was coming of age and moving back to the city where I belonged, not even further into the country away from everything I wanted. Inside I was screaming “NO!!!!!!,” but how do you tell your father no? I said yes, I would consider it which made Dad happy. To him that was a firm yes! The next day he called the number in the ad and was disappointed to find they left one 0 out of the price, it was $500,000.00. I, on the other hand, was so happy. The images in my mind of life on the ranch were riding a horse in a blizzard trying to find the cattle and round them back to the barn. The two sets of buildings had to include the original set and a new set. My guess is I would have had the original set. The dirt, mud, manure, hay, and feed: all of it was a depressing thought.

I did have some friends, and I did laugh and have a good time at times. Yet I was always guarded, watchful of others reacting to me and never presented my whole self. I knew people would not welcome that and in fact quite the opposite would happen. I would have been shunned like Denny, and my entire family would pay a price like Joe and Dorothy. A small community has its advantages when you are trying to raise children, but there is also a huge downside to being in such an insular place.

At school I was accepted into the singing groups and if there was dancing required, I was always the guy to go to without hesitation. My closest friends were those I hung out with mostly in the classes we shared like the art classes, choir, and the plays we put on. Dave was my closest friend from those days, and remains in touch with me to this day. The others were Connie, Gary (a couple years younger,) and the girl that was my “girlfriend” through most of high school, Joann. I felt bad for Joann because she wanted the traditional high school sweetheart arrangement, and I was not interested, but it had nothing to do with her. The two of us went to all the dances and events at school, but luckily for me, my parents and hers were quite strict about getting home on time and I made that important to me as well.

Gary, was my sister Margo’s age and in the same classes she was. He was also a very gifted artist; in fact I met him in the art classroom. He was quick to make friends and within a couple weeks became part of our little art group. He knew my sister and they were friendly, but that was it. Gary and I had a closer connection and eventually spent as much time as we could together, both in school and out of school. We did have sleepovers where we spent the evening talking about whatever came to our minds, but then it was time to go to bed. I always thought Gary felt the same way about me that I felt about him, but our conversations never went in that direction. When we were lying in bed next to each other I always wanted to reach out and touch him and believe that he wanted to do the same, but that never happened. Even with this I was happy; I had a friend and I could let my façade down a little and just enjoy myself but being so close and not touching each other was the most difficult thing I have done. Gary’s mother was single, and he had two siblings also, so life for them was not easy, especially in a small town. Eventually when life for them got too difficult they moved away, and I never saw Gary again. I had to go back to the bubble my life existed in.

Left: One of my horses and me in the spring.
Right: My brother Kurt and me at one of the horse shows.

The most difficult part of this time was coming of age, and all the hormonal stuff that all teenagers go through. The other kids were making romantic connections and being public about their affections for each other, and it was nice when you are that age and see people being happy. I would watch the girls and boys flirt with each other and cuddle or kiss. There were boys I was truly interested in, but no way I could or would let on. All the feelings I was having I had to suppress, and I was not able to let on to anyone how I was feeling. It was like trying to cap an active volcano – the pressure was overwhelming, and the tension inside had to be externalized somehow. This is when other behaviors began to happen. I remember becoming depressed all the time, and the people around me thought I was quiet and introverted to the extreme even though that was not at all the case. I just couldn’t let my guard down, not for a minute.

I only attended three years of school in Waconia, and they were the last before I graduated and went out into the world and made a life for myself. There was a lot of blame that could be passed around – a kid should never have had to grow up this way. I always felt I had the weight of the world on my shoulders, knowing this thing not only affected me but all my family. The isolation and constant hiding of all my emotions should never have been the only option. All the adults, in all aspects of my life knew, and none of them were brave enough to pull me aside and have the conversation with me. All of them believed it was better for me, and all kids like me, to live believing we are the only ones like us in the world. Or to believe something worse, that we were damaged and had an illness that would make our lives even worse than the horror we were living now. I don’t understand how they not only felt comfortable with that, but many of them looked down on me as damaged goods. I could see it in their faces and in their actions. I remember thinking, and still do, we might live in a country where you are innocent until proven guilty, but in my mind that is not the case. You are guilty when I think you are! All that said, it was the time we lived in, and that was what it was like. Mom and Dad thought they were doing the best thing for me by getting me out of the city. I would grow out of this illness, learn to be happy, get married and have my own children. From the school’s perspective, they were dismissive and only interested in working with those children of the most prominent citizens of the town. They made token attempts at reaching out to me, but they quickly gave up and moved on. I still believe to this day that when I left school, the school leadership, thought I would do well if I found a nice bridge to live under. I felt the stick to measure my success with was a very short one, but they didn’t know me well and grossly underestimated my actual determination.

Chapter 9

Childhood to adult

Shortly after graduating from high school, I was made aware of a book that had become very popular and everyone was talking about it – “Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex (But Were Afraid to Ask).” I thought this might be where I could find the answers to my questions, so I ordered the book by mail. I couldn’t go into a store to buy it, I was far too shy for that. I was excited at the prospect of learning more about the world of sexuality, and is this the thing that is the source of my difference? The waiting and anticipation were both energizing and excruciating.

Finally, the book arrived, and I immediately began to read. As I began, nothing was sounding like me, and then I got to Chapter 8 on “Male Homosexuality.” That was a new word Homosexuality, what did that mean? As I began reading this chapter, I thought, “Yes! This is me.” But as I continued to read through the chapter, it sounded less and less like me. In the end I decided, “No. That is not who I am.” This book made homosexuals sound like a bunch of leather clad perverts who like sticking stuff up their butts so much they often ended up in the hospital to remove whatever foreign object got stuck and could not be removed. It also mentioned that homosexuals would put light bulbs up their back end, and then they would break, causing all kinds of additional issues. None of this sounded anything like me. I could say I was very disappointed, but it was so much worse. I hung so much hope on this book having the answers I was at new level of defeat. I still was not finding what I was looking for, some answer of who I am and where do I fit in.

I stayed in Waconia for a few months after I graduated high school working at a local manufacturing company. It was a good job for someone just out of school, but I felt stuck in a town I didn’t want to be in, living at home. The tension between Dad and me was escalating, and we were arguing all the time. I believe it was mostly from “coming of age” issues for me. Dad had to maintain his household and family. I felt I was an adult making my own money, taking care of myself, and I should be able to do as I please. My father set the house rules, and those that chose to live in his house also had to live with his rules or leave.

One Friday night, Dad and I were sitting at the dining room table, where he often sat when he was home, and we were having a heated discussion about my comings and goings. Mom got upset about halfway through the conversation and decided to go to bed. Dad and I continued volleying back and forth until I said, “I have had enough! I will leave the following Monday.” That ended the discussion abruptly as I went to bed.

I had nowhere to go and no idea what I was going to do, but I had to leave no matter what. I was surprised that I was not scared or upset. I knew whatever was on the other side of leaving was going to work out. During the weekend both Mom and Dad talked to me again and told me I did not have to leave, but I told them I was not changing my mind. Monday morning, I packed a suitcase and headed for the bus stop to take the Greyhound into Minneapolis. I did have a car, but I knew how to get around in Minneapolis without one. Without a job I would not have the money needed for gas and all that comes with driving a car. I got to the city and reached out to my friend Ella Mae, who was still renting our old house in Minneapolis. I asked her if I could stay with her for a few days to which she agreed.

I stayed with Ella Mae and her family for a few weeks. I found a nothing job that paid little just to have some funds coming in. At the same time, I decided I wanted to pursue a life in dancing and enrolled in classes of all types. I had some dance training at this point, but not enough for anyone to consider hiring me. I didn’t have the money for the classes, but they let me work at the studio part-time, doing anything and everything to pay for classes. At this time men did not dance often, so there weren’t many of us. They were ecstatic to have me, and extremely accommodating.

I was a quick learner and practiced almost every waking hour. If I wasn’t working or taking a class, I was in one of the studios perfecting my craft. I had tasted what I wanted, and nothing was going to stand in my way. I quickly began to get cast in shows and began to perform around the city developing a reputation for myself. I moved out of Ella Mae’s house and in with a female dancer named Robin. I was so excited to be moving on, and everything I had known growing up was no longer part of my life.

Everything and everyone were new, and they all thought I hung the moon or so it seemed. For the first time in my life I felt less guarded than I ever had. Robin was from Australia, and a beautiful person in every sense of the word. She helped me with my dancing, got me settled into a new life, and had showed me the ropes of navigating the dance world. However, she was just a bit quirky. She would only eat steak and potatoes. Nothing else, and the steak had to be completely dry with no sauce or gravy. When we went out to eat (which was a rarity) if they put a tomato on her plate and it was touching her steak, she would refuse it and send it back. I loved the time we spent together.

Robin and I doing a tap number.

While Robin and I lived together my dancing continued to improve, and my career was taking off. Robin was also showing me things about life I had no idea existed. We would go clubbing after work sometimes. I was not a big drinker, so it only took one or two drinks to make me the happiest guy in the room. Boundaries I felt I had to keep melted away, and I simply had fun. Both of us being dancers, we would take over any dance floor. We often whirled and twirled until the bar closed. I always hated the bars closing, or at least at this point I did. It seemed so short, and the evening still felt young.

One night a bunch of the dancers decided to go out to a local club we had been to many times. Everyone ordered a drink, and we started dancing just like we always did. I was just nursing my drink, mostly because I didn’t have money for a second one. After a while, another group of men and women ask if they could join us, and we said sure. It was a night out as usual, but this time new people joined us which made me a little uncomfortable. We all had a great time, but when the bar was closing one of the men in the other party suggested we all continue the party at his place around the corner. We all agreed and off we went.

When we got to his apartment, we were all sitting around, and someone pulled out a joint. I had never seen marijuana before, and never smelled it. I was surprised to realize it stunk! They were passing it around.

Robin handed it to me and said, “Here. Hold it between your thumb and pointer finger. Hold it to your lips, but not too tight. Inhale and then hold it in your lungs. Don’t breathe out too quickly.”

So, I did exactly as she instructed. Once I let out my breath, the room started to sway, and I was not able to talk correctly. Nothing was making sense. Next thing I knew I was waking up in the morning. Robin was pushing me to get up because we had to get to the studio. I was so disoriented I barely knew where or who I was. Later in the day, Robin said I passed out immediately, and they couldn’t wake me to take me home. They tried to pick me up, but my limbs were so loose they couldn’t’ get a firm grip to get me off the floor. They just let me sleep there. That was the first, and last, time I tried marijuana.

°°°

I was happy even though I was dirt poor. My life had taken a 180˚ turn, and I went from being a country farm boy to a city dancer in a matter of months. The complete transition lasted longer, but it seemed one weekend visiting home I was wearing my cowboy shirt and jeans and the next weekend I was wearing a dance leotard and jewelry. I was free to begin experimenting with all my interests except one. I still didn’t know my place in the world, and still didn’t know my community existed.

The first paying show I did was for a local theater. This was 1972 and everything was patriotic and red, white, and blue for the upcoming Bicentennial year. I was given a medley of songs to perform. I hated singing, but to dance I had to sing as well. When I rehearsed a show, I would walk the number to stage them, know where I would be at what point, and how to adjust the dancing to fit the stage. All of this while still being at the right spot to deliver the song. Unfortunately, that strategy did not work in my favor. During the technical rehearsal I overheard the director and producer talking.

The director said, “I am going to put Lee’s number right before the ending number of the first act. I can’t have his number be the last one before the intermission. His performance is not strong enough to close the first half of the show.” I was shocked to hear this but didn’t get upset. I thought to myself, “You two are about to be surprised!”

The night came for the opening, and we were all ready. My number came up, and I went out and delivered it like I never had prior to this. I got a standing ovation! I would like to say I was spectacular, but in reality, I was a new guy in a field where there was not that many dancing to begin with. Most of the guys in the show were singers and I was a dancer. Still, I did really well and for future performances they moved my number to right before the intermission. This show resulted in my getting bookings and guest spots for the next several months.

I continued to live with Robin during this time, and our intense friendship blossomed. She was getting to know me extremely well. We would continue our nights out clubbing and dancing all night long with drinking always a part of it. Up until this point I didn’t drink at all, and I never handled it well. I disliked the taste of alcohol so much I would sip cocktails slowly, but still I was getting quite drunk. It was all in good fun. After a night of drinking and dancing we would stumble back to our shared one room apartment and crash. I know at first, she wondered why I never tried anything. I am sure she quickly realized I was just not interested in her that way, and she was okay with it. It was never an issue for her.

My world had divided; I was still Randy the farm boy to my family and the friends I went to school with. I also had this group of friends that were part of my adult world. To put a period on the childhood image, I stopped using Randy as my name and began introducing myself as Lee. These were two worlds completely separate with no commonality, and no point at which the two met or intersected. I was happy with this, but the truth is I was still two people inside as well. I still believed I was the only person like me and had to keep “it” hidden. Even though I was part of the performing arts, some if not all the guys were straight. They would act very gay, but they were not, and I simply thought it was part of guys being guys. It seemed even these artistic guys were into women. I had no reason to believe this was anything but normal, the same as everything had been my entire life.

My dad was having trouble figuring out how I could live with a girl in a one room apartment and there was no sex. Robin went back home with me one weekend for a family visit. Being from Australia she had never been outside the city, and she was curious to see what country life looked like. By this time I had talked about my friend Robin to my family, and I had talked about my family to Robin. There were questions from all of them. It was weird to have my two worlds come together. I had become so good at compartmentalizing my life, and this unnatural mixing of the two was so foreign.

The night before Robin and I were going back home to the city we were sitting at the dining room table with Dad, talking about little or nothing, and finally Dad blurted out, “I don’t understand how you two live in a one room apartment and are not intimate.”

Robin who is not shy at all said, “We are just friends, and that would not happen.”

Dad replied, “If you and I lived together in a one room apartment I would not be able to just leave you alone.”

Robin retorted rather quickly, “THAT is why you and I would never live together.” And with that, she ended that conversation.

I had one more thing to thank Robin for. She was responsible for another significant event in my life, and forever changed me in ways I could never have imagined. One night we were at home just chit-chatting about dancing and the people we worked with.

She asked me point blank, “Are you more interested in boys or girls?”

I quickly said, “Girls.”

It was more an instinctive reaction than anything, and even in the moment seemed meek and unconvincing. I had lied to myself so long, practiced spitting out the lie so often and quickly, it just came out reflexively. Right after I said it, I thought I should not have lied to her. She is my closest friend, and I should be honest with her. This was not the world I grew up in, and I could feel safe. She was truly a good friend, the best friend I could have asked for at that time.

She said plainly and sweetly, “Okay. But you need to go to this club and have a look around. Go to the bar and just sit there and have a drink. And then let me know your thoughts when you get home.”

A couple nights later I was standing in front of the bar she recommended called The Cabaret in downtown Minneapolis. It was in a building I had been in before, but on the main floor there was a retail space, and its entrance was around the corner on Hennepin Ave. The entrance to The Cabaret was on the side of the building on 5th St. I stood still for a few minutes, and then pulled the door open. I was surprised to see a short landing, and then steps leading to the basement of the building. I went down and there was another landing. It moved me to the right, and down the remaining steps going into the bar. I walked down, my legs were shaking uncontrollably, and I thought I might fall at any moment. I got to the bottom of the stairs, but it was dark. My eyes had not adjusted to the lack of light just yet, so all I could see were tables and chairs spread around a stage.

The apartment Robin and I shared is the window behind me.
This photo was taken years later.

I quickly took the first table just inside and closest to the stairs. I thought maybe I would have to make a quick exit. I sat there for a minute my eyes were adjusting and I could make out the rest of the bar. There was a stage in the center, and two or three rows of small tables with chairs around it. There was also a path that went around the bar, and then more tables with chairs around the walls of the bar. The actual bar itself was on the far end of the room, away from the steps that I came down. I noticed there were waiters, and soon after arriving one was standing in front of me asking what I wanted.

I didn’t know what to order so I said, “I don’t really drink. Could you recommend something?”

He blinked and offered, “I think you will like rum and Coke.” and off he went.

I was less than dirt poor, but the drinks were $0.75. I drank slowly so that one drink would last me all night. As I sat there drinking, I finally noticed I didn’t see any women, and it looked like there were only men here. Not even one woman, and the men seem to be super comfortable with their arms around each other in a touchy-feely, matter-of-fact manner.

Me at about 19 years old.

There was a guy on the stage dancing in what looked like a Speedo type swimsuit, and I had to think to myself, “Are those guys giving him dollar bills?” I had never heard of anything of the sort, but I liked it. After suppressing thoughts that were coming into my mind for so long, I felt myself trying to push the fact that the dancer was really cute out of my mind. I might have been successful were it not for the fact he was very well built. Finally, after some time sitting there looking around and taking it all in, I thought, “Oh my goodness! I like this place a lot.”

I left The Cabaret that night with all these confusing thoughts swirling around in my mind. Should I be happy, or more frustrated? I waited two days before the excitement was too much to ignore, and I went back. I continued to go back every night for a couple months. This was a world I knew nothing about, but wow, I was curious to know more. I couldn’t bring myself to believe this was where I was meant to be, especially after a lifetime of disappointments. I was suddenly inexplicably hopeful.

Chapter 10

My new world

We were coming up on the holidays, and I would have to go spend time with family. It was hard to leave a world I was accepted in and go back to one that I had to go back to living behind a façade. Fortunately, one the studios I was working in needed to have some maintenance done and the best time to do it was during the holidays, when everyone would be gone visiting family. This gave me the excuse I needed to get back to the city early enough to enjoy some of the holidays there.

It was New Year’s Eve 1972, and I was free to go to The Cabaret. I showed up early like I always did, sat at the same table I always did, and ordered the same drink I always did. That night there were a lot more people in the bar, and everyone was having a great time. I was sitting there enjoying my drink, and suddenly I saw someone looking in my direction. He started walking towards me, keeping his eyes fixed. Before I could freak out and dash up the stairs, he was right in front of me.

He smiled. I could smell liquor, and then he asked, “Are you gay?” This was the first time a guy I thought might be gay asked me. I had been asked if I like boys or girls, but no one had ever asked if I was “gay.”

I instinctively and quickly said, “No.”

He quickly fired back, “Well then, you should get the hell out of here.”

I quickly got up and left. I was freaked out! I didn’t go back to the bar the next day, because I was sickened by my response. It meant the ingrained fear was so much a part me. Still, even at this point I was unable to admit to anyone. But I had a word. “I am GAY!”

I waited weeks before I could bring myself to go back to the bar, but when I went back, I felt something had changed. I knew I was one of them, and they were my people. I needed to be okay making friends. The thing that still scared me to death was I still didn’t know anything about navigating this new world that I knew I wanted to be a part of. I would have to learn.

The next time I went to the bar I did not sit at the table just inside, ready to flee. I went straight to the bar and plopped down on a stool. People started talking to me, and within a few weeks I had made a small cadre of friends. We began to hang out more, and I found out that there were a couple of other gay bars across the street. Eventually we would bounce between The Cabaret, The Brass Rail, the Happy Hour, and Sutton’s.

Years later, me with my Uncle Warren and Aunt Jean. The summers
I spent with them as a child were some of the best of my youth.

One night I was sitting with my group of friends, and I looked across the bar into the eyes of a handsome man who was in turn looking at me. I had been used to making sure my gaze never lingered, so I instinctively looked away. I felt a tingling and inside my voice was telling me, “I hope he likes me.” I glanced in his direction again and he was still looking at me but had a smile on his face. By this time my heart was pounding in my chest, and I thought I might pass out. For the first time a man was looking at me the way I had dreamed. My childhood fantasies were coming to life, he, HE was looking at me and smiling. I managed a quick smile and then again looked away. Did someone set off fireworks, or was that just in my mind and heart? Again, I was disappointed with myself because there was no reason I should have looked away. It seemed like only a second had passed when someone grabbed my elbow and when I turned to look it was him standing next to me.

He was smiling and said, “Hi, my name is Bob.”

I didn’t know what to do as this was the first time a man was flirting with me, and I was free to flirt back. I introduced myself and we talked for a few minutes. I know I was awkward, and I didn’t know how to act. This was the first time a man was showing any interest in me, and I could be honest and open with my response. I had to work the next day, so I needed to leave shortly after having met him. He did ask if I could meet him the following night at the same place and I agreed.

I left that bar that night with all my senses bursting. It was as though I could feel every nerve ending swell with happiness mixed with anticipation. I could not believe it, a final confirmation there are other men like me and one of them is interested in me. One of them likes me and he was really handsome. I was in love! Well not in love with him, but for the first time I felt in love with my life. The walls I had put up to keep me in and them out felt gone for the first time. I could finally see the world I had only dreamed of. I didn’t have to pretend, not in this place, not in this new world. I didn’t know what would come of this meeting, but I knew if not this man there will be a man for me and he will love me in the same way I love him. It was a moment where I felt my life change and shift into something else.

Chapter 11

Coming out

I met Bob the following night, and this time it was just he and I. We stood at the bar and as we talked, he took my hand and held it. It was a small gesture, and it did feel awkward, but this had never happened. My hand felt small in his, and his felt a little rough and scratchy. It was new, I felt the sense of touch in a whole new way and I liked it. This was a work night so I couldn’t be out too late, and he was respectful of that. Before we left for the evening, he put his hand behind my head and gently pulled me toward him and then our lips met, and he kissed me. For the first time the internal explosion happened! Now I knew what it was like to be kissed by a man the way I wanted to be kissed. My first kiss with a guy, the very thing I had only dreamed about for years, just happened, and with someone I was very infatuated with. All the emotions I had suppressed and tried to ignore I finally had a place and someone I could express and explore them with. I was happy in a way I never thought possible!

All within a span of a few months of leaving home, my entire life changed. I had begun a career in dancing, learned about gay bars, and most importantly found out I was not the only one like me in the world. Not only were there others like me, but one of them liked me and he kissed me. My mind was a sea of emotions and questions. All the adolescent stuff I had suppressed for all those years was coming to the surface, and I didn’t know what to do with them. The problem was no one prepared me for what this world was going to present. I was completely unequipped to handle this world, and I didn’t know that at this point.

Bob was 36 years old and a trust fund baby. He did not work, so he had a lot of free time on his hands. I was this fresh-faced kid, new to the community, 19 years old, and didn’t know my way around. That didn’t matter. We started dating, but at this point I had never dated anyone that I felt I could have an emotional, physical, and loving relationship with. I was a hot mess! I knew I was projecting all those emotions and suppressed feelings on him, and it had to be difficult.

He not only took me on as a boyfriend, but I became his project. I knew less than nothing. It was easy for me to be passionate though and show a lot of affection. I could hold his hand, I could kiss him, and I loved every minute of it. I thought I was in love, but honestly it was simpler than that. I was enamored with the fact that I had a place and space where I could openly experience all those emotions and senses that I had been suppressing for many years. I wanted to be with him all the time, but I was working. We were only able to be together after my rehearsals or performances, so it meant that we mainly met very late at night.

I was living the life of a dancer/janitor and did not work normal hours. My day typically began around ten in the morning, and I would arrive at the studio around noon to start classes or working on whatever needed to be done. My day would end around 10:00 or 11:00 in the evening unless we had a performance or an event. On show nights it could be one or two in the morning. This did not leave the time for Bob and me to have a healthy relationship, and ultimately, he didn’t want one. This was the first time the world I dreamed of happened, a man was interested in me in a boyfriend way. I loved him, and I know he loved me. The world, however, didn’t seem to want us together and eventually we went on our separate ways.

°°°

Along with the realization there was a world I belonged in and people like me, came the realization that those I trusted all my life were not honest with me. The adults in my life had all decided to keep this information from me, allowing me to struggle in the most difficult way rather than having the courage to show me this world existed. It was a betrayal that cut deeply. I would never be able to see them with the same eyes; the relationships instantly changed, and there was an ugliness that was palpable. I wish I could say I was disappointed, but it was so much more than that. These were the people that in some cases were supposed to love me, and others that were charged with my care, and all of them were okay failing in their role. Part of me didn’t want to see a way back from these feelings of abandonment. In some cases, as in with my family, I knew I had to find a way to make it through this and find a new relationship that I could accept. It was going to take time.

°°°

Robin and I continued to live together but were seeing each other outside the studio less and less. We were still great friends so whenever we could we had a burn-the-barn-down good time. One of the other benefits from my friendship with Robin was she introduced me to Ballroom dancing. I loved it from day one! Of all the genres I danced in, Ballroom was my favorite, and tap was a close second. At this point I was taking classes at two studios, and to pay for them I was working for them as well. Working meant I was the janitor. Even with all of this I was still less than dirt poor. When I left home, I looked like a farm boy and weighed over 130 lbs. My pant size was 32 which mortified me because I thought I was fat. After living in the city and dancing day and night, my weight was less than 120 lbs., and nothing fit. I was thin as a rail.

From a quality-of-life perspective this was a low point, but then every performer I know had a similar inauspicious start to their career. After rent and any other bills, I had a budget for the week of five dollars. That had to feed me, clothe me, provide my entertainment, everything. I budgeted myself so that my cost of living was about sixty cents per day. That left me forty cents per day surplus. If I could manage to hold on to that, I could buy a drink two nights a week. My priorities were a little off.

°°°

The duality of my life was evolving, and my perceptions were changing. During my childhood, I had to deal with the opinions and voices of people talking or interacting with me. Everyone had something to say either with words or actions and expressions. I felt I could read those exchanges well. As I said previously, we live in a democracy, but our minds are not one at all. If I think something, I don’t need evidence to support it. I built a façade that I stood behind when dealing with external sources, and I filtered through it. I used information I received from those people’s actions and words to build and craft what my exterior looked and felt like. When dealing with them it felt like I walked up and communicated with people, and they saw what I knew they were okay with. They never really saw me.

My internal voice was there since childhood, talking to myself and keeping me sane. I found keeping this inner voice to myself was the best way to successfully move through my life. The difficulty of the inner voice was it was completely unsupported. During my childhood there was no Internet, and TV was only 4 broadcast channels that didn’t include anything controversial at all. Certainly, there were no gay characters. I didn’t even know they existed.

The conversations I was having with myself were more hopeful than anything. I had nothing that I could point to and say, “This supports my position and this is who I am.” For me there was no support in that area at all, no place I could go to where I felt okay with being myself, and no one that I could be fully honest with how I was feeling.

Grandma Ingalls between Dad and me. I believe Grandma
always knew I was gay but it never mattered to her.

I was at a threshold moment in my life when the two voices were changing. The external voices of those people that belonged to the world of my childhood were becoming less and less a part of my life. The second voice from inside me was clearly morphing and coming to the surface, where I could be more open and honest with people. This was becoming my life, one that included more than just me. There were people like me there and I could experiment and expose a more authentic me. I was no longer alone on that side of the façade. People could see me for who I really was. This “new me” was well received, and I was liked by people and in some cases loved. My world was continuing to change in a way I never could have imagined just a few months earlier.

Putting a period on my childhood, I don’t blame people for the time we lived in and most of the choices that were made. There were those people that were able to help me be okay and prepare me for what I would find when I went out in the world. They chose to do nothing. This should not be forgotten and never repeated. It was the accepted norm of that time, but today we know better.

My last years of childhood on the farm were nothing short of a horror. I woke up each and every day terrified that at some point someone would stand up, point at me, and call me out. I figured from that point on my life and the lives of my family would be over. We would be ruined, and it would be my fault! It is a burden no child should have to bear.

The façade was still well in place when I was a young man. I still had two sides or worlds that I lived in. One was that of my childhood. Those people continued to be part of my life, but now that part of me I kept hidden from them was there also. I wanted that to be done. I would no longer be just the person they were okay with, and they would have to figure out how to be okay with me. I was not willing to be invisible. Part of the new me would be part of my life everywhere. The side of me that I believed was me alone was now filled with people and events. At this point I am not sure that was a good thing. I was like a kid; I didn’t know how to act or navigate in this new world. I made mistakes, and they were big mistakes! I can also say I was happy in a way I never thought was possible.

Life for me was moving quickly at this point. I was working a lot. If I wasn’t playing janitor at the two studios, I was taking classes, rehearsing, or in the production period of a show. I also began to travel some, which I really liked. I was so naïve though. I was working with a dance troop and a Ballroom dance studio.

There was a dance coach that came into Minneapolis to give lessons. His name was Pete and wow, was he handsome! He was tall, thin with a dancer’s build, tanned and had a big personality. We hit it off right away. He was a coach during the day and a companion in the evenings. He was only in Minneapolis for a couple weeks, but before he left, he offered me a position in Florida working in his studio. I didn’t know what to do. I liked him but not enough to move cross country, and I didn’t know anyone in Florida. All that was in my mind, but I would also have to give up some of the performances I was already doing. In the end that didn’t work for me. The reality of the situation was this move would have put me in a position for my career to take off, but I said no.

The time I was able to spend with Robin continued to lessen but we remained good friends. When we were able to see each other, it was as if no time has passed at all. Robin had a problem she had not told me about. She did tell me she was born and raised in Australia but not that she was in the U.S. illegally. One night we went to dinner and planned to go “club jumping,” as she called it, after dinner. During the dinner she let me know that she had come to the U.S. on a work visa, but it had expired a couple years earlier. Immigration had found her, and she was going to have to get another visa to stay, or leave the country and go home. She didn’t want to leave but if she could not get another studio to sponsor her, she would have no choice. We talked through all the options, not that I could offer much, most of what she was telling me was completely new to me. I did offer to marry her if that meant she could stay but she quickly shot that down. We both knew we were friends of proximity, there was nothing that would allow us to stay in touch once we no longer lived near each other. If she took a job in a distant city, I would likely never see her again and the reverse is true as well. It was a condition of the time we lived in, too often you meet people, enjoy the time together, one moves and that is it, they are gone from your life.

Robin did find a sponsor in Florida and moved away a couple weeks after this dinner. We said our goodbyes through our tears the night before she left. As she walked away, I knew I would not see my friend again. The person solely responsible for the huge changes in my life was leaving and there was nothing I could do about it.

To this day I have not talked to or heard anything from Robin. My heart hopes she is happy and settled into the life of her dreams.

°°°

I began working for a couple named Ben and Irene at their Ballroom studio. They were the best thing to happen to me at this point. They welcomed me and treated me more like a family member than an employee. They also worked to help me understand the Ballroom dance genre and world much better. They introduced me to some of the Ballroom dance leadership such as a beautiful dancer named Donna. When I met Donna, I was star struck! She was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, and she had an elegance about her that I had never seen in real life. To this day I remember the first time I saw her dance. It was as if her feet didn’t touch the ground. She glided with ease and all her movements were effortless. Her arms didn’t just move, they did a slow elegant dance in the air as if they were wings. It was magical to see her perform.

Donna saw something in me too and worked with me quite a bit. As a result, my dancing progressed quickly. I found my place, my center if you will. I also found there is a huge difference between dancing on your own and dancing as a couple in “dance position,” but I was getting the hang of it. Along with Donna there were other dance leaders that came through the studio to provide coaching for the teachers (I was one at this point) and instructions to the students. Having a national coach come into the studio was always extremely exciting for everyone.

I was working hard and all the time, but I was not making the kind of money I needed long term to survive. I let that be known to the groups I was dancing with. Finally, one of the groups that I did shows with offered me a more permanent gig in Nebraska. I have nothing against Nebraska, but when you imagine dance capitals around the world, I am pretty sure Nebraska does not come to mind. I could not see a way to progress my career there and turned down the offer. There was also another offer to move to Baton Rouge in Louisiana with the leadership of the Ballroom studio I was working in. The Ballroom studio and Ballet studio in Baton Rouge were connected, so I could continue to work and perform in both genres. The options for work in Minneapolis were quickly running out, so I had to decide quickly.

Before I could commit, I had to talk to my family and let them know my plan was to take the position. I planned a trip home one weekend. At this point my physical appearance had completely changed. When I left home a few months earlier I was a farm boy, still wearing cowboy style shirts, blue jeans that were made for working not style, and a bit rough around the edges. When I came back home for this weekend, I looked like a dancer. I had lost twenty pounds, so I weighed under 120 pounds. My pants and shirt were skintight, and I had a choker necklace, a couple of bracelets, and four rings on. I thought I was “the thing.”

I got home on a Friday night and was sitting at the dinner table with Dad after everyone had gone to bed. This was always the time of day you could get Dad’s attention and have a non-filtered conversation with him. If others were around, Dad would be more prone to be rude and cut you off without responding to you. That night it was just he and I, and we sat quietly while I was trying to think of a way to bring up the subject of my moving.

Suddenly Dad said, “I watched a TV show last week and the people on the show reminded me of you.”

I said, “Okay, in what way?”

“They were homosexuals, men who like men.”

I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say.

He continued, “Are you a homosexual?”

I sat still for a minute and then finally I said simply, “Yes.”

Even though I was more open about who I was, I had never told them I was gay. There was no reason to keep my lives separate anymore, it was time he knew. If he was asking, then he had prepared himself for the answer.

