Author: phoyle

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.” He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com
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Just Don’t Flaunt It by Betsy

The question “What Makes Homophobes Tick?” put in generic terms might read: “What drives human beings to hate or fear other human beings?” That to me is the basic question here. A secondary question is: what drives a hating person to act on that hatred?

Looking into my own heart, soul, and mind the answer that comes to me is that people hate because of fear and their feelings of insecurity about themselves and their power–however great or small that power may be. Power is perceived as control. So the threat of losing power can be potentially very frightening as it means one might lose control of his life.

Homosexuality historically has posed a threat to the established institutions of our society without which we would have chaos, not order, say the homophobes. For example, threaten the traditional family and you upset the family power structure. Threaten the traditional religious beliefs in society and you upset the power structure of the church–not only the church but power structure of the state as well which is based on principles of Christianity–and also you upset the power structure of the culture in general which threatens the power structure in the home and the workplace.

There it is again. It’s in our face every day. What is behind most conflicts old and new? So often it is our religious beliefs and religious institutions at the root of our conflicts. Take a look at history. Most wars have been waged in the name of a religious belief. Take a look at the evening news. Most of the conflicts going on right now have some basis in religion. Does anyone think this pleases God? I don’t. The beliefs and institutions that are the source of the conflicts are not God’s. They are the creation and contrivances of human beings. Everyone knows this. But the hate mongers forget it and they refuse to be reminded because it does not serve their purposes.

We hear this all the time from homophobes: “The Bible says…” these words are followed by a perfectly quoted verse from the old or new testament. Most homophobes I have known are religious fundamentalists who reference the Bible whenever they have a need to defend their stance. But it seems they reference only those words which serve their purpose.

I do not believe all religious fundamentalists are hate mongers. But I do think taking the Bible literally and as the ONLY truth gives one, oh, such a narrow vision of reality, and is often at the root of conflict and discord.

Holding opposing beliefs does not HAVE to end in conflict. There are examples throughout history and in everyday life–examples of people with strong religious convictions who conduct their lives according to those convictions. Their beliefs may be totally contrary to the establishment, or contrary to those with whom they come in contact every day. One would have to say they are acting on their beliefs all the time. They are living their beliefs. But it seems that these (I will call them) peaceful people are not fearful nor do they have a need to control others. Why is this? I think it is because the peaceful people are not threatened by opposing beliefs nor do they require others to believe as they do. They are completely secure and in control of their lives As a result and most importantly, they do not hate anyone. You will not act on your hatred, if you do not hate. I believe this is why freedom of religion and freedom from religion is so important.

Many of us have heard straight people say something like this: “I don’t care if a person wants to be a homosexual. That’s his/her business. Just don’t be public about it. Stay in the closet. JUST DON’T FLAUNT IT!”

By the same token, if one fears and hates homosexuals, or any other group of people for that matter, what I ask of them is that they keep their hate feelings to themselves. I say to them go ahead, think and feel the way you do if you have to; but put away your guns and hate signs and just don’t FLAUNT it.

© 1-12-2015

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver women’s chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change). She has been retired from the Human Services field for about 15 years. Since her retirement, her major activities include tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with National Sports Center for the Disabled, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and enjoys spending time with her four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 25 years, Gillian Edwards.

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Guilty Pleasure by Will Stanton

Without my dwelling upon any particular events in my life, I can say that, in general, I could have wished for a more satisfying, fulfilling life. Oh, of course, I have had some good things happen that others, perhaps, were denied; and I have not suffered the misfortunes that many others have. Yet, I would have preferred to have had a life of far better health, more supportive family, better direction, greater success, more love and happiness, and the physical ability to do the things I wished to do.


I always have been prone to seeing selected others who appear to be endowed with the qualities I would have preferred to share and wishing that I were like them. Of course, we can not tell for sure, especially from a distance, whether or not such persons truly possess those qualities. Simply viewing someone on TV, in movies, DVDs, photographs, or even live, briefly in passing, is no assurance that I would like to be “in their shoes” if I were fully aware of their lives, thoughts, and feelings.

Over the years, I have watched many hours of film of various genre, portraying other people’s lives. Some of it has been documentary, some of it fiction. Undoubtedly, some of my selections have been an attempt to divorce myself from the real world and to identify with the characters portrayed. I have found perhaps a dubious pleasure by identifying with some others rather than making something of my own life.
A more self-actualized person would declare that I always have needed more self-acceptance, more self-esteem; and that person would be right. My not reaching that preferred state of being has resulted in far too much time in my life wasted upon gazing at others and dreaming, “What if?”

