Tag: GLBTQA

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Elder Words, by Ricky

I believe that everyone would agree what the word “Words” means. I don’t guess that there is another meaning. But the word “Elder” has several possible meanings depending upon spelling and the context in which it is used. So, that being said, lets explore this topic of “Elder Words”.

In general, “elder” implies age, but in the Mormon church capital “E” Elder denotes a male 19 years of age or above who holds the Melchizedek Priesthood. So, their words could convey mundane meanings or specific religious messages as in, “I baptize you in the name of . . .,” etc. The title is used in other religions as well for similar or the same purpose.

So, perhaps it boils down to the degree of “age” in which the term “elder” is appropriate within different cultures. For example, in the book Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the word is used to designate the most senior (as in most powerful) magic wand, the Elder Wand. The word “senior” is a synonym for “elder” which category