We both sat quietly for what seemed like an hour and finally I said, “I have thought about this moment so many times. And I went through this conversation in my mind so many times, trying to explain what is like to be me so that I could help you understand. But I now know you will never understand.”

He said, “You are right. I will never understand.”

“I don’t need you to understand what it is to be me; it will have to be enough for you to understand this is me.”

He said, “Okay, but you have chosen a life that is going to be very hard. It is your life to live.” And that was the end of that conversation.

This was the coming out to my family. I knew he would tell Mom and each of them would tell my siblings when they felt the time was right. I didn’t tell him about the move to Baton Rouge that night, but I did the next night while Mom was still there. They were both upset and did not want me to move so far from home, but they knew that to pursue a career in dancing I had to go where the work led me.

I was off, heading south within weeks.

Chapter 12

Louisiana

When I got to Baton Rouge, I was surprised by what I found. The studios were small, and they didn’t have a strong presence, but both of them were planning on growing and needed strong dancers to make their growth plans happen. Both studios were well-funded by some of the wealthiest families in southern Louisiana at the time. Myself and a few others that also made the move were going to have to show them that we were capable of putting on a show that was exciting and worth paying for.

They were trying to build excitement for the arrival of the new dancers, so we were to keep hidden. The first week we were there we were put up in a hotel and told we could not leave during the day. We had to stay on the property, and no one could know we were the dancers that had been promised. So all day we would lay by the pool and just do whatever came to mind, and in all honesty, I was utterly bored. About 8:00pm each day cars would show up at the hotel and pick us up and take us to the studio to rehearse. We did this for a week; meanwhile, the big reveal show would be Friday evening. There were always people at the rehearsals to watch us, and we met with the executives when asked. I knew these were the people that had provided the funds to bring us here and would provide funding for any of our upcoming shows, so I was on my best behavior. I liked meeting them, they were all so nice, welcoming, and kind of star struck which made me chuckle.

I had several numbers in the show but staying true to myself during the rehearsals I never full-on danced them. I wanted everyone to be shocked and surprised when they saw me during the actual performance. The night of the performance arrived, and we were again picked up by car at the hotel. They were trying to keep anyone from seeing or talking to us. We arrived at the studio and came in through the back. We made our way to the one singular dressing room. There was only one, and it was small. We pushed and shoved our way while getting into makeup and costume. The theater was packed to capacity with standing room only. The excitement in the air was palatable. The show began, I went out for my first number and the lights were blinding. I couldn’t see anyone, but the applause was loud enough. I took my place on the floor and the music started. I danced like never before using all the tricks I had learned. The audience loved it!

After the show there was a mixer for us to meet everyone. It was a lot of fun as they always were for me. The comments I heard most often were, “I never saw a man’s legs move like that” and “I usually watch the girls, but I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” I knew I was where I belonged. By this time my look had changed again and was more polished. My weight was stable, now between 110 and 115 lbs. Thin, but it was a dancers thin. I had no real upper body development but did possess great shape from the waist down.

That night I met one of the local dancers whose name was Devon. He was standing off to one side and someone said they had a person they wanted to introduce me to and walked me over to where Devon was standing. He was a bubbly guy with white blond hair and full of personality. We chatted for a few minutes and then I moved on.

The weeks were filled with teaching dance and taking lessons. The ballet studio was operated by Ms. Fuchs, a renowned dancer who was also the wife of the opera director and the conductor of the Baton Rouge Symphony. She was a strict teacher and demanded the very best from everyone. Often times after showing us our choreography as we were rehearsing it, she would close her eyes and not watch us. Someone made the mistake of asking her why she closed her eyes and she said she could not stand to watch how badly we were executing it.

She did have her “almost kind” moments. We were rehearsing a number, and she turned to me and said, “You have beautiful dancing arms!” Just as I was going to thank her, she continued, “But don’t thank me. God gave them to you, and you had nothing to do with it.” I chuckled to myself thankful that she liked me.

I loved Baton Rouge, and the life I was leading. I was performing all over the U.S. from San Francisco to Miami. I was improving my reputation, and my dancing technique was improving as well. As far as Baton Rouge itself, I traveled in the best circles, attended chic parties at the Governor’s Mansion and exclusive parties in New Orleans. Devon and I were also developing a friendship at first, and over time it evolved and eventually we became boyfriends.

When I first moved to Baton Rouge I lived with Ben and Irene for a week, and then moved into my own apartment. I still didn’t have a car. In Minneapolis I was able to get everywhere I wanted to go on public transportation or by walking, but Baton Rouge was not a walking city. You needed a car to get anywhere. That is the initial thing that brought Devon and me together, he had access to a car. He would come and pick me up in the morning, take me to the studio; and then when the day was done, we would go to the local gay bar.

Eventually Devon and I began to date and moved in together. We were both dancers and worked together, so it only made sense when we lived together. My career in dance was taking off and so was Devon’s. We traveled all over the U.S. and developed a good reputation. One of the things you need as a performer is confidence in your work and ability. I knew I was short in stature, and so I had to create a style that separated me from other dancers. I had to figure out how to draw the attention when I was dancing, and I achieved that.

Me during a visit home for Christmas.

I was living as an openly gay man, and not willing to go back in the closet. Yet whenever Devon and I went somewhere outside of our community, we were careful not to draw attention. There was a saying that began around this time, “I don’t mind if they are gay as long as they don’t act that way.” We were careful not to touch each other when we were in public, and a kiss was completely out of the question. Add to that, the south was still very segregated in many ways along racial lines. In 1975 the movie Mahogany was released, with Diana Ross as the star. Ms. Ross had always been a big part of my life and growing up her music allowed me to mentally go off into a world where I was happy and free of the trappings of the real world. I had to go see the movie.

Taken on a rare overnight trip to New Orleans.

The problem was the only theater in Baton Rouge that was showing the movie was the “black” theater. The theater that most of the white people went to, refused to show the movie even though every white or black person I knew wanted to go see it. It didn’t matter where the movie was showing we were going to see the movie no matter what. We went to an early show, and we were the only two white people in the theater. It was not a problem, but I thought if someone realized we were gay we might have some trouble. That did not happen either. To this day it is one of my favorite movies, and Diana Ross is and will always be one of my all-time favorite entertainers.

The horrors of my childhood were mostly a memory, at least in my everyday life. I was able to be myself most of the day. I had an amazing life full of good friends, travels, music, dance, costumes, and more excitement than I could have hoped for. Even with all that was going on, life would continue to get difficult. The happiness I found in my new world would have more challenges when I tried to bring more of myself to the life I used to live. My family now had a glimpse into my world. They might have characterized it as “too much,” yet I only showed them glimpses into that part of my life.

The holidays were coming up, and Devon and I didn’t want to spend them apart. I wanted to go back home for the week between Christmas and New Year's, because it is typically a quiet time for dancers. Devon decided to go with me. I don’t remember asking Mom and Dad if that was okay, I think it was more of an announcement that I would not be alone. I don’t know if Mom and Dad had any discussions about it, although, I can’t imagine they didn’t. Devon and I arrived, and everything appeared to be okay. We were careful not to touch each other or use terms of endearment. We didn’t sit next to each other at the dining table, and we slept on the couch and a cot in the family room (not in the same bed). We managed to have some time alone, but that was only when we went into Minneapolis for a couple nights. Other than that, I thought we were being respectful of everyone, but apparently that was not the case.

It was normal for gay couples to completely change their behaviors toward each other when they were in a group of straight people. I go back to the saying, “I don’t mind them being gay as long as they don’t act that way.” I was beginning to get a sense it was like being in a foreign country, because I had to radically modify my behavior when I was with my family so they would be okay with me being there. This is the way it was done, and everyone, including me, thought that was okay. It was the time we were living in, and the fact that I could be openly gay was a huge step, and everyone thought I should be appreciative with how much had changed. I must admit, I thought I was happy about it. We did make significant progress from the previous generations.

A couple months after returning home I received a card from Mom and Dad with a letter in it. The letter was in Mom’s handwriting, but I could tell they were Dad’s words. In short, the letter said they loved me and wanted me to come home anytime I wanted, but they did not want me to bring “my friend.” I was shocked and surprised. I thought they were okay with my being gay as long as we didn’t talk about it, and I was respectful when I was around them. That didn’t appear to be the case. They wanted me to stay “straight acting” when I came home. They did not want to see me, they only wanted to see some fabricated version that was palatable. I can’t explain how upset I was. Getting a letter like this from your parents after all the difficulty they knew I had been through was a shock. It left me feeling empty. I didn’t do anything right away, but after a few days I decided I had to live my life true to myself. I made the decision, no one would tell me which parts of me were okay to be with or around. You either want to see me and know me or you don’t! I decide the person I present. If that was not okay, then I am not going to be there at all.

It was the hardest decision I had made up to this point in my life. I used to call Mom at least once a month, and at this time these were expensive long-distance calls charged by every minute. That would have to stop. I didn’t know what to say or how to address it, and I could not let it go as if it didn’t happen. I had a magnificent life, they should be happy for me, and proud of me! My heart was heavy, and I had a sorrow with such depth like I have never felt. It was then I realized just how sadness could actually make someone physically ill. I thought I was going to be physically nauseous. I couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment or abandonment, but I knew my decision was the best one for everyone.

I was becoming more aware of the separation in my life, a distinct line drawn to separate two camps. There was the old world which I still felt I had to step behind some form of a mask and my new world where I was always free to be myself. Those that were not part of my new world didn’t understand it, and frankly they never wanted to. I didn’t feel the need to educate anyone, but I could not help but think there were so many occasions where I was the only gay person in the room. At family functions whether it was at someone’s home, a restaurant, or bar…I would be the only gay person present. I was expected to okay with being in those places, and everyone thought I was comfortable being there. In truth I felt extremely uncomfortable. I didn’t know where to look, which parts of my actions were going to be offensive, and I couldn’t have a conversation without feeling people will be more focused on how I am saying it rather than what I am saying. I was expected to change my behavior so that everyone else was okay with my being there. This is what “normal” was and it was never spoken, but everyone thought this is the way it is supposed to be, and I should be happy I was invited to attend at all. This is what life had become.

°°°

1976 was the Bicentennial year. There were many celebrations, and with them a constant need to have performers. I stayed quite busy. It was a year of red, white, blue mixed always with stars and stripes. The entire nation was celebrating, and the excitement could be felt everywhere. I was having a blast! Where at one time my financial circumstance could best be described as desperate, I was now earning enough money to do anything I wanted.

Taken during one of the celebrations during 1976.

I continued to live my life as an openly gay man. Surprisingly, there were not a lot of men, gay or straight, who were dancing at this time. In Baton Rouge the options for male performers were likely boiled down to two – Devon and I. We spent a lot of time together, we worked together, and because we only had one car we went everywhere together. During the week we would go to the one gay club in Baton Rouge. But on the weekends, often we would drive into New Orleans which was just a short hour away.

New Orleans and specifically the French Quarter never closed, so we could party all night long. There were several bars to choose from including dance bars, the stand-and-stare bars, and those that were very dimly lit for…other purposes. We rarely stayed the night in New Orleans. We were only an hour away, so after we finished work on Saturday evening, we changed clothes and off we went to New Orleans. We would party for hours, dancing at some bars, stumbling to the stand-and-stare bars and back again. Many times, we were headed home while the sun was coming up in the rearview mirror.

Life was so much fun while I lived in Baton Rouge. I was reluctant to leave, but after all the work of 1976, it was drying up come 1977. I knew both the Ballet and the Ballroom studios were struggling, but I had built a great life there in a culture I found fascinating. It was not meant to last. After a couple of my payroll checks could not be cashed there was one final event that let me know it was time I look for what was next.

Me with one of my dance partners, Patrice.

I remember the last time I performed with the Baton Rouge Ballet. I was in a group number dancing to “Rhapsody in Blue.” There were only two guys in the number, and we were primarily there to support and lift the women, with hardly any other function. At this point I weighed less than 120 pounds, and I was terribly thin which worked for dancing but not for strength. There was one movement where the girl did a rond de jambe, followed by a side kick. I was to catch her leg on the way down and lift her. The other guy was to grab her leg and lift, so the female dancer ended up over our heads. The other guy was husky, and he should have been much stronger than I was. Yet somehow, I ended up with most of the girl’s body weight. I remember thinking, “Doesn’t anyone see that our roles should be reversed?,” but that never happened; I had to lift her and did. I remember this number with great fondness, but it was as I anticipated the last time I performed with the ballet.

Soon after several of us, including Devon and I, were on a business trip to San Juan and staying at the Caribe Hilton where we were supposed to be for a week. The studio was to have paid for everything including the airfare and hotel rooms. A few days into our trip the manager of the hotel called me into his office and said, “I need you to settle the rooms for the time you have been here, and I need you to provide proof of your ability to pay for the rooms and the charges against the rooms for the remainder of your reservation.” I can assure you I was not going to pay for the hotel rooms or provide any kind of assurance the bill would be paid through the end of the week or even the day for that matter. We had a short discussion, but he did not accept any other options. I asked him if I could make some phone calls and would clear this up. He was happy to accommodate me and set me up in a conference room. I made a few calls and found out the organization I was working for had no funds to pay for the rooms or anything else. They were looking for the funds and would take care of the hotel as soon as they could. What did they mean “as soon as they could?” I was shocked and took that to mean we were on our own.

I had been contacted by the Houston Ballet and a couple studios in Houston, so I started making calls with a different purpose and within a couple hours I had arranged to have the hotel paid for, the costs for me and any others to relocate to Houston, and jobs for both Devon and me. Our flight back to Baton Rouge from San Juan was already paid for so there was no concern there.

We did finish our work in San Juan and left as originally planned, but I was not happy as this was not the first time I had been left in a difficult situation. When we arrived back at the studio in Baton Rouge, I was furious. The studio management knew I was considering leaving, and they took me into the offices and began trying to convince me to stay in Baton Rouge. They were prepared to refund all the costs I incurred while stuck in San Juan, pay me a bonus, and increase my salary. I asked them to show me where the money came from and would continue to come from, but of course they couldn’t. I let them know that I was leaving at the end of the month. All the commitments the studio had made that included me, past the end of the month, would have to change; I would not be here. They were not happy, I was not happy, but I didn’t feel I had any other choice.

For a short while Devon had decided to stay, but soon realized he needed to leave as well. We both gave notice, and now the studio was in a difficult spot. They had no one to fill our positions, and this is where the threats began. One of the owners came to our house late one night thinking he was going to be able to convince us to stay. When it became clear that was not going to happen, he said, “It would be a shame if something happened, and your legs were broken in an accident.” I told him to get out of our house, and then went about getting ready to leave as quickly as possible. I believe we left the following day. I didn’t feel good about leaving my commitments, but I was not going to stay and give them an opportunity to fulfill their threat. I was off to Houston.

Chapter 13

Moving to Texas

Our apartment in Houston had already been arranged for and was waiting. It was a very nice three bedroom/three bath apartment on Memorial Dr. We felt safe as soon as we arrived in Houston. I again was working at two studios. The first was the Houston Ballet located on the second floor of a really cool Art Deco style building on West Gray, just east of Shepherd Drive. The second was a Ballroom studio across the street and down a block.

Two weeks after we moved to Houston, while driving to the studio, I heard on the radio Elvis Presley had passed away. It was sad news, and it became an indelible time stamp for when I moved to Houston. It was August, 1977 and life had changed again. The death of Elvis was simply proof of that, the world had altered forever in some strange way.

I still had not spoken to my parents after receiving the letter from them, and I didn’t know if they knew I had moved to Houston. I did talk to other family members if they called, so I believed they knew, but had no confirmation of that. My work was struggling in a way it had not been in a long time. The artistic director of the Houston Ballet was new, and he had dramatic changes he wanted to make. I believed I would be one of the principal dancers, but he told me flatly no. He said I was too short, my torso was long, and my legs were short. I again was devastated, but I believed if he saw me actually dance, I could change his mind. That never happened. Add to this, there were comments about my habit of not giving it my all during rehearsals which was failing me. I knew if the directors could see me perform, I would get the position I wanted. That did not happen either. There was not much for me here, and I could not see myself as a line dancer after all I had accomplished. I was not getting the recognition I felt I should get in the Ballroom genre either. I looked for a partner, but never was able to find one that was a good match.

The difficulties I was experiencing with my career was one thing, add to that I was seeing older dancers for the first time. I started to work with dancers in their forties that were still trying to build a career and perform next to those of us in our early twenties. I saw several of the dancers in their thirties begin the surgeries on their legs, knees, hips and ankles. It was not good. I realized I could not continue this career forever. If I stayed in this profession, I would have to make enough money over the next fifteen years to last me the following forty years and the math was just not working out for me. I knew it was time to look for something else. A period of transition was ahead of me, and at this point I was twenty-three years old. I was ready to retire, and I wasn’t even twenty-five.

My 25th birthday celebration at Baja Sam’s.

I loved the dancers, because all of them were a crazy fun group of people that loved to laugh and enjoy themselves. We would dance and work hard, but then we would party just as passionately. In Houston there were a lot of gay men, and I made friendships that I still enjoy today. It was the world I was used to, the one that defined me, and one that I would forever carry into my life’s journey. Hard work, hard play, and lots of determination.

There were several couples at the studio, Devon and I were one of them; however, there was also Paul and Bob who were a strikingly handsome couple and great dancers. Bobby and Gary were yet another fun male couple. Bobby was the one in the group that kept everyone laughing, and both of them were also great dancers. I was fortunate to work with some amazing dancers, Vernon Brock being one of them. His dancing and choreography were legendary. Vernon and Joe were another couple that I spent time with, but never nearly enough. I still have the gift they gave me for Christmas in the mid-seventies. We were all pretty close friends, but the six of us including Bob, Paul, Gary, Bobbie, Devon and I socialized the most.

After we finished work, we would all meet at a gay bar called The Old Plantation. It was huge! There was a big dance floor, but also a quiet bar and, oddly enough, a jewelry shop inside. It was the day of disco, and all of us loved to dance, even after having danced all day long. It didn’t matter what night it was the bar was always packed, so dancing was little more than bumping into everyone. When moving through the bar it required a singular path, pushing your way through the intense crowd. No one minded this, because we were all so happy to be in a place where we could be ourselves.

Life continued to be amazing in a big world where just a few years earlier I had no idea it even existed. Career-wise it was time for me to put serious consideration into what my life was going to be going forward. I was looking around for what was next, and so were several of the other dancers, including Devon. Eventually Bob became a hairdresser while Paul became a florist. Gary and Bobby continued dancing. I went to Las Vegas with a couple of the other dancers, to see if I could get cast in one of the shows there. Turns out I could have worked in the Liberace show or a couple of others, but the numbers for earnings kept coming into my mind. I decided it was time to make a career change, and go into a job that I could work the rest of my life in. One of my friends worked for the phone company, and he had been telling me all the reasons I should consider working there. I was considering it, but also looking at the electric company and the City of Houston itself. The looming question was, “What job am I qualified for?” As far as I knew, none of those companies had dancers.

Left: Tom White and me.
Right: Linda and Bob. 18 years after this Bob would become my boyfriend.

It was August of 1978, and Devon and I had been in Houston now for a year. I was committed to the decision to change careers but had not decided what companies I wanted to pursue. In October I celebrated my 25th birthday. Devon had planned to take me to dinner and then we were going to go dancing. We did go to dinner, but then on the way to our favorite dance bar he wanted to stop by a bar that we both really liked for “just one drink.” When I walked into the bar called Baja Sam’s, which was located on the corner of Lovett and Taft, everyone I knew in Houston was there. Devon had arranged a surprise party. I was so shocked, but happy to see everyone. Devon also had a cake custom made for me. All of us stayed, and we had a great night. I couldn’t help but feel a little sadness knowing I was moving on in my career and many of these friends would disappear from my life.

1978 was coming to an end, and I still had not decided what I was going to do. Even though I loved dancing I felt myself moving away, becoming less and less interested in finding a way forward in this career. We were preparing our Christmas show, and I along with everyone else noticed one of the dancers, Bob Grant (as was his name) was sick a lot. Most of us thought he was just bored and partying too much, calling in and skipping work. We could never have guessed what was truly happening.

Devon and I talked about options for staying in the dance business or moving into something more long lasting. I wanted to be a hairdresser, but you had to be licensed to do hair in Texas. For me to get the license I would have to go to school for eight months, eight hours a day, so I would not be earning money until I could complete school, get my license, and go out and get a job. That would mean all our expenses would have to be covered by Devon until I could get a job and start earning some money. The problem was that Devon also wanted to be a hairdresser and of course have the schooling and lack of earnings in front of him as well. We decided one of us would have to support the other until the other one could complete their schooling and get a job. Once that happened the other one could go to school and become a hairdresser as well. We agreed that the first to go through the schooling and get their license would be Devon.

With this agreement in mind, I finally decided to apply for a job with the phone company and shortly after the new year I was called and told that they had a job for me. I would be a Repair Clerk, and I had no idea what that was. I accepted the job, but told them I had commitments through the end of March and could not abandon them. They agreed and my first day on the job would be April 2, 1979.

I completed all my commitments in the dance industry and began to work for the phone company as we agreed. The first step was going through training. It was two weeks long, and the instructor was named Lavern. The very first day she said, “The one thing that will not change at the phone company was change. If you cannot accept change or have a difficult time with it, you may as well leave now.” There were twelve of us in the class and by the time we finished with the two weeks of training there were only eight. My new career, if you could call it that, was underway.

1979 turned out to be a bad year for weather and being one of the newest employees I had the worst job hours. I was scheduled for what they called “split tours.” This meant I worked four hours and then had four hours off before beginning the final four hours of my workday. This meant my eight hours of work was scheduled over twelve hours each day. That was bad enough, but the office was operational twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Even though the company had recognized holidays, our office was always open, only with a smaller staff. There was a lot of flooding that year which meant people’s phones were going out of service, so they were calling us. Good news, or bad there was too much work, and the need for people was so great I was able to work overtime the four hours between my scheduled shifts. It meant I was working twelve-hour days, but I was okay with the money, which was always welcome since I was beginning a new career.

Photos from my first Holiday Party in 1979.
Christmas has always been an important holiday to me.

I can safely say this job was the worst job I have ever had. The hours were long, and the nature of the operations made it difficult since every person calling was on the line because their phone wasn’t working. They were angry and wanted someone out the same day to fix their phones. In most cases, it would be several days or even a week before someone could get out there. Keep in mind at this time there were no cell phones. All the phones were attached to a wall outlet and sat on a table or hung on the wall. The customers paid a monthly fee to the phone company for every single phone they had. People were moving away from the idea that a phone was a luxury item to the belief phones were now a critical necessity.

The work was long and hard; however, after a few months I was getting scheduled eight hours in a row and two days off a week together. Those days might have been Tuesday and Wednesday though, it was never the weekend. I felt everyone must pay their dues, and that is exactly what I was doing but I knew that it would get better the longer I worked there.

Mom and Dad would come visit during the winter.
Dad and I, working on adding a doorway to a wall.

Devon was continuing his work in the dance business, but simultaneously making plans on when to leave and begin school to become a hairdresser. Devon was a very gifted young man, and one of the areas he excelled in was singing and even writing songs, when he had time to focus. One of the other dancers wanted to move into another branch of the entertainment industry and become an agent, and he approached Devon about becoming his client. To make this work Devon would have to put a band together and agree to tour the country singing country music. Devon and I came to an agreement. He would set aside his schooling to become a hairdresser for a while and pursue this new opportunity. I was happy for him and wanted him to be successful. He did have a beautiful singing voice and a unique way of delivering a song. We then both met with his agent and told him what we needed to make everything work while Devon was touring. Devon would tour with the band, but his earnings would be sent to me so I could keep up with the shared expenses. While on the road his expenses would be paid for, so he would not have any out-of-pocket expenses. Everyone agreed with the plan, and it all seemed settled.

Devon put together the band and off they went. Nothing like what we agreed to happened…absolutely nothing. I was working my ass off while Devon was touring, and all the money the band was making was going home to the band members families with nothing to help with our costs in our home. After months of this I finally had enough. Devon came home for a weekend, and I told him this was not working. Our lives were going to change. If he wanted to continue touring with the band and was not able to send anything to cover his expenses I was done, and would move out on my own. Or he could quit trying to make the singing work and come home to attend beauty school as we had agreed previously. He decided to quit the touring and returned home. He was in school within weeks of returning; I ended up paying for his education. I wanted to get him on the path to a career. I also knew that when he was finished with his schooling and earning a living, then I could then quit the hellhole I was in, and pursue my career in the beauty industry.

Me sitting on the hearth of the house in West Houston
and yes of course it is Christmas time.

Money was once again tight, so we scaled back on our activities. We only went to the clubs once a week. When we did make it out to the clubs, we always made sure we picked up all the community periodicals to keep up with what was going on in the community, and of course to read all the racy stories. At this point in time the “community rags” didn’t have a lot of meaningful content, or that was not my interest or anyone else I knew. There were all kinds of ads to meet people, massage by individuals or in parlors, and of course all the personals. Once while perusing all of this, I did read an article about a strange disease that seemed to only effect gay men. That got my attention, after all I was a gay man living what I thought was a typical gay man’s life. Devon and I were on and off, so even though I was not excessively promiscuous during this time, I ended up single now and again. During the times I was single I had a habit of meeting someone on Friday, “dating” for the weekend and letting him go on Monday. This didn’t happen every weekend, but there were enough of them.

Before long I saw more articles about this disease and always with new details. It appeared that it may be a condition that was the result of several factors. They were reporting that all men that came down with this disease had some of the same combination of illnesses or infections. They all had sexually transmitted diseases, hepatitis, and several other maladies. I was stunned, because I had hepatitis when I first started with the phone company, but it was the result of eating something. I had not had any of the other diseases mentioned in the article. I felt safer, but still alarmed in general.

It was around this time one of my friends still in the dance world told me Bob Grant, one of the dancers I had worked with, had this disease and was in the hospital. By this time, we were seeing people on TV and in our community, so I knew when you got sick it was not good, horrible in fact and completely dehumanizing. Bob was one of the first cases in Houston, and he was so sick he refused visitors. I was not able to go see him, and my heart sank. Bob was a kind person, always willing to help where he could. He was also a stunningly handsome man with pale white skin that was smooth as porcelain and jet-black hair. He was very tall and well-built but in a dancer sort of way, tall with not much muscle development above his waist. But…WOW, his legs and butt were crazy built. All of this and one of the best dancers in his field, you couldn’t take your eyes off him when he was dancing.

Not long after finding out Bob had this disease, I was told he passed away. Shortly after that I found out his partner passed away as well. This seemed to be the beginning of something larger. Up until this point, I was ecstatic finding out I was gay and involving myself in the community I belonged to. I was more than making up for all those difficult years as a child, and now this! It instantly put a pit in my stomach and filled me with dread. No one seemed to know what caused this, the medical world was not sure, and they could not (would not) commit to anything concrete. There was nothing I could do or not do with confidence that would ensure my safety. It was frightening, and it was being reported in the community periodicals the disease was affecting hundreds of men. Yet nothing was being reported in the main stream media or from the government, and there was a strange silence hovering around it. How could I live with this very large voice in my mind that boomed every time I even thought about doing anything that might be considered risky. I was not alone, everyone I knew had this same fear, and you could see it in their faces.

My brother Brad would also come and visit during the winter.

Devon completed his schooling and did go out to work. Instead of going into a beauty shop to work, he decided he wanted to be a teacher in the beauty school. That was okay except it did not give him the earnings we needed for me to quit the phone company and go to beauty school. My dream remained a plan, but always a future plan that never got close to fruition. To top it all off, our lives were about to get difficult for us again.

We bought a house out in the ‘burbs that both of us really liked. It was a three bedroom/two bath with 2,000 square feet of space. It was near some of my closest friends, but very far from the clubs and our community. We had consciously made the decision to simplify our lives and stay home. Initially things were going okay, we both had jobs, had our own cars, we had our friends close by, and the four of us got together almost every weekend to play cards or listen to music. They also had a pool, so during the summer we spent a lot of time in and around the pool. This idyllic time in our lives did not last long.

Devon had begun to run with a group that led him to habits that were not good for him or us, and those included alcohol and drug abuse. I never fully understood what all happened, but one day after I got home from work the phone rang. I answered it, and it was Devon’s father. He told me nothing was wrong with Devon, but he would not be coming home that evening. He was with them, and the following day they were going to check him into a rehab facility for the next 6 weeks to get him off the alcohol and drugs. This was the first time I was hearing about it! We would go out to the clubs and drink, but nothing that would be considered excessive. I knew nothing about him taking drugs. I only knew he had friends that I didn’t know that well, and frankly didn’t want to know as well as I did. From what I was told that group of friends were very much part of the drug scene and Devon was part of it as well.

Mom and me out on the patio of the West Houston house.

I had no idea, but my world was about to come crashing down! The day after I got a call from Devon’s father, the electricity at the house was shut off. I initially thought it was an outage in the area, but eventually uncovered that Devon had not paid the bill. I was giving him money for half of all the expenses, but he was not paying any of them. I had to come up with the money to pay for the electricity, then the water and gas bills. They were all several months past due. I finally got all of them paid when the sheriff showed up at our door. He asked for Devon, of course he did! I asked what it was about, and even though he was reluctant to tell me he said he was processing a bad check. He needed to have the check paid within a week or Devon would be arrested. I paid that one along with the additional fees, but that was not nearly the end of it. I ended up going around the city and paying for several checks Devon had written that were no good. I did have a saving account that I thought was a pretty good nest egg, but it was quickly disappearing. I was in shock, but despite all the indicators I believed my life and happiness was dependent on Devon coming back home and going back to work.

Six weeks passed, and Devon came home. He did go back to work, but there was something there he was not telling me. All he said was when he went back to work some of the upper management were there and they met with him. He was given an ultimatum that he could resign and leave, or they would have him arrested. ARRESTED? For what? I never found out and to this day I still don’t know. It was at this point I realized if I stayed, I would end up living under a bridge. My life would continue to crumble if I did not make a change. I began to feel that I had hit some sort of bottom and had failed myself and all those people that believed in me. My parents would never say I told you so, but when you are gay you feel like you can never fail. You must succeed in everything, and now I was exposed in an ugly way. I thought I had low points in my life, but my life was in a new low.

I told Devon this was it. I was done and was making a plan to leave. He had another friend that was very interested in him, and I knew for quite a while he wanted to split Devon and me up so he could move in. Now was the opportunity for him to do just that, and I could map a plan to see my way out. I talked to him and the three of us agreed how we would proceed. I believe his name was Charles, and the plan was he would assume the mortgage on the house. That would free me up to purchase a new house. We proceeded with that plan, and for once that is what happened.

I moved into a house just south of the 610 loop in Houston. It was a cute vintage place with two bedrooms and one bathroom. The bathroom had not been refreshed since the house was built. It was an ugly shade of green, but it did have a dressing table as well as the sink and cabinet. It had a large kitchen and hardwood floors throughout the house. I was happy. This was the first time I was living on my own, and I was thirty-three.

Chapter 14

On my own

A new house and I was living on my own! I was loving this but maybe not quite prepared for it. This was the first time I found myself having to cook. At home growing up the girls did all the cooking. Living in Minneapolis with Robin, she did the cooking, or we went somewhere to eat. Living with Devon he did all the cooking. I never needed to cook. My mother bought me a set of pans as a housewarming gift, so I was set to try this cooking thing. The first thing I tried to cook was a hard-boiled egg. I put a couple eggs in a pan and put it on the stove. I didn’t know how long it would take but I thought about 45 minutes would do it. While they were cooking, I went outside to wash my car. When I came back into the house it was full of smoke and the eggs were gone, the house smelled horrible, and the pan was in really bad shape. I had to throw it away. Needless to say, I was done cooking for that day. Not long after I decided, okay cooking eggs on the stove was not a good idea so I will try them in the microwave. They blew up! What a mess!! I think I preferred the stinky house and burnt pan to the mess I had to clean up in the microwave.

I decided I needed to learn to cook and do it well. I spent the next several years watching and learning. I can say my focus and dedication have paid off. I can now cook pretty good. My favorite eggs now are three-minute eggs which are forty-two minutes less than that initial attempt. My mother used to make them, and I love them to this very day.

With all that had happened recently, and purchasing a new house, I was broke. I could not afford to do anything, but I was happy. Devon and I would still hang out together, he was still in love with me and felt that we would get back together. That was definitely not happening. I did still love Devon, but I could not stay in that relationship. It was time to let him go.

I have always been into the holiday season, and even though I was dirt poor again, I did have all the holiday decorations I collected over the years. I knew I would spend this first Christmas in my new house alone, or celebrating with my few friends, but that did not deter me from my decorating. I still put up the tree, trimmed the bay window and the fireplace, along with several other areas around the house. It made me feel better, even if I was alone.