All that time and energy wasted dreaming reminds me of a scene and a lesson I should have learned many years ago from the book “Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.” Harry sits for hours in front of the Mirror of Erised, viewing his greatest desire reflected in the glass. He is found there by Professor Dumbledore who admonishes Harry, “ – – this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible. – – It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”

© 05 May 2015

About the Author

I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life stories. I also realize that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

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Nowhere by Ricky

Like many men of my age group, I had my mid-life crisis a few years ago. At this point in time, I perceive that nothing has changed since then. I still have feelings that my youthful goals and dreams are nowhere in sight for the future or accomplished in the past. With the loss of my best friend of 27 years and 9 months, most of the joy of life went with her. I now have no ambition, nowhere to go, no one to go there with, and no money to spend when I don’t arrive there.

I have been blessed with a modest amount of financial and medical security, but the Republican Party leadership is poised and planning to take even that meager amount away by making major changes to existing law and programs. Republican Paul Ryan has published his proposed budget for 2015. Bruce Lesley reported in The Huffington Post [1 Dec 2014],”In the name of protecting children, the poor, and the states, the Ryan budget does the opposite.”


Like the Beatles’ Nowhere Man, the Republican Party’s proposed federal budget for 2015 is a “nowhere plan”. The republican leadership inhabit their “fortress of solitude,” listening to no one except budget extremists, and where they make all their plans for nowhere budgets for the benefit of nobody except the wealthy.

Nowhere does that nowhere plan contain the Affordable Care Act or the expansion of Medicare or uncapped Food Stamps or Public Radio or the endowment for the arts or Amtrak or even basic research grants or funding for education. Republican leaders are, “No way, no how, nowhere”, men.
They know not where they will lead us to.
They are as blind as they can be.
They see what they want to see.
Nowhere Men can you see the poor at all?

Somewhere, somehow, sometime, the Nowhere Men will find the way to fund their favorite project – weapons for war to either use or sell. After all, a good old fashioned war is great for business because war makes the rich richer.

Nowhere Men never learned the lessons of history, one of which is wars cost money, the outcome is never certain, and innocent nobodies will end up, no-where. “Nowhere Men wars” will take us all nowhere, somehow, in no time.


In exchange for a unique American culture of democracy and the American Dream, by defunding education, Public Radio, and the endowment for the arts, the Nowhere Men would have us embrace a culture of rule by the few wealthy Nowhere Men – an oligarchy based upon military strength and a subservient poor.
Nowhere Men would be well advised to remember that Democrats, Libertarians, Independents, other groups, and individuals also own guns and were trained to use them during combat in Vietnam, the Gulf Wars, and on the streets of major American cities.
© 1 December 2014

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com

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From My Queer Point of View, by Phillip Hoyle

From my point of view, this presentation is a story and a rant. Behind it is an assumption that in comparison with the points of view espoused by others around me, my perspectives seem to me more artistic, open, religious, educational, intellectual, personal, flexible, and independent. And in one particular way more defended. But perhaps the most distinctive aspect of my point of view comes from fifteen years of giving massages.

The Story

I had poured beer at the bar in times past, refilling plastic glass after glass of cheap beer on a beer bust, volunteering there in order to raise money to help fund an annual retreat for people living with AIDS. I was sure my mother would never approve, but I did it anyway and enjoyed the snippets of conversation, the beauty of some men I poured for, and the humor of some fellow pourers. I liked being in a gay bar with something practical to do.

But that afternoon I was at the same bar, the same Sunday beer bust, but there as a guest attending a birthday party, there with my partner and several friends. I talked with our host, the birthday honoree, and my companions. The latter and I had just moved onto the patio to enjoy the sun when I saw a man I knew from the annual retreat and went over to talk with him. That’s when I noticed another young man in the yellow tee shirt that advertised an animal shelter, the not-for-profit organization he was pouring beer to benefit. I found him attractive. When he stopped to ask if we needed more beer, I noticed his healthy looks, warm smile, hazel eyes, sturdy build, and his language—real English, clever, sparkling, and engaging. I thought what a pleasure to have this fine looking youngster in a yellow shirt pour my beer while I talked with this other fine looking blue shirted and blue eyed young man I knew from the retreat. Some afternoons seem just so fine. I recalled that when I poured for the retreat beer bust I tended to go back to the same place to pour, so I was not at all surprised to have the youngster in yellow keep returning. Was he paying special attention to me? I laughed at my thought. Then I wondered at and dismissed the perception that perhaps he was paying attention to me. How pleasant it seemed and how funny. But I knew more. I knew my desire; laughed at it; and like always, enjoyed it. Being served beer by a nice young man on a sunny Sunday afternoon is never negligible.

