London gay life in the 1980s.
While I wasn’t in London at the time, I did start going to gay clubs while still in high school in 1981. This isn’t exactly my history but it’s not unlike my history.
London gay life in the 1980s.
While I wasn’t in London at the time, I did start going to gay clubs while still in high school in 1981. This isn’t exactly my history but it’s not unlike my history.
While taking my 88 year old mom for her daily walk around the block today we ran into a Mocking bird that must have been nesting. We know this because of the fit of fury we witnessed as we passed by the tree where it was hanging out. Territorial little buggers they are with that ever so distinctive song. Hearing the mockingbirds’ chatter I was reminded of a favorite tune that just happens to be the…
Originally released in 1974, this Carly Simon duet with her then husband James Taylor is woven into the fabric that is me. It is one of those songs that is the soundtrack that is my life.
Carly Simon & James Taylor – Mocking Bird – performed for the MUSE No Nukes concert 1979
Amazing performance. Notice Carly’s lack of shoes!
If my early 1980’s boom box cassette player had turned up to 11, like it should have, it would have been on 11 instead of it’s meager 10 as I blasted this tune during my move into my Pi Kappa Phi Fraternity house. I was a freshman and had just made it through rush and initiations.
My high school buddy Robert was moving in at the same time and we luckily got rooms right across the hall from each other. I remember Robert and I singing this 10 year old tune in the hallway as it vibrated the walls of my room as it’s beat spilled into the hallway where we stood. I handed him an ice cold bottle of Old Milwaukee beer as we congratulated each other for making the cut. We were no longer high school buds but actual fraternity brothers. Our bottles clanked together to mark the occasion.
Funny that we didn’t fully grasp it’s story, but we loved it anyhow.
Lola – The Kinks – Beat Club 1972
I was but a young pre-pubescent boy in the summer 1975 as I swam the pool at Hollow Creek Swim Club a few blocks from my home. I was usually there with my older brother, he would hang with his buddies as they all flirted with the girls. I would swim the pool, practice dives in the triple diving well and search for dropped treasures lost to the bottom of the pool . Once in a great while I would even work up the courage to try the high dive in the middle.
Hollow Creek was a popular and busy place on those hot southern summer days. I was a loner though. Younger than most of the crowd and felt different. All the boys were older and busy trying to impress the girls. I was busy looking at the boys.
Especially one boy. My brother’s friend Jimmy’s friend Kurt. Kurt was cute and Kurt would actually let me hang with him some as he chatted up the girls. He made me feel welcome and included. I realize today, that since I was younger, I was a prop to get the conversation started with the girls. It didn’t matter then because I loved being around him and close to him. It doesn’t matter today because I fondly remember being included and having my first man crush.
Hollow Creek had a jukebox located at the snack bar and the music was piped out to the pool via a couple of those white bullhorn shaped outdoor speakers popular in the 1970s. That summer’s hottest love song was 10cc ‘s “I’m Not in Love”. To this day I don’t hear it without immediately thinking of that community swimming pool, the taste of an ice cold Dreamsicle from the snack bar and of Kurt’s handsome teenage smile.
10 cc – I’m Not In Love – 1975
The young boy I was that summer felt different. He knew he would always like boys. He knew he’d never feel the way about girls that he was supposed to feel about girls because he felt that for boys. That boy was a loner and frankly was scared of the unknown and scared he would be found out. He was scared that he would never fit in and would always be lonely. Yet that young boy loved life and hoped that one day he would either change and feel like other people, or maybe, just maybe one day he would find one other boy who was like him.
That young boy today is a full grown man who is happily married to wonderful husband and he just filled out his presidential primary mail in ballot for March 3rd Super Tuesday. On that ballot he voted for another man, who like him, was different as a boy and today is happily married to another wonderful man.
If I could say one thing to that boy it would be to keep being just who you are because one day not only will you find love, you will also learn to appreciate all the differences that make up a beautiful world.