My home on Oboe.

Devon would still come over on the weekends, and we would go to a bar that was a women’s bar. It was called The Ranch and owned by a good friend named Betsy. I loved it there and had the best times. I began playing pool to entertain myself, and soon became pretty good at it.

°°°

Work was work. I thought of my job with the phone company as temporary until I decided what I wanted to really do next, but I had moved out of the hellhole that was Repair Service and into the Business Office where people would call to order, change or disconnect their phone services. From the very beginning of my career with the phone company I let it be known that I wanted to be promoted to management. To make sure my interest would be taken seriously I made sure that by every measurement they gave me, I was one of the best if not the best. I also let this new work group know I wanted to be a management employee, and felt my skills were exactly what was needed for the job. Again, in this new role I became one of the top performers using all measurements that were given to me. My manager was in support of my being promoted and making sure I was getting assignments that would showcase my skills and desires.

One of those assignments was participating in a fundraiser on behalf of the company. I was in charge of one aspect of the effort, and everything I was coordinating went smoothly, just as I promised it would. This was weeks of long effort, and at one point it was decided a couple of us would have to go out and meet face-to-face with donors to give a presentation. I was a natural! With my performance background I had no fear of being in front of people, and during the demonstrations of the presentation I knocked it out of the park. I delivered the program without nervous jitters: I responded to questions and checked for acceptance. It all went very well.

When it came time to pick the people that would go out and deliver the presentation in person, I was not selected which surprised me. Two people that had done a really bad job had been selected. I asked why I was not picked, and a meeting was scheduled with the third level manager, Tom, and me. I went into his office with my manager, and we began to talk about it and he finally got to the point.

He said, “As long as you are openly gay, the company will never allow you to be in a face-to-face meeting with our customers.”

He went on to say, “If you will keep that part of your life private and not talk about it they might make another decision.”

Photos from the first years at the Oboe house.

I was shocked. How could this be possible? I was angry and completely in disbelief. For the first time as an adult in my adult life I faced bigotry. I was told to my face that being gay is one of the factors they look at when making the decision of my future and the options I have. I felt lost and completely deflated. There was nothing in my presentation or my delivery that would have indicated I was gay…nothing, so this decision took me completely by surprise.

My inner voice was coming alive again, but this time it was different. I knew my path to success was going to be different than my peers, but what does that look like? I knew the answer, I am going to have to blaze a new, yet to be defined career path. This time I was telling myself, this third line manager, Tom, was someone in a management position that is not capable of making decisions that will be best for the people in his organization or the company in general. I told myself he does not get to tell me what is possible or what I can or cannot do. I will get to where I want to be with or without his help. When he told me why they decided not to select me for this opportunity he did so in a matter-of-fact tone. This is the way it was at this point in time, and the reality of it was I had no recourse. I had to accept it as plainly as he said it to me.

One of the constants in my life was people telling me I cannot get where I want to be because of an artificial reason they made up they believe separates them from the pack. I have always found that to be short-sighted, and the only person being held back is themselves. In this case I mentioned to upper management that I was not happy with the decision and rather than face any HR questions they limited the site visits to one person who was a straight white man. What a surprise. Instead of expressing my displeasure with this whole process I thought it would serve me better to just let it go for the moment. Could I have done more? Yes. Should I have done more? Certainly. My thought was it was better for me to be part of these conversations. If I am there, I will have a voice in the room. Without me no one would speak up.

The office I worked in was on Gulfton located in Southwest Houston. For the time period, or the mid-eighties, the office was not bad. It was a two-story building with worker offices on the left side, and administrative offices and break rooms on the right. The restrooms on both floors were in the middle along with the stairs. The first-floor business offices were for the orders group. These people took requests for new service, moves, disconnects and changes for phone service. The second floor had the billing group that was responsible for anything having to do with billing, including collections. I was in the orders group, and so officed on the first floor.

When you walked into the orders room there were four rows of desks, with two rows on the left and two on the right. There were two second line mangers one for each side. Each of the second line managers had four to six first line managers, and each of the first line managers had between six and eight service reps, and I was one of them. The work was difficult because there were a lot of variables in what our customers could order or do with their phone service. The problem for me was once you knew it, you knew it, and the process quickly became boring and very repetitive!

I was one of about fifteen gay men in the building between the orders and the billing groups. All of us got along well, and one of the billing reps was a close friend. His name was Will, and we not only worked in the same building, but we would meet over the weekends and go bar hopping whenever we could. When I was single, I remember going to stop by the bars after work for “just one drink.” Inevitably I got caught up in the fun and would stumble home around midnight or later knowing full well I had to get up my 5:00am to do my exercises and get to work by 7:30am. Thank goodness I was young and I didn’t drink excessively, or I never would have made it to work.

A co-worker, Leslie, standing with the AIDS quit patch we made for Ron Sport.

One of the co-workers I was good friends with was named Ron Sport. He sat at a desk close to me, so we would talk while working. Ron was a very interesting guy. He was fun and always liked to laugh or tell stories that would have everyone laughing, and I believe that was his nature. He was quick-witted so as funny as his responses were, he could also be cutting with his remarks and let you know in no uncertain terms he did not appreciate whatever it was you said or did. He had a boyfriend, and they were happy together. They were not the type of gays that lived above their means, but rather they were down to earth, and anything made by a designer meant nothing to either of them. Ron was known for wearing red high-top sneakers and faded overalls. If he was not working, the overalls were more than likely shorts.

Ron and his boyfriend only had one vehicle, and it was a red small pickup. He came to the office one Monday looking a little beaten up, and when we asked him about it he said that while driving home over the weekend some men in another car yelled out to them, “faggots in a faggot truck!” Ron was not one to cower down, so he yelled back to them “fuck you!” Well they followed them back to Ron’s apartment and there was a scuffle, but Ron and his boyfriend were able to get away with just a few scratches. When I asked him if they called the police he said, “No, the cops wouldn’t have done anything, so no need to add to the drama.” Again, another mark of the time we were living in. Far too often when we would be attacked law enforcement (if we bothered to contact them at all) would do nothing. The biggest response you would get is maybe a laugh under their breath.

This was about the time one of the candidates for Mayor of Houston, Louie Welch was caught on a hot microphone stating he had a solution for the AIDS epidemic which was to, “Shoot the queers!” I was shocked and disappointed that some of the people in the office including those I counted among my friends supported him. I can’t accurately explain the depth of disappointment. The people around me, some of which I liked, were okay with a candidate for mayor stating his solution is to “shoot the queers.” How do I come back from this? How do I reconcile that with friends or coworkers?

Ron had not worked in the office long before he began to have attendance issues. He was missing a lot of work. I don’t recall the exact numbers today, but with the phone company at this time each person was allowed a certain number of sick days without any disciplinary action, and Ron was bumping up against that number rapidly. His manager Marie was doing all she could to help him, but she was a “by the book” person so something would need to be done, or Ron would be let go. I remember him coming to work so sick he could barely sit up. Marie was trying to let him turn his phone off to incoming calls as much as she could to let him put his head down. None of us wanted to say the words, but I knew he more than likely had AIDS.

Once Ron was no longer able to complete the work his job required his doctor put him on disability. That lasted a year, and during that entire time his desk sat empty. If he came back, he would be able to go right back to work at the same desk he had previously. It was 1985, and after Ron was diagnosed with AIDS he went out on permanent disability. As sad as this was for me, it was about to get much worse. It was now known that Ron was not coming back, and his position could be filled. Once in a while they would move people around in the office, and this was a good time to do that. The person that was going to be assigned to sit at Ron’s old desk was a girl named Peggy, but when she found out she would be sitting at Ron’s old desk and be expected to use Ron’s phone, she threw a fit. She said she would not sit at the desk he used, and she would not use the phone he had been using. At this point Ron had been out of the office for over a year. It didn’t matter, Peggy felt it put her at risk of getting AIDS, and in turn she could expose her family. As sad and unthinkable as this is, it was exactly what people thought, and they were not willing to get educated about AIDS or how to contract it.

It was all kept quiet, but in the office, there were no secrets. We all knew what happened. Not long after Peggy’s refusal we came into the office on a Monday morning and found Ron’s desk and phone had been replaced. I don’t know what happened to his desk, but I never saw it again. I can’t tell you how upset I was, but as always…I had to put on a façade to hide my anger. Not long after this I found out from Peggy, she had a cousin that also had AIDS, and he would eventually die from complications of the disease. My inner voice told me she didn’t deserve to know her cousin or Ron. I did not know for sure, but it would not have surprised me if she was one of the many people that believed AIDS was God’s punishment for being gay. At this time, my feelings and thoughts on the matter was God was seeing how his precious gift to mankind was being treated so horribly and decided to bring them home to Him. Peggy did not deserve to breathe the same air as her cousin or Ron. I wish I could say this was the only example of this type of behavior, but that would be denying the truth. I was living in a time where people had once tried to mask their disapproval, but now AIDS gave them reason to remove the cloak and display their bigotry for all to see. It was an ugliness that I will feel as long as I live. My beautiful world where I could be free to be me had suddenly developed a dark spot, but for me that is all it was…a dark spot. My life overall was brilliantly beautiful.

I felt I had to do something. I talked to my direct management and the upper management, and we all agreed I should invite the current Director of Immunological Diseases, Dr. Peter Mansell, to come into the office and talk to everyone about AIDS. We were to report to work at 8:00am each morning but did not open our phone system to incoming calls until 8:30am. We had thirty minutes of time for a variety of items. One of those was used for Dr. Mansell to talk to everyone and cover some of the then known methods of transmission, and how “at risk” we were when someone in the office was diagnosed with AIDS. He did a great job, but unfortunately the information he shared did not do much to change the minds of many in the office. I knew I did what was necessary to provide information so people could make better decisions, but sadly little changed. For me this spoke about the people more than anything else. This was a good example of their actions telling more about them than their words.

Ron was the first person in our office to test positive for the AIDS virus, and quickly following there were others. For years after, I would stop myself every few months to recall the names of everyone that I knew had died but now after so much time the names only come to me a few at a time. One of them that stands out was Leonard. He was a character like none other. He was short standing at about 5 foot 5 inches, thin, and handsome. He had a huge personality and a quick wit. It was fun talking to him or just watching him engage with other people. He had a great smile, and when he directed it at you, you felt he was seeing into your soul. As I understood it, he came from a wealthy family that was not happy with the fact he was gay. His parents all but disowned him, but his grandmother loved him and made sure he was well taken care of.

There was a pattern beginning to form around all of this. Someone would go out ill for a few weeks, and when they returned, they were not the same. I noticed this with Leonard. He went out ill for a week or two and then returned, but different. He was still engaging, but not quite to the exact level he had been previously. It was never stated that he had the AIDS virus, but it was commonly suspected. Not long after he returned, we received notice he had committed suicide. I believe he could not live with what the future would look like for him and bring that kind of attention to his family. Sadly, this would happen far too often.

°°°

Devon and I continued to hang out together even though we were now living in separate places. He would join me on Friday and Saturday evenings playing pool at a bar called The Ranch, located on S. Main near 610 South. We would play pool all night long. One night a guy named David was there, and we played pool with him the entire evening. After that night, we met David there almost every weekend. Finally, after several weekends of playing pool with him, he asked me if I wanted to join the pool league and play on his team. I told him I was not good enough to play in a league, so no. After mentioning it a couple times and inviting the people that would be on the team with me, I finally said okay I would do it. This was completely new for me, and my first season on the league was bad! My teammates were of course David, Lauren, Sherry, Pat and myself. All of us were single! We had a great time and played together for several seasons.

David and I became good friends. He was my best friend at the time. We eventually met and playing pool four times a week. As people left our team, David would bring new members in to replace them. One of the new ones was a young man by the name of Chip. Chip was an excellent pool player. In fact, he was the best player I had ever shot pool with, and he was extremely handsome. Everyone loved Chip! David, Chip, Pat and I became very close friends and almost everything I was doing at this time involved one or more of them. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was going to change my life.

Christmas in the Oboe house.

Devon continued to live in Houston after our breakup for several months, but eventually he decided it was time to leave Houston. He came by my house just before he was leaving, and I knew he wanted to make one last effort to get us back together. I had mentioned to Devon a few weeks earlier that I chose and purchased the house, so I would not be stuck in a position where I was reliant on someone else’s contribution to survive. If I met someone, I could comfortably afford everything without any assistance. He took that to mean there was a chance I would let him come back and just live there without having to be concerned about if he could help with the expenses. My mentioning that may have been a mistake.

Me getting ready to begin decorating for Christmas, with garland around
my neck and I can assure you there is Bailey’s Irish Cream in that cup.

He called me and let me know he was about to leave town, but he still had things that belonged to me and wanted to bring them to my house. I said, “I will be at home all afternoon.” He came by the house and gave me a few things, but I cannot tell you what they were now. As we were standing there facing a future without being in each other’s life there was a huge heaviness in the air. The reality of the past 11 years in and out of each other’s lives was coming to an end, and we would not see each other any time soon, if ever. I could see his eyes turning red and beginning to tear up, and so were mine. I could feel my heart trying to take over my decisions. I knew in my mind I could not let my heart make any decisions for me. I had to let my mind take control and move forward with whatever life was going to bring. As he turned away and got in his car, I could see he had begun to cry. All I wanted to do was yell, “Never mind, come back and stay here with me,” but for all the yelling that was in my head nothing came out of my mouth.

I was surprised how heavy my heart was, but I also knew this was the right thing to do. He was gone, the person I had spent the last 11 years of my life with was gone. For the first time in my life I had this overwhelming sense of being alone in the world, and frankly I was scared. I had to make it all work on my own and accept what life had in store. My grandfather used to say, “you make the bed you sleep in.” I now understood exactly what he meant. I spent the next couple weeks keeping a low profile and staying at home taking bike rides, but not much else. It is never easy to have moments like this, and I have my mother’s tender heart and weepy eyes which means there was a lot of self-doubt and tears involved. I was about to begin a new chapter in my life.

Chapter 15

My new life

I adjusted to Devon being gone by taking up the idle time stepping up my bike riding. Every day after work I would get home and eat a slice of cheese with a slice of lunch meat. I would then change into my bike shorts with a tank style t-shirt, hop on my bike, and I was off. My rides were about 20 miles, and then it would get too dark to be on the roads. During the weekends I would ride between 60 and 70 miles each day. My favorite thing to do on those weekend rides was to make lunch and take off. After riding thirty or forty miles I would find a park bench, eat my lunch, and take a nap. After my nap I would get up, ride as long as I wanted to, and then head back home.

I loved riding. For me it was time to escape everything and do some introspection. It is also just the right pace, while riding you can take in nature and all that is happening around you, but fast enough that you cover a lot of territory. The other benefit is weight control and the changes to your shape. While I was still with Devon, I was beginning to gain weight; however, with the bike riding I was dropping weight quickly. I was losing so much that Yvonne, one of the girlfriends of my closest friend Pat, said she was getting concerned for my health. At this time one of the indicators you had AIDS was sudden and rapid weight loss, it was a condition of having AIDS called “wasting syndrome.” I had lost so much weight that Yvonne thought I might have gotten ill. She didn’t mention it at the time, but months later when the weight loss stopped, she asked me if I had the virus. I told her no, and certainly that was the case. I was not positive at the time, but the concern was always there. During this time, I was going to the doctor every 6 months and getting tested just to be sure.

The medical community would never take a firm stand on what could be considered “safe.” They had a good idea, but they always stopped short of stating definitively what was safe and what was not safe. They did say unprotected sex would almost certainly cause a transmission. They didn’t appear sure of all body fluids, so activities like kissing were an unknown. I was doing everything I could to make sure I was safe, but that meant I did not date much. If I did date, I was not willing to do “the deed” which meant dating anyone for very long didn’t happen. That was a decision I had to make, and I had to be okay with.

During this time I traveled with my sister Barbara.
This is in Duluth with her then boyfriend, Jeff.

At this point my circle of friends were David my closest friend, Chip, Pat Turner, and her girlfriend Yvonne Gill. The women were natural caretakers and made sure all their boys were taken care of. The five of us spent a lot of time together mostly involving shooting pool, but Pat and Yvonne also had us over to their house for dinner often. I also was given a “honey do” list when I went over there, and I was happy to do whatever I could. During one of their larger gatherings several of the pool league members were going to be there. I was in their living room sitting on the couch when Chip came in with a date which was very unusual and out of character for Chip. He almost never brought anyone he was dating to meet his friends. When I saw his date I thought, “This poor guy won’t last very long.” Chip was taking him around introducing him to everyone, and he finally made it over to me.

He said, “Lee I want to you meet someone. This is Gary Wood.”

I shook Gary’s hand and said, “It is nice to meet you! Welcome to the craziness.”

Gary laughed and said, “It is nice to meet you as well. I should fit in perfectly!”

Gary was very cute and had a great smile. He was tall and thin, as well as very engaging. I remember thinking, “Chip never dates anyone very long so Gary will become available soon. When he is I am going to ask him out on a date and see if it goes anywhere.” That was not at all what happened, and Chip and Gary dated for a long time. Even after they appeared to not be dating anymore, I knew there was love between them, and I would never be able to change that. Eventually Gary and I turned out to be more like brothers than friends.

Lounging after a long bike ride.

My circle was growing. Shortly after meeting Gary, he and I began to hang out more. A typical Sunday afternoon was David and I would meet at the Venture N in downtown Houston, and play pool for a couple hours. We would then go to the Galleon located on Richmond Ave. and meet Gary, Yvonne, Pat and Chip to play in the Sunday afternoon pool tournament. It was at these tournaments that Gary introduced us to his closest friends –Greg Decuire and Keith Fussel. They were a couple, but only Keith played pool in the tournament, Greg was just there to be part of the party. Within no time we all became friends and inevitably more like family. The group of us has grown and now includes Pat, Yvonne, Chip, Gary, Greg and Keith and I and we did everything together. Most of our activities involved pool, but we also had parties almost every weekend and began to travel together. It was these events that cemented the friendship between all of us that has lasted to this very day. These are the people that took care of me through some of the most trying times of my life, but at this time I could not imagine what the future was going to bring or just how important they would become.

I was in love with being single. It gave me time to do things I had been afraid to do, or that my partner wouldn’t do. One of my work buddies decided to set me up on a date with someone he thought I would like by the name of Mitchel. We went out on a few dates, and all appeared to be going okay, and then the Labor Day weekend was coming up and everyone was making plans. At this time for the gays one of the places to be on Labor Day Weekend was Hippy Hollow at Lake Travis. A group of Mitchel’s friends decided to go to Austin for the weekend and spend some time at Hippy Hollow (a clothing optional swimming spot), and then bar hop through Austin all evening. Everyone was going to go to Austin Friday morning, but I was not able to. I could not get there until later in the day so the plan was, they would go, check into the hotel, and then wait for me to arrive before heading to the lake.

The holidays have always been important to me, and even when I lived
alone and my conditions in life were difficult, I celebrated the season.

All went as planned, but when I got to the hotel Mitchel had left a message that they had decided to go to the lake and would be back late afternoon. He also suggested that I join them if I wanted to, otherwise he would just see me later in the day. I decided not to join them at the lake. Mitchel had a crush on one of the other guys in the group, but the problem was the other guy already had a boyfriend, so he was off limits. I always felt like an added extra when we were around them so skipping the lake was okay with me.

There was a walking path behind the hotel along the river, and once I checked in, I decided to see where it went. I put on a very small tank style shirt and really short shorts and headed out on the path. There were occasional people on the path, but it was not crowded. I did notice a tall nice-looking blond guy walking along the path dressed very much like I was. Not long after I noticed him, he noticed me, and the flirting began. We never got close enough to say anything to each other, but the visual banter was fun and flattering.

On a trip to see the family during the holidays. My mother was as much into Christmas as I am. Seated are my parents, Gene and Fern. Standing from the left,
Me, Barbara, Monty, Cheri, Kurt in back, Margo in front, Candy and Brad.

I finally had enough of the walk and headed back to the hotel. I got on the elevator and pushed the button for the third floor, and just as the door was closing, a hand pushed into the elevator stopping the door from closing and it reopened. To my surprise it was him, the blond from the path. This was as close as we had been. Our eyes met and we smiled knowingly between us but in addition to him stepping into the elevator so did another couple. He pushed the 6th floor button and the other couple pushed theirs which was higher than mine so I knew I would not be on the elevator with him alone. Flirting is one thing, but I was not interested in moving any further that than.

The elevator got to the third floor, and I got off feeling a sense of relief. I got to my room and went in, but as I was about to start getting undressed to take a shower someone knocked at my door. I opened it and it was him. WHAT?!? How did he know my room number? This close I could see he was much taller than I was and bigger. I was stunned and stepped back into the room as he stepped into the room and as he did, the door closed behind him.

I said, “Wow! How did you know my room number?”

He responded, “I didn’t. I got off the elevator on my floor and ran down the stairs. I got to your floor just in time to hear your door close.” He then said, “Have you ever fantasized about being overpowered?”

I chuckled and thought to myself, “Give it your best buddy and you will leave here on a gurney.” I did say, “No, not ever.” He could see in my face that I was having nothing to do with this and then said, “Okay, it would have been fun,” turned and left the room. I thought to myself, “Not for you.”

Friends or were they family? From left: me, Yvonne, Pat, Keith and Greg.

Mitchel and his friends did return from the lake, but it was very late in the evening. They were all beet red and exhausted. None of them wanted to do anything, no dinner, no bar hopping, nothing. Mitchel and I talked a little, and I went to bed while he took a shower and came to bed. The next morning, I thought we were all going to meet for breakfast and go to the lake. All of them had so much sun the day before they couldn’t go back, so we were stuck with nothing to do all day long. We did meet for a light breakfast and then all of us decided it was best to go back home. My thought was that was a big waste of time and no fun at all! Mitchel and I went on one more trip together to Las Vegas which turned out to be a disaster as well. While we were on that trip, I made the decision this was going nowhere I was interested in being. When we returned from Vegas, we stopped seeing each other. We were both moving on to the next one.

°°°

At work the office was preparing to move from a location on Gulfton to a building the phone company had purchased on Highway 6, near where it intersected with Bellaire Blvd. I never believed in living or moving close to your work location because that could change at any time, and this was one of those times. My house on Oboe was less than 5 miles from the Gulfton office, but the new office would be twenty miles from my house, and it was not close to any freeways. The entire drive was city streets. I was not looking forward to it. Preparing for the move required some preparation so that we were not going to move items from the old building to the new building that were not actually going to be used. We had been at the Gulfton location for a long time, and there were items we didn’t use any more but were being stored “just because.”

Speaking of family, my brother Brad and me.

I was made the lead person to go through all the areas of the building that were not being used and make recommendations on any items that may not be needed at the new building. This took a couple of months, but my efforts were seen as successful. The items that were not going to be moved were picked up by another department or moved to a storage facility. When it came time to move to the new building, we all packed our desks up on a Friday and then the following Monday we were to report to the new building with all our boxes there waiting for us. My commute to work in the morning to the old office from standing in my kitchen to standing at my desk was fifteen minutes. The new commute from standing in my kitchen to standing at my desk was an hour and fifteen minutes. The commute home was not much different. I was not happy about this.

Taken during one of our many trips to New Orleans. Left: Me, Ron and a friend.
Right: the other side of the same table, Mark, Keith, Gary and Greg.

Costume night during the trip. I believe the “theme” was “trashy,” and I think I won.

The change in work location and the commute were things I had no control of, and just had to accept, so I did. The new office was bigger and nicer, and it had a cafeteria on the 3rd floor so there were benefits to moving. This building combined other work groups that had not been in the same building prior to the move. There was the outside plant group in the front of the building, and at the back of the first floor was the business office that supported our small commercial accounts. The 2nd floor (where I was) supported the residential accounts. It was the first time these three groups were in the same building, so there were a lot of new people to meet and network with.

My boss at the time was a man by the name of Rod. He was recently promoted to a manager, and previously had been a peer of mine. He was good to work for. It appeared he believed in letting his people do their work, and only got involved when there was a problem. He also knew I wanted to be promoted and was making sure I received extras tasks that would bring attention to me in a positive way. Our second- and third-line managers had also changed by this time, so I believed the bigotry of the previous management had left with them. Boy, was I wrong!

There was no party until Greg showed up.

One of my work buddies, Barbara, and I would take our breaks together as well as eat lunch together frequently. One day while we were sitting at our desks working, a guy from the business group downstairs came up to talk to Barbara. Wow he was good looking! He was just as the saying goes, “tall, dark and handsome!” I didn’t say anything after the first visit, but after the second or third visit with Barbara I was getting curious. When he came to talk to Barbara, I tried to be obvious with my interest, but because I was on a call most of the time, I was not able to say anything. He on the other hand didn’t appear to be interested in me at all. I never saw him give me a glance even though I was just a few desks away from where he was standing. Finally, when Barbara and I were in the break room I asked her who he was, and did she know if he was gay. I pretty much knew he was gay, but I did want her to confirm it, so I wasn’t barking up the wrong tree.

One of my all-time favorite cars, the 1986 LeBaron convertible, the Mark Cross edition.

Barbara said that his name was Roger, and she had worked with him in another office and had become friends. She said she didn’t know if he was gay or not. I asked her if she would find out and maybe plan for the three of us to gather in the break room during one of our fifteen-minute breaks or for lunch. Barbara appeared uncomfortable with the whole idea, but she reluctantly agreed. A few days later the three of us were sitting in the breakroom at the same table. I introduced myself to Roger and we spent the few minutes we had together introducing ourselves. Barbara finally said, “You two don’t need me here, so I am going to go back to my desk.” Roger and I talked for a few more minutes before we both had to get back, but before we left, I asked if he would like to meet for dinner one night after work and he said yes. Yay! Lucky me, he was the nicest looking guy in the building, and I had a date with him.

Chapter 16

A new boyfriend?

Roger and I agreed we would meet on a Friday night at a Mexican restaurant near his apartment. I was looking forward to spending some time where it was just the two of us, and we could get to know each other better. His apartment and the restaurant he chose were near the office and about an hour away from my house. That would normally be no problem, but the day of the date I decided I would have to rush home and change clothes before rushing back out to the restaurant to meet him. It was difficult, and I truly had to rush to get there on time, yet I managed. I walked into the restaurant and was surprised to see him sitting with a girl I didn’t know. I walked up to the table, and he introduced her as “Susan, his closest friend and work buddy.” I wasn’t happy about having someone there to dine with us, but what was I going to do?

Left: Soon after we met and moved under the same roof.
Right: Here we are enjoying our holiday meal.

We had a great first date…I think? The two of them mostly talked to each other about work and the other people in their office. I sat there quietly but did get to know more about him and his friend (although the latter I could have done without). I would later find out she didn’t really like me, and I was never given a reason. That was the first of many dates without Susan tagging along. We did get along very well, and he seemed to be as interested in me as I was in him. Eventually we had the talk about our HIV status, we both were getting tested every 6 months, and both of us were negative. It was sad that we had to have this discussion, but this had become a new normal. For me it was never a deal breaker either way, but it would determine how we related to each other romantically.

My sister Barbara would come visit once or twice a year and we would travel.
Left: In New Orleans. Right: camping it up at a hat shop in Minnesota.

My approach to intimacy had changed. By this time we knew there were activities that were high risk and I had decided for myself I would not participate in those activities. If I dated someone that felt they must have that in their life, I was not the right one for them and frequently that is why I only dated someone for a short time. With Roger it was different; we both agreed that those activities were not important to either of us, so it appeared we were a good match even in that area.

After a few months Roger’s lease on this apartment was going to expire, and he either had to renew it or move. We talked about it and agreed the best option would be to have him move into my house on Oboe. We had been dating long enough, and I believed we were only seeing each other. I felt sure of it. We were always together so even if there was interest in someone else, there was no time. He did move in and now we lived under the same roof and worked at the same place, so commuting to work and back seemed the right thing to do.

Roger and I approached our jobs differently. I was a career guy and wanted to be promoted and move up as high in the company as possible, but Roger was not interested in that. He worked for the paycheck and had little interest in promotions. He was good at his job and the management was happy with him, and that was all he needed.

Vacations were another story. Each of us had been with the phone company long enough by this time that we were entitled to six weeks of paid vacation annually. For Roger he was out of vacation time by the end of February each year where I always carried over vacation into the next year. This difference made vacation planning difficult, but after a couple years Roger stopped taking all his vacation in the beginning of the year, and we were then able to take a couple of trips together.

I continued to play on pool leagues with my closest friends: David, Chip, Gary, Greg, Keith, Mark, Pat, Yvonne, and a few others. I had been led to believe friendships in the gay and lesbian community were largely temporary, and eventually people would disappear. I didn’t know, but this group of friends would become lifelong friends that would come to my aid in some of my darkest days. Roger would go with me when we played pool sometimes, but for the most part it was boring for him so he would stay home.

Left: Another of Barbara and me, dancing at a family gathering.
Right: One of the pool teams, from left, David, John, Pat, me and Chip.

Life was good again, I had a beautiful home, great job, a handsome boyfriend, a group of friends that were becoming like family to me and hobbies that were keeping me interested and in the case of bike riding…very fit. But this was about to change. A few months after Roger moved in, he said he did want to move toward more high-risk intimacy which surprised me at first because we already had that discussion. When I reminded him of our previous conversation about this, he said he didn’t think it would be forever, and if we were exclusive, we should be okay. My thought was we had only been living together for a few months, so we were not at the forever point just yet, and this was not happening. Eventually it became kind of an inside joke between us, or so I thought. He would bring it up and I would respond, “Once we have been together 5 years and exclusive…I will reconsider.” This seemed to work.

Roger & I at home in Houston.

Life continued to be good for Roger and me. Early in our time together we would ride together to and from work, but eventually because I liked to get to work early, we stopped riding together. It was no problem, except I found it wasteful.

Roger had hired onto the phone company in Beaumont, TX, and when they closed that office, his entire team moved to Houston including Roger. Some of the people he had been working with stayed in Beaumont including two managers that were also good friends of his. One night while they were in Houston working, they asked Roger and I to meet them for dinner and we agreed.

We met them and it was a good evening. We had a great dinner at one of the gay hot spots called Café Adobe on Westheimer. One of the items they kept talking about was Roger and me submitting a job transfer to a job that was in the business group, but at the top of the contracted pay scale. In fact, at the time it was the highest paying non-management job at the phone company. I was very interested, and they convinced me to go for it. Roger was happy with the job he had, the money and responsibility he had already and decided not to try and move.

When I got into the office the very next day, I submitted my transfer to that job title. The management in my office was not happy about it, but they also reminded me it would be difficult for someone in the residential market to move into that job in the business market. They didn’t know my determination. It had begun; there would be a lot of testing that I had to take and pass which I did easily and finally I was qualified for the transfer. I still had to wait for an opening and then I had to have the most seniority of all the available qualified people. The company fought the transfer because I was not in the business market and the training for me would be intense and costly, but because we were covered by the labor contract, they were not able to pass me by. The wait for a job offer had begun.

Roger and me at my 40th birthday.
Don’t mind the big hair it was the shadow that caused this.

I was very involved in the office and went out of my way to volunteer for everything, and anytime I was given an extra assignment I made sure I was extremely successful. By all the measurements management gave us I was always at the very top in performance. Then one of the managers left, and there was an opening. I was working with my manager, Rod, to make sure I would be considered. I know Rod was working hard on it and I believe his manager, Debbie, was as well. Finally, after some time they announced the new manager which was not me. It was another guy in the office by the name of Mike, a straight white male.

I was not happy! This was the second time I felt I was passed by, and though no one said it, I was sure it was because I was gay. In the first case with Rod, I didn’t work with him closely prior to his promotion, but did work for him after his promotion and then understood why he had been given the promotion. With Mike it was a totally different story. I did work with Mike, and it appeared his main objective each day was to do as little as possible. I don’t recall him ever being at the top of the performance matrix. So, why him? He was a straight white man that looked good on paper. One of the other things I noticed about him was he appeared to always flirt with the ladies in positions to help him get where he wanted to be. I often asked myself if he was really flirting with the ladies that were managers or was it just his nature? I can assure you none of that was directed at anyone that was not a manager. I had to keep my feelings about it to myself and only say what I thought I could without jeopardizing my overall goal. I was assured I was next in-line, but that would mean another opening would have to become available. I still felt I was not considered more seriously because I was gay. I can assure you, if that was not THE reason it was one of the reasons.

Left: On the porch of the Galveston house shortly after purchasing it.
Right: The view from the porch, looking toward the Gulf of Mexico.