Finally I had to excuse myself from the retreat friend due to the insistence of my aging bladder and made my way indoors to the restroom. As I was returning to join my friends outdoors, the good looking server greeted me. He asked if I needed more beer. I turned him down, but he continued talking wanting to know what kind of work I did. When I told him, he asked, “Do you have a card? I’m looking for a massage therapist.” I handed him a card, knowing that one rarely hears from card gatherers. And of course I didn’t hear from him, but about two months later at another bar, I saw the same good looking young man who remembered me and told me he still had my card and was going to call me. I smiled warmly and encouraged him to do so. And within a week or two I received his call. We arranged the massage. I gave him the massage registering how fine it always seems when massaging young men with their fine skin, supple muscles, and in this case attractive personality. We hugged at the end of the session. Again I wondered if I was being in some way interviewed for a relationship but laughed at the idea.

“I knew he was looking for an older man,” one of my friends said of the young man later when he became the topic of conversation.

“Yeah,” another friend asserted, “he wants a sugar daddy.”

Now of course there are young men who want to find an older man to take care of them. Had this been the hope of this young man in relationship to me, he’d have been sorely disappointed. I have no money, work only part-time. I’m one of those older guys who has to sing the lyrics, “I can’t give you anything but love, Baby.”

Let me restate that: from me one can get love and a good massage. So when he called for an appointment I gave him love and a massage, the kind of love I give all my clients whether male or female, gay or straight, intellectual or developmentally challenged. And of course I noticed that he was as beautiful unclothed as clothed, intelligent, warm and probably needy although I knew little about just what he might need. I must add that I felt a strong attraction similar to when at a bus stop I met Rafael years before, an attraction to the beauty of his body and spirit, to his ability to express himself verbally, and his openness to others around him. I was somewhat stricken but not so much as to reveal all this by shaking while I rubbed him.

The next time I saw this beautiful young man, he was accompanied by an older man who was quite handsome with his silver hair and nice clothes. I suspected he was well heeled and thought how nice for the younger man whatever his needs and motivations. As I shook hands with the elder, I projected warmth and pleasure in the meeting. I told the younger how good he looked and quietly affirmed my approval of his choice of companions. A few weeks later I again saw him in the company of the older man. They both looked pleased to be together. Again I stopped to greet them.

About two months later, around the year-end holidays, the young man was at the same bar alone. I went over to talk. I discovered his partner was out of town for the holidays and heard about the youngsters’ upbringing in a rather wealthy family and his plans to visit them in the coming week. While I didn’t get many details—I’m loathe to ask for such things—I did get picture enough to realize just how hopeless the superficial judgment that any younger person who shows interest in an elder is looking for a sugar daddy.

The Rant

How demeaning and objectifying the assumption is of the accused. In gay male relationship it reveals deeply held misogyny and a cultural prejudice that what makes an American male a real man is his ability and drive to be financially successful. I’m confused that men who themselves have suffered the same verbal put downs should dis some youngster for being a gold digger, a woman (as if that’s an insult), and a flop at manning up to the responsibilities of true manhood. From my point of view the assumption does not consider the following important possibilities:

* That the younger man may simply prefer to live around older men.

* That the younger man may have resources plenty or more than plenty for his own maintenance.

* That the younger may be seeking for the nurture of an older man since he may have got little from his father.

* That the younger man could have been raped as a child and thus as a young man is looking for the nurture of an older man who could heal him with love.

* That the younger man could be acting out of a need for survival.

* That the younger man could be victim of mental or emotional illnesses.

I know about these things from listening to my clients for the past fifteen years. The list can go on and on and still hasn’t asked any questions concerning the motivations of the older man who seems to be responding to the younger. What’s the old guy up to? Is he looking for a sugar baby? And whose business it is anyway to have such opinions about another person’s life? Well, that’s at least one interesting point of view from this old man.