Oh, and you will find others who are just like you.
Taking a short break from daily pride post we reminisce back to 1975 when I was but a youth and Fearsome wasn’t quite yet peach fuzz. It was about this time that I started to discover my preference for male affection. Listening to music such as ZZ Top I was able to bond with older males (teenagers, and to not get any parties in a wad …that I wasn’t having sex with) who’s attention I desired.
Tush was a favorite. Listening to it today I realize it’s also a blues masterpiece.
It was late December as my birthday was approaching number of years ago in the late 1990s, I was starting to pack for a weekend away to Palm Springs to celebrate the passing of another year. While I was packing my Better Half walked into the room with an envelope. He handed it to me and said “I think you had better open this as it may help you pack.”
I opened the envelope to find a round trip ticket to my favorite city on earth, Paris. We would be leaving in 48 hours. Wow, what a surprise! A week in Paris, a week in Paris the first week of January. Yeah, I guess the bathing suits I was packing weren’t going to be useful for this trip.
I had only been to Paris once before but it had already secured that special place in my heart that it still holds today. My first trip there had only been probably some 18 months before. On that trip it was high tourist season. Getting even close to Notre Dame was almost impossible on that first trip. However I remember my first glimpse of that imposing structure that was also one of the most beautiful works of art I had even seen. Still to this day I can feel my breath leave my body as I turned the corner to look up and see it’s magnificence.
I was transported to another time. I knew this beauty. I knew this cathedral like I knew the back of my hand. I knew deep inside of me, having never even paid attention to photos much less studying anything about it, that I had been there before. Whether it was some dream or maybe a past life experience I’ll never know, but I had been here. I knew her grandiosity to the point of intimate comfort. I could not wait to get inside to re-visit the interior that I knew so well. However this story isn’t about that trip. That was the first trip there. The trip where I actually laid eyes on a familiar place for the first time. The first time at least in this lifetime.
This trip, this special trip that the man who would one day be my legal husband gave me as a birthday present, was in the dead of winter. Turns out tourists don’t go to Paris in the dead of winter, or at least not the first week of January. It was cold but it was magnificent. It was the two of us freezing Southern Californians and a city with its doors wide open and no one in our way.
We walked right up to the ticket counter at the Eiffel Tower, with not a soul in line to buy a ticket, and walked right up to step onto an elevator. An elevator all the way to the top with only two others aboard. We walked into The Louvre only to walk right up to the Mona Lisa, when before we couldn’t even get into the room where the Mona Lisa was. We walked right into the magnificent work of art that is Notre Dame and spent hours enveloped in the beauty, history and majesty that I adored. I adored not only from my previous trip but knew from some other time, some other experience that was still a mystery to me. We walked right over to the corner, where we previously may have had to wait outside in line all day to even hopefully possibly access, only to take our first step into her infamous towers and walk right up to the top.
Seeing Paris from The Eiffel Tower is incredible. Seeing Paris from the towers of Notre Dame is life changing.
While driving to the gym today, a treasured song from my past found it’s way from the satellite airwaves through my car speakers onto my eardrums. As my tympanic membranes vibrated to the rhythms, and the vestibulochoclear nerve impulses transferred the information to my brain, my emotions became full of overwhelm. The flood of sadness, grief, warmth, joy, hope, gratitude and rage resulted in a stream of mixed emotional tears into the softness of Fearsome Beard.
Memories enveloped me.
I’m a survivor. I never contracted the HIV virus.
I graduated high school as a very sexually active young homosexual male. I had a ball. I even attended an all night orgy the night before my high school graduation. It was the early 1980s after all and I was a young adult. I was 18. I was one of 4 students who spoke on that graduation day before our class of 500 students. I give you, my dear reader, such a graphic example for a reason.
There was an unknown threat surrounding us males of the homosexual persuasion. A threat unknown to any of us. Even unknown to men 10, 20, 30 or more years my senior.