°°°

At home Roger and I were having some difficulty. He had these moods that didn’t make sense to me and became the thing that typically caused us to argue. In his defense, I was not bringing everything he wanted to our relationship. I was still refusing to participate in what was known to be high-risk physical activity, and he was becoming more frustrated. Even with this, it did not explain the dark moodiness that came on for no reason. We talked about it several times and he admitted it was not something he understood. He said, “For no apparent reason this mood would come over me and I can’t control it.” For me it made our life together unnecessarily difficult. Once one of these events would start, it would set me off and then we were both moody and not talking to each other. This could last for days, but the trigger to end it seemed to be if I talked to another guy. Roger’s jealousy could not take it and our stand-off ended.

Left: Working on the Galveston house.
Right: Roger’s grandmother with the two of us in Galveston.

One of the things we did enjoy doing together was driving to Galveston to visit his grandmother and aunt. I had never spent that much time in Galveston and because he knew the island so well, I was introduced to areas that I was not aware even existed. We spent many weekend evenings with his grandmother, having her amazing cooking and playing cards.

One evening back at home while we were having dinner, he mentioned that his grandmother still owned the house her father had given to her when he passed away. She had to sell it, or she could not keep her apartment in the senior center which is where she now lived. He mentioned she was going to sell it to an investor for $10,000.00. I was shocked! I asked him where she was in the sales process, and could it be stopped. I told him if she was going to sell it at that price I would buy it and it could stay in the family, or kind of. He called her that evening and we planned to meet the buyer in Galveston the following weekend.

We drove down to the island and met the buyer at a restaurant he owned. He showed me the earnest money agreement and I looked it over. I was not a realtor but had taken all the classes for my real estate license and passed the testing, so I was not completely unfamiliar with the process and paperwork. The agreement was full of errors, and I informed him that she was selling the family property without having let the family know. I told him I wanted the agreement voided, so the family could purchase the property. He was not happy but did agree to it and with that I was able to purchase the house. Roger and I were very excited at the whole prospect of owning the house that had been in his family. It did need work, and when I say “it needed work”…every square inch of the house needed to be stripped and redone. At this point I was pretty young and liked doing restorative work, so it was good for me, yet Roger was not looking forward to it. There were people that were living in the house and supposed to pay rent, but from what I understood they paid when and if they could. I informed them once I owned the house that they would have to move and gave them a month. Once they were out, I had to have the house tented and fumigated for bugs. It was a mess! Over the next year Roger and I worked on the house almost every weekend and in the end, it looked so much better. My parents decided they wanted to come south for the winter months, and this gave them a place to stay, so it worked for everyone.

One of the first trips Mom and Dad made after I purchased the house was during the holidays. They were both still working, so outside of a quick trip to Galveston they were not able to stay past a couple of weeks. One of the gifts Roger gave them for Christmas was a dinner out at one of our favorite restaurants named Pappasitos. The last night they were here was when we were going to go. I had taken the day off work to spend it with Mom and Dad and was standing at the kitchen sink watching Roger as he walked from the garage to the house after he got home from work. I could see on his face he was in one of his bad moods, and I thought, “Not tonight, just get through the evening and you can be as moody as you want tomorrow.” He came into the house and didn’t greet me, or my parents just walked through the house to our bedroom.

I was so accustomed to this behavior I didn’t go back to the bedroom. I stayed out in the living areas with my parents. After a few minutes Roger showed up at the kitchen door and all he said was he needed to talk to me privately. I went back into the bedroom with him, but by this time I was not happy and ready to bounce. His behavior was completely uncalled for and disrespectful to my parents. We had some words, and I finally told him I was leaving with my parents for dinner. He was welcome to go but would need to follow me. He did not.

My parents and I were getting into my car when he showed up at the back door and again wanted to talk to me. I said no and we all got in the car and left. My mistake was letting my dad pay for the dinner; I should have paid and that may have made the following events better. We got home after dinner and Roger was already in bed. I stayed up with Mom and Dad for a few more minutes and we made our final plans for getting to the airport in the morning.

The next morning, we had to get up early to get Mom and Dad to the airport on time. I got up and Roger stayed in bed. Mom and Dad and I talked for a few minutes while we loaded their luggage into my car. As we were finishing up, we could hear Roger stirring in the back of the house. Once Mom realized he might come out to say goodbye she began to rush to get Dad out of the house before Roger could see them. I knew Dad was upset about the events the prior evening, but I didn’t know until then just how upset he was. I will never forget the look on my mother’s face, she wanted to get out of my house as quickly as possible. The expression and her urgency to get her and Dad out of the house was more than I could bear. The one most vivid memory I still have from this entire event was thinking, how stupid am I? I have allowed someone into my life and house that has no issue being disrespectful to my parents. I was done and this time was it. I had enough.

I took Mom and Dad to the airport, and on my way home I decided I would end my relationship with Roger. I would never be able to look at him the same. He had changed my view of who he was and absolutely confirmed it was time for me to move on. I didn’t hate Roger, on the contrary I loved the person he could be and was most of the time. I just couldn’t live like that. By the time I got home his mood had changed and he was in a “please forgive me” mood. He hugged me as soon as I came into the kitchen and said he was sorry and begged my forgiveness. It was hard! I knew in my mind what I needed to do, but my heart was saying something totally different. When Roger wanted to be charming and likable, he excelled in both. In the end I let this incident pass, but it remained in my mind; I could not continue to accept this behavior. Roger was going to have to figure out how to get past these bad moods without making everyone in the room live it with him. We talked about it again, and he again promised he would not let this happen again. It didn’t occur to me or Roger that this might be an illness, something that could be treated, but once again I forgave him, and we went on with our lives.

Within a couple weeks Roger suddenly became very ill. We both thought it was the flu because he could not keep anything down, not even water. He was running a low-grade fever and ached all over. I took him to his doctor and confirmed it was just the flu and he was given some medication to help. The problem was that Roger could not keep anything down including the medicine. He would take the medication with a small amount of water and within minutes all of it would come up. This continued for almost a week. Finally, on Thursday I told Roger to call his doctor and tell him to either check him into a hospital or I was going to take him to the ER. There was no more time!

Roger called his doctor, and he was told to go to St. Joseph’s Hospital, and he would be admitted there. I drove him, dropped him off at the admissions door, and then went to park my car. When I got to the ER, Roger was still sitting in a chair waiting to be seen. A nun came out to talk to us and tried to comfort Roger, but by this time he was not responding. I felt horrible that there was nothing more I could do for him. He was finally admitted and taken to a room. Seeing him lying in the bed immediately brought tears to my eyes. What could be wrong, he had been tested for the HIV virus and it came back negative, but what could be wrong? He was red in color and his eyes were so bloodshot. His mouth just kind of hung open and his skin color was so red and looked angry. I stayed with him for a couple hours and once he was sleeping, I went home.

The next several days were crazy. They tested Roger for the HIV virus 2 or 3 times while he was at the hospital and all of them came back negative. I was getting upset because I felt they were assuming every gay man that came into the place had HIV. Even Roger’s mother was implying that is what she thought as well. At least no one kicked me out of the room like other families were doing. One evening when I was there, they brought Dr. Gathe into Roger’s room to examine him and provide some treatment guidance. I knew who Dr. Gathe was; he was a prominent doctor in Houston working almost exclusively with HIV. I thought, “Why is he here?” They have tested Roger for the HIV virus several times, and all of them have come back negative. I didn’t say anything, but after a couple days Roger got better and was released from the hospital. I took him home! All was going to be okay, and life went back to normal.

At this time companies didn’t recognize same-sex couples, so in addition to all that was happening with Roger, the person I loved, I had to work normal hours. I was expected to perform my job as though nothing was happening at home. People were concerned enough to ask about Roger, but no concessions were even considered. I got to work on time, worked all day and then when I left work, I went to the hospital and stayed with Roger for a few hours before finally going home. This was what normal looked like for a gay couple.

The following spring, my sister Barbara was coming down to spend a couple of weeks with us. Everything with Roger and me had been good after the debacle with my parents and his illness, but again I had decided he had one more time to get into his bad mood, and Barbara’s visit would be a good test. It was time for me to get my HIV test, and Roger decided he would get another one as well. At this time, it took several days after your blood was drawn before you would get your results. Even though Roger and I didn’t see the same doctor, surprisingly we were both going to get our test results the same day. It also happened to be the day Barbara was to arrive.

She got into Houston midday, and I went to pick her up. Neither Roger nor I had received the call from our doctors before she arrived. I was hoping both of us would get the call before she arrived so we could relax, but that was not the case.

My sister’s visit during this time was difficult, but it was a blessing to have her with us.

I don’t know what it was, but I had a strange feeling about this test. All the other tests were stress free, and there was no reason this one should be different, but it was, and I was nervous about why it was taking so long for the doctor to call. Barbara and I got back home, and I got her settled in. We were standing in the kitchen chit-chatting and the phone rang. It was for me and my doctor’s office finally. It was an assistant in his office. She was very nice and calm informing me she was calling with my test results, and I was thinking, “Get to the point!.” She finally said my “test came back negative.” I did not have the HIV virus. My fear for myself was unfounded, but now we had to wait for Roger’s doctor to call.

The odd feeling I was having passed, so I was sure Roger’s test would come back negative as well. He had just been in the hospital and all the testing there was negative so there was no reason to think it would be different this time. Roger made it home from work and the three of us were in the living room sitting and continuing our idle chatter. We had made plans to go to one of mine and Roger’s favorite restaurants, The Black-Eyed Pea in Bellaire for dinner.

Finally, at the end of the business day Roger’s doctor called. He was on the call and suddenly he turned away from Barbara and me. He put his head in his hand. All he said was okay and hung up the phone. He then turned quickly and went back to the bedroom.

Barbara and I looked at each other with stunned expressions on our faces. I said, “I’ll be right back.”

I knew what this meant, and my heart sank through the floor. I went into the bedroom and Roger was laying on the bed face down, crying his eyes out. His test was positive! He was devastated, and so was I. It was shocking to hear this. We all knew if you tested positive you could expect to live two years, maybe. There were exceptions but that is what they were…the exceptions. In one single moment our lives (like so many of our friends) changed. Nothing going forward would be the same, and Roger and I knew it. We had both seen what happened to gay men so often, so we knew what to expect. I felt everything drop in a way I didn’t even know possible. Everything Roger and I had been talking about in our future was suddenly erased and now nothing was there.

For me personally, I felt split in two. I had to support Roger. I had to help him believe he was the exception, and we would fight this together. I continued to repeat over the coming days, weeks, and months, this was no longer a death sentence, he could and would survive it. It is the oddest feeling when one day both of you are looking to the future and what it will bring you and within an instant it is gone! Not just fading, but totally and completely gone.

I know Roger knew our intimacy would never be what he wanted it to be. It is sad to say, but for Roger this was a very important issue and for whatever time he had there would be no chance of filling that need. This is just one of the things in our lives that would change. We now had to be careful with everything we did. The hopelessness that others had talked about was now a reality for us. I felt it, he felt it, but I was not ill, so whatever I had going on inside didn’t compare to what he had to carry. There was nothing we could do to change where we were, and this was so shocking. There was no way to look for a happy path forward.

After a couple of weeks of being numb and taking care of Roger, I began to look at what life was going look like for us for how long and then what? It seemed an endless line of questions with no answer that was acceptable. I finally got to the point that for me, in all honesty, I too felt my life was over. After the incident with my parents I resigned myself to our relationship being temporary. I didn’t see a path that he and I would both be on. I knew at some point something would happen and we would decide a life apart would be better. I was so committed to that idea that I fantasized about what my life would look like after we separated.

Now there was no way I could end my relationship with Roger. He had to believe I was all in and together we would still have an amazing life. I never let him hear or see anything else from me. I know this is bad, but it is the truth, I felt I was stuck. The words in my mind did not fit the person I thought I was, but they were there. Maybe everyone has thoughts that should never be spoken. I had to do what I knew in my mind was the right thing. I had to stay and make sure Roger was not one of those men that are abandoned by his partner as we had both seen so many times.

For Barbara it was a difficult trip. We did go to dinner that evening, but Roger was not able to eat very much. The entire time she was here Roger would break down and cry from time to time. She was comforting, and tried to make sure I was okay as well. One of the things I found common for some people when they are diagnosed with HIV is the desire to have it remain a secret. Roger was one of them. He didn’t want anyone to know or talk about it, and both Barbara and I agreed to keep it between us. As far as I was concerned sharing this information was Roger’s decision to tell those he felt he should and when. Barbara’s trip ended, and I am sure she was glad to get home. This was a very traumatic time in my life, and it was comforting to have Barbara here, but I know it was so much more than she was expecting or prepared for.

My sister’s visit now had this dark cloud over it. I have been blessed with a family that sets themselves aside and does what is right in the moment and that is what Barbara did. She took the time we were supposed to use running the streets and enjoying ourselves as young people do and used the time to comfort and take care of us. We did manage to have some fun, but not like we had planned. Barbara left, and I had a sense of life was going to be so different. There would be a constant sadness that just couldn’t be ignored.

°°°

I continued to play pool with the league and spend time with my friends, but Roger was becoming less and less interested and rarely came to watch me play. That was probably a good thing because he also had some difficulty when my attention was split between him and anyone else. When I played pool, I played to win, all my focus was on the game, period! Between my shots I was talking to Gary or Keith or both about what was next and where the game was going. I had no time for any distractions. On those rare occasions when Roger would come, or we went to a party together, he was unnecessarily rude to my friends to the point I got upset. I eventually discouraged him from going and tried to limit his exposure to my friends. What this meant was I was also not able to hang out with my friends as much as I would like.

Being HIV positive did change things for Roger. He did not get into those dark moods, and if he caught himself beginning to slip into one of them, he quickly changed. We were doing better as a couple, and I was feeling better about what our life together was going to look like. We were becoming more sociable, and the house in Galveston gave us something to work on together. It became a place we could go and get away for the weekend. Roger seemed to become more settled and happier with the world as a whole which in turn made me happy. We were able to relax some and enjoy our life together.

Even though our life was getting to something resembling normal, it still had interesting and curious changes for me. I know my sister Barbara kept Roger’s HIV status between us. She did not tell the rest of the family out of respect for us, and at Roger’s request. The first trip I planned for Roger and me to visit my family came up, and again Roger asked that I not share that with my family. At first, I agreed but then after some introspection, I decided that my family had the right to choose for their family whether or not they wanted to be in close contact with someone that has the HIV virus. I did not have the right to deny them that decision and neither did Roger. The one family member that came to mind was my sister Candy. She had a small child and lived in a remote area of Minnesota. A place where she would not have to feel the need to do any research or gain knowledge to be able to have some comfort bringing her child around Roger or me.

I did call every member of the family and talked to them. I let them know Roger was HIV positive but healthy. I also let them know that I would not judge them for whatever decision they felt was right. During our trip not one of my family members held back in the slightest. It was as if nothing was different. All of them embraced both Roger and I just as they had in the past.

Cheri and I getting ready for the Mardi Gras parade in Galveston.

That was not the only surprise I had. The next visit home was just me. It was during the fall, and I had the beginnings of a head cold. I was staying at my sister Cheri’s house which was always fun. My first night we were sitting at her dining table having a drink and chit-chatting, but my nose was running like crazy, and my eyes were watering. I finally said, “Let me get a Kleenex,” and left toward the bathroom when I heard Cheri say, “Bring me one too. I have a feeling I am going to need it for what you are going to tell me.” I thought, “What are you talking about? What do you think I am going to tell you?” Then it hit me, she thinks I am going to tell her I am HIV positive. She thinks I am HIV positive and keeping it from the family to share with everyone in person. This is awkward!

I got back to the table and asked, “What do you think I am going to share with you that you would need a Kleenex for?” She said, “I don’t know, I just thought you might share something that would upset me.” I responded, “No, I am beginning to get a head cold and the sniffling is driving me crazy, and I am sure it is making you crazy also.” The rest of the night went normally, but I couldn’t get over the thought she just went to that extreme, but it was not over.

Cheri also has a work buddy that was gay, and the two of them called each other Bob. Several times while I was visiting Bob would come by, pick me up, and we would hit the bars downtown. I always knew Bob was interested in me, but I was not single. This trip Bob seemed different from the very beginning of the evening. He wasn’t rude, just disinterested. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, and then it hit me. Cheri had put me “on the moon!” There was a book that came out where the author likened becoming HIV positive to being put on the moon. Everything was different and people treated you like an alien. Cheri must have told him she thought I was HIV positive and that was his reaction to it.

I was upset at first, but I didn’t say anything. I wish I could say this was the end of it. This happened to be the visit where we all celebrated Dad’s retirement. We were having a big gathering at a venue just outside of Waconia. There was a huge tin building with a kitchen and restrooms. It also was on several acres of land part of which was a baseball field. We decided to play softball. Everyone was going to play, and somehow, they talked me into playing. I went up to bat and somehow, I managed to hit the ball hard enough that I made it past first base and was on my way to second base. I could see that they were coming for me, so I tried to step up my running and my body over committed, my feet and I fell on second base. My hands were okay, but I skinned my knee pretty good and soon after blood was running down my leg.

Everyone suggested I quit playing and go take care of my leg, which I did. Normally the women would be all about putting damp paper towel on it or helping me clean it, but not this time. I could not help but notice everyone was keeping their distance. No one wanted to help. After the other events from this visit home I knew. They had discussed the possibility of my being HIV positive, and no one wanted to risk themselves or their families by getting too close to me while I was bleeding. I now fully understand why the author of that book likened being positive to being placed on the moon. I was on the moon! I was not positive, but in their eyes, I was and that is how they reacted. I had to be okay with it; this was their decision, their right to react in the way they felt was best for themselves and their family. The next day I was going home so I could put this behind me, but a world opened to me I could not have imagined.

°°°

I went home and back to work life. One of the programs the phone company had to bring new managers into the company was to hire young people right out of college and into management positions. This group typically had little or no experience in corporate America, to say nothing of the lack of experience with a phone company and were new to the entire process including Human Resources issues. Our office was getting a new hire by the name of Chris. He was very young, white, sandy hair and eager to learn and do the best job he could. For me he was the stereotype for this position, and what most of the management at the phone company looked like. I was not in the group of people that reported to him, but his group was situated next to the one I worked in, so I could hear him talking to his group. On one occasion they were talking about gay people and how they became gay. No one in his group was gay that I was aware of. Most of his group agreed that gay people were born that way, but he said he had studied it in college and people become gay as a result of life experiences and gave a few examples. I was dumbfounded by the whole discussion. None of them knew what it was to be gay, how it happened, or anything else about the gay community. How could they possibly discuss this? All of them knew I was gay and sitting within earshot of them.

During my next break I went to his office and asked him if we could talk about the conversation he had with his group. I told him I heard the conversation and was offended by his statements. I assured him I was not, nor any gay people I knew, the type of person that could be persuaded by experiences or surroundings. Being gay was an inherited trait like hair color, eye color, and everything else we get from our families. He was shocked that I brought this to his attention, but he did apologize. He agreed he would not have another discussion about gay people without making sure at least one gay person was there. After this we had a friendly working relationship. I don’t think he had any malicious intent, but he came from a world where this was a common thought. I wanted to be sure he knew there are people he can go to and get a better more accurate answer. I continued to be disappointed in the phone company’s response to issues when marginalized groups are involved. The phone company from a leadership perspective had begun talking about diversity, but at the worker level nothing had changed.

Finally, another management opening came up, and again I was considered. I know my manager Rod was working hard to get me on the list of candidates and push me to the front of the line. By this time, I had been given several special projects that were completed successfully, I was looking the part of a manager and coaching my peers where and when I could. I believed, and I think Rod believed as well, that I could be moved into a management position easily, without the typical push back by people that used to be my peers.

The time was passing, and nobody was talking to me. Even Rod had gone silent on the matter, but I remained hopeful despite the hush. It took a while, but one afternoon Rod called me into one of the conference rooms. I thought this was going to be the pre-offer discussion. When we got to the conference room Rod would not look me in the eye. He told me my name had been withdrawn. He explained the last two promotions had gone to white men, and they could not promote a third white man in a row. This time it would have to be someone of color. I was told this in confidence, and management was comfortable having this kind of discussion. I was not the only qualified person in the office, although I would argue I was the “most qualified.” They decided to promote a woman I had not worked with very much, but I knew of her. It had been decided and settled. Rod talked to me just to make sure I was not shocked when the announcement was made. Before they made the announcement, I was called into the office with my manager Rod and his manager Debbie and told who they were going to promote, which I was okay with. Then I was told that I was going to be put in her group to help her adjust to the role and to help her be successful.

WHAT?!? I was not happy! I thought you can do whatever you want, but I was not going to help with anything. I had nothing against the person they were going to promote, because she was always in the pool for consideration. I also understood the optics around promoting a third white person. In my mind the second white man they promoted should never have been considered, so everyone after that was going to have to pay for a management error.

The promotion announcement was made, and the changes were made to the teams. I was moved into the new group, not happy but there none the less. The new manager was very sweet, and I thought she would have some trouble when it came time for disciplinary conversations, but I was proven wrong. I can’t say she was the best, but she did get the job done. I still had a job transfer in place, and I kept telling management that they could promote me and I would stay. Or if not when a transfer came through, I was leaving. I had been told previously and still believed the reason I was not being considered for promotion was because I was gay, and unapologetic about it. I had been in this office for nine years, and I didn’t feel any closer to being promoted than the day I walked into this workplace.

I continued to check on the transfer, and it was not unusual for this type of transfer to take as much as 4 years. We were now moving into 2 years since I became qualified for the new position, and one afternoon our second-line manager Debbie came to my desk and knelt beside me.

She said, “I don’t want to do this, but I have to. I have a job offer for you to transfer; do you accept it?”

I asked, “Are you offering me a promotion here?”

“I can’t.”

I then said, “Okay. I accept the transfer.” And with that, I was scheduled to move into the new position in 2 weeks.

°°°

Back at home everything seemed to be going better. Roger was settling into life being HIV positive, and we were getting along much better. I did love him and still very much wanted to see him happy. I was okay, and the feelings of being trapped were still there, but not as strong as they were in the beginning.

One of my birthdays after Roger tested positive was one of those events that will be a standout in my life of amazing memories. I remember the day clearly. I was in what I call my “bronze period.” I was collecting bronze figures, and by this time had collected several. For my birthday Roger gave me a bronze figure mounted on a marble base. It was not big, maybe 12 inches tall overall but nicely done. I was shocked, this was not an inexpensive gift! I knew this cost more than what we typically spend on each other for birthdays, so I sat there stunned and speechless.

This is the bronze figure Roger gave me.

Roger broke the silence by saying, “It is a statue of us.”

I was turning it in my hands continuing to look and said, “What?”

He put his hand on my arm and repeated a little more softly, “It is a statue of us.”

The figure is a miniature of a statue named “Vae Victis” made by Marius Jean Antonin Mercie. It is of an angel carrying a naked man while he is holding a broken sword. Roger didn’t know this, and I didn’t either at the time, but he went on.

He said, “This is a statue of the two of us. I am the naked man. I feel like the HIV virus has left me naked and exposed and the broken sword I am carrying is the weapon I have been given to fight this disease. You are the angel. It is you that has been carrying me through this. I don’t know what I would have done without you, and you have never complained.”

I was shocked, and we were both in tears at this point hugging each other. I still have the figure, and every time I see it…I think of this moment. It is one of those events that changed me, and all the senses I felt in that second are a mere thought away. It stays with me always.

By this time, we had moved past the event with my parents and life was good again. Roger and I liked going to Galveston to work on the house and spend time with his grandmother. His grandmother was a wonderful lady that loved to have us visit. She would cook dinner for us after we worked all day on the house. We would spend all night playing cards and talking about little or nothing.

°°°

I changed jobs at work, and I was promoted to a position that was the highest paying non-management role at the phone company. I had to attend a long training stream at our training facility just outside Dallas. When I came back and was working in my new job I was doing very well. I have always felt that I had to be the best in my work group just to keep my job. I could not just be okay, I had to be the very best and I was. I knew that being gay I would be on the list in first place if cuts were necessary. Even with excellent performance ratings it was always, “but they have a family to take care of,” and I should accept that as the right answer and acceptable.

This new office was different, when it came to gay people even though I was the only one, they didn’t appear to care that I was gay, or if they did it was far less obvious. There were management positions that came up and I was considered for them, but again I did not get them. This time, however, I did not have the feeling they were passing me up because I was gay. All the promotions that were happening were people that had put in the time and the work, and they deserved the promotion. Finally, one of the salespeople I supported, Kathi White, was promoted from sales rep to a second-line manager. Kathi and I had become good work friends, so I thought I was a shoo-in. One of the managers left our office leaving an opening, and I knew I was going to get it.

All indicators were that I was the lead candidate, but late in the process I was not being talked to about it and I started to get concerned. Suddenly they announced that another woman I didn’t know at all was given the position. I was pissed! Am I still in an environment where I will not get promoted just because I am gay? Kathi and I were great work buddies, we did everything together, I knew she liked me, and she felt I was qualified and deserving. So what happened? Again, I was passed over with no explanation, but I knew I had to keep my opinions to myself. It would not serve me well to complain too loudly, and gay and lesbian people were not protected in any way. The company at any time could make the decision to get rid of us with no explanation other than I was gay.

Shortly after this current promotion snafu, the manager I was working for called me into her office and told me she was accepting a position with a different business unit and would be leaving. She let me know she had recommended me for her position. I thought then, and still think to this day, that she left the office to make a position for me, but I have no confirmation of that. Everything went as she said, and I was promoted into her management position and given a group of 16 people to manage. I worked in the old office for 9 years with the promise of being promoted, and once I left and began working in this office it only took 18 months for it to happen. This new office and business group within the phone company had proven to be the new world I had hoped it was. My fear of being stuck in another environment with no opportunity for advancement had been unfounded. I was happy with my new position and committed to making it the best it could be.

I was told more than once in the old office that I could not be promoted because I was openly gay, and they told me that just this way. At this time in our country’s history it was okay to discriminate against gay people just because they were who they were. I knew that, and experienced it firsthand. The new office again didn’t appear to care, but looking across the office…I was still the only gay person!

I knew without a doubt I had to be the best performer when compared to my peers or I would be the first one out. I went about making sure I would be the top performer in every measurement I was given. The first time I met with my team I set down the rules. I didn’t care if they worked eight hours a day in an eight-hour period, or if they spread the eight hours over twelve hours, it was up to them. I also didn’t care how our work got done; they could carve up the work by interest and experience if they wanted to, they just had to get it all done. My one and only goal was to be the top group by all measurements. This was not optional. I also told them I would meet with them one on one and talk about where they wanted to go in their career, and then work on a plan to get them there. I wanted to make sure they knew I would work as hard for them as they worked for me.

The office had monthly meetings to talk about several things, including performance, and they would award a trophy to the team that had the best results. There were twelve management teams including mine. I hoped to get the trophy at least more than every other team. That would not be the case; over the course of the next year I was awarded the trophy eight times. Not only more than any other team, but more often than all the other teams combined! The result of that was I could put my people forward for consideration when it came time to look for people to promote. There were more promotions in my group than the rest of the office combined. Again, I knew I had to be the best as there were no other options.

I was doing well in my new position, but still I was the only gay person in the office. I knew without a doubt I was being treated differently than the other people. My manager Kathi White and I were developing a close work friendship. We did everything together, went to lunch, meetings, coffee runs, etc. When we were at work, we were together. Kathi was responsible for my promotion, and I greatly appreciated it. I was also a big help to her with understanding the company and the personnel issues when it came to the contract people. Where nothing is perfect, this was the best work environment I had to date with the phone company. I found myself in a comfortable spot for the first time.

One of the benefits of having such a close friendship with Kathi was how she communicated my work to upper management. I knew she was being positive when presenting me and the work I was doing. She was a joy to be around, quick to laugh, and had a great sense of humor. We really had a good time, which made work a good place for both of us. She did have a short temper when it came to someone doing something wrong or making a bad decision. It was not good to get on her bad side, but for me that was never an issue.

I never believed I should have to conceal the fact that I am gay, but I also didn’t immediately meet someone and while shaking their hand let them know I am gay. Once I got to know people, and as we began to talk about our personal lives, I did not shy away from letting people know I had a boyfriend or that I was gay. If anyone didn’t like it that was their issue, and it had nothing to do with me. I had taken a harder stand on this issue, but I knew most of the straight people in the office were uncomfortable, and if given the chance they would move me out of their office. The men especially had an issue with it. I am not sure why unless they thought I was interested in them which believe me when I say, “NO WAY!!!” At this point I did not work with a single man I would have dated, even if they were suddenly gay and hitting on me hard.

°°°

Outside the office everything seemed to be going too well. Roger and I were getting along much better than we ever had. I thought we finally hit our stride: he no longer badgered me about our physical intimacy which had been a difficult issue between us. I felt I had to evolve on this issue, for me. I knew him and I would never physically relate to each other the way he wanted to. I had to ask myself exactly what was acceptable and what could I live with to keep us together and as happy as we could be. I didn’t want to take anything or any options away from him if it was that important, and I believed physical intimacy was important to him. I finally decided that if he sought that type of gratification outside our relationship, I would not try to stop him or make it difficult for him. I was going to allow him private time that he could feel okay looking for that type of intimacy without feeling like I was going to sneak around behind him and accuse him of bad behavior.

The AIDS virus created a unique situation within a couple when one is positive and the other is negative. They called it being a “Sero discordant” couple, and it caused problems in areas that were new to both of us, and we would have to learn to work through them. Once Roger tested positive, we stopped talking about what our life would look like when we were in our eighties, or any planning for the future. Any discussion about plans beyond a year were very upsetting for Roger, he just didn’t know if his health would or could hold up. As much as possible, I let him guide those discussions using timelines he was comfortable with, so it wouldn’t upset him.

It was early in the AIDS years, and one of the behaviors I noticed was when someone tested positive for the virus they totally changed. Their chosen friendship pool shifted, and people I had been very close to no longer wanted to spend as much time with me. Many of the people I knew decided to just pick up and move across the country. I also saw a good number of men move from Houston to Galveston. I don’t remember the number of memorial services I attended on the island, but it seemed more often than the ones in the city. The sadness was overwhelming and all encompassing. It never felt “normal” to have so many young people getting sick and dying in such large numbers. One of the more common occurrences at the memorial services was beginning the service with a song sung by Barbra Streisand, “Somewhere” from the musical West Side Story. It was such a fitting song, and I can’t tell you the number of times I sat there weeping. My heart was heavy for the loss of all the young men, but also knowing I was living in a society that didn’t care. It was okay for our society when we died. We didn’t matter.

Photo from my 40th birthday celebration with my family.

This was going to be a year to remember, it was 1992 and I was turning 40. I had celebrations everywhere but those that stood out were the dinner I had with Roger, Pat and Yvonne. We went to a fine dining restaurant in Montrose that no longer exists. It was a great evening and ended with Pat and Yvonne gifting me with the pool cue that Pat had used for years and I had admired many times. I used this cue to play with for decades. I also had a celebration at work. My employees decorated my office, or more accurately trashed my office, but it was all good and I enjoyed the celebrations. My employees gave me a case to hold my new cues so I could transport them easily to the different venues I was playing pool.

Photos from my 40th birthday office celebration.

One of my friends was a lady by the name of Cynthia. She and I had met at work, but we also were friends socially. She liked hanging out at gay bars and with gay men. She had a great sense of humor and surprisingly was better connected in the gay community than I was. I always thought I had a wide circle of friends, but nothing in comparison to her. Everyone adored her, including me. Roger on the other hand was okay with her, but not as fond of her as I was.

Once I was promoted to administrative manager, Cynthia ended up in my work group and was now reporting to me. I called her into my office one afternoon and told her we had a potential problem. I was her manager, and in the office, would have to treat her the same as everyone else in the group. I told her I could compartmentalize our friendship and outside the office continue our social relationship as it has been. However, in the office, she would be my employee just like the rest of the group. She agreed and said she could do the same thing and, surprisingly, we both were able to do that successfully.

Cynthia began inviting Roger and me to parties within her circle of close friends. Both Roger and I enjoyed the new group and quickly made friends. One of the couples we were becoming good friends with were named Jack and Jeff. They were a handsome couple and usually the center of attention at the parties. We began to hang out with Jack and Jeff more than anyone else in the group and were becoming good friends.

Jack and Jeff hosted a Halloween party that was a lingerie party which in the gay world meant a “little racy.” I wore a long shirt that resembled a nightshirt with very short shorts and slippers. Roger had purchased a devil costume, and completed his look with no shirt, a harness, and cape. It looked great, and from a “who was racier” perspective – he won that contest. When we got to the party there were a variety of costumes. The hosts, Jack and Jeff, went kind of over the top but like me, Jack was more conservative with his costume. In other words, he covered more of his skin. Jeff was wearing a tiny one-piece women’s garment that barely covered any of the important parts. It was a great party, and we all had a great time.

I was happy, and so was Roger. Yet still, some things were changing. For most of the time I had the house in Galveston, Roger had not wanted to spend time there and certainly not without me. But suddenly, the past couple of months he was spending significant time down there without me. He would take a day or two off work and drive down there and spend quiet time alone or with his grandmother. I was happy the drama of the issues we fought over our entire relationship seemed to be going away. For several months we were getting along great, and I was relieved.