I don’t say any of these things to pick on my friends because even in speaking this way I am somewhat defended. Seriously so. My defenses arise from what I consider to be the essence of my life’s religious assumptions, that when I accuse I am indicting myself in the accusation. So I usually choose to keep council with myself and not project onto others my own weaknesses and pathos!


Denver, © 2013

About the Author

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.”

He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot

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Spirituality by Lewis J. Thompson, III

Ask ten people how they would define “spirituality” and you will likely get eleven different answers–and they would all be correct. I feel spiritual when I see a colorful sunset or listen to the main theme from On Golden Pond. I also feel spiritual when I lie down after a busy day or hear a great sermon on Sunday morning or taste a particularly good chocolate ice cream sundae. All of these experiences are even more spiritual when I share them with someone for whom I care deeply.

I would say that beauty possesses its very own spirit, as does companionship. Put the two together and nirvana can happen. Standing on the rim of the Black Canyon of the Gunnison with a loved one is spiritual to me. Meditating on my bedroom floor alone, not so much. Sharing our stories around this table is spiritual. Having lunch together? Fun, but not spiritual (although a hearty belch after a couple of beers can come pretty close). There are TV commercials that are spiritual to me but they are rare–ones for the benefit of disabled veterans or destitute children come to mind. Open displays of piety turn me off. Nothing is less spiritual to me than a politician justifying his or her vote to deny assistance to someone in dire need on the grounds of religion. Bigotry and prejudice do not dress up well in vestments.

Recently, I volunteered with the AmeriCorps’ Reading Partners’ program to tutor an elementary school child in reading. Last Tuesday was my first session with 8-year-old Eduardo. In getting acquainted with each other’s stories, there came a moment when we both felt a strong connection. We “high fived” in a spontaneous gesture of friendship. My eyes began to tear up, as they often do at such times, but I wasn’t particularly embarrassed. If he noticed, I couldn’t tell nor did I particularly care. I have come to realize that most of my spiritual moments happen when there are people I love around me. I think it’s more than a coincidence.

© January 25, 2015

About the Author

I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth. Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.

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Here and There by Pat Gourley

I realize that one of the great challenges of my life has been to appreciate that I am “here” and to not worry about being “there”. I have a nearly all-consuming preoccupation to be “there” and of course when I get “there” and that turns into “here” and then I am off and running in my head once again to get “there”.

In the early 1990’s when my partner David was feeling the ravages of HIV, I was the nursing manager of a local AIDS clinic and friends, acquaintances, strangers and folks I was working with were dying all around me. It was in those years 1990-1995 that I probably felt the strongest draw I ever have in my adult life to find some sort of spiritual solace, or maybe it was refuge I was after. My childhood Catholicism had long ago fallen by the wayside and a return to that worldview totally out of the question. I came to realize that most religions and my own prior belief in a “God” were responses to the fear of my own death and the stark reality that is it. Belief in an after-life was out the window with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. It was very hard to grasp that this amazing ego, “me”, will just come to an end at my death. Even today I find it at times unimaginable that this life is it and there will be no heavenly reward or more likely for me eternal damnation if I were to believe the bible to be anything more than bad mythology.

When I think about it religion and its belief in an after life is the ultimate “there” trap, truly a false illusion distracting from “here”. If it is really lousy “here” it will all eventually be better “there”, nothing but wishful thinking and snake oil at its worst. I suppose being involved personally and professionally in the AIDS nightmare up to my eyeballs was responsible for this longing on my part for a “there”. So I fell in with a group of local Buddhists. I was attracted first to the Korean sect of Zen called the Kwan Um School by a hospice nurse named Richard who worked with many of our patients in the AIDS Clinic. He was an active participant in the school and had close ties with one of its leading teachers a woman who was also a lesbian and hospice nurse herself, sort of the complete package I thought at the time.

Certain Buddhist sects are big believers in reincarnation, which I view as just another form of the “there” game though they would never admit this with all schools incessantly pointing to “being here now”. If I can’t escape the wheel of samsara in this life I will reincarnate and get another chance, or if I really fuck-up this go-around I may come back as a cockroach. My attraction to Zen practice was in part because they are not big believers in reincarnation and of course there is no talk of a god in Buddhism. The Buddha is viewed as an enlightened being, something we are also if we just wake up and see it.