Apparently sometime during the sexual revolution of the 1970s a virus had turned up in our population. An undetected virus that was just about to reach a critical mass infection that would soon wreak havoc on our community.
We didn’t know. We had fun. We loved. We partied. We fucked.
Love is Love is Love is Love.
It was then. It is today. Yet then we had no idea what was about to happen, and then it did happen.
Those rare cases of an immune deficiency ticked up. They ticked up in the gay community of the U.S. and suddenly we had a syndrome. It was first named GRID. Gay Related Immune Deficiency they called it. GRID was rare. GRID was seen only in large cities. GRID didn’t affect us in smaller towns. Yet it was there, we just didn’t know it yet.
Keep in mind this was the early to mid 1980s. Safe sex wasn’t yet a known practice. Gay men didn’t use condoms. Two men can’t get pregnant. No one yet knew that the virus was spreading nor how it was spreading.
As this virus did spread it showed up in a few other populations, but not in the numbers it did amoung gay men. Researchers soon discovered that it was transmissible, probably from a virus, and thus it was acquired. The name changed to AIDS or Aquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. It was still rare, but starting to scare us. Then it started to happen. People around me started to get sick.
One of my favorite sexual partners, Jerry, came down with it. Jerry was 38, I was probably 20. Jerry was in his prime. Jerry was succesful, owned several homes and was stunningly handsome. Jerry became very ill. I was scared. I went to visit Jerry. He was thin, pale, had wierd dark cancerous spots on his skin and was short of breath. Jerry looked like hell. He offered me a drink. I said I wasn’t thirsty. I was actually afraid I would catch it from the glass. I couldn’t wait to leave. I never saw Jerry alive again.
Within about 5 years of the night of that orgy celebrating my high school graduation, with the exception of me, every single other person that was there had died. I can still see each of their faces and remember each of their names.
The 1980s for me was a war zone. It wasn’t “if” I would catch AIDS and die, it was when.
In 1990 I fell in love and moved away. Far away. Even though I moved far away, that virus was still here on the west coast. I never contracted that virus. I still haven’t today. I don’t know why I didn’t as I was never, nor did I ever become, no angel. Today the virus is called HIV. The deadly disease that is a result of HIV is AIDS.
My flood of emotion was gratitude that I am here. Gratitude that I ain’t never contracted HIV. Gratitude that I knew those wonderful men I lost, who were not only sexual partners, but mentors and friends. Grateful I loved. Grateful that I could hear Bruce Springsteen’s words. Grateful I could feel. That I could feel all the emotions pouring from me of grief, sadness, love, anger, joy, warmth, disappointment, hope, fear, gratitude and rage.
Fearsome Beard absorbed my tears. I made my way into the gym as a healthy, grateful, loving, kind and hopeful 50 something gay man. A man who was now far removed from the 1980s and far removed from the origin and experiences of the song and memories that had just overwhelmed me.
I will never forget those men whom I lost. I will never forget the times I went through. I’ll never forget the joy, laughter and tears. Those men and those experiences made me who I am today. I look forward to what is to come. I am forever grateful.
I love life. I love who I am. I have been blessed. I am blessed.
Because I need this today.
Sometime about 1981 a young impressionable homosexual of somewhere near 18 years of age (maybe not quite due to a really good fake ID) excitedly awaited his first drag show at his local gay discotheque. He was sitting on the floor laughing with several new gay friends and sipping cheap draft beer. The bright lights shimmered off of the sparkly fabric of the backdrop as the Emcee announced the opening act.
Carolyn Sue Wilson took the stage in her best Diana Ross drag. As she expertly lypsynced this very tune, that young impressionable homosexual had found his home amoungst friends. He was no longer afraid and alone. He was part of.
