A couple of years ago, I
did a story on my unsuccessful transgender friend. He/She had his male organ
removed in a premature sex change operation; he missed his organ so much that
he committed suicide. This was in the 1960’s. His name was “Romain”; well his
given name was Richard. I met him in the 7th grade. Romain was the
first person I was truly honest with. But it was more like he read me – what
they call nowadays “gaydar”.
did a story on my unsuccessful transgender friend. He/She had his male organ
removed in a premature sex change operation; he missed his organ so much that
he committed suicide. This was in the 1960’s. His name was “Romain”; well his
given name was Richard. I met him in the 7th grade. Romain was the
first person I was truly honest with. But it was more like he read me – what
they call nowadays “gaydar”.
Romain had an IQ of 160,
he was technically a genius. Geniuses see things, relationships that ordinary
people cannot. He was a year younger than I, but he had developed a significant
number of friends in West Greenwich Village, in poetry clubs and art studios,
that sort of thing. Sometimes I would tag along to meet them. So even in the 7th
grade I had a sort of reasonably gay-positive social life.
he was technically a genius. Geniuses see things, relationships that ordinary
people cannot. He was a year younger than I, but he had developed a significant
number of friends in West Greenwich Village, in poetry clubs and art studios,
that sort of thing. Sometimes I would tag along to meet them. So even in the 7th
grade I had a sort of reasonably gay-positive social life.
For a while I even lived
in an apartment on West 14 Street. In those days, gay men were so “unspeakable”
in the early 1960’s that we sort of did not exist. It was a kind of repression
I guess. But the positive side of not existing is that we had a certain kind of
freedom. We could cruise in Washington Square Park, and no one would notice.
Mostly if cops saw us, they would not put two and two together if two guys
winked at each other. If two men held hands, which happened occasionally, the
public would assume they were cousins from a Hispanic country.
in an apartment on West 14 Street. In those days, gay men were so “unspeakable”
in the early 1960’s that we sort of did not exist. It was a kind of repression
I guess. But the positive side of not existing is that we had a certain kind of
freedom. We could cruise in Washington Square Park, and no one would notice.
Mostly if cops saw us, they would not put two and two together if two guys
winked at each other. If two men held hands, which happened occasionally, the
public would assume they were cousins from a Hispanic country.
In a word, at an early
age, I learned about the dangers transsexuals face when it comes to the
question of deciding yes or no to the surgery; I appreciated the nascent gay
culture coming alive in Greenwich Village, New York.
age, I learned about the dangers transsexuals face when it comes to the
question of deciding yes or no to the surgery; I appreciated the nascent gay
culture coming alive in Greenwich Village, New York.
© 27 Apr 2016
About
the Author
the Author
I was born in 1944, I lived most of my life in New York City,
Queens County. I still commute there. I worked for many years as a Caseworker
for New York City Human Resources Administration, dealing with mentally
impaired clients, then as a social work Supervisor dealing with homeless PWA’s.
I have an apartment in Wheat Ridge, CO. I retired in 2002. I have a few
interesting stories to tell. My boyfriend Kevin lives in New York City. I
graduated Queens College, CUNY, in 1967.
Queens County. I still commute there. I worked for many years as a Caseworker
for New York City Human Resources Administration, dealing with mentally
impaired clients, then as a social work Supervisor dealing with homeless PWA’s.
I have an apartment in Wheat Ridge, CO. I retired in 2002. I have a few
interesting stories to tell. My boyfriend Kevin lives in New York City. I
graduated Queens College, CUNY, in 1967.