At the time this Buddhism seemed the perfect salve for my HIV inflicted wounds and of course if I was honest it was my own HIV infection that was driving the quest. So for the next 12 years or so I was quite active with the local chapter of the Kwan Um School developing my own private sitting practice and being involved with numerous group retreats most often led by our teacher who came out from Rhode Island for these events.

I was involved to the point of taking the initial vows called The Five Precepts:

I vow to abstain from taking life
I vow to abstain from taking things not given
I vow to abstain from misconduct done in lust
I vow to abstain from lying
I vow to abstain from intoxicants, taken to induce heedlessness

These seemed to me way more realistic and appropriate suggestions for a moral life than the Ten Commandments ever were. Needless to say 12 years with the Sangha and lots of cushion time did not result in anywhere near full actualization of these vows.

One of the rather neat components of the initiation ceremony when I took my vows was the lighting of a small wax wick that was placed on the underside of your left forearm and allowed to burn down until you felt it start to singe your flesh. Talk about a strong method for getting you to focus on the moment. You don’t think about anything else but the pain of the here and now and putting that sucker out.

I no longer practice with the Kwan Um School but do still try to maintain some semblance of a solo practice. The whole goal of meditation, that I do really believe has tremendous benefit and lessons, is to be “here” now and not somewhere over “there”. To be banking on or even worse perhaps preoccupied with an afterlife really has the potential to rob us of appreciating the absolutely amazing reality that we are “here”. Our human birth is such an unbelievably unlikely reality as to be truly mindboggling.

The great teacher Ram Das summed it all up in three simple words: Be Here Now!

© May 2015

About the Author

I was born in La Porte, Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.

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Getting Caught, by Lewis

As a boy, I was not afraid of heights. By the age of four, I was jumping off the roof of the garage. I could climb almost anything. My mother—never too watchful—soon learned to find me not by looking “around” but by looking “up”.

Our house was a one-story bungalow. Next door lived an elderly widow whose house towered over ours. One day, I was playing outside, between our houses, and I heard a strange and frightening cry from an upstairs window. I could see her face. She appeared to be talking to me. She hadn’t done that before. What did she want, if anything? How could I help? She appeared OK to me. I walked away. She scared me. I had never known my grandmothers.

Soon, I learned, to my horror, that she had been doing laundry and caught her hand in the rollers of her Maytag dryer. I wasn’t punished; she was the one who “got caught”. But I sure learned something about the hazards of daily living and the need to be more responsive.

Around that time—the years have grown somewhat fungible with their passage—I noticed that a very long ladder had been placed against the side of her house. It reached all the way from the ground to her roof at the exact location of her brick chimney, from which, I was certain, an excellent panorama of our entire neighborhood could be enjoyed.

The opportunity was a prime example of what in the liability law profession is known as an “attractive nuisance”—especially for a boy who loves to climb.

So, I climbed, hand-over-hand, to the rain gutter 25 feet or so above the sidewalk upon which rested the ladder. The roof was fairly steep but negotiable, so I soon found myself perched on top of her chimney thoroughly enjoying the spectacular view.

Before long, my reverie was shattered by my mother’s voice somewhat exasperatedly calling out my name in a context that suggested some kind of a response was in order. She clearly did not see me. I waited until I thought she might have the police out looking for me.

“Up here, Mom,” I said, hoping-against-hope that she would be impressed.

“Lewis, you get down here this instant!”

Mother had made similar demands in the past but I was pretty sure this time she didn’t mean to be taken literally.

Anyone who climbs at all knows that climbing down is far scarier and more risky than climbing up, if for no other reason than you’re looking at hard objects rather than clouds and the sky. Nevertheless, I managed to make it safely down to the ground without so much as a scratch. I imagined my mother rushing over to me, sweeping me up in her grateful arms and showering my cheeks with kisses, as I’m sure I had seen done in Lassie Come Home. Instead, I got a firm thumb and forefinger on either side of my right ear lobe and a brusque shepherding through our side door and into the kitchen, where my mother posed to me the type of question designed to instill shame and guilt in the heart of a 4-year-old, naïve, novitiate Christian.

“What would you do if you had a little boy who pulled a stunt like that?”

Now, I immediately recognized her query as a “trick question”, the answer to which might very well seal my fate. Rejecting rejoinders such as “give him a spanking”, “ground him”, or “send him to bed without his dinner”, I happened upon a response that might just turn a lemon into lemonade.