One Monday when I got home from work, I went and changed out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable. I went into the kitchen where Roger had started dinner. I was looking for something I could do to help when suddenly he started crying. I thought something must have happened to his health and went in to give him a hug. He quickly backed away from me.

I stood there for a minute and told him, “It’s okay. Just let me know what is going on.”

Finally, he regained composure and said, “I have something I need to tell you.”

“Okay.”

He continued, “I have been seeing someone else.”

We both stood there for a minute. I was shocked to hear this and didn’t immediately know what to think. Then the thought came into my mind, that I had told myself I would not leave him for looking elsewhere for the intimacy I would not give, and was just about to say that when he continued.

He went onto say, “Jeff and I have been seeing each other for a couple months and we are happy together.”

Now in my mind I am thinking, “Okay, this is new, but still not a deal breaker. After all Jeff is in a relationship as well.” That was not the end. I stepped back a little and crossed my arms, but didn’t say anything. I thought at this point it was best to listen.

Roger then said, “We want to spend our lives together.”

Okay, yep, that is totally different, so I finally responded, “So you and Jeff are going to be together as a couple, living together and all?”

Roger said, “Yes.”

“Does Jack know?”

Roger said, “Jeff is telling him tonight. We agreed we would tell each of you tonight, and then begin our plans to move in together.”

Our Halloween costumes one year.

Jack and I were finding out about this at the same time. I was okay with the fact that Roger and Jeff were playing around behind my back, but to move to the point they had decided to leave their partners and begin a life on their own felt like a betrayal. I was angry, or was I? I asked if Roger had let Jeff know that he was positive and he said he had. He told me he and Jeff had the discussion, and even though Jeff was negative he was okay with Roger being positive. I thought to myself, “Okay, you are moving to the same situation you are in now, but that is your choice.” I thought these things, but just stood there silent.

Roger asked, “Do you have anything to say, or any questions?”

“No.” The discussion was over. He didn’t ask me questions or consider my thoughts or feelings in any of the decisions.

I said, “You have decided what you want to do. I will decide what I am going to do, but that does not involve you.”

With that our discussion was complete. I left the kitchen and went to bed. I had a TV in the bedroom, so I thought my best option was to watch TV in the bedroom. When it came time for Roger to go to bed he did come into the bedroom, but I told him the couch was all his.

Roger loved going to AstroWorld.

The following few days were hell. Cynthia had known about the affair and was very upset with both Jeff and Roger. She told me the reason they came to us when they did was she had given them an ultimatum – they either tell Jack and me the night they did, or she was going to tell us the following day. After everything was out in the open, I was pushing back from all of it. Cynthia was my employee, and I could not be involved in this drama and have it come into the office. As the week went on it was revealed Roger was very ambiguous when asked about his HIV status, and Jeff thought he was negative. I was told that Jack was having a very difficult time with the separation, and in the end, Jeff decided to stay with Jack. This happened the following Thursday. When I got home from work that Thursday evening Roger was giving me signs he wanted to stay together.

Before he could get too far in the conversation, I stopped him and said, “You told me you wanted to spend your life with someone else, not me. Now that you and Jeff are no longer going to create a life together, I am not looking so bad? I can’t come back from someone telling me they no longer love me and want to spend their life with someone else. There is something else out there for you, but it is not me or here.” That put a period on our relationship and Roger left my house the following day after work.

That Friday was not easy for either of us. I was surprised by my thoughts and how intense my feelings were. When Roger was leaving, I watched him out the back window and could see he was crying, and so was I. Like the separation with Devon, my heart was telling me to run out and tell him, “Never mind we can work it out, please stay,” but my mind was telling me, “You will only delay the inevitable. There is something else out there for both of you.” My mind won out and Roger left. I was sad and my heart was heavy, once again.

I wish I could say that was the end of it, but no such luck. The following weeks I was hearing rumblings of conversations that co-workers were having which I kind of expected. Roger and I both worked at the phone company, and we had several co-workers that knew each of us. The difference was I was a manager, and some of the people Roger knew and was talking to were my employees. I had to pay attention to the conversations, and somehow control the message.

One Monday morning Cynthia came into my office and said I have something to tell you. Cynthia was not one to shy away from drama or to try and contain it, but she was a very good friend and whatever she did I knew she would look out for my best interest.

She sat across from me and said, “A bunch of us went for drinks after work last Friday, and Roger was there. Several people asked him about the two of you splitting up and why? And he told them you split up because he tested positive for the HIV virus.”

I was shocked to hear this. First, it was not true. Roger and I had stayed together for years after he tested positive. Second, why would he lie to people that knew me? He must have known this would get back to me. I then became angry. Cynthia and I sat there and talked about it for a few minutes during which I assured her Roger’s HIV status had nothing to do with it and she of all people knew.

She agreed with me but said, “I know what happened, but that is not what is being told. Roger is telling people you kicked him out because he is HIV positive.”

I sat there for a minute and finally said, “I must put a stop to this. Talking about me when I am not there to represent myself apparently is not working. You tell them if I hear of anymore conversations about me, I will make sure all of them are drug tested every single Monday when they come into work.”

I never heard of another conversation about me, and the drama of Roger and I splitting up passed.

Chapter 17

My friend David

I was single once again. I can’t say I ever enjoyed the prospect of being solo, but I was always happy, whether in a relationship or not. I was now free to focus on my life and no longer had to consider what anyone else might think about it. I was now able to see my friends and spend more time with them without any guilt. Once again, I got into my fitness and health. I joined a gym and began riding my bike more frequently. In addition, at every opportunity I had, I played pool with my league family.

It was right before the holidays when Roger and I split up and all of my friends, David, Gary, Greg, Keith, Pat, Yvonne and now Chip and Ron were concerned about me. They thought the holidays would be difficult with me being alone for the first time in seven years. I wasn’t having difficulty, but that was because Pat and Yvonne had me over to their house every single day. They were older ladies and would have this list of things they needed me to do while I was there, but I was happy to help. Nothing big, but many times it meant climbing a ladder or moving something too heavy for them. Once I finished my list of things to do, they would always have dinner ready and wanted me to join them. I knew what they were doing, and it filled my heart to know I had such amazing friends.

The bond between us had become even stronger after Roger and I went our separate ways. It was soon after this Pat and Yvonne moved to a townhouse just off San Felipe and Fountainview. They put a pool table in one of the rooms, and every Saturday night had all of us over for potluck dinner and a night of games, pool, and cards. These gathering lasted for years, and these were some of the very best times of my life. Unknown to me or any of our group of friends, these simple gatherings would set the stage for becoming lifelong friends. We did have a couple rules: no drugs, and none of this pretentious bullshit everyone is welcome, let’s play some pool!

By this time the pool team was made up of David, Pat, Gary, Keith, and me. This meant every time we played, our cheerleading squad of Yvonne and Greg were with us also. One season Keith found fabric that had pool balls and cues on it, so we bought enough to make all seven of us vests. I was the only one that could sew, so we gathered at my house one evening to make them. They would cut out their vests, and I would sew them. I am a very fast sewer. Keith, Greg and Gary arrived first, and we began to set everything up. Gary went into my guest room and found my tool belt which was maybe the gayest one ever. The pouches were brown suede, and the belt was brown leather with add-ons to hold screwdrivers etc. Oh, and it looked like it had never been used. Gary stripped down to his underwear and came out to the living room where the rest of us were. We all got a great laugh at the sight of Gary but just then the doorbell rang, and Pat and Yvonne arrived. I was going to get the door, but Gary stopped me and said he was going to answer it dressed in his drawers and the tool belt. He did answer the door and Pat and Yvonne walked in right past him and said nothing.

After a couple minutes Gary said, “Look at me! I am in my underwear with a tool belt.”

Yvonne dryly responded, “We noticed.”

This made us all laugh harder. We had a great time making the vests. Vests were popular at the time, and wearing a vest without a shirt was a thing. I was in good shape, and I often wore my vest with no shirt.

David had tested positive for the HIV virus a couple years earlier, but he kept it from us for as long as he could. We all knew he was positive because he had some of the signs that were common with AIDS at the time: thinning hair, darkness around the eyes and a non-existent backside. Even though he was showing some of the signs for months, we did not want to force him to tell us before he was ready. David and I were extremely close friends, and I was very concerned and a little sad that he didn’t trust me enough to tell me. I wanted to be a person he could talk to about whatever came into his mind, but that was not the role he saw in me. I believe myself and the rest of our group were his way of connecting to the world he knew before testing positive. He didn’t want us to put him on the moon.

Once someone tested positive everything changed and people treated you differently. I didn’t want to do that, but he knew I would not be able to stop it. He didn’t want to be sick, and he didn’t want the one thing in his life he enjoyed so much to be tainted by this disease. He wanted us to keep this part of his world the way it was before he tested positive, and I had known that was what he needed from our friends. So that is what we did, and we left everything as it had always been.

David and I continued to play pool several times a week. At this point we practiced Mondays at a straight poolhall and sometimes played in their tournament. We were in leagues that played on Tuesday and Thursday nights. We played on Saturday evening, and then all Sunday afternoon. All of us that were playing pool at that time developed very close friendships that I still have today. Sadly, we were beginning to see our friends get sick and die. It was horrible to see them wasting away until they were just skin and bones before becoming so sick, they could no longer leave their homes. This wasn’t just one or two men but whole groups. I still see their faces in my mind and recall the memories we shared. The loss won’t be recognized by future generations, but for those of us that lived through this…we knew the loss and we were forever changed.

We knew the danger our friends with the virus were putting themselves in every time they came to one of our functions, but they needed to be part of our group and we were all so happy they were there. One of the saddest routines many of us did at this time was getting the TWT (This Week in Texas) which was the popular community rag of the day, and we would immediately look in the back at the obituaries to see who we lost. Sometimes there would be pages of people listed, each page containing 4 to 6 people. Each time you saw someone you knew your heart sank; another person lost to a senseless disease. I remember thinking at the time, people our age should not have to deal with death in this volume. It was unnatural, but still it was happening. I also believed then and to this day that if this virus had attacked any other segment in our society, the national and global response would have been much greater and quicker.

The HIV virus was a cloud over our community, one that I could sense, and it guided me. It was difficult during the times I was single. I was free to do as I pleased, but I knew I had to be careful and make sure I knew anyone I was planning on spending the night with very well. There was this cliché that when you spend the night with someone you are actually also spending the night with everyone they have been with for the last several months. My dating and intimacy matched my commitment to staying healthy. Most of the men I dated did not last long for this reason. I was not the person that was going to hop in bed with someone the night I met them, or the next or the next. I had to have a connection beyond the physical attraction before I could consider anything further. The effect of this is many men lost interest quickly, and I was okay with that, I had to be okay with that. This also gave me time to get a sense of how quickly they would get intimate and what behaviors they were okay with. Many times, those details prevented me from moving forward with any kind of relationship but there are a few I did spend some time with.

I spent two years after Roger single and living the life of a single person. I had a great time with all my friends and was able to do some traveling, although it was odd traveling alone. I tried to do the circuit parties that were so popular at the time. Going to them when you didn’t know anyone was very different and I did not drink at the time, so it was not much fun. I found most of the parties to be stand-and-pose events: occasionally making eye contact, doing a little flirting across the room, and finally one of you got bored and moved on.

About a year after Roger and I split up David’s illness was getting much worse. In fact, it was so bad he had to tell us. We all knew, but we let him tell us in his way, on his own terms. It was the last night of league play, and our team was very high in the rankings. But our upcoming match was a make or break – we had to win, or we would drop down a spot. Our team picked our order after the other team so we could determine who was going to play last and who would play the game that could determine the game winner. David wanted to play the last game, so that is where we put him. His thought was that the match would more likely be determined by that time and he could just enjoy the game. That is not what happened. The match went one for one until the very last game. Whoever won that last game would also win the match. David was in really difficult physical condition, but he was also one of the most determined people I knew. The game was tense, but David was focused and in the end he won. I never saw him so happy; I couldn’t imagine him any more joyful if this was an Olympic event. He won his last game, and that last game of the match, and the season. We hung out for a while after the match to celebrate our win and congratulate David. After some time, David said he had something to talk to us about.

He went from being ecstatic to very somber in a flash. He said, “I want to let you know I am HIV positive and have been for a couple years. I am sure you can see the change in me, but it is much worse than you may know. I am not going to be able to play in the league next year. The energy it takes to play is too much for me. I am also going to go out on disability from work as well. I don’t know how much time I have left, but I want to have some type of retirement before I leave this world which means I can’t work or spend the little energy I have playing pool on a league. I am still going to play in the tournaments over the weekends and I will still keep some of our practices with you Lee, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” I said.

He continued, “I don’t want you to feel bad for me or treat me differently. I want to continue to enjoy our time together as if nothing is different. The time will come too quickly when our time together has to be different; let’s not rush it.” By this time all of us were in tears, except David. We all began to hug David and each other and commit to life as usual, period!

For the next few months life was as usual. David and I went to play pool on our usual nights. He also started going to the movies during the week while most of us were working. Our friend Chip didn’t work a normal job, so he was able to go to the movies with David, and I have to admit I was a little jealous. It couldn’t last. I got a call from David’s roommate letting me know that David had gotten very sick and was in the hospital. I called all our friends and several of us showed up at his room. We went to visit him every single day until he took another turn for the worse and he asked that no one but me come to visit him.

I continued to go every day, but always left crying so hard I could barely see to drive home. The person that was the bridge from my old life to my new one was really sick, and selfishly I was not ready for him to go. I will never forget; his father and brother had come from whatever state they lived in and were at the hospital one night when I got there. The nurse told me he was no longer able to recognize anyone and didn’t know who his father or brother were. That didn’t matter I was going to see him, if he knew me or not. I opened the door to his room and as I walked in David turned to me and his eyes opened wide and he shouted “LEE, come here.” I walked over to his bed and held his hand. His father said he and the brother were going to leave for a while. David and I talked about all those things we always did. Gossiped about the people we knew, laughed about our bad behavior when we lost a game of pool, and all the things I could think of to keep him here. David was not a big hugger but that night I gave him a hug…a nice long tight hug. I wanted him to know how much he meant to me. I was not ready for him to go. I just wanted him to recover and have a few more months.

I don’t know if it was the next day, but soon after that night I was at work when Pat called me. She never called me at work, and I murmured, “Please don’t let it be!”

I picked up the phone and said, “Hi Pat, how are you?’

She said, “Not good. I am here with David, and they have called in his family. You need to get here now.”

I said, “I am on my way.”

I grabbed my stuff and was out the door in no time. I arrived at the hospital and rushed to his room. David’s father and brother had left a few minutes earlier for lunch. Pat, Yvonne, and Chip were there. Pat was on one side of the bed holding David’s hand and Yvonne was on the other side holding his other hand. Yvonne got up and let me sit next to him and hold his hand. David was breathing but he was not conscious.

I said, “Hi David, I am here.” I didn’t know what else to say.

Pat was saying, “We are all here David, you can go when you are ready.”

And she kept saying that! I wanted to tell her to stop it! He needed to focus on getting better, but I was not being realistic. David was leaving us. His best friends in this world were all with him now – Pat, Yvonne, Chip and I were all there. All of us had David to thank for knowing each other. Without him we may not have met, and certainly never would have become the friends we were.

David’s breathing was becoming labored. Yvonne and Chip were now standing at the end of the bed, and Pat continued to tell him to go when he was ready. With no fanfare or any notice, he took a breath and then didn’t take another. We all stopped and looked at David. Was this the moment? Did he leave us? After a minute or two the four of us began to look at each other, and we knew David was gone. Pat and I got up. I walked to the window and was looking out through my tears. Chip came up behind me, put his arms around me and laid his head on my shoulder. He knew how hard this moment was, and I was doing all I could to keep it together as much as possible. Inside my heart was bursting. The nurse came in and told us we would need to leave as they got him ready. In the hall we all decided to leave, as there was nothing more we could do, and David’s family would be back soon to manage his care from here. Chip and I walked out together. Once we were out of the hospital I began to cry. Chip was very sweet and put his arms around me and once again tried to comfort me. We stood there for a moment and finally I began to pull away.

He asked, “Are you going to be okay?”

I said, “Yes. I just need some time to process this.” We went our separate ways.

During the days David was sick, I didn’t like the way his family was treating him, and their attempt to keep the people that actually loved David away. All his friends were determined to take care of David in spite of his father and brothers’ efforts to keep that from happening. David was always proud to be gay, and he had a rainbow flag bumper sticker on the back of his car. This was before it was the thing to do. The memorial service for David was a couple days after he passed. When I got there, I noticed the rainbow bumper sticker had been taken off David’s car. I thought his family did not deserve to know him or share time with him. An amazing person had left this world and my life too soon and all because he was gay.

I cried for weeks after David died and not just for him but for those hundreds of thousands that died during this time for no reason. I was one of the hundreds of thousands of people that grieved for them and all because they were part of a community that our society found acceptable to lose. A part that it was okay to see disappear. It makes me want to lash out to those people and groups that I believe to be responsible, stand up, point at them, and call them out for their hypocrisy. In some ways that is what I am doing now. Our society should not escape their shame.

There was an article that appeared in one of our community newspapers. It was written by someone that had the HIV virus. He began telling how he likened his life to a painting. As he went through his incredible life, he created a beautiful painting full of bright colors and lively whimsical shapes. As time went on, his painting grew and was forever changing, but was always bright and happy. One day while he was having so much fun, he turned around and saw a gray spot that was covering a small corner of his painting.

This annoyed him, but he thought, “I am not going to worry about it.” He turned his back to the spot and continued to create his magnificent painting in another direction. One day he decided to look and see what happened to that gray spot, so he turned around and saw it was no longer a small spot. It had grown and was now covering a large part of his painting, but not so much that he couldn’t recover. He again turned his back to the growing spot determined to create much more of the painting than had been lost. It wasn’t long, and he did not have to turn around to see the gray spot had covered much more and was now threating to cover all of it. He decided it was time to fight it to push it back away from his beautiful painting. He was pushing and pulling at the spot and at first he was having some success. He was able to recover parts of his beautiful painting, but he was getting so tired. He could not keep up against the gray spot which had grown, and his painting was becoming all gray. His beautiful colorful painting was always getting smaller. His efforts and ability to push it away were fading. Finally, the gray completely covered his painting, and then it and he was gone. His masterpiece was gone, never to be seen or enjoyed again.

This is where his story ended, but I don’t agree with some of it. What he missed was that he left a portion of his painting with everyone that knew him, and his painting became part of their painting, so living on forever. As you can see, David’s painting and story is living on through me. Our group did move on, but I continue to mention David and share the few photos I have of him from time to time. I will always remember him, his kind spirit, quick humor, and his love of pool.

The AIDS crisis or epidemic changed our community in many ways but some of them were less known and not talked about as often. I was part of the community for about six years before AIDS began its impact, so I remember what our community looked like before this happened. Some of what I remember from a positive perspective was the fun! Going to the clubs and gatherings that were mostly gay and lesbian were so much fun. The excitement was off the charts. For the most part everyone was glad to be in an affirming space and with people just like them. We were all able to let our guard down, and just enjoy ourselves. Many times I remember having to push my way through the crowd to get around the bar. The night clubs were separated in some cases based on interest. My favorites were the showtune and dance bars.

There were things I found that I didn’t necessarily care for, like the separation in our community. It seemed too many of us chose to separate into small groups and then make those groups exclusive. I have never understood this. We also talked about community, but I found it to be mostly lip service at least when you compare it to that concept now. There was also no fundraising that I remember. I am sure there were some efforts to help out charities, but I never heard of them. I was young and just thought this was the way it is, so I didn’t question it at all.

During the height of the AIDS crisis much of this changed. We still had the bars, and the types of bars didn’t change much, but that was all that stayed the same. We, as a community, learned early on that we were alone in this battle; we would not be able to look for support from any organizations outside of our community. The government had all but turned its back on us, and the medical community appeared to be afraid to put too many resources to this effort for a variety of inexplicable reasons. That being said, there were heroes in both groups that were fighting just as we were. Yet they were met with a lot of opposition.

I began to see grassroot efforts begin to develop and grow. There were organizations forming that had a common purpose suddenly. Fundraising organizations, that often started at the bars, were formalizing and raising lots of money to support those in our community that were suffering. The sense of community was so much more than just a phrase. We truly were working together. The humility within our community grew and could be felt everywhere, and the propensity for pretension all but went away. We had work to do and taking care of each other became our community’s highest priority.

Last, I always felt a sisterhood with the lesbians around us, and the AIDS epidemic really showed we needed them. They showed up! Two of my best friends, Pat Turner, and Yvonne Gill, were the caretakers for our group of friends. For me personally, they made sure I was taken care of in ways I didn’t even know I needed care. They are both gone now, but those two women will always have a special place in my heart.

Chapter 18

Bob and I

One of the friends in our group was named Ron Jenkins. He was exactly one month older than I am, so the running joke between us was I would never be the oldest person in the room as long as he showed up. I am not sure how fond of that he was, but I took every opportunity to remind him. He owned a large house in the swanky River Oaks section of Houston. It was not really big enough to actually be considered a mansion, but that is what we called it. He traveled a lot and could not manage the house on his own. He asked one of the couples in our group, Keith and Greg, who by this time were my closest friends along with Gary, to stay with him and help manage the property. They were happy to oblige, even though they had their own house.

After Pat and Yvonne stopped having the Saturday night parties Ron, with the help of Keith and Greg, picked them up. First at his townhouse and now at the mansion. Keith and Greg ran the parties, and they were a blast. There was a pool table upstairs, a swimming pool, a gaming table for playing cards, usually a movie playing, a full bar, and they would cook a dinner for everyone. We all gathered at Ron’s house Saturday evenings about 7:00pm and partied as long as we wanted or could.

Oh, did I forget to mention the presence of a dedicated “drag closet?” Yep. There was one of those, stocked full of every color of wig, dress, shoes and so much more. At some point on any given Saturday, one or more people would come out of the closet in the worst drag you can imagine. I could not attend these parties when I was with Roger, but I was free to do as I pleased now that I was single.

One Friday I talked to Greg, one of my closest friends. He said he had a surprise for me at the Saturday night party. I thought, uh oh, he is going to try to set me up with someone. Let me dig out my guard and put it up! I did have some excitement around meeting someone that Greg thought would be a good match. By this time, he knew more about me than I believe I did. I got to the party, went into the house, and walked through the hall to the kitchen where everyone gathered. I turned to walk through the doorway into the kitchen and there in front of me talking to Greg, was Jack and Jeff. The same Jeff that was dating Roger before we split up. They were leaning against the wall looking at me as I came in with this “let me see your face crack” smile on their faces. I know they were looking for a response or somehow embarrass myself, but that would never happen! I just looked at them and said “hello” as I walked past them and onto the others that were in the kitchen. I made sure my back was to them the remainder of the night. Thankfully, they didn’t stay long.

Through all that was going on, I continued to enjoy
the house in Galveston and so did my mother.

As they were leaving, they came over to me and said, “Goodnight. This is a great party, and it is good to see you. We are looking forward to coming next week.”

I simply nodded and said, “Goodnight” and turned back around.

The next day we all met to play pool again and Greg came over to talk to me. He said, “I met Jeff at work and we got to talking and I found out he was gay and had a partner, so I invited him to the party.”

He continued, “Jeff said he knew you so I thought you would like to see them.”

I laughed and said, “Jeff is the person that Roger was cheating with when we split up.”

Greg was mortified and slack jawed. “NO, I didn’t know that! I would never have invited them if I had known.”

I said, “Don’t worry about it. I am over it. I am in a much better place, and I actually have them to thank for that. But I have no interest in having people that would do that as part of my circle of friends.”

Greg again said “I am so sorry. I had no idea. I think they are planning on being at the party next week but I am going to call and tell them not to come.”

I said, “Don’t do that. I have no problem with them being there. I am just not going to have anything to do or say to them.”

Greg wasn’t having any of it. He did call and uninvite them. I have never had the misfortune of running into them again.

One Sunday afternoon the gang was all at Gentry’s playing pool like we did every Sunday, and I went to the bar to freshen my diet Coke. As I waited, I looked off to my left and at the far end of the bar were two handsome men talking. One of them looked in my direction, but I didn’t think much about it. I got my diet Coke and went back to playing pool with the rest of the gang.

The next time I went to the bar I noticed they were still there chatting. I glanced over at them, and again one of them looked at me, but this time I recognized him. It was Bob Pavey, someone I worked with when I was still dancing. When we were both in our early twenties, we worked together at one of the studios. His partner at the time was Paul Eustes, and the two of them and Devon and I were good friends. We had spent a lot of time together.

I mouthed, “Bob?” He looked at me, turned his head slightly and nodded yes.

I had my diet Coke and went over to say hi. I introduced myself as Lee Ingalls, but he didn’t know me by that name. He knew me as Lee Randall and I also mentioned that Devon and I were partners. That did it, he suddenly remembered. We stood there for just a minute or two, because I didn’t want to get in the way of his conversation with the other guy. I left and went back to my pool buddies. On his way out he stopped by to say it was good seeing me again and he gave me his business card.

It was a couple days before I called him, but I finally did. Soon after, we went out on our first date. Bob was a very handsome man, but he was very thin and had some of the characteristics of someone with HIV. But again, very handsome. I believed he was positive, but it didn’t matter. I knew I would have to be responsible for myself and make sure I was okay. We began dating a couple times a week, but it was simply going to dinner and catching up with our lives over the past 18 years.

The issue of HIV and status eventually came up. It was common and necessary for us to know the status of each other before any intimacy. When we did have the conversation, he told me he was negative for the virus, but had lost a partner a few years back to the disease. I thought, okay I still think you are positive; you just have not tested positive yet. I remained committed to staying safe. I let him know I was negative as well. I told him I limited myself to behaviors that were considered safe, and he agreed that is what he preferred as well. He wanted to make sure he was okay also. I hate that we had to have this conversation, but at this time that is exactly what you had to do. We were both okay with having this discussion, it was just a part of our life right now.

Bob at about the time we reconnected.

Our beginning was a rocky one. We were on and off again a couple of times before we started to click and enjoy ourselves. Bob was very engaging. He could be mesmerizing when he wanted to be. His good looks and the attention he showed me made me fall for him completely.

One night we were meeting my friends on a Monday night at Café Adobe, which was a favorite of mine. I made the mistake of letting Bob sit at the end of the table with me sitting next to him, but for me to participate in the table conversation my back was to him. I kept trying to engage him in the conversation, but he seemed uninterested and bored. After leaving the restaurant he didn’t say much at all. It didn’t take me long to figure out he was upset that my attention was more focused on my friends than it was on him, and he was not happy about it. I thought, “Here we go again!” But this was early enough in our dating that I decided it was not going to work, and we stopped seeing each other. It was nice to reconnect with him, but I could not see getting into another relationship where I had to be careful around my friends.

Not long after this our group of friends went on a trip together to New Orleans, and I was the only single one in the group. I kind of felt like the odd man out and probably was. No one did anything intentional to make me feel out of place, but I did. I began feeling the nesting thing again. It had been two years since Roger and I ended our relationship and although I liked my life as a single guy, it would be nice to have someone to share my experiences with. I was headed down a slippery slope!

Taken about the time we began dating and taking trips together.

I was traveling with work quite a bit at this time. I was home for two weeks, and then worked in Dallas for two weeks. The phone company had a training facility in Los Colinas with an attached apartment complex, and that is where I was staying. During one of my trips to Dallas I reached out to Bob to ask if he would like to join me for the weekend between my 2 weeks there, and he said yes.

He arrived Friday afternoon, and I picked him up at the airport. I got a room at the Melrose Hotel in the Oak Lawn area of Dallas, which was the gay area at the time. We were within walking distance of the bars and several restaurants. We had a great weekend together, we spent time sightseeing, shopping, eating out and ending the evenings with a drink or two at one of the bars.

After that weekend, we continued seeing each other and whatever happened at Café Adobe seemed to have disappeared. I was happy, and soon after we decided to be exclusive and only see each other. We were going to present ourselves as a couple. I was over the top happy. I had known Bob when we were in our early twenties and he was jaw droppingly handsome! That is how I still saw him, but naturally he was almost 20 years older now. It didn’t matter, he was still very handsome, and I was thrilled to have him as my boyfriend.

After several months of dating and staying at each other’s homes we decided to move under one roof. I was living in the house on Oboe, a 2 bedroom/1 bathroom house that was too small for us to consider living there. Bob lived in a house in the Afton Oaks neighborhood, an area I really wanted to live in, so the decision on which house to reside in was an easy one. Once that decision was made, we came to the issue of our household items. At this point we were both in our forties, and had a house full of furnishings. Blending the two households was going to be difficult, and it most certainly was. The decision was made though, and I put my house on the market to sell. It hit the listings on a Friday, and by the following Monday I had a sales agreement. Neither Bob nor I were prepared for how quickly my house sold.

Bob’s house in Afton Oaks was partially under construction, and there was a back room that was not completed that supplied extra space. I was able to store the things I wanted to keep, but we were still not sure how to incorporate into the house. All else was going well, and Bob and I were enjoying getting to know each other better and introducing each other into our worlds. I was surprised, Bob and I stopped socializing together about eighteen years earlier and our paths had not crossed at all in that time. Here we were all those years later, and I still saw him as the incredibly handsome man and every bit as engaging as he was when we first knew each other.

We both liked to entertain, and this house had a pool, so it was a natural for hosting gatherings which we did. My favorite was a very casual event around the pool, light finger foods, a variety of drinks with lots of laughs and horsing around.

We also liked mornings at the breakfast table drinking coffee and chatting about the day and our plans coming up. Early in our relationship I mentioned that I was going to participate in the Gay Games that were going to be held in Amsterdam in 1998 and play pool both eight ball and nine ball events. When we first started discussing this, Bob said he would go and support me while I was competing so that became our plan. Traveling was also high on our list, so this fit right in. We were already talking about an extended stay in Europe, possibly spending some time with a friend of his named Scott who lived in Rome.

Had the billiards team over for a swim. On the left are, Greg, Mark, Keith
and me. On the right is Yvonne and I spraying each other.

Another area that was quickly changing was the world of computing and more specifically the online world. This was an area Bob knew nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, about. He didn’t even know how to power up a computer. I had one of the first laptops, and I was teaching him how to use it. He was quick about learning and was very interested in the whole world of the Internet. The Internet was young at this point and there was not a lot of content out there, but certainly enough to keep someone interested for hours and Bob was hooked from the very start. He loved surfing around the Internet.

We began our Internet experience by sharing an AOL account. I had resisted getting an online account because it was usage based and the online providers were charging by the hour. I remember people getting huge bills from the providers. I was not going to have an account that billed by the hour. That changed and suddenly AOL expanded its offering to include an unlimited usage option, so I decided it was time for me and Bob to see what this was all about. Accessing the Internet was still dialup which was difficult in itself, but add to that an explosion of new people joining, and providers could not keep up with the demand. This situation meant getting logged on to the Internet was a big deal and often times took several tries before you actually got on.

This was a whole new world for Bob, and he spent hours surfing around learning new things, and of course chatting with people in the now infamous AOL chat rooms. What a mess those things were. It started with a single room M4M (man for man), but they were limited to twenty people in a room at a time so that single room became M4M1, M4M2 and so on. There would be as many as 20 rooms open at a time, and Bob was having a field day. Some of the conversations he would have with other men were less than respectful to our relationship; like many people in those chat rooms he would lead the people on and make it seem like there was some interest beyond just the chat, but it was just chat nothing ever came of it. I would get very upset at him, and we would have an argument yet eventually we would move on.

Taken on one of our trips to Rome.

The AOL chat rooms at this time were a place where guys connected without having to go to a bar and go through the whole flirting thing. Bob was new to all of this and loved getting on the chat rooms and talking to other men. I don’t think at this point he was meeting any of them, but then I can’t say no either. I know Bob loved me, but he had instincts he was not able to think his way through to a good decision. The chat rooms brought this out. I also suspect he was happiest with our relationship if he kept me off balance and not completely secure in our relationship. For me it made our life together unnecessarily difficult at times.

Sharing an account proved to be a bad decision, because it meant we could see what each other was doing and read each other’s email. I didn’t care if he saw what I was doing, and he could read my email all he wanted. His on the other hand were not always good. He didn’t know computing as well as I did and he thought he was deleting emails and messages so I would not see them, but I could see who he was talking to and what they were talking about and it was making me mad and insecure. I confronted him about it several times and his first attempts were always to deny doing anything wrong which only made it worse, because now he was also lying. He said that a little online flirting was all it was. He had no intention of meeting anyone. I had no proof he was meeting anyone, and I didn’t have the time or energy to try and follow him around.