Drag queens did that for us back then. Hell, they still do that for us outcasts today. Drag, at least for me, has always been inclusive. Drag is beautiful. Drag is accepting. Drag is outrageous. Drag is fun. Drag spreads love. Drag exudes acceptance.
That old gay dance club was a haven for this young impressionable homosexual. The memories of that club have always brought me comfort. That club helped me to realize I was inherently good. I was part of humanity and not some freak to be thrown away for no good.
I made many friends at that club. Many of those friends faded away. Many died from the terrible plague we shared in the 1980s. Several of them are still with me to this day. Lifelong friends whom I love dearly.
Wherever Carolyn Sue Wilson is today, I dedicate this post to her. Thank you Carolyn, you always made me feel part of. You always shared a smile and gave this young homosexual the love and acceptance he needed. You girl -were and still are- The Boss.
So am I.
Make Your Own Kind of Music featuring Mama Cass
I know I’ve featured it before. However this song, and especially this mix, is always worth a reblog. I ran into it today and it just makes me feel good.
Go ahead, hit play and tap a toe or two…
I first heard this mix on a dance floor at a mid 1990’s circuit party in Los Angeles. I’ve since taken a twirl on many a dance floor to this favorite mix from San Francisco to the outside pool deck dance floor under the stars on an all gay cruise in the Caribbean and anywhere I heard it in between.
While sitting with the family (mom, the better half, two nieces and mom-n-dad in law) tonight having dinner at our favorite local Jewish Deli, a familiar tune was heard in the background music as we talked and laughed. One of my favorite summer tunes from 1977.
I hit puberty sometime right about when this song was released and I remember singing it and thinking of whichever boy crush I was having at the specific moment I was singing it. I never actually imagined that I could be with a boy, I just wanted to be with one. It was 1977 after all, and in a small southern town.
I think I’ll Listen to this one all weekend. Rita Coolidge, you knocked this one out of the park.
Higher & Higher
You go Janet!
It was another of my regular Saturday nights out at the local gay disco in 1986, a disco called The Park. That cute guy I had met last weekend was out with me. His name you ask? Well like most really cute one, two or three weekend stands from that era of my life his name escapes me. However he was hot, or at least my memory says he was. One thing I do know for sure is that he was just slightly taller than I, he had dark hair and he could dance.
The mix of familiar pulsing music had us sweaty from a seemingly endless twirl on the dance floor. We took a break and stood in line to grab a couple cold draft Budweisers (it was the 80’s after all) when the pulse of music paused and the first few percussion beats of this new tune followed by those now familiar twinkle notes enveloped us. He screamed in his best queen for that moment voice “Oh my god, we have to get back out there! It’s Janet’s new song!” And the beers were forgotten as we lost ourselves back out on that dance floor to what would become one of may favorite all time Janet tracks.
What happened to that cute guy I’ll never know, but when I hear this tune I think of him…and when I think of him I smile.
Yesterday Fearsome and I had the privilege and honor to meet and talk to television groundbreaking inspiration Nichelle Nichols, AKA Lt. Uhura of Star Trek.
Turned into a pull
And another pull
Then another tug
By now we are both laughing hysterically as is her assistant
Another pull and more laughter
A Tug and then
Her other hand begins to rise
A Vulcan Salute with a tug
Then a hug
Followed by a final Vulcan Salute
She adored Fearsome and wouldn’t let go of him. I adored her. A beautiful, beautiful woman.
As seen in my hand in the photos:
A priceless moment.
This tune has always been a Fearsome favorite from way back when he was just a bushy porn star ‘stache.
Happy Weekend y’all!
Growing up in the 1960’s & 70’s childhood is easily defined by top 40 hits we listened to on our AM transistor radios.
Often just the first few bars of a tune from the period I can tell you who I was with, where I was and even familiar scents of the season in the air.
In the spring of 1974, two years after my elementary school was integrated, I can remember Cheryl getting me into a Soul Train line during recess just outside of the cafeteria as we danced through the line to this familiar, and now cherished, tune. Springtime brought with it the familiar fragrances of newly cut grass mixed with the scent of the freshly fried foods emitting from the cafeteria.