“I guess I would simply ask God to watch out for him”.

I never knew whether she actually did make such an appeal. I just knew that I had had a very close brush with disaster. I also learned that religion can easily be used to manipulate.

© 4 February 2013

About the Author

I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth. Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.

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Reputation, by Ricky

In 8th grade I was given a reputation as a DAR, Damn Average Raiser, when my teacher pointed out to my classmates that I received the highest grade on a test when I only had one night to prepare and they had two weeks.

In high school that reputation followed me but was undeserved as I was mostly an “A” and “B” student, mostly because I did not study but just crammed information the night before a test. At that point in my life, I still had a pretty good memory.

In the military as an enlisted member, my reputation was outstanding because I had a logical oriented brain and I could accomplish multiple tasks in a timely manner. As an Air Force officer, in the eyes of the enlisted men/women I supervised, I had a reputation of always helping the enlisted force rather than being a severe disciplinarian. In the eyes of my commanders, my reputation was one of being too soft and not “hard core” by building my career on the number of careers I could destroy.

As a deputy sheriff, my reputation was of being very tough on DUI drivers and speeders. But my patrol district traffic accidents dropped from 93 to 47 in one year with traffic related deaths from 7 to 3. So locals could call me what they will; I don’t really care. We saved at least 4 lives my first year on the job.

As a husband and father, my family set my reputation as a “fix-anything” person. I has taken me a life-time to dispel that belief, but it just won’t go away.

In this group, you all know me for a pun loving smart ass.

© 27 October 2014

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com

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Reputation: Too Precious to be Trusted, by Phillip Hoyle

Reputation has little to do with the way I see other people. I’ve come to this rather strange way of thinking because for me people are much too interesting and potent to be known for what actually is an outsider’s point of view and idolization. A fine reputation is the result of the appearance one makes in regard to his or her adherence to reified social norms. I developed quite a reputation as an effective minister. I was nice to people, worked hard, provided creative and unusual programming for people of many ages, prepared my choirs adequately, appreciated the work of volunteers, spoke publically with enough charm not to offend, had a great attendance record in the church office and in hospital calling, worked well with the church staff, and had a family that also participated in the congregation’s life. People liked me. I didn’t embarrass them with my ideas. They knew I was not afraid of the strange folk like foreigners, poor, and needy. I was a great resource for a large church organization for my ability to work with difficult people. And eventually I wrote curriculum resources for religious education. I was somewhat known for whatever that is worth.

I took a job at a church in a western city. I loved the church facility. I found the congregational leaders delightful. I appreciated the strong core of folk who nurtured liberal concerns and practical approaches to church work. I enjoyed the support of a cadre of retired ministers in the congregation. I liked the music program. On and on. The Senior Minister, Bill, told me one day I was supposed to be a woman. I responded, “I’m trying as hard as I can.” We laughed. He said that the search committee for the associate minister had made obtaining a female clergy as its goal. They found me. He also said the hiring was influenced because of my fine reputation.

I thought about that and realized that the Area Minister, Jim, had wanted me to come to that Region because he trusted my leadership, appreciated my willingness to work in summer camp and conference programs, and liked my cheerful disposition. I wondered what all he had said to move the committee away from their original intention. Although I knew that one person’s likes often influenced committee members, I also knew the appeal to reputation actually set up a minister for failure since the minister would never really know how he or she was represented, what actually was the content of that reputation. I trusted that work-wise I would sufficiently meet the needs of staff and congregation. I was already doing so when I heard I was supposed to be a woman and about my fine reputation. But I wondered.

Some years before I had known a past minister of the church where I worked. His divorce from his wife several years after leaving our congregation made the local gossip. People expressed such deep disappointment to me about the divorce. I don’t recall if the minister or his wife initiated the proceedings, but do remember clearly that the critics didn’t voice much interest in the whole picture of his life. Still, like is true in the kind of church I came from, they did fall short of saying “tut, tut,” this last probably out of deference for his then ex-wife. I listened and wondered how this change affected their feelings about what he had taught them, what leadership he had provided, what sense of faith he had engendered. Their sense of disappointment seemed larger than necessary to me. He had spoiled their ideal.