I have never been the jealous type, but I found I could not let it go. I kept looking at what he was doing including finding those emails and conversations he thought he discarded. I was making myself crazy chasing around behind him checking and cross-checking what he was doing and in doing so making him crazy as well. I knew if I continued this behavior, we would not make it. The trust I had in him was wavering, and at one point it was making me physically ill. One day I spent the entire day looking and searching for his history of web surfing, his conversations and email. I was so intense about it that by dinner time I had a huge headache. I finally told myself I could not keep this up. I had to decide on one of two things. I had to recognize the only reason I was looking intensely for proof he was doing something wrong was to get the information I needed to end our relationship. That is it! What or why else would I look for this? The only reason I had for doing this was to end the relationship! If that was my goal, I could end it without making everyone crazy in the process, including me.

So, my decision was simple, end the relationship or stop looking! Those were the two options. I finally decided to stop looking because I had to. I loved Bob and didn’t want our relationship to end. I was willing to take the risk of him meeting someone he would rather spend his life with, just like Roger had. If Bob was going to do something wrong, I would never be able to stop him. I could only hope in the end he would make the best decision for our relationship. My commitment to this decision didn’t happen overnight. The urge to search for stuff was still there, but I suppressed it and eventually it went away. We were happier.

I know I said this, but Bob was very handsome, and he also had a great deal of charisma. I do recall one dance event we went to as spectators. We were standing against the back wall watching the dancers and a friend of his named Brian came by to talk to him. Bob introduced me as his boyfriend, and they continued to converse. I was on one side of Bob and Brian was on the other side. I could tell Brian was flirting with Bob and was not at all concerned about me being there. Bob was respectful and at one point grabbed my hand and held it. Finally, Bob went to the men’s room.

Once he was out of sight, I turned to Brian and said, “I see what is happening. If you can get Bob to go with you, you are what he deserves.”

Brian appeared stunned by my comment, but I thought “acting is not your gift.” Shortly after Bob returned Brian said he had to leave and off he went. I had finally got to a place that I no longer felt jealous and my fear of losing Bob was gone. I was there because I wanted to be there, and I felt the same for Bob. If that changed for one or both of us, we would move on. Life was good for Bob and me, and our life together had a stride that we were both comfortable with.

One of the events I brought to the relationship was the Holiday Party. By this time, I had the same event for almost twenty years. It changed over time, both in what it was and the size of it. The party started out with just a few friends from work. I would set up the Christmas tree a week before the event and put the lights on it. Just before the party I would put all the ornaments on a table and let the guests decorate the tree. I did this for five years when I realized it was more trouble going back to move the ornaments around after the party than just putting them on myself to begin with. My parties eventually morphed into a combination of coworkers and friends and became larger.

The Holiday Party changed significantly with Bob and me. We combined our friend and co-worker list, and it was going to be much larger than the parties had ever been. He and I also did not agree on what the tree should look like, so it was the first time I had two trees in the house. Bob was a tremendously gifted designer, but he wanted a tree that was shades of turquoise blue and crystal. That didn’t work for me. I am a warm color person, so I wanted what I thought was a more traditional look with gold, cream, red, and garnet colors as the base of the tree and then finish with ornaments I had collected over the years. We couldn’t agree on which one to do so we decided to do both. We did end up helping each other decorate both trees and the rest of the house as well. I must admit with both of us working on it, the house was spectacular!

The first party we had together I organized it just as I always had, I set up the food on the dining room table and the bar on the kitchen counter. Bob and I would serve the guests their drinks or at least the first one and then we would replenish the foods as the party went on. I have no idea how I thought that was going to be a good plan. I wasn’t thinking. Thank goodness for Gary, Greg, and Keith! They saw during the party that I was grossly over my head and stepped in to help. It was something they did every year going forward since then. Every year after that one I have hired staff to work the food and bartenders to work the bar. The good news is I was free to enjoy the party and visit with everyone. The bad news was I would on more than one occasion drink way too much, but I was at home…so did it matter?

Bob and me from one of our holiday parties.

°°°

Even though my situation at work had greatly improved there were still issues. There was no one at work I could confide in. I remained the only out gay person in the office. For the company however, I was the person they went to when they wanted to engage the LGBT community, which was rare. One of the very odd items that came out of this was my interactions with the External Affairs group and related to domestic partner recognition and more specifically benefits extending to partners. The phone company had moved their headquarters from Missouri to Texas a few years ago. I was also hearing several large corporations were beginning to extend insurance benefits to “domestic partners” so that the marriage requirement was no longer needed. I was sitting with the Director of External Affairs, and we were talking about a variety of items we were working on.

I asked, “Do you think we will ever offer domestic partner benefits here at the phone company?”

She said, “No, never. We are headquartered in Texas which has a very conservative political environment. I cannot imagine that ever happening.”

That ended our discussion on this, and I accepted it, knowing she was probably right. If this would ever happen it would likely be long after I retired. This would have been about 1996, and the recognition of domestic partners was such a new idea I believed it would take years for it to become so mainstream that the phone company would just follow. I did think at the time what a shame it was. The phone company had been at the forefront of so many social change issues and now, from their own senior management they were okay with other corporations taking the lead.

°°°

More photos from a holiday party. Left: Greg, Keith, Gary
and a couple other friends. Right: Yvonne, Judy and Bob.

One day, while Bob was surfing the Internet, he stumbled on the website for the Gay Games and looked at the list of events they were holding. One of them was the DanceSport, which I was not aware of. At dinner that evening he said he wanted to participate in that event but would have to find a partner as it was Ballroom dancing and naturally required a second person. We talked about it for several days, and I wondered why was he not suggesting the two of us participate in the dancing? Finally at breakfast a few days later, we were talking about it again.

I asked, “Why have you not suggested we dance together? We both have dance backgrounds and the two of us would be a natural fit.”

He said, “I know you want to play pool and I don’t want to take that away from you. You have already decided that is what you are going to compete in.”

I told him, “I can play pool when I am seventy years old. I won’t be able to dance at seventy like I can now. Why don’t we compete in the DanceSport together?”

After a short discussion we decided that was going to be the plan.

This was March of 1997, and the Gay Games were only eighteen months away. I had not been on a dance floor in eighteen years, so we had a lot of time to make up for. The DanceSport category had been split into two disciplines: five smooth dances and five Latin dances. Each of those categories were then divided into several levels, the top-level Category A being for professional dancers, and the second through the sixth categories were for amateurs with differing experience levels. We were dancing in the top amateur category, and only going to compete in the five smooth dances.

We scheduled our first dance lesson with dance icon Ronny Leverette. He was a good friend and someone we both knew and have a great deal of respect for. We scheduled our first coaching lesson, and Ronny began choreographing our slow waltz.

Bob and I were happily working on a goal we both loved. The happiness was not going to last forever. For most of our time together we went to Café Adobe almost every Monday night for dinner, along with every other gay man in Houston. One night we drove separately because I had a late afternoon meeting with a customer. When I arrived, Bob was already at our table and had a margarita for both of us waiting. I sat down and began our usual conversation about how our days were and any drama that may have happened during that day. Bob was unusually quiet and looked upset. I asked him if he was okay and then his bottom lip began to quiver, and tears were coming into his eyes.

This time I asked, “Are you okay? What is the matter?”

After a few seconds he said, “I went into be tested for the HIV virus without letting you know, and the test came back positive.”

He was HIV positive for sure with the doctor’s confirmation. I didn’t want to tell him I already knew or that I had suspected it, but I did. I spent the rest of the night comforting him and letting him know this was treatable and he would be okay. I felt the sense that our future together was stolen. Like Roger, I would no longer be able to talk about what life would look together as old people. The reality was, for all this disease took from me, it was far worse for Bob.

Like Roger before him, he cried all night. This time I didn’t have the same sense of pending doom I actually felt that he would be okay if he took care of himself. By this time, it was not necessarily a death sentence. Both Bob and I knew so many people that were HIV positive and surviving just fine. Many people I knew were positive, but you could no longer tell by their appearance. Bob and I decided this would stay between us unless something happened, and we felt we had to let people know.

We were exactly where Roger and I had been. One of us positive and one of us negative, and it caused a great deal of stress at the very foundation of our relationship just as it had with Roger and me. I knew this was going to be our reality, but I tried to keep that from happening. There would now be some additional reality to our intimate interactions and the options had. We both knew any plans for high-risk activity were off the table. I was clear, I was going to make sure I took care of myself, and I would not participate in what was considered high-risk activity. I can’t tell you how hard this is on a relationship. Almost right away I felt the change and I knew Bob did as well. It was extremely difficult for a couple when one is positive and one is not during this point in time. I felt a resentment from Bob even though I knew he was trying to suppress it. I knew time would be the thing that would dilute the feelings we were having in this moment. If we decided to, we would be okay. The thought that we would be okay was my delusion.

°°°

It was about this time I became involved with a newly formed LGBT Employee Group at work named AWARE. I was introduced to it by another employee by the name of Lori. Lori was a very determined young lady and was taking the lead to create a group like this in Houston. The main group and creator was in Dallas, TX. Lori formed the Houston chapter, and I agreed to be the management participant for the group. It appeared to be well received by the company overall, but I still believe it was just talk. There wasn’t much beyond that.

During one of our meetings Lori made me aware of a situation and asked me to get involved and assist with it. One of the company's outside technicians was transitioning from male to female. The company hired the outside technician to work in the repair department. This person had worked for the company for years as a male, but decided they wanted to live life as a woman. The phone company was not having it. They wanted the tech to show up to work dressed as a man, but when he left work, he was free to do as he pleased. The newly formed LGBT ERG (Employee Resource Group) wanted me to step in and see if I could help reach a solution where they could keep their job, but still transition. I agreed to help in any way I could, and a meeting was scheduled for the three of us.

We met at the main office of the company and the technician explained they were about to be fired over this transition. I asked the employee to tell me what had transpired so far. They wanted to live life as a woman, had always felt like they were a woman, and were tired of living a lie. She said the first thing she did was let their hair grow out, and that did not cause many problems. It was when she began to wear makeup that the trouble started. She said co-workers would stare, but not say anything. It was when customers began to call in complaining, after the technician showed up at their homes to work on their phone service. She said a couple of the customers refused to let her into their homes and the work had to be rescheduled.

She went on to say this is when the manager called her into his office to talk. She was told she could not dress in any way like a woman at work no matter how she identified. She could keep the long hair, but could not wear makeup or any female attire. At the point we met, the employee was wearing makeup and women’s undergarments to feminize her look. She refused to change and said she had every right to look the way she wanted and wear the clothing she was most comfortable in. The company and society had not progressed to the point this was going to be acceptable, but personally I felt she had every right to live the life she chose and quite frankly the EEO statement should have prevented the treatment she was receiving. My position was, designating a garment as male or female violated the sex discrimination portion of the EEO statement. I was determined to see where this went.

At this point she had been suspended once already. When she returned to work, she was given an inside job until a decision could be made. One of the suggestions the company made was to move her to another job that didn’t require going to a customer’s location. The problem was the outside technicians were some of the highest paying jobs in the company. There were no inside jobs that paid the same amount. To address that the company agreed to keep her pay at the current level for 2 years, and then adjust it down to the pay of the job she had.

She refused to change roles. I talked to several senior managers to see what could be done. Although I disagreed with the company’s position, I also believed at this time the company had made concessions that should have been acceptable. I told her she should take the 2-year job assignment which would give her the time she needed to complete her transformation, and then she could reapply for the outside technician job as a woman. She refused that as well. I continued to work with senior management, but I did not see any other options. In the end she was let go.

Bob in a piazza in Rome.

This was a time of huge changes. In 1997 the phone company purchased another of the Regional Bell Operating Companies which included the city of San Francisco. I was told at the time San Francisco required any company wanting to do business with the city must offer their employees domestic partner benefits, to all their employees’ company-wide regardless of location. The phone company had to decide, either begin offering domestic partner benefits company-wide or lose the City of San Francisco as a customer (which was not going to happen considering the profits generated there).

I remember when the company made the announcement they were going to begin offering benefits to registered domestic partners. They appeared to be so proud of how progressive and forward thinking they were. They made it sound like they were corporate leaders and at the forefront of this change in our country. It was hard for me to not roll my eyes so extensively they would stick in the back of my head. I knew it was coming and why, and I had to be happy I could now extend the health benefits I enjoyed to my boyfriend and my domestic partner. To this day it bothers me that as late as the mid-1990s the phone company was still very comfortable telling me to my face that I would not be treated the same as other employees and they believed I should just accept this behavior as “the way it is.” Even though I felt they were forced into making this change and the new buzz word was “Diversity!,” nothing had changed. Absolutely nothing.

There were still many issues with the phone company at this time. They did finally add “Sexual Orientation” to the EEO statement that cannot be discriminated against, but again that didn’t change much in practice. I mentioned that to one of the people I was very close to at work, Kathi White. She was married to a 2nd level manager named Charles. I liked them both, but as I observed if you got on Kathi’s bad side it would be…well…really bad. The phone company made changes to their structure almost every year, so we expected in October the company would announce changes, and in this particular year that was the case.

Kathi and I were peers at this point. She was going to move up to a business unit that had larger accounts, and for that reason could make more money. This is the same group her husband was part of, but she would be working for someone else. Her husband did have an opening and Kathi suggested I interview for it.

I did interview and did get the position. But before we actually moved into the new roles Kathi and I had an argument and were keeping our distance from each other. We did move into the new jobs the 1st of January and I was suddenly working for Kathi’s husband. I was assigned a group of accounts that were much the same as the ones I had in the previous job assignment so I thought I was okay.

What I didn’t know was Kathi was talking really bad about me behind my back to everyone including her husband. I did notice a difference in how Charles, her husband, treated me but initially didn’t pay that much attention to it. By all measures I was one of the top performers in the group which didn’t serve them well, so they changed my accounts. Now I had less accounts, and they were the most difficult ones. All the accounts that had been producing profits were removed. Did I mention…I was the only gay guy in the group or in this office? The more things were changing I felt I was being targeted, and the end goal was to get rid of me. I was not deterred, and I would survive this! By this time, I had been the target of so many people’s ill intent that I was accustomed to it and had learned to navigate around it, and that was just what I was going to do here.

They ended up moving me to another manager by the name of Tom Custer. He was everything a manager should not be. He had a high opinion of himself, and he expected the people working for him to have the same opinion. My acting skills were going to be put to the test. I was given a position that was previously assigned to a straight guy. It had a good grouping of accounts and I thought to myself, I can finally redeem myself. When I showed up for the first day in the position I met with Tom. He informed me several of the accounts that had been in that grouping were removed and given to another salesperson. I should mention that the other salesperson was a beautiful blonde with a very “engaging” demeanor. She worked him and he gave in. Did I mention I was the only gay guy in the entire office? Tom also gave me the highest quota of his group. It was clear I was still the target, but my resolve was completely underestimated. I felt like Joan Crawford at the meeting with the Pepsi Cola Executives from the film Mommie Dearest…“Don’t fuck with me fellas!”

I managed to get through the year, but it was one of the worst years ever at the phone company. This past year had let me know in no uncertain terms that if they want you to fail there was no bottom for them. They will do what they must, to try and have someone fail. At the end of the year my manager Tom gave me such a bad review. I remember thinking as he was covering it with me, this is a reflection of your leadership and not my abilities. I told him this is the first time in my decades long career with the company I was receiving a review like this. It was completely wrong in so many areas I offered to have the people I work with come and respond to some of the accusations he was making, but that didn’t happen. I was so upset by this review I have kept it, and every time I feel like I am doing really well I read it just to make sure I understand sometimes small people are given the ability to make what could be catastrophic changes in your life and you have no control. It is rare I give into feeling like a victim of anything or anyone. Let me assure you, I did not let that happen, but this was one time I felt I could almost get there.

I did move on and eventually moved into another manager’s group; however, the upper management in this group continued to single me out in a variety of ways. I finally had enough and went to Human Resources to file a complaint. This was one of the most difficult things to do, which completely surprised me. I knew I was not part of the federally protected group, but the phone company had added “Sexual Orientation” to their list of groups to not discriminate against. The only thing I could hope for was the phone company would stand by their claim. My complaint was reviewed and processed. In the end HR said they didn’t find anything out of line even though I had given them three typed pages of bulleted items where I was treated differently than everyone else in the business unit. There were even items that negatively impacted my ability to earn. I was disappointed, but certainly not surprised and absolutely not defeated.

After filing that complaint things did change for the better. I guess even though I did not win the battle, I did win the war. People were being respectful, the areas where my earnings were different changed, and I was once again on par with the rest of my peers. I was still the only gay guy and, in every way, I was singled out.

When you have lived your public life with so much isolation, you become accustomed to it and just accept it. If you allow happiness to come from within, you then you don’t need the external stimulus. I was never invited to lunch or the afterhours activities, and when we had meetings, the social cliques would all gather in their spots. I would forever be the odd man out. All of this was normal for everyone, for me as well. Eventually I got used to being alone and was comfortable with it.

I firmly believe there is no such thing as separate and equal. There was no equality for me, and plenty of separation. Given the choice of having them invite me in reluctantly or ignoring me, I chose the latter. Contrary to what it appeared they believed, I would rather spend my time alone than have to fake being interested in whatever they might have going on.

°°°

At home, Bob and I were in the best place. We had gone through the process of having me assume half the Afton Oaks house we lived in, so we were now co-owners. Part of the house had been upgraded, but there were still a couple of rooms in back that needed to be completed. The two bathrooms needed desperately to be refreshed, so we began to have all that work done. For me living in the house while it was being worked on was extremely difficult. I cannot stand dirt or dust in the house. Every day after the workers would leave, I would vacuum and sweep the house. Then I cleaned all the counter tops and anything that had dust on it. This lasted for about three months, but in the end it was worth it. We had full use of the house; all the bathrooms were now new, and the backyard patio overlooking the pool was spectacular.

Another photo of Bob from our trip to Rome.

Bob was a hairdresser and I continued to work at the phone company. This was good except when it came time to take time off to travel, which both of us liked to do. For me, if I took vacation time I was still being paid while I was gone. For Bob when he was not working on someone’s hair, he was not making money. He said on more than one occasion that from a financial perspective it felt like he was running financially backward as fast as he could when we traveled. It was hard for him, but at this point in time we had no monetary issues. We were comfortable and did everything we wanted to do. I was beginning to realize not everything in a couple’s life is fifty-fifty. I had to start looking at our life together and take more responsibility. This really became clear when Bob one morning suddenly passed out while getting ready for work. I found him lying on the bathroom floor. Just as I was getting to him, he began to come to, but he was very dazed and confused about where he was, and why was I crouched over him. I got him sitting up and he continued to come around and I asked if he wanted me to call an ambulance or, did he want me to take him to the hospital? He said he didn’t know and that was enough for me. We got him dressed and I took him to the hospital. They checked him in and were going to keep him for testing, so I left and went to work.

I got back to the hospital as quickly as I could and spent most of the evening with him. The tests were inconclusive, and they wanted to do more testing so he would have to stay another day or two. All his appointments at work had been canceled so he could put his mind to rest and concentrated on getting better. Thankfully, after a battery of testing and a few days in the hospital, they didn’t find anything wrong with him, so he came home. He did go back to work, and everything seemed back to normal.

We went right back into rehearsing for the Gay Games which were now getting close. The DanceSport category had been split into two dance disciplines: first, the five Smooth dances (Slow Waltz, Fox Trot, Tango, Quick Step and Viennese Waltz) and second, the five Latin dances (Rhumba, Cha Cha, Samba, Jive and Paso Doble). Originally, Bob and I felt with only eighteen months to put this together we could only compete in the Smooth dance category. We were in one studio or another almost every day the full eighteen months we were getting ready. Most of the time we were at the studio for an hour, but there were many times we stayed for two. Unless we had a disagreement, and then we would storm out of the studio not talking to each other. Looking back, it was kind of funny. I know everyone in the studio knew when we were mad at each other, mostly because we made little to no effort to hide it. We never stayed mad at each other for very long, but in the few minutes we were…everyone knew it. We would make up quickly and then be right back in the studio the next day.

We did get a lot of stares from the other people taking dance lessons, and some were harsh. Bob and I were for most people the first same-sex dance couple they saw in Ballroom. Even Bob and I had never seen another same-sex couple. A couple of our coaches that traveled around working in different studios said they had seen some of the other U.S. couples, but could not say who was doing better. Bob and I knew they were out there; we just didn’t know what to expect. Add to that, we had no idea how we compared to them. A same-sex couple does not look anything like an opposite-sex couple. Bob and I had different skills in dancing, and he was a little taller. It was decided he would dance the traditional male part and I would dance the traditional female part. Aesthetically that would look best. We also had to think in terms of the masculine and feminine visual. We knew we could not compete with that traditional image, so we decided a strong physical, more masculine look for both of us was the way to go. Based on the feedback we were getting, everyone else agreed.

Two of our coaches were Corky and Shirley Ballas from England. Bob and I knew Corky from all those years ago when we were young dancers. Corky at that time was just a kid, but we watched him grow into an internationally known and respected dancer and coach. Corky’s family still lived in the Houston area, so when Corky and Shirley came into town for visits, Bob and I would schedule coaching lessons with them. In December of 1997, Bob and I were taking a lesson from Shirley. She said we were doing so well in the Smooth dances she wanted us to consider competing in the Latin category as well.

She said, “Let me give you the first part of a Cha Cha routine, and you can work on it until I return in January. If you are comfortable, and I think you are far enough along, I will recommend you move forward. If you are not dancing it well, I will be honest and tell you not to move forward. Do you agree?”

Bob and I took a moment and then consented, even though we only had nine months we felt we could do it. We just had to increase our practice time. Shirley did give us half the routine for the Cha Cha.

All of us have our own unique gifts in life, and Bob and I were no different. Bob did not remember the routine right away, but I was able to memorize it from the very beginning, and I also was able to learn and remember Bob’s part as well. For the most part after the second rehearsal Bob had no problem remembering his part, and then it was a matter of perfecting the moves and being able to dance them up to the tempo of the music. The month passed quickly, and before we knew it Corky and Shirley were back, and Bob and I scheduled coaching sessions with them. We showed Shirley our Cha Cha.

She immediately said, “Yes, you need to compete in the Latin as well. You are doing better than I expected.”

She began giving us the Latin routines during that session. Bob and I now needed to double our practice time, one hour for the smooth and one hour for the Latin every day going forward. We loved it, and it was something unique to him and me.

The 1998 Gay Games had divided the two dance styles into six groups each, and your placement was dependent on the amount of time you were practicing along with your experience dancing. The top category was for professional dancers, the second through the sixth were for all the amateurs. Bob and I decided we should compete in the top amateur category for the five Smooth dances, but because we got such a late start in the Latin style, we would compete in the next category down which also meant we only had to learn four out of the five dances. We were ready and off!

Greg and Keith.

Bob and I worked hard for the next several months getting ready. Two of my closest friends, Greg and Keith, would come to the studio and take video of Bob and me so we could then view it and critique ourselves. It was all working, and even though the regimen was hard, both Bob and I enjoyed dancing so much. It was “all good” for us.

One item I have not mentioned was the cost of the whole experience, and let me say it was significant. We spent ten to fifteen dollars for every hour in the studio, our coaching lessons were as much as two hundred fifty dollars per hour. My Latin costume alone was almost one thousand dollars, and our custom-made tails for the Smooth dances were over a thousand each. This was all the build up to the Gay Games where we still had to pay for our hotel for the week in Amsterdam and our airfare over to Europe. If that was not enough, we decided it would be good to take an additional week before the Games and visit one of Bob’s closest friends living in Rome named Scott.

Bob and I decided we would put on an exhibition, and charge people to come see us dance about six weeks before we were to leave. We planned the event and one of the studio owners, Barbara King, was so kind to donate her studio. We also had a few contributors. Lonnie was the owner of the dance supply shop in the studio, and he donated the shoes we practiced in and wore at the Games. My mother and sister Barbara also decided they wanted to come into town for the event to see us dance knowing they would not be able to travel to Europe and watch us compete.

Mom, me, Barbara and Bob at the exhibition event.

The event was a huge success. Even though Bob and I did not raise nearly enough money to cover our costs, we did raise some and all of it helped. Mom and Barbara were so kind and did bring a cake to celebrate the event with us. Bob and I began the event by dancing three of the five Smooth dances in our tails. After we finished those dances two close friends, Gary Hawthorne and Rosalie Burkhart, agreed to perform during an intermission while Bob and I changed from our tails to our Latin costumes. Bob and I then went out and performed three of the Latin dances. After all the dancing we mixed and mingled for about thirty minutes, and then ended the event. We were so happy about the support of our friends and family. For most of them they never heard of the Gay Games and had never seen a same-sex couple dance together. For Bob and me it was all so exciting; we were able to showcase our skills and bring a new visual to an audience that had never seen anything like it.

Mom and Barbara supplied the cake for the event.

One of the freelance community reporters knew the Gay Games were coming up, and somehow heard about Bob and me. He reached out to us, and asked if we would agree to an interview along with having photos taken that he would then submit for an article in one of our local community periodicals. Bob and I were happy to participate, and actually looking forward to our community knowing we would be representing Houston at the Gay Games. I don’t recall the young man’s name, but he did come to the studio and interviewed us and took several photos of us in different dance poses. I don’t believe the story ever ran, or at least I never saw it. This didn’t matter; Bob and I were so focused on our objective we couldn’t be distracted. We had a competition to win.

June 1998 and the games were two months away. It was about this time Bob and I received a letter from the organizing board of the Gay Games letting us know that the first part of the day for both the Smooth and Latin categories would be used to narrow the number of competing couples, but also to determine if a couple should be moved into another category. It advised us to be prepared to be moved into the category that would require we dance all five of the Latin dances not just the four we have been working toward. WAIT…WHAT?!? At this point we had six weeks, and now we need to get a Paso Doble routine and learn it to the point of competing. It was insane, but we had no choice. We couldn’t go and just wing it.

Over the course of the next six weeks, we learned the Paso Doble routine. We continued to hone our skills in the other nine dances. The day before we were to leave, our friends Greg and Keith along with Ron came to watch our final practice session and video the final rehearsal. All went well, however, I still could not perform the Paso Doble up to the tempo of the music. I knew it looked rushed and a little off balance, but at this point there was not much more I could do.

This was a very tense time for Bob and me, and the day before we were to depart, we had an argument. I have no idea what it was about, but in typical fashion for us, neither of us were willing to budge on our position. For me…in an argument I pull back. From there my position is you go on about your business, and I am going to move forward in my direction without you. That is where I was. I told Bob I would not be going on the Rome portion of the trip leaving the following day but would meet him in Amsterdam the day we were originally going arrive. It appeared that was the trigger. To his credit, Bob did a one eighty, and worked on resolving our disagreement and convinced me to keep our travel arrangement as they were. I am such a softy that I gave in. August 16th, 1998, we left for Europe as planned.

Chapter 19

The Gay Games, 1998

Bob and I arrived in Rome on August 17th, 1998. We spent the next several days with his friend Scott. I had not met Scott prior to this, but Bob had talked about him so much I felt I knew him. Scott was a very nice-looking man and so engaging. He was someone you felt like you knew instantly. He was kind to share his apartment with Bob and me, so we did not have to spend money on a hotel. He also introduced us to the local hangouts that many tourists do not see. One of my concerns having never been to a country where English is not the primary language is how would we communicate with someone that does not speak English. The primary language here was Italian, and I only knew a few words. I quickly found out this would not be an issue. Most people spoke several languages, and frequently including English. I remember going to a coffee shop one morning and the barista came to our table and asked us for our order in English. I then watched her attend several other tables and from what I know, she spoke Spanish, and German or Dutch as easily as she spoke English and Italian. I was very impressed.

The trip to Italy was one of my favorites. It is wondrous to walk the same pathway that Caesar and the ancient Romans journeyed. The Vatican City was amazing. The sheer size of everything was something I just was not prepared for, and I am still amazed by it. One of the very odd items we experienced while we were there was the gypsies. Bob had warned me that they were very good at targeting someone one and then end up with your wallet or more. I was surprised to see they were very recognizable. They gathered in clusters, and they dressed in what I can only describe as a very cliché way. The women with the long skirts and blousy tops and the scarves tied around them in various places, and the men in shirts and pants. They also had somewhat distinctive facial features as well. Bob and I only had a couple instances where we felt we were being targeted, but nothing ever came of it.

My first trip to Europe, and I was in awe of everything. Bob and I walked around the entire ancient part of Rome, or at least it seemed that way. I could not have imagined what the experience would bring and the impression it would leave on me, but I have been back several times and even after so many visits I still feel there is so much I have not seen.

Left: The stadium with all of the competitors were lined up for the opening march. Right: The Friendship Village from across the canal.

The time Bob and I spent with Scott will always be a very special time for me. I met a new friend and was able to experience Italy like I never expected, but that was not why Bob, and I were in Europe. The time came for us to change our focus, go to Amsterdam, and get ready to compete in the 1998 Gay Games.

We left Italy and arrived in Amsterdam on a Sunday. We went from the airport to the Friendship Village that was set up to check in all the participants, give us our hotel assignments, and offer a little information on getting around the city. This was the first time for Bob and me to participate in an event like this, so we were all wide eyes and taking it all in. But maybe just kind of listening, and not really holding in everything. As I said, we went right from the airport to the Friendship Village, which meant we still had all our luggage. I have never been a light traveler; I always take everything I think I might want to wear, and I have always had a high maintenance look. The overnight bag alone of essentials was big and very heavy. Some may say that is a flaw, but I say that is just the way it is. The building we were to check-in was a two-story building, and of course the reception was on the second floor which meant dragging all the luggage up the escalator. Then drag it back down again. We did manage, but it was not easy.

We finally were in the shuttle to the hotel where we were staying. It was the Ambassador Hotel and very European in size and style. We checked in and our room was on the second floor…really? The second floor. Oh! And let me guess…no elevator? Yep, no elevator! We somehow managed to get all our luggage up and settled into the room. Now we had to figure out where the dance studios were so we could practice.

There were various dance studios that opened their doors for the competitors to rehearse in and Bob and I went to several of them. We even took a coaching lesson from one of the teachers, but he appeared to be surprised when we asked to work with him.

He said, “I am happy to coach you, but at this late stage nothing will change in your performance.” It didn’t matter we were in Europe and eager to get lessons from the local dancers.

One of the dance studios had several of the couples that were competing in the Games and practicing. Bob and I were finally able to get a glimpse of what we were up against. We didn’t know what category they were dancing in, and they didn’t know which one we were, so it was just a look at them without any context.

Another photo of the Friendship Village.

Finally, Tuesday arrived and the first day of the DanceSport competition was going to begin. This was the day we were going to compete in the five Smooth dances: Slow Waltz, Fox Trot, Tango, Viennese Waltz, and Quickstep. We arrived at the stadium as early as we could, so it was around 8:00am. It was huge! Visitor seating was on three sides, and there was a stage for the judging tables on the fourth side. There were also some round ten-top tables arranged around the dance floor for the competitors to wait for their event. The dance floor was divided into two sections, but when arriving we didn’t know why. Even with the floor being split in two the sections were huge! Bob and I looked at the floors and agreed they were much bigger than the dance floors we had been practicing on. We were going to need time on them to adjust our routines for this size floor. We also knew everyone was more than likely having the same thought.

Left: The area where we checked in. Right: Standing in front of the event's mascot.

Bob and I found a spot at one of the tables, and a few of the other dance couples joined us. Joining us at our table were Bernhard Farwick, Klaus Padberg, Claudia Reger and Dunja Jansen, all from Germany, and dancing in the professional category. The announcer came out and gave instructions over the loudspeaker. We would have thirty minutes to practice on the dance floors. The reason the floor was divided in two was so that two categories could compete at the same time. We would only have to dance on one side of the floor for the competition. What a relief, but even with that the floor was still much larger than what we were accustomed to dancing on. We did go out and map our routines on the floor and all was going well.

The next announcement let all the competitors know there were too many entrants in each of the categories. The first and second rounds would not eliminate anyone, but would pull several couples out who would move directly to the semifinals. Each of the six categories would be split in two, and semifinalists would be announced. Bob and I were called out for our first round. I have never gotten nervous when dancing and this was no exception. I was ready and confident in the work Bob and I had put in. We both wore a pair of slacks and a dress shirt with vests for the morning competition. We found our spot on the floor and the music began. It seemed like we just got started when the music ended, and we were onto the next dance. Before we knew it, we completed all five dances and were leaving the floor. Both Bob and I felt we danced the best we ever had. I had no disappointment at all, and neither did Bob. We got back to the table and hugged each other. We did good! After a short while the announcer came back on the loudspeaker and announced the couples moving to the semifinals, moving past the rest of the morning competition. To our surprise Bob and I were moved to the semifinals, so we were done for the morning. We were expecting to have to dance our routines several times this morning but nope…we were done until after lunch.

Finally the Opening Ceremony! Team Houston, with Bob and I in the center.