Integrated schools? Yes I am a child of segregation. My hometown had white and black schools until 1972. I was young and I thought it wonderful to have my new friends. Friends who were excited to join us, had rhythm and loved to dance. We had a ball with these new friends.
To this day I still don’t truly understand why segregation happened and why integration was so resisted. I’m grateful that during my young life that progressive values toward better living, acceptance and understanding cane to fruition. It’s our job to keep marching forward no matter what obstacles lie in our way.
Jocelyn Brown’s famous grove from 1984…
And she won’t no ‘no talent’ studio enhanced 1984 diva ‘cause honey she is still got it sum 30 years later…
Back in 1984 Fearsome was but a big fat dark brown porn star ‘stache and I a handsome lean blonde haired aerobics instructor. This tune in it’s original version was a staple for a killer abdominal workout grove. Honey her tune worked us and we worked her tune.
Well today we wonder if perhaps He’s Somebody Else’s Beard.
As far as the movie goes, I wasn’t very familiar. We rented the movie on iTunes and watched it during the Academy Awards Show since it was a nominee. Wasn’t a flick I really had an interest in seeing.
Then again the universe works as it should and I watched it. Beautiful film of innocence, love and understanding.
But then there is this:
I haven’t been moved by a piece of music like this in a long while. The movie awakened many a distant memory and revived many a treasured emotion. It’s theme song, this song, reminds me to be forever grateful for all the love that has ever touched my life. Love that lasted, love that was lost, love that maybe never came to be and even Love that hurt.
Mystery of Love – Sufjan Stevens (Call Me By Your Name)
I’ve decided to add the Academy Award performance of this beautiful tune that I missed while watching the film.
Have a wonderful day!
Dont get me wrong, my childhood wasn’t horrible. In fact it was pretty good.
But a pretty good childhood doesn’t erase the scars of sexual molestation and abuse that were endured during that childhood.
What is your earliest memory? I hope yours is a good one.
Unfortunately mine isn’t. Stop reading now if you are offended by violence or descriptions of child abuse or sexualization of the underaged.
Still here? If you are just be prepared.
I was crying, naked and hiding. I was scared. I was between the bed and the wall trying to not be found. I was holding a stuffed toy or a blanket. I felt terror.
I screamed as the faceless male pulled me from my hiding place. No one heard my scream except my attacker. I remember blood and pain from my rear end. I remember tears and I remember fear. I don’t remember anything else. I don’t remember who it was.
That is my earliest memory. I know now I was being molested, most likely raped.
The only thing I know about my abuser is it was a male. The rest is blacked out. I’ve never been able to picture his face.
Was this the first time I was sexually abused? I haven’t a clue.
It’s just my first memory. Memory was still spotty for a while after that.
Was it the last time I was sexually abused? No it was not.
During my teen years, starting about 13, I was repeatedly molested by three different males. Two of them were my teachers, one was a trusted neighbor. One I continued having sex with until I was about 17.
…..oh and all three were “straight men”….and one even gave me a constant supply of drugs to keep me coming back.
Oh, and each of these three convinced me I wanted and needed them. Two of them worked their way from suggestive petting to full blow sex.
The other just heavily petted, described what he wanted, told me what he thought I wanted, fondled me through my clothes. He seemed to get off on his verbal graphics and heavy petting without fully completing the act. He actually made me feel the dirtiest and most violated. Yes he repeated this behavior multiple, multiple times. He taught a class I needed to pass.
Why did it happen? Why is it affecting me now?
Yesterday I lost it. I broke apart. In front of a sister-in-law and in front of my mother-in-law I lost it. I threw a ham across the room after I opened the refrigerator and found it leaking all over. I then threw left over spaghetti sauce and a thawing turkey both onto the counter and against a wall, then I blacked out into a crying heap on the floor.
I remember The Better Half getting me up and walking to get me to the bedroom. I remember tears and hyperventilating. I remember being numb.
I’m still numb this morning. The pain in my two injured shoulders is more than I can bear. I’m eating Motrin & Tylenol. I hurt all over.
I have, however, had an epiphany. I just saw the news and I suddenly remembered the news was on when I had my breakdown. I remember seeing the report that the current resident of the White House had just endorsed the senate candidate from Alabama who is accused of molesting underaged girls.
Could it be? Did I fall victim to my own experience upon hearing the news that the current White House resident endorsed a child molester? Endorsed a child molester just because he is republican?
Can anger come to full rage causing a full breakdown after news such as this? I think so.
Abusing children is wrong. A big part of my life struggle is to make sense of why others would hurt me, or any child, to accomplish their own pleasure.
Did the leader of our country just endorse an accused abuser of children? He endorsed abuser accused by more than one? He endorsed a person who stole the innocence of children for his own pleasure, just for political gain and party loyalty?
Yes, the acting leader of our country endorsed an accused, by more than one, child molester for political party gain. Yes, and I went into full breakdown. Yes my life experience and PTSD got the best of me and overcame my serenity and almost my sanity.
How do I recover? How do I get better after a full blown breakdown?
I start by writing this post.
Child molestation is wrong. It is wrong period.
The scars I have hurt. May they, from this day forward, only make me stronger. I was a victim. Today I’ll be a survivor.
Today I will speak out. I will speak up.
Today I will take a step out of the darkness.
Always in a rush to get out the door, I would run up the stairs from my basement bedroom to quickly sit at the corner kitchen table and wolf down the two eggs with bacon and toast Mom had just cooked to order. Then I’d quickly grab a shower, spike the blonde hair, get dressed, grab my homework, finished or not, and run out to my pickup. I had to be on time as I usually had several friends to pick up on the way to school.
Upon turning the ignition, the under the dash slide in cassette player would start and the beats would pulse out the windows as I bolted out of the driveway. Cathy was almost always the first stop. I’d park on the gravel pull off beside her house and honk the horn like any self respecting rude to the neighbors teenager would at 7 am. If I was on top of my game her favorite morning tune would start playing as she crossed the threshold screaming back at her nagging mother on her way out to her daily ride.
From there it was usually off to grab Debbie, Adam, Eric and sometimes a couple others. There was laughter, singing, bitching, gossip and cigarettes. All of us smoked and we had to get those smokes in on the way. Thank god the back had a camper shell and padded shag carpet so there was pleanty of room.
Speeding into the parking lot we would come to a halt just out past the gym near the practice field. Brian would usually be right behind us in his 1972 Yellow Mach 1. Nearby the stoners would be getting their last toke in for the first period buzz. Debbie would grab one more cigarette. I’d lock up the truck and head over to the yearbook staff room to see what was up before first period geometry.
Today it all seems so simple. Then it seemed so big. I think of it and smile. I fill with gratitude.
This’ll get our weekend started!
1984 Jocelyn Brown Somebody Else’s Guy
1984…I couldn’t even legally buy liquor. My friend Kiki kept asking me to shave off young Fearsome because she liked my chin. I could be found every Friday, Saturday and Sunday evening on the dance floor at my local gay disco, The Park. I was in an on and off again relationship with my first lover (usually off was with “somebody’s else’s” guy…sometimes the “somebody else” was another guy and sometimes a woman). I was an aerobics instructor and I made my first ever trip to Ft. Lauderdale Florida.
While criusing the A1A along the beach in Ft Lauderdale and listening to this very tune, in a black T-Top Trans Am mind you, I remember looking at the ocean front condo buildings thinking “My, those people must be rich”. Today we own a couple of those very condos.
Dreams, they really do come true.
The tune still makes me dance. Enjoy!