So when in my next congregation I knew the search committee had been influenced by my reputation, I became extremely alert to the function of reputation and its relation to ideals and expectations. When I learned I was hired because of my reputation, I wondered over my work and its consequences, especially were it ever to come out that my life might have changed within just a few years after my exit from that fine church. What would those fine folk think when they got the gossip that I, who was widely appreciated, left ministry fifteen years before retirement age, left my wife, moved to a large city to live as a homo (probably the largest reputation spoiler), and took up a new career as a massage therapist (oops, maybe this was the main spoiler). I knew I couldn’t control whatever people chose to think. I couldn’t save them from themselves. And I knew exactly why I could never believe in reputation. Besides I have lived through too many American general elections cycles. Even the best—and the worst—reputations are far too fragile, too precious to trust.© Denver, 2014

About the Author

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.”

He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot

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My Favorite Queer Role Model by Pat Gourley

Chelsea Manning 

A personal role model is someone whose behavior you admire to the point where you might actually try and emulate it and hopefully use it as impetus for creating change. Chelsea Manning is that queer person for me these days.

Let me briefly re-cap her history and I’ll finish with a bit of her current activities. She enlisted in the army in October of 2007 and eventually ended up in Iraq in 2009 as an Intelligence Analyst with access to classified documents. What transpired as a result of Manning having access to copious documentation of U.S. military and private contractor actions in both Iraq and Afghanistan is succinctly stated in this quote from a piece written by Nathan Fuller in March of 2013 for the Bradley Manning Support Group:

“What would you do if you had evidence of war crimes? What would you do if ‘following orders’ meant participating in grave abuses you opposed? Would you have the courage to risk everything – even your life – to do the right thing? Most of us would keep our mouths shut. Not Pfc. Bradley Manning.” Nathan Fuller 3/2013.

Manning released a very large trove of classified government documents to WikiLeaks certainly as a matter of conscience. Once exposed and arrested she endured months of torture in solitary confinement. Her subsequent trial resulted in a 35-year sentence based in part on several counts of violating the Espionage Act of 1917. This antiquated piece of legislation is by the way being put to unprecedented use by the Obama Administration to prosecute and persecute whistleblowers.

The prison sentence was handed down in August of 2013 to one named Bradley Manning and the following day she announced that from now on she wished to be referred to as Chelsea Manning and would be further pursuing her transition and hopefully receive appropriate hormone therapy. Last week on February 13th, 2015 her hormonal therapy was approved after suing the Federal Government for the right to receive this treatment.

A criterion I have for my role models is that they cannot be silenced even in the face of great obstacles. This applies to Chelsea in the most remarkable ways. In spite of years of humiliation, months of actual torture and a monkey trial for espionage she is still resiliently standing up for her core values and beliefs. Transitioning is always a great challenge but to persevere with it in a military prison after years of physical and psychological abuse and humiliation in attempts to break your spirit and crush your soul is simply a breathtaking act of courage. I know I will never have the fortitude to be anywhere near as brave.

In any piece I might write today that addresses the brave act of transitioning I cannot forego the opportunity to address the recent comments of Pope Francis on the matter. There are a whole string of his outrageous comments on gender transition I might quote here but I think this one is the most amazing: “Let’s think of the nuclear arms, of the possibility to annihilate in a few instants a very high number of human beings…lets also think of genetic manipulation of life, or of the gender theory, that does not recognize the order of creation.” WTF! Sorry Pope Francis but your head is way up your ass on this one. Our trans brothers and sisters are not a threat to the survival of the human race but quite to the contrary a true expression of out evolutionary potential.

Let me close by updating you on Chelsea’s current job in prison. She is now writing for the Guardian. One article she authored appeared December 8th 2014 and was titled: “I am a transgender woman and the government is denying my civil rights”. I encourage you to read the whole thing: (http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/dec/08/chelsea-manning-transgender-rights ) I’ll close with just a few of her words from that article:

“A doctor, a judge or a piece of paper shouldn’t have the power to tell someone who he or she is. We should all have the absolute and inalienable right to defend ourselves, in our own terms and in our own languages, and be able to express our identity and perspectives without fear of consequences and retribution. We should all be able to live as human beings – and to be recognized as such by the societies we live in.

We shouldn’t have to keep defending our right to exist”. Chelsea Manning

Chelsea Manning, my favorite Queer role model!

If you are interested in learning more about this great queer heroine checkout the web site for her support group: http://www.chelseamanning.org

© February 2015

About the Author

I was born in La Porte, Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.