We stayed in the ballroom and watched the others compete and talked to the other dancers sitting at the table. For myself it is hard to socialize when I am so focused on the dancing and Bob is the same way. We hoped we didn’t appear aloof, but we were quiet and most of our conversation was between us. During the mid-day announcements, the announcer said, “I think we can all agree the one surprise of the morning is the couple from America.” Bob and I looked at each other and wondered who they were talking about.

It was about that time one of the girls sitting at the table turned to us and said, “You do know she was talking about you two?”

I was shocked but also really happy. Bob and I looked at each other and then I turned back to her and said, “No, I didn’t know, but thank you.”

It is one of those moments in life that make such an impression you never forget it. Bob and I worked so hard with no idea what the benchmark needed to be. We knew we must be the best we possibly could, and just hope it was good enough. This was the first indication it might have been good enough.

A photo of the stadium and stage.

The morning session ended, and for some so did their chance of moving on to the afternoon session. If I recall correctly each of the six categories were only moving twelve couples to the semifinal rounds which meant only seventy-two of the five hundred couples would move on to the afternoon competition. It is always sad to see people eliminated. Some of the couples that had talked to Bob and me were now out. There was a huge sense of “I was here, and I participated, and that was enough.” Even with the loss, they still were part of this incredible event.

We took a break for lunch, and when we returned Bob and I had changed into our custom-made tails, made especially for dancing. The arms were cut and placed in the jacket so that when you raised your arms into dance position the shoulders of the jackets didn’t end up around your ears. We were one of only two couples that wore tails, and the only one in our category. Bob and I had decided early on that neither one of us were going to wear a dress, and as a couple we would not and could not compete with the imagery of a male/female couple. We had to figure out a way to successfully compete without being a traditional male/female couple. We did that by realizing if we danced like two strong men with all aspects of our dance distinctively masculine, we stood the best chance. I was shorter, so aesthetically I had to be the one to follow. I also didn’t get dizzy when spinning and Bob did, so it made sense. I followed and did the part a woman would normally have danced.

Onstage coming into the stadium.

The lunch was over. Bob and I were in our tails, and we walked from the dressing area out to the tables where we had sat during the morning session. This time it was different. During the morning session the stands were half full, and the crowd was a little noisy. Now the stands were full, and they were very loud, screaming and cheering as all the dancers entered the floor. It was deafening, but at the same time exhilarating. We got to our table and set our supplies down. The people in the stands closest to us were calling to us and encouraging us to do well. A young man called to us and said he was from Houston as well and had been cheering for us all day.

It was our time to go out with the other twelve couples in the semifinal round and compete. We all got out onto the floor and began dancing. The music they chose was so good it lifted my spirit, and I danced like never before. I felt every movement from my toes to the top of my head. Every inch of me was performing just the way I had practiced, there were no missteps. One of the things I had to do was lift my front line out of my hips and elongate my look. I had lifted myself to the point when Bob and I did an over sway in the Waltz as I moved from one side to the other my gaze was behind me. I felt like I was dancing on a cloud, that is until the Quickstep. The Quickstep was not Bob’s and my best dance. If we had one we struggled with, that was it. We did get through it, and suddenly all five dances were over. The semifinals ended.

This is what we wore for the morning session. We were
picked out to move directly to the semi-finals.

It is hard to explain how nervous you are while sitting at a table waiting for them to announce the six couples moving on to the final rounds, but they finally did. Bob and were so relieved when they announced our names.

We had done it. We were in the finals. Again, this rush of happiness mixed with terror came over me. All our work and dedication to this point had paid off and we made it to the finals.

The professional category semifinal was after ours, so we had to wait for them to finish before we would be called back for the final round. Thankfully, we had the distraction of the professionals competing. It would have been a nightmare otherwise. Two of the professional couples have been sitting at the same table we were at all day, so we became friends of circumstance and proximity. We were all very supportive of each other and Bob and I found out like us, all of them were also competing in the Latin dancing that would be held Thursday of the same week.

Taken after we were announced as gold medalists, wearing our tails and medals.

Once the professional semifinals were done it was time for our final round of competition. Bob and I went back out onto the floor and smiled at each other knowing this is it. This is what we have worked so hard the past eighteen months, it was all coming down to the next few minutes. This is the last time we will do these five dances in the competition. The music started and we once again transported ourselves into our dances. It felt like we were dancing in the clouds, lighter than air and all alone. I know I always felt I was in another world when I danced, and I believe Bob did as well. Once again, all five dances went as we had practiced, not one misstep on either of our parts. The music ended, Bob spun me out and we bowed to each of the three sides of the room and then to the judges. The crowd was roaring, we knew, they knew we were done and for Bob and me we were as happy with our performance as we could be.

We were done. Now was the wait for the results to be tallied and the positions to be announced. They started with Category F and worked their way backward, so we were able to see how all the top dancers in all the categories positioned. Finally, it came to Category B and all the six finalists were called onto the floor. They announced the positions in reverse order, so first they called the 6th place couple from the Netherlands, Kees Notenboom and Marcell Wassumer, the 5th place couple Irma Bunge and Susanne Zoller from Germany, next the 4th place Garry Heath and Phillip Logan from Austria. Then came the medal placements and Bob and I were still standing there, the Bronze medal went to Frank Neuenhoff and Alexander Weber from Germany, and then there were only two couples left, Bob and I and the couple from Netherlands. We turned to them while they were placing the bronze medals on the German couple and gave them a hug. Then it happened, they announced the Silver medal went to Cor Moons and Wim Van Zalinje from the Netherlands. Bob and I were the last couple standing, we won! I couldn’t believe it; we actually won the Gold medal for the Smooth dances!

We hugged each other and then it was our turn. They announced that the American couple, Bob Pavey and Lee Ingalls were the first place Gold medalists. We both walked up to the people that were placing the medals around the necks of the competitors, and as the young lady placed the medal around my neck, she gave me a hug and whispered in my ear, “You two have set a new standard. You have raised the level of expertise that will be required to win in the future.” Another moment that I will take with me to the grave. We again turned to the audience and took another bow to each of the three sides. They were cheering and applauding! It was surreal, eighteen months of work not knowing what was expected was now coming together to this moment, and every second of time spent on this was worth it.

Bob and I stayed with the other dancers, but the ballroom and the stands were quickly emptying. There was a lot going on at other venues. We didn’t stay too long because we had at least 4 dances to compete in, in two days.

We got back to the hotel and went to bed soon after, we had to get up early and refocus ourselves on the Latin dances the next day. We got up early Wednesday morning and went down for a bite to eat and then left for the studio to begin practicing for the Latin category. We got on the shuttle for the studio, and to our surprise everyone on the shuttle started clapping for us. One of the people on the shuttle told us we had been on the morning news as winners of the competition the day before. I was surprised and humbled by how engaged everyone in Amsterdam was.

Bob and I got to the studio and our practice went really well. We were all set, with the exception of the Paso Doble. I still was not able to do it as fast as the music, but I was trying! When we were finished, we decided it would be a good idea to go to an internet café and check our email and let our families know how we were doing. Keep in mind the only internet cafés we knew about were in the red-light district, and also allowed customers to smoke marijuana. I didn’t think much of it. Bob and I were not going to indulge, and I didn’t think anything would happen just being in the same room.

We got to the café, and I logged into my account and was checking my email and saw one from my brother Brad. I had let the family know the URL they could check to see how the competition was going and according to Brad’s email he was checking it. He copied me on an email he sent to the rest of the family saying, “Hi everyone! Just wanted to let you know it looks like brother Lee is doing pretty well at the competition. If I read this correctly it looks like he won his first competition yesterday. Brother Lee, I am very proud of you.”

I instantly teared up and couldn’t respond to Bob when he asked if I was okay. I just pointed to the email and let him read it. After a lifetime of trying to justify myself, and the validity of who and what I am, this email slammed me into the realization that my life is valid and my efforts are being recognized by my family and someone that is not part of the gay community.

This gave me the added motivation to step up the next competition. When we arrived back at the hotel that evening, we found a bouquet of flowers and one of the event t-shirts with signatures on it. The hotel staff was so happy we were staying there they gave us the flowers and purchased the t-shirt and everyone signed it for us. I couldn’t keep the flowers, but I still have the t-shirt.

Finally, Thursday came, the final day of the competition. We got up in the morning and took our showers. We both knew we had to eat something, but neither one of us felt hungry. Bob was a hairdresser by trade, and he always did my hair for these events so I sat for that, we gathered our costumes for the day, and off we went headed for the stadium.

We arrived and got settled in. The entire floor was open for practice, and we went out to begin. I was in position and waiting for Bob to signal to begin when one of the other professionals pushed me out of his way as he zoomed by me. I was stunned, it took me a second to fully realize this bitch just pushed me out of his dumbass way so he could continue on his path that could have easily been changed. I thought, “Not today bitch!” Bob saw my face and came to me a grabbed my arm. He said, “It is not worth it, let it go. He is just trying to get to you, don’t let him.” The guy’s partner did apologize and said they were just stressed. I did just what Bob said and let it go. We continued with our rehearsal and to my surprise and relief I did the Paso Doble up to tempo, YEAH!! We are ready!

This photo was taken after the morning session.
We are wearing our black, latin-style shirts.

Bob and I decided to do the same thing with our costumes. We wore black slacks, and stretchy shirts for the morning session. The competition was being run the same as it was for the Smooth dances. Each category would have all competitors on the floor for the first round, and the judges would decide if any of the couples would be moved into another category. We did our first round and were not surprised when we were notified, we were being moved up to the top amateur category, and would need to dance all five dances including the Paso Doble. Ugh. I was not happy, but both of us knew this was a possibility. We danced the first round in the new category and to our surprise we were one of the six couples moved directly to the semi-finals which meant we did not have to dance for the rest of the morning session. We were so happy!

The morning session ended, and everyone took a lunch break. Bob and I were walking down the hallway to the reception area, and someone grabbed my arm and said, “You two are amazing. I have never seen anything like that.” I was stunned but not enough that I didn’t recognize Judith Light. That is right, she was there, and she really enjoyed our dancing. She rushed by, but I told Bob that was Judith Light. He ran ahead and met her again in the reception area where we talked to her for a few minutes before she had to leave.

Lunch break was over, and Bob and I got back to the stadium. For the afternoon session we changed into the custom costumes we had made. Bob was wearing all black, black Latin style slacks, and a black body suit. This was typical dress at the time for the person dancing the lead. I was wearing exactly the same thing except my body suit had one sleeve with aroura borages sequins that spread into the body across my chest and back. This gave us the difference we needed for the judges to know without a doubt who was leading and who was following.

Bob and I wearing our last outfit for the Latin session.
This was taken before the winners were announced.

The structure was the same as the Smooth, there was one round to eliminate all but six of the couples from the morning session to move to the finals. We finally went back out onto the floor for the semifinals, eleven other couples stood in the way of our winning another first-place medal. Like the Smooth competition, all our practice and dedication came together, and we danced better than we ever had before. All of it felt new, light and most of all rhythmic. Finally, the round was over and all of us left the floor.

The next group to dance was the professional group, and they competed in their semifinal round. Once theirs was over, they announced the 6 finalists for our category, and Bob and I were one of them. We were going to compete for the medal once again. We had already agreed that we were okay with taking any of the medals. We had only been working on the Latin for eight months and the Paso Doble for only two months, but we remained hopeful.

The final standing as announced.
Left: Scorecard for Latin. Right: Scorecard for Modern.

It was time. They called our category to the floor for the finals. Once again Bob and I danced better than ever. Even though these were routines we had danced for months it all felt different when you were actually performing them. I engaged the audience when I could and when our eyes met, I could see the encouragement in theirs. The audience was clapping and cheering for us every time we went by them. All of it was so energizing. The last dance was the Jive. We danced it like all the others, but the Jive is very fast, and Bob and I have now already danced 4 other dances. I was a little tired, but determined no one would be able to see that in my dancing. I would die out there on the floor before I would let anyone see I was getting tired. We went through our routine, and I expected them to stop the music. But they didn’t, and the music continued. I was now getting very tired, and my spins were suffering to the point I thought the judges might be able to see it. I finally realized they are testing us to see if any of us begin to fail. I was not going to give in at all, and I didn’t. Finally, the music did end, and we were done. Everything Bob and I went there to do was done; it was just the final telling of the tale that remained.

The professional category was next to dance, which gave the judges time to calculate the results of our category. The professionals seemed to take forever, but it finally did end and then the announcements began. All the six couples stood in a line facing the judges as they announced the placements in reverse order. The 6th place couple was Angela Trautwein and Silvia Wetzel from Germany, the 5th place couple was Frank Neuenhoff and Alexander Weber from Germany, the 4th place couple was Markus Henl and Erwin Hoyer from Austria. The 3rd place couple and bronze medal winners were Andreas Urick and Andreas Wendel from Germany. Finally, once again there were two couples left and Bob and I again congratulated the other couple no matter the result. It again seemed like an eternity, but they named the 2nd place couple and silver medal winners were Simon Bostic and Alan Wake from Great Britain.

Bob and I receiving our medals.

Oh my goodness…Bob and I did it! Again!

We won the gold medal again, and once again we hugged each other tightly. It was a short moment in time but something we wanted to cling to forever. They announced us as the winners and placed the medals around our necks once again. We turned and took a bow to all sides of the stadium again. Again, so surreal and unexpected, the dream we were afraid to dream came true, all of it.

Bob and I did everything we came to Amsterdam to do and in a big way. We were hopeful we would win but never really thought we would win both events. We could finally relax a little. There was a dance that followed the end of the competition and Bob and I stayed for it. While we were standing off to the side Louis Van Amsdal came up to us and congratulated us on our wins. He said the judges wanted to move us up to the professional category, but he stepped in and told them to look at our routines. He said they were amateur routines, but they were being danced really well. The judges agreed and didn’t move us up a second time. I can say without hesitation we would not have won had they moved us up to the professional category.

Bob and I stayed at the celebration for an hour or so and then went back to the hotel. We were exhausted. Both of us were so happy we worked hard for the eighteen months before the Games and came into them hopeful we would at least get in the medals. We never honestly thought we would win gold medals in both the disciplines. As we moved through the city in the following days people continued to recognize us and congratulate us or ask us to pose for photos with them. We were interviewed by several TV stations, and I don’t know how many magazines and newspapers. We were very happy to do all of it. Then the final day came, and we were to walk in the final parade of participants. Bob and I were wearing red, white and blue shirts and of course our medals around our necks. It was a sight to behold!

The day after the closing ceremony we left Amsterdam and came back home. Bob and I were on a tremendous high, but when we got home, all was pretty quiet for us. We did hear that we appeared in several community periodicals across the nation. At this time the Gay Games were not known very well outside our community, and if they were it was not discussed. I did read that the year the Gay Games is held, it is the largest sports gathering in the world, so even though it was off the media’s radar, it was huge.

°°°

I returned to work at the phone company and didn’t say much about the competition, but I did put a photo of Bob and I on my desk. It was shortly after returning I saw an article in the company magazine about an employee that won a pageant of some type. After seeing that I reached out to the publishers of the magazine and left a message that I was a two-time gold medalist in an international competition but didn’t say which one it was. I mentioned I saw the article about the pageant winner and thought they may be interested in my story as well.

I did get a call from a man and at first, he was interested in my story and was asking me questions about the competition. What was it, how many competitors, and then he asked what was the name of the event? When I told him it was the Gay Games that were just held in Amsterdam, he said he didn’t even know that existed. He then said he had the information he needed and would present it to see if they wanted to publish the story. I am still waiting for a response from him.

Bob and me at the closing ceremonies.

This took place in 1998. The phone company had taken great pride in how progressive they were at this time, but the reality for those of us at the street level was simple. It was the same company with a new façade. This was still our reality. Many of the corporations were beginning to have diversity groups within their organizations, and the phone company was no different. I sat on the diversity team for a while, and all it appeared to be was an effort to check off the boxes. They only looked at the number of women in management positions and the number of people of color. The company did a few other things like crafting a response to upper management and soliciting success stories from people including me, but it had the appearance of doing something of little significance and nothing more.

They asked me to submit a success story. I did agree to do it, but I had some hesitation about just how forthright I should be. I wrote the article, but before I sent it for publishing consideration, I asked my manager John his opinion. He was very conservative.

He read it and sent it back saying, “Well. That should have been therapeutic.”

I read it again, and thought, “Okay I am being too honest and sharing more than what the company is interested in hearing or knowing. They are only looking for a good news story, one with a happy ending.” I caved. I rewrote it giving them the story they were looking for. It was very well received, but I also felt ashamed of myself for not taking a stand and telling it like it was.

Bob and I had achieved an amazing feat, an accomplishment I am still so proud of, but because it was a gay event it didn’t seem to matter much. We were asked to dance at a couple local events including one at the Wortham Center. We also tried to stay committed to the dancing with the thought we would compete again in the 2002 Games but even at this point our personal relationship was becoming difficult.

Chapter 20

Bob and the Mansion Men

1999 was a year of changes for Bob and me. He was having difficulty at the salon where he was working. When we had the house remodeled, there was one bedroom at the back of the house that had a separate entrance. That entrance led out to a small drive and then the street that borders the community of Afton Oaks. Bob wanted to complete the room as a one chair salon so he could work on someone if the occasion came up and I agreed. We didn’t need the room for anything else, so if he could have used it for something great…why not?

We finished all the work on the house, and it looked amazing. Both of us were extremely happy with the way it turned out. Once the work was done, we had five sets of double doors leading out to the pool and a great seating area just outside the family room. One of our favorite things to do each weekend was on Sunday we would make a pitcher of margaritas and sit out by the pool and drink them while we chit-chat. Like most couples we had our challenges, but we had more good times than not.

The difficulties Bob was having at the salon finally escalated one day with the owner of the building the salon was located in. The owner told Bob he could not park in the parking lot, he had to move his car onto the street. He went on to say that was in the agreement of the lease he had with the salon owner who was a man by the name of Peyton. Bob was not fond of being told what to do, and in fact it made him angry. When the building owner told Bob to move his car, Bob started yelling at him and told him he was not doing it. He had not agreed to park in the street and was not going to. He went on to tell the man to fuck off and if he did anything to his car, he would sue him. The issue continued to fester all day and by dusk everyone was as angry as they could be – Bob, the building owner, and Peyton who ran the salon. Bob got home and he was beside himself with anger. I tried as best I could to calm him down, but nothing I was doing was working.

We finally sat down about eight that evening to watch a little TV before going to bed when the phone rang. It was Peyton calling for Bob. I could only hear Bob’s side of the conversation, but it was surprisingly calm. Bob was just saying okay, mumbled agreements, and not much else. When they were finished talking Bob said the owner of the property told Peyton he had to leave the property, he could no longer operate his salon in his building. We all had to act quickly.

Peyton found another space a couple blocks away and, after a week or so, it was ready for everyone to return to work. Sadly, this did not last long either. Bob was having disagreements with several of the people at the salon, including the new receptionist and Peyton as well. It was unfortunate, but there was a big argument that happened when customers were in the salon and several of them expressed concern. That was the final straw for Peyton, he called that evening and told Bob not to return. He should make arrangements to gather his belongings when no customers would be in the salon and move his business elsewhere.

Bob doing my mother’s hair for our annual Easter brunch at the Four Seasons Hotel.

Fortunately, we had completed the back room of the house so Bob could continue to work while he was looking for another salon. I kept telling him his customers would need to park across the street from our house so that no one could say we were bringing people into the subdivision. Not only did that not happen, but Bob was challenging the Home Owners Association by bragging he could do what he wanted in his house and no one was going to stop him. I received a call from one of the board members of the HOA saying he had received complaints about us operating a business in our home and per the HOA requirements we are not allowed to do that. I said we were not operating a business, but knowing that Bob was just there until he found another salon, it was never our intention to have him work full-time in the back room.

We went back and forth with the HOA board for several weeks, and I finally received a cease-and-desist letter from the City Attorney. That was it! I told Bob he had to completely stop working in the back room and find another place quickly, which is exactly what he did. He went to work in a shop in the Village at the same place his ex-boyfriend was working. Bob rented a chair, so he didn’t take a cut in pay, but he was still having to work around other people and that seemed to bother him. I also figured he might have thought that I would be worried about him working in the same shop as his ex, but I wasn’t. By this time, I knew there was nothing I could do about it if Bob decided to step out on me. If I was concerned about it, I had the option to leave the relationship.

Bob and I had moved from an all-time high where we were so happy with the Gay Games competition to now where life felt messy and ugly. The good times we shared were becoming fewer and fewer. As if this were not enough Bob had to go into the hospital a couple of times because of illnesses resulting from him being HIV positive. During his time in the hospital, he wasn’t earning any money and I knew our joint account was getting low. What Bob didn’t know was I never shared with him what I was actually earning. A portion of my earnings were going to another account just sitting there. I was not worried about what would happen to us and tried to assure him that he shouldn’t worry either, but he was managing our finances so of course he worried.

When our lives together were good, it was very good. I enjoyed our Sunday afternoons with our pitcher of margaritas and sitting out by the pool. Sometimes we would swim and sometimes we would just sit there and talk for hours. Our day would end with a quiet dinner, a little TV and then off to bed. I had to work on Mondays, so I couldn’t have a late night. Bob would sometimes stay up later and sit at the computer and chat with people, but as far as I knew it was just harmless fun. These were the times our life together was at its best.

Work was pulling me away; I was traveling and spent time in other cities which gave Bob some days to himself. I am not sure if that was good or bad. The year was 2002 and Bob was about to turn 49 years old. For his birthday he wanted to go back to Laguna Beach and stay at the Laguna Beach Hotel, but this time he wanted to stay in the corner unit on the top floor. I made the arrangements, and we spent a long weekend at the hotel enjoying ourselves. I love the Clays restaurant in the hotel, and that is where we celebrated his birthday with dinner. We also spent the day out on the lounge chairs in the roped off area. We didn’t drink all day, but we certainly did our share of drinking and had food out there. It was an amazing weekend.

The happiness was not going to last. When we got home Bob fell sick again and spent another week in the hospital. By this time our combined funds were very low, and I thought that may have contributed to his illness. When he got out of the hospital all seemed like it was going back to normal, but again the physical interaction between us came up and I continued to be adamant about not participating in any high-risk activity. I thought we had moved past this discussion but clearly, he had not and was not happy about the situation. By this time, I had limited sympathy. My position had never changed and wasn’t going to.

For him it was time. I either agreed or he was done. I had to change my mind, or we were not going to stay together. He had said this before and stayed mad at me for a few days, but then we made up and all was good again. I thought that would be the case this time as well, but this time it felt different. We went several days barely saying a word to each other, yet still going about our daily lives. We were both going to work and when we got home, we prepared our own dinner and then went off and did our own thing. After several days he finally said he wanted to talk.

He said, “Our lives have gotten too difficult together, I need more in my life, and I want us to start seeing other people.”

I stood there thinking, here we go again! I asked, “Are you sure this is what you want? I am not interested in seeing anyone else.”

He said, “Yes, it is not that I don’t love you, but I need more in a relationship than you are willing to give.”

OUCH!! I knew it wasn’t so much about the relationship as it was about the physical interaction between us. There was nothing for me to say; he told me what he wanted, and it felt so much like the breakup with Roger, I really had no choice but to go along with it.

I again spent a few days after not sure what to do or not do. I wandered the house kind of in a fog with a lot of uncertainty on what the future would look like. Again, after a few days Bob and I talked, but this time it was about logistics. Our lives were intertwined. We both owned the house, most of our bills were shared, and we truly lived as a couple. One of the big items for us was he was still on my health insurance at work. I told him it is okay if we see other people, but if we stop being a couple or stop meeting the requirements of the domestic partnership, he could no longer be on my insurance. We argued about this, and he thought I should just be able to keep him on my insurance no matter what. I continued to tell him no I couldn’t. If at any time we failed to meet the requirements I would have to remove him. This was not something I wanted or felt I had any control over. It was not my decision, and I was not going to lie or knowingly do something wrong. After several days of going over and over this he finally realized I was not going to change my position and he agreed. He finally said he had no interest in leaving or changing anything except he wanted to see other people and I agreed even though I had no interest in seeing anyone else. Frankly at this point I was over it and when I say jaded, I mean like a fine piece of jade, and large too.

Bob and I during our good times. We had a blast no matter what we were doing.

The only requirement I had was he was not to bring anyone into our home. If he wanted to spend time with someone, he had to do it at their place. This didn’t make him happy, but I didn’t care. That was the respectful thing to do. He did go out with others a lot and surprisingly it didn’t bother me at all. I think the last few months, with the exception of our trip to Laguna Beach, were so difficult I felt relieved. I could finally relax and not have to worry about upsetting him.

Our house was a three bedroom, and two of the bedrooms had attached bathrooms so I moved out of the bedroom we shared and into the other one that had its own bathroom. All of this happened in August, so when my birthday came up in October, it was the first one we were going to celebrate with this new arrangement. I had no idea what to expect and didn’t anticipate much of anything. That proved to be a good idea because nothing happened. When I got up the morning of my birthday and went into the kitchen he was already up and handed me a card and said happy birthday, turned around and left. That was it! When I say I was okay with it, I am sure you are thinking, “No you were not.” And you would be right. After all that had happened, and all those years that we had been happy, it was a bitter pill to swallow but one I had to take.

Bob and I continued to do things together like going to Café Adobe on Monday nights or sitting around watching TV. We also did a lot separately. I once again began to hang out more with my longtime friends – Greg, Gary, and Keith. Although now the group also included – Tim, Jason, Aaron, Bert, Roy, Brad, Brandon, Shawn, Ron, Corey, Mark and so many more. All of us met at what we called the “Mansion Parties” that were held every Saturday night. It was during this time the group of friends bonded to the point they all felt like my family. I believe most people are lucky to have two or three people they can call close friends. Somehow, I found myself in a large group of friends that would go to the end of the earth for each other, to say nothing of all the fun we had.

Twice in my life I met someone and that someone had a great deal of difficulty being around me when I was with my friends. Both Roger and Bob totally changed their behavior when we were around my friends to the point that I didn’t want to subject my friends to their bad behavior. I didn’t completely move away from them, but I did spend less time with them than I wanted to. In both cases when the relationship with Roger and Bob ended my friends invited me back into all the events with open arms like nothing had happened and no time has passed. During many of my most difficult years, or what should have been my most difficult years, my friends were there to care for me and make sure I did not feel alone in the world. My friends or extended family and I have gathered in many forms including at this point in time the Mansion Parties that I and the rest of the group looked forward to every Saturday night. We became known as the Mansion Men.

The Mansion Parties were held at the home of Ron Jenkins. Ron liked having parties, but he didn’t know how to organize them or how to get people to come. He solicited the help of Greg and Keith, and with them it happened! During the parties there was one room with a movie playing, another room with people playing cards, the kitchen and dinette were full of people talking, and there was a family room on the second floor with an always active pool table. Our group were all great pool players at the time, so there were always people waiting to play. Outside in the backyard was an L-shaped pool that during the spring, summer and fall there would be a collection of people enjoying the evening air and the pool.

Then there was the drag closet – more like a small room. It was in one of the bedrooms on the second floor. Everyone contributed what they had, or could, to the drag closet, but it was mostly filled by Greg, Keith, and Gary. There was a wild assortment of wigs, dresses and shoes in all sizes so no matter what you wanted to look like or slightly resemble…you could do it.

The gatherings began at 7:00pm Saturday night. I was always there at 7:01 sharp. I had a blast and met some incredible people that remain some of my closest friends. I was finding my way in the world again and with it, my happiness!

Back at home things were okay, or so they seemed. We made it through a few months, and I thought we were adjusting fine. We were about to come up on the holiday season, so the planning for the annual Holiday Party needed to begin. I needed to order the invitations quickly so that we could get them out in time. Bob and I were at the Monday night Café Adobe talking about the party. Bob announced he wanted to bring a date. WHAT, a date? No, not okay! I said no he couldn’t, there would be people there from my office and someone might get the idea we were no longer a couple especially if he brings a date and introduces him as his boyfriend, so NO.

We sat there and discussed it for a very long time and neither one of us was budging on our position. My final concession was go ahead and bring your date, you just can’t introduce him as your boyfriend. Even that was too much to ask, and Bob refused to agree. I finally had to make the difficult choice of not having the Holiday Party that year and I thought I might never be able to have it again. Prior to this there had only been one year I didn’t have the party, and that was when Devon and I split up. Back then I was just making ends meet, so there were no funds for a party. This time it was out of my control, and I do not like not being in control.

I was so upset; this was it the last thing I was willing to accept. The next morning before work I told Bob I needed to talk to him.

I said, “I am not happy about not being able to have the Holiday Party. I believe it is time we actually move on in our lives. I want to sell the house so we can do just that.”

He said, “No, I don’t want to sell the house. I like living here, but if you are that unhappy you can move out. But you are still responsible for half the house payment, maintenance, taxes and insurance on the house.”

I knew all of that, but there was no way I could continue to support this house and another one I wanted to live in at the same time. The Afton Oaks house was expensive, the ongoing maintenance and the taxes and insurance were not cheap. I decided this would not work for me, and I would have to get along until I got myself together enough that I could end the relationship and move on.

My thought was, “Get along until the time was right.”

I don’t know if that ever happens when people think it. Bob and I were going through the next year and so much was happening. He continued to date all these different people and during one of our discussions I made the mistake of saying something.

“If you are dating someone that you really like, and after six months of my being around them you want to have them spend the night. I would be okay with that.”

What a mistake that was! Now every time he saw someone for more than a weekend, he made sure to tell me they had been dating for months. UGH!

All of this was happening, and I could see Bob’s health getting worse. He was getting thin, and his skin did not look good. When we met, he was very thin, but he still had beautiful skin, nicely tan, and it was healthy-looking. Now he was suffering from thin skin where you could see the veins through the skin, and it was an alarming color. I wondered if the HIV medicines were still working or if this was taking a bad turn. He didn’t like to talk to anyone about his health issues, and at this point me least of all, but I could see the changes.

°°°

The summer of 2003 Bob was turning fifty, and he wanted a party to celebrate. He said he didn’t know if he would see 51, so it was important to have one last party. I could not say no, so I hosted a 50th birthday celebration that rivaled our Holiday Parties. I had it catered, with staff to attend the food and bartenders. Everyone had a great time and so did Bob. He did something I will always remember. He stopped the party, stood on the fireplace hearth, and gave a speech thanking me for putting the party together and the support I had given him. It brought tears to my eyes as it does today. I didn’t think he noticed, but he did, and it was recognized in a very public way. A cherished memory for sure.

Taken at one of the afternoon parties at “the Mansion.”

That was very nice, but short lived. The next few months were difficult. Shortly after his party Bob fell ill again and had to be checked into the hospital. He spent over a week in the hospital and when he came out, he was not able to go back to work full-time. In the meantime, I was covering all the expenses of the house, but I didn’t want to further burden him. I didn’t say anything about it. I thought I would wait until he went back to work and at some point, talk about settling up, even though I knew that might not happen. Bob did go back to work, and I waited about a month, so we were in August of 2003. One morning before work we were both having a cup of coffee and I told him I wanted to talk to him about something.

I said, “I cannot afford the house on my own, it is too expensive. I know there are going to be times that you get sick and are not able to work which makes it difficult and stressful to try and keep up with your half of the household expenses.”

He agreed.

I said, “I want to sell the house. We can split the equity. I will buy a house that I can afford on my own, but I will make sure it has a private bedroom and bath for you and we can share the common areas. That way you do not have to worry about a roof over your head or where your next meal will come from. For me, I will be in a space that I don’t have to be so concerned about.”

He could come and go as he wanted, and I would stay out of his life. To my surprise he got so upset and I will never forget his response.

He slammed his hands on the counter and said, “You will not control my life!”

I thought…wait, what! Who said anything about controlling your life? Quite the opposite, I am providing you with the opportunity to live your life without concern. The conversation spiraled into a dark place and in the end, he agreed to sell the house. The next day we had a realtor out and the house was listed. The house was sold within a few days so our plans to move were beginning. About two weeks before the closing of the house Bob moved out into his own apartment, but it was not without drama. He had the electricity shut off on a Friday, so I had to live in the house for a few days with no lights and no air conditioning. Not fun, but I survived it.

I closed on a new house. It was a three-story townhouse with three bedrooms and three and a half bathrooms, brand spanking new construction, twelve-foot ceilings in the living room, and ten feet everywhere else. I loved the townhouse and couldn’t believe that after all I had been through that I was able to buy this amazing house on my own. This was the first time I felt this good about everything in my life. But then…uh oh and wait a minute. I bought this house on October 1st, 2003. That means in 21 days I will be 50 years old. Why did this have to come into my mind now?

Chapter 21

My new life, once again

For those that are not gay: when you are gay and you turn thirty your life ends, forty you are fully a has-been, and by fifty you are transparent! Those are the rules, everyone knows them, so just get used to it! I was once again single, but now I was fifty and I completely resigned myself to the fact I would be single for the rest of my life. That might scare some people, but it didn’t bother me. I was okay with it. I had three long-term boyfriends and none of them worked out, so I was good being on my own, especially in this new townhouse. One other benefit to this townhouse was it was within bike riding distance of the Memorial Park trails. I could get up in the morning and ride for miles, which is something I struggled with living in the Afton Oaks house. Bob and I were living on our own finally, and that was a good thing. We did still stay in touch, which was also good for both of us.

As I came up on my 50th birthday several of my friends and co-workers were concerned about me. Two of my close co-workers, Sue and Claudette decided to take me to dinner at a restaurant by the name of Vic and Anthony’s. It was a very nice restaurant located downtown and known for their steaks which was my favorite meal. We had a great night of too much food and laughter. It meant the world to me they were concerned about me being alone on my 50th birthday and decided to take me to dinner and a nice one at that.

October! What? I could have my Holiday Party again and yes “MY” Holiday Party. The planning began. I now had some things I had been missing like a fireplace with a hearth I could decorate, twelve-foot ceilings, and staircases with banisters I could decorate. This was going to be fun! I rushed out and bought a twelve-foot tree with the idea it would sit in front of the bay windows in the front of the house. I had to buy lights, garlands for the banisters, ornaments…it was a lot of stuff to purchase, but I did it.

The first Sunday after Thanksgiving weekend I had my first Holiday Party in the new townhouse. I loved seeing all my friends during this time of year having missed it the year before. My life was returning to a new more exciting normal. This was also the first year I had a twelve-foot Christmas tree which was fun to decorate, but I needed ladders to do it. It turned out beautiful. I had over a hundred people attend the party, and like the Holiday Parties before Keith, Greg, Gary, Bryant, Bert, Roy, Tim, and Aaron came over before the party and helped with the final set up. I also hired a bartender and two people to work the finger foods.

°°°

The townhouse. I loved this house and the location.

Work was continuing. It was the first of the year and time for the phone company to shuffle everything around again. This time I ended up in a really good position. I was working for someone I had known for a long time but never worked under. His name was Randy, and his manager was Kevin. We had such a good group for the first time in a long time I actually felt comfortable and didn’t have to worry about being let go just because I was gay. It was surprising what a difference that made, and my performance showed it. I was doing very well.

Life was good once again. The only part of my life that could have been better was the dating part. There are always times it would have been nice to have someone in your life to do things with. As I said, when you are gay and north of 50 you are transparent…period! There were people I was interested in, and I am not one to be shy about letting my interest be known, but I was getting very little back.

The living room, and of course I am getting it ready for the holiday party.

I did begin dating a man by the name of James. The circumstances were so profoundly common I remembered him and the short time we spent together. I met him while at a gay night club and we agreed to go to dinner a couple nights later. I had a great time at dinner, and I believed he did as well, which led to us seeing each other a few more times. I then offered to cook dinner for us one night and he accepted. He came by and we chatted while drinking wine and I cooked. He told me about his ex-boyfriend Terry, and that he died of a heart attack when he was in his mid-thirties. He explained Terry was a dancer and living in New York City and one day just collapsed and died of a heart attack. As it turned out Terry had been to the doctor a few days earlier complaining about chest pains and the doctor just blew him off and told him to rest for a few days. Terry had told James about it and after Terry died, James mentioned it to Terry’s family during the course of settling Terry’s effects. Terry’s family did not like that their son was gay. Shortly after the initial calls with James, they cut him off. They refused to let James have anything to do with the settlement of Terry’s effects and would not allow him to come to the funeral service. The family would not even let James know where their son was buried. The parents were despicable about the entire thing.

After a few months, and days before this dinner with James, the ex-boyfriend’s mother called him and let James know they had filed a lawsuit against the doctor that had seen Terry. His mother asked James to participate in the suit and testify about the conversation he had with Terry about the doctor’s appointment. James was having a difficult time trying to decide what to do. He didn’t want Terry’s passing to just slip by, but at the same time he was extremely offended that the parents would reach out for help when they needed it. Especially after they were so vehement about not allowing James to attend the service for Terry. I felt bad for James, this had to have been and continued to be a difficult experience. We continued our dinner, and all was going well.

This was a situation I had seen many times over my years. The family of gay people don’t want to have anything to do with their gay child but when they die, they swoop in like vultures and try to take all they can while shutting out the people that have been part of their child’s life. It is a sad statement, and I could continue on with this, but let it be enough to say I have seen the very worst in people. One of the messages from my parents and grandparents has been you are given opportunities in life to do the right thing. When those opportunities present themselves that is exactly what you do whether you are being watched or not. I do my very best to make sure that is exactly what I do.

As we were finishing up our dinner he asked, “Do you know Bob Pavey?”

I said, “Yes, I do, he is my ex. How do you know him?”

He explained, “Bob opens his shop on Mondays for people that are HIV positive and can’t afford to get their hair cut to have it done without charge. I go in once a month to get my hair cut.”

I was sitting there listening while he is telling me this and I was thinking, “Why are you going to get your hair cut for free? You have the ability to pay for it or at least that is what you would have me believe. Second, you are telling me you are HIV positive which, okay, we had not had that conversation but one half of it has now been done.”

He went on to say, “I also take my son with me to get his hair cut as well.”

I was beginning to see more than he intended, and my opinion of him was quickly changing. Bob has opened his shop to help people that are limited on funds to come in and get their hair cut for free, and from what James said, the salon was busy which means the spot on the list James was taking could have gone to someone that actually needed the service. I do not like this at all, and it was about to get much worse.

James and I are still sitting at the dining room table, but we have finished the meal. He then shares, “I asked Bob if he knew you?”

I replied, “Really?”

“Yes, I did, and he said he did know you, that you two had been partners for 7 years.” James paused for a minute and then said, “He also told me that I should be careful around you, that you had a bad temper and were physically violent at times with him. He said you beat him up a couple times to the point the police had to be called.”

I said, “What? That is crazy!”

James continued, “He said he finally had to get a restraining order against you to stay away from him.”

I collected myself, relaxed and sat back in my chair, and calmly asked, “And do you believe him?”

He said, “I don’t know.”

By this time, I had heard enough and decided this was the last time I would see James. But I had to get through the evening.

I then said, “So you are not sure? Is there anything I have done or said that would have you believe that might be true? “

He said, “No.”

I then asked, “Have you gone to check and see if there is a restraining order against me for Bob or anyone in this world?”

He said, “No.”

Two of my closest friends, Gary and Bryant.

I closed the conversation with, “I can assure you this is not true. You can check if you would like, but I have nothing more to say about it.”

I then stood up and began clearing the table. If he didn’t know that was it for me, and there would be no “us” then he wasn’t paying attention or just very dense. I have never talked to him again.

Working on the Galveston house. Eventually there was a bar in that newly cut window. Dad in the second bedroom helping install some paneling. This was a fun trip for both of us; we were able to have our porch discussions every night.

This was my dating life, ugh. It is a big ocean of men, but for me this is the type that seem to circle. I had another dating disaster that seemed okay at first. Then he came over one afternoon and when he left, I noticed all the prescription painkillers I had were gone from the medicine cabinet. Never heard from him again either.

Our group continued to go to Café Adobe on Monday nights and one night Greg had warned me there would be someone new joining us for dinner, but that is all he said. I thought to myself, “Greg is trying to set me up.” I make a point to not date within our friend group but if this is a new person to the group, I would consider it.

Mom and Dad standing on the seawall in Galveston
with the old Flagship Hotel behind them.

I arrived at the restaurant and found Greg and the young man sitting at the table alone. We were going to be a group of 10 to 12 people again, but we had arrived early. The young man was cute, and bubbly. I sat down and Greg introduced him, his name is Bryant, and he was Gary’s date this past weekend at the Mansion gathering I was not able to attend. He did let me know that he was Gary’s date this evening as well. I thought, okay Gary has the reputation of dating people for a very short time so Bryant will be available in a week or two. I will wait until I am sure they are not dating and then ask Bryant out myself and see if it goes anywhere.

Doesn’t this sound just like when I met Gary? It was very similar for me. Jumping forward a few years, Gary and Bryant continued to date and have become some of my closest friends. I find it very odd the only two people I considered dating within our group ended up together and are now married.

One of the bright spots of the year was when Mom and Dad would come visit. They were both retired, so they stayed at the Galveston house for two or three months each year. It was nice to have them so close, but a little difficult in that I had to go to Galveston every weekend. They didn’t have a car, so I needed to take them to the grocery store and any other running around they needed to do that required a car. There was a grocery store within walking distance of the house, but they were not able to carry all the groceries home. I didn’t mind for the most part, but it meant I was never home during the weekends while they were in Galveston.

During their visits I would drive to the island on Friday after work and stay until Sunday morning. We would go to dinner on Friday evening usually to Fishtails or Pier 21. They were Mom’s favorite restaurants. Saturday morning I would get up and get breakfast sandwiches and apple fritters from the Doughnut Palace, Dad’s favorite. We would then do all the running around we needed to, and Mom would prepare dinner for us that evening. Both Friday and Saturday nights after all was done, Dad and I would relax on the porch out front and talk about whatever came to our minds. I didn’t know how important and treasured those moments and talks would be.

Dad was funny at times. The house was located near several neighborhood bars, and he liked to go and have a drink in the afternoons. It got him out of the house, in a different setting, and he enjoyed it. There was one bar he had not been to and one afternoon he decided to try it. The bar was Lafitte’s, which was just a block away.

Mardi Gras was always fun in Galveston and my sister
Cheri and I spent a couple years participating.

During one of our nightly talks Dad said, “I was just sitting at the bar, and suddenly I noticed there are no women here. But I didn’t think that much of it.” He continued, “It was when I went to the bathroom and saw the graffiti on the wall said Michael loves Rob and a few others like that. When I went back to the bar, I overheard one of the guys tell another guy, I am going to have a zipper added to the back of my pants for easy access. That was when I knew I was in a gay bar.”

I asked him, “Did you leave?”

He said, “No! I wasn’t finished with my drink. Besides no one was bothering me, so it didn’t matter.”

I thought to myself, “Wow! I can’t believe Dad has fully crossed the bridge to embracing the fact there are people like me and we are okay!”

That was not the only gay themed conversation we had that winter. One night while we were sitting out on the porch, Dad was having his drink and I was drinking wine. He shared a concern he had for me.

The conversation began with him asking, “Do you remember Grandma and Grandpa’s neighbor, Fred Poole?”

I said, “Yes, I do. He used to come to the family gatherings Grandma and Grandpa had.”

Dad said, “That is right. He was at most of them. Fred was gay and had a boyfriend for as long as I could remember. They lived together as a couple and were Grandma and Grandpa’s best friends. They spent almost every weekend together cooking and playing cards. Suddenly Fred’s boyfriend got sick and died quickly and unexpectedly. No one knew he would go so quickly, and Fred was very upset.”

Dad said, “This is where my concern is. Fred met a young man soon after. A much younger man. I always thought Fred was well to do, not extremely wealthy, but he had plenty of money and if you remember his house, it was very nice.”

I said, “I do remember, and it was very nice and well kept.”

I had a great time during Mardi Gras in Galveston.

Dad agreed and then continued, “Fred felt he had to keep this younger man happy to stay with him, and the way to keep him happy was to give him the things he was asking for. New clothes, a car, traveling, whatever the kid asked for Fred purchased. In the end Fred ran out of money, had mortgaged his house to the point he could no longer afford it, and it was taken. The boyfriend left when the money ran out, and Fred ended up in a nursing home all alone. It was the one thing he didn’t want.” He was quiet for a second.

He finally said, “My concern is you will have the same experience. I am afraid you will meet someone much younger that will take you for everything you have worked for all your life and leave you penniless and all alone.”

It was upsetting to hear Dad tell that story. I tried to assure him that would not be me, but I don’t know how successful I was. This was one of the first times I clearly saw how concerned Dad was for me, and not only me but how he felt about all his kids. He didn’t share this of himself with us very often. Dad and I had so many great conversations like this. During those conversations I got to know him in a very different way. I also watched him evolve on so many issues, and not just the gay one. He was in his seventies by this time and still learning and letting the lessons in his life change him. It was amazing to watch.

Dad and I spent many evenings out on the porch of the Galveston house talking about all kinds of things. One evening Dad and I were out on the porch later in the day, and he told me about his time with my grandfather’s brother Uncle Alvie.

He began by saying, “Eugene and I would go to work on family farms during the summer growing months. Eugene went to work on Wilford and Bessie’s farm, and I would go work on Uncle Alvie’s farm. We did this for several years but the year I was seventeen everything changed.” I knew Uncle Alvie was gay, but Dad had never shared any stories about him. In fact, this was the first time I heard that he went to work on Uncle Alvie’s farm during the summer.

Dad continued, “The summer I was seventeen everything was going as it had in past years, but Uncle Alvie began to ask me to sleep in his bed with him. I found that very odd, I was perfectly comfortable sleeping on the cot that was in the dining room. At first, I said ‘No I am not going to do that’. Yet he continued to ask, and it got to where he was almost demanding it. I finally said ‘Okay!’ and one night I slept in the same bed as Uncle Alvie. Nothing ever happened, he slept on one side, and I slept on the other. I don’t know why he wanted me to do that. After that night he never asked me to sleep in the same bed with him again. To this day I don’t know why he wanted that.”

He continued, “When I got back home, I told Ma and Pa and they told me that Uncle Alvie was not fond of women, and he preferred the company of men. I didn’t know that, and I got really mad at Ma and Pa and asked them why did you let me go there and not tell me? I felt they had kind of thrown me to the dogs and they didn’t do anything to protect me. It was like I was their gift to Uncle Alvie. I stayed mad at them for a while but that was it for me. I never worked on Uncle Alvie’s farm again.”

Dad telling me this story helped me understand how he formed his opinion of gay people. Without knowing it, I helped him see me and gay people differently. That allowed him to evolve on the subject. At this point in time dad had no problem with gay people, but was still a little uncomfortable being around large groups of us. Eventually he would embrace some of my friends and treat them like family.

°°°

Two years have passed since Bob and I split, and suddenly it was 2005. During these years my friends and I traveled a lot, collecting memories along the way. None of my friends could have known just how big a year it would be for our group. 2005 was one of those years that had so many events happen that it changed the course of my life, and this was one of the biggest for me.

We started the year with our group of friends going to Cancun, Mexico, and there were a bunch of us going. It didn’t start out very well. Greg and Keith drove to my house, and we had hired a limousine from a friend of ours named Ron to take us all to the airport. When we were about halfway to the airport Greg asked me if I had my passport and I said no. I didn’t think I needed it to travel to Mexico. Greg said in his “you are too pretty or really stupid” tone, “Of course you do!” Great, not what I was expecting this morning. Ron dropped off Greg and Keith at the airport and took me back home, but he didn’t have time to take me back to the airport. On the way back to the house I called a cab to meet me and take me back.

This was the trip we were going to celebrate Greg and Keith’s 24th anniversary together. This trip included Greg, Keith, Gary, Tim, Aaron, me, and a few others. We stayed at a hotel that Greg and Keith stayed in many times. The hotel was either pay for extras such as food and drinks, or you could pay a fee per day, and it was all-inclusive. We of course chose the all-inclusive service which meant meals and drinks were prepaid. Greg and Keith had been to this hotel so often the entire staff knew them, including the staff in all the restaurants. When we went to a restaurant the staff knew what to bring and because we were on the all-inclusive plan the variety was amazing. We were having a blast, and I was having way too much wine!

Our day started with a late breakfast for all of us that wanted to be there. We then ended up at a bar (of course we did) that was part of the hotel but located on the beach. This bar had a line of swings on one side and a heated small pool on the other side. One morning we decided to play volleyball. It was fun, but we were all out of shape. It became funnier than dazzling. I will never forget our friend Aaron playing volleyball. He attempted to dive for the ball but ended up prone in the air and quickly fell to the ground in a huge puff of dust! I laugh every time I think of this.

Like I said too much wine for me! Great friends, Keith, Gary,
Greg, Mark and me having a great time at the beach bar.

I did go on one of my favorite tours of my life. On this day trip two of my very close friends Tim, Gary, and I decided to go tour Chichen Itza’s ruins. We were warned that the bus ride to the venue would be about two hours and there were no restrooms or stopping for relief breaks. It was not a problem for Gary and me, but poor Tim was in pain by the time we got to a place where he could use the restroom.

We got to the ruins, and the tour guide did a good job of taking us around and pointing out some of the more interesting parts of the campus. I was somewhat aware of the culture as the Aztec/Mayan culture was fascinating to me when I was in school. It was incredible walking on the same ground and among the ruins of their community. The main pyramid was still open for us to climb up the stairs, walk around the top, and then come down another set of stairs. So, the three of us decided to climb to the top. I was alarmed from the very beginning, the steps seemed to slant downward, and they were a bit slippery. The steps were also very shallow. My foot would not fit front to back on the step, I had to turn sideways to get my entire foot on the step. No problem, all of us got to the top of the steps.

Once we got to the top the view was amazing! The land there is very flat, so you could see for miles from the top of the pyramid. There was also a small room built of the same stone in the center of the top.

We were enjoying ourselves and then overheard a woman who was plastered against the wall of the building and asking, “Are they going to come up and get us down?”

Someone else told her, “No, you are going to have to get down on your own. There is no one to come and get you. If you need to sit down, scoot to the edge and then go down the steps one at a time while sitting.”

She was completely freaking out, but it was funny.

Taken while Gary, Tim and I were on top of the pyramid.

We finally had enough walking around, and it was time for us to walk down the steps. I began to walk over to the steps. I didn’t think I had an issue with heights, but I suddenly found myself with a little vertigo, okay…I felt my balance leave me. The steps were steep and as I walked up to where they were they were not visible so when you got to where you could see them it was alarming. I quickly became aware of what would happen if I had one misstep. A fall down these stairs would not be good, and how far are we from any medical care? Gary and I decided to take the advice we heard earlier and sat down to scoot down the steps. Tim on the other hand was not freaked out at all and began walking down the steps. Good for him, but I was doing this my way.

Tim got to the bottom when Gary and I were about halfway down. He turned to the two of us and said, “Gary, Lee! It is easy. Just turn sideways and walk down like a drag queen would.” Umm should I be embarrassed because he said this or because I knew what he was talking about? Both Gary and I stood up, turned a little sideways and stepped, cross stepped our way to the bottom where we all shared a good laugh. Needless to say, we attracted some attention. It was a great tour and trip overall.

Left: Tim and I on the steps coming down the pyramid. Right: Taken when
we were safely on the ground again. From left, me, Tim and Gary.

This trip came to an end, and we made our way back to Houston where our livers would have some time to recover. When we got back, I reached out to the group we now referred to as the “Mansion Men” and began the conversation and planning for Greg and Keith’s 25th anniversary. We were about a month into the planning when several of us received an email from Greg stating he and Keith were splitting up. I thought it was a joke and responded as if it was a joke, but Greg called me and assured me it was not. There was an issue that came up and the two of them decided the best thing for both of them was to go their separate ways. I was in shock as was our entire group! There are couples that you just can’t visualize apart, together those couples appear as one to everyone that know them, and Greg and Keith were one of “those couples.”

In our group there were several “rocks,” those people that grounded everyone, made the plans, and kept all of us together. Greg and Keith were two of them. Without them the Saturday night gatherings were in jeopardy, and so much more. That is selfish, but on the other side, two of my closest friends in this world were in a difficult place and would need my support. I managed to do a quick pivot away from my “poor me” and refocused on helping them.

At first, I felt I should try to see what could be done to keep them together, twenty-four years was a long time. Both Greg and Keith had come to my aid during some of the most difficult times in my life, and now it was time for me to step up and help them through this no matter what direction they decided to move in.

Our group of close friends was now about twenty people, with another ten to fifteen that were good friends who we just didn’t see as often. All of us were upset about the possibility of Greg and Keith splitting up, and we were scrambling to see what we could do to stop it. But they had decided, and there was nothing any of us could do. We all had to change directions and begin to help them settle into their lives apart. It was a struggle for them and us, and not without some drama.

Greg and I were close friends or best friends before all of this, but after they split-up we became closer. We did almost everything together, including going to some very scary bars. No complaints, whatever Greg needed I was going to be there. Even with the cloud of separation over us we still managed to have a lot of fun.

°°°

Our group went to Pensacola for Memorial Day weekend for several years, and this year was no different. Sadly, this year would be without our friends Greg and Keith. Even though Pensacola had been hit by a hurricane the year before we decided to go and suffer through the damage. There were fifteen of us going and I was one of the few single people in the group, so I was looking forward to the trip. We rented a house and my only requirement was that I have a bedroom to myself. I agreed to pay extra so no one traveling with us would have a problem with it. Everyone was very supportive and agreed without my having to pay more.

The day came for us to leave, and we were going to car caravan from Houston to Pensacola. Everyone met at Gary and Bryant’s house early in the morning, and we decided who would ride with whom. I was riding with Corey in his pickup truck, and there were five other vehicles. We made it to Pensacola in record time with very few potty breaks.

The rented house was nice, but Pensacola Beach was still a mess. Most of the houses around us had not been restored, and sand was covering a lot of the debris. It was dicey walking around because you didn’t know what was just below the surface of the sand. My room was separate from the rest of the house, and you had to go outside to get to it from the main house. It was not a problem, just kind of weird. I felt more separated than I expected to be, but I was okay with it.

We all got settled in and shortly after lunch we went to visit friends that also rented a house, but theirs was on the beach and much nicer. The area around their house had been cleaned up more than the area around the house we were in. We were all out on the deck enjoying the beautiful day, the wonderful weather, and the view of the Gulf.

Friends Greg, Tim and Gary.

Steve, one of the guys staying in the other house said, “Lee you can settle a disagreement for us. How old are you?” My first thought was why in the hell are you all talking about me or my age?

I responded, “I am 51 years old.”

Right after Steve said to the rest of the group, “There. I told you I was not the oldest person here. “

My thought was, at least no one actually knew, they had to ask me. No real big deal, but I am already thinking I am a fifty something, balding guy, none of which is a good thing when you are gay. I have never had an issue being single, and still didn’t. But at this age, I still wanted to be attractive.

We left our friends house and started to get ready to go to dinner. We all were assigned a car and I rode to the restaurant with Corey and one other person. Dinner was a lot of fun. We always have great conversation, plenty of laughs and poking fun at each other. Once we finished dinner several of us had to use the boy’s room before our drive home. I was trying to be kind and let all of those waiting proceed before I did. I finally got my chance and did what I had to and walked out of the restroom to the parking lot. When I got out to the parking lot it looked like several of our group had left already. I continued to look around the parking lot for any of our group’s cars but quickly asked myself, are they all gone? As I looked around, I thought, I know those bitches did not leave me here! I went into the shop next door to see if anyone was in there waiting for me, nope no one. I went back to the parking lot and looked for any of the cars from our group and confirmed…those bitches DID leave me here!

I was pissed and felt even more invisible than I had thought I was. Sinking into my own sense of “not worthiness” I began to convince myself that even in my own group of friends I was invisible. Not one of them knew I was not with them. I tried talking myself out of the self-pity by telling myself once they got back to the house one or more of them would realize I was not there and come back for me. I waited for several minutes, but no one showed up. I finally decided they were not going to come pick me up. For that to happen one of them would have to realize I was not there. I began the walk back to the house still believing someone would come along and pick me up. How wrong could I be! Not one of them realized I was not there and none of those bitches came to pick me up!

The walk back was not that far, but I was wearing what we called “lady slides,” the type of shoe you just slide your foot into, no toe separation. Lady slides and the fact the sidewalks in most of the walk had not been cleared made it a difficult walk. I did get back to the house and stuck my head in the door of the main house. There were only a few people there as all the others had gone back to the house our friends were staying in. I just closed the door went to my room and went to bed.

The next morning, I was woken up by a knocking on my door. I stuck my head out and they asked me if I wanted to go to breakfast with them. I said, no and closed the door and heard them leave. I got in the shower and got ready for the morning. I did notice that I had huge blisters on the bottom of both my feet from the walk the night before. I went into the main house and sat around talking to those that did not go to breakfast. I did share with them I had been left at the restaurant and had to walk home. I also showed them the blisters on the bottom of my feet and expressed my concern about walking in the sand and the risk of getting an infection. All this setting the stage for me to leave.

I was not having a good time, I felt kind of alone and again transparent. I felt I could sit at home with all my comfort stuff around me. I didn’t say anything to anyone, but I went back to my room and began to call some travel companies. I finally called Sears and they offered one-way rental cars. I had not thought of that, but it would work for me. I arranged for them to deliver a car. I wrote a note to everyone explaining my position and about an hour later the car showed up. There were some people at the house but most of them were still gone. I said goodbye to those that were there, hopped in the car and left.

I called Greg and let him know what was driving home and asked if he could meet me at the Sears location in Houston where I was dropping off the car and he agreed to. I did get several calls from my friends asking me to return and apologizing for leaving me, but by that time I was already in Louisiana and not going to turn around. Part of me felt bad for taking this action, but I knew I would not be able to have a good time. I would bring the entire mood down, and I didn’t want that either.

I got home and life went back to normal, but my friends were all mortified by what happened. I tried as much as possible to put it behind me. One of the craziest things that happen in life is that people will impose certain things on you as if you earned them or wanted them. Treating me like an older man was one of them. I didn’t feel old, I was more active than most of the people in my circle, I was in really good physical shape, and getting better but at the same time I had a clear sense of how I was being viewed by others. I felt the limits people would place on me, and even though I knew it was not on purpose or meant to be demeaning in any way, it was, and I still felt it. I am not going to let the limits others would impose, purposeful or not, become my limits. I needed to get to work and put myself back together.

°°°

While all of this was going on, Greg and I continued hanging out more and more. We were already great friends, but this cemented our friendship in a whole new way. I always knew I could count on him, and now he was seeing he could count on me in the same way. He was having a difficult time adjusting to life on his own, but each week it was getting better. The owner of “the Mansion” where we were having Saturday night parties also had a travel agency. Greg found a cruise through him he wanted to go on, and asked if I wanted to join. I was all about it! I had not been on a cruise in decades, and this would be a trip I could really enjoy. We made our plans and were scheduled to leave for a week in the following July, just a couple months away.

About this same time, NBC's the TODAY Show host Matt Lauer aired a segment about men’s hair replacement. My hair had all but disappeared by this time, and I had never thought about replacement. But the story was compelling, and the results I was seeing in the segment looked like something that would work for me. I also believed my lack of hair was contributing to people seeing me as older than I actually was.

Greg and Keith in better days. Two people that changed
the course of so many lives, including mine.

I contacted a hair replacement company and made an appointment to go see them. I was surprisingly very nervous when I showed up for the appointment, but there I was sitting in the office listening to these ladies talking to me about my options. They said I did not have enough hair to move it around, so the only option would be a hairpiece. I had already prepared myself for this option, and in fact, that would not have been my preference.

In the past I thought a hairpiece was something everyone could tell and whisper behind your back, and I wasn’t into it. I didn’t want a piece that looked obvious. I shared with them my concern and explained I only wanted something that no one would know was a hairpiece. The people that knew me at this point of course would know. One day I was bald and the next time they saw me I have a full head of hair? Of course, they would know. Other than that, I didn’t want anyone to realize. They assured me there has been significant progress in hairpieces and no one I didn’t tell would know. I sat with them for longer than I had planned and decided to move forward.

Left: Taken shortly before I went in to get my hair piece. The “before” photo.
Right: Taken on the cruise, the “after” photo. People said I looked 15 years younger.

It was expensive. I had to pay an initial flat fee in the thousands. I was okay with that and signed the agreement. My piece would be in and ready just before the cruise with Greg. Before this change I felt I had to let some people know so all my family, friends, and the people I worked closely with I told. The day finally came. It was a Friday, and the following Sunday I would leave on the cruise, so the timing worked out perfectly. I would leave work with one look, have a week to adjust, and then return to work with a fresh more youthful look.

I went into the hair salon, and they were ready. They put the piece on me, and I was surprised at how long it was. I was okay with that because I like my hair longer. I asked them not to cut it too short, but they did anyway. I was surprised at how unnatural the hairline looked.

I asked, “I thought the hairline was going to be more natural looking?”

She said, “Not on these permanent pieces. We have to make them to last so the hair line is more dense.”

I thought that is not at all what was said when I signed up. It was too late, and I couldn’t turn back now. They put the piece on and tried to style it. What a mess! I could do better than that.

I left the hair salon not sure what to make of all of this. I did like the new look but there were areas of serious concern. For some reason if the wind blew at all it found the separation between my hair and the piece and the seam was very obvious. After all I liked it and was happy I did this. However, I was not happy with how some of my questions were answered. I know their goal was to sell hairpieces, but the misinformation provided only caused me to question everything they were telling me. This piece did not have a natural looking hairline, and they did not vary their styles when they did the cut in. The cut of my piece looked just the same as every other guy I saw walking into or out of the place.

There was more, I realized this piece would not last forever, so I asked about it. They said that this was considered a permanent piece, and it should last me for years. My confidence in what they say was shattered at this point, so the visual in my mind was a mesh piece with three or four hairs still attached three years from now. They went on to tell me about a “system” that I could subscribe to. There were several levels of the “system” and she explained them all. They ranged from around $100.00 per month to about $750.00 per month. Each of them has a different quality of hair and base. I chose the one that was $400.00 per month. That meant that six times a year I would get a new piece, and six times a year they would remove my piece, clean it and reattach it. I also went in every other week to have my hair cut. This was more than I was ready for, but at this point I wanted to have hair again. According to one of my friends this hair took 15 years off my life. I liked that a lot!

Greg and I left on our cruise, and he and I shared a lot of laughs about how I had to work around this new piece. In fact, he agreed to be brutally honest with me about how it looked. I was very aware of it and was constantly concerned about it looking natural. I think I pulled it off for the most part, but I could immediately tell when someone suspected it was a piece. Their eyes would go to my hair, and they would stare. Don’t think I am going to do any explaining, I am not!

The cruise ended, and I had to go back to work. The first time I walked into the office I was nervous for some reason. It was strange. I had not felt like that in a very long time. One of the comments that the hairdresser said was that most people will think you dyed your hair. I didn’t believe her, but sure enough the first comment I got was, “Did you color your hair?” I just said, “Yes,” and left it at that.

These photos were taken on our cruise and are still favorites of mine.
They hang over my desk to this very day.

The first group event I was going to attend was at the home of Tim and Aaron. I was nervous, this was the first time my group of friends were going to see me with my new hair. I didn’t know how they would respond. As a group we can be pretty brutal with our comments and my fear was something would be said that would cause me to question my decision. Gary must have sensed this, and he reached out to everyone and told them it didn’t matter what they thought of it, they were to be supportive of my decision and the only comments should be positive. That is exactly what happened. I don’t think in all honesty anyone would have been unkind in their remarks even if they didn’t like it, but it was very heartwarming to know Gary did that for me. That is what and why the friendship and comradery within our group is so special.

I could not have imagined the difference having hair would make, but it sure did. I was no longer invisible. I was getting attention, and from people I was interested in. I was having fun again! Not only was I having fun, but so was Greg. A couple of months after returning from our cruise he met Dennis. They began dating and soon after they were a couple. I could not have been happier for both of them. It was sad to see Greg and Keith separate. They had always been such a huge part of my life, but they were finding their way on their own. I had to support them in what was next for them.

°°°

So here I found myself, in my fifties, and still single. I was no longer as invisible as I felt a few months earlier, and I was dating once again. As I look back over my life, I have been fortunate to have been in three long-term relationships that changed me in unexpected ways. I was with Devon in my twenties, a time of personal growth and development in a social environment that was new to me. This relationship also kept me out of the dating scene during the initial incubation of the AIDS virus.

Roger was in my thirties, and my second long relationship that got me through a transitional time in my professional life. Had it not been for Roger and the connections made with his friends, I may not have been put on the professional path I ended up on. Finally, I was with Bob during my forties. Our personal life together was amazing for six and a half years. It was only the last few months that were not good for us. We accomplished more together than we could have expected or could have on our own. I have memories that separate me from most people because of our time together. All three of those relationships were good until the very end. I refuse to measure them by the few months there at the last when we were not getting along or in the process of separating. I had years of good times with each of them.

Now in my fifties I expected that was that. I was resigned to being single for the rest of my life, but that was not a bad thing. I remember when Devon and I split up I was in my early thirties, and even then, I thought I would be single for the rest of my life. When Roger and I split up in my forties I once again thought the same thing. In both cases I met someone and began a new chapter in my life. Maybe that could happen again, but I decided to not search for it frantically like so many I knew. If it was meant to be…but for the moment, I was facing my life as a single man and happy about it. I felt ready to write the next chapter of whatever my amazing life was going to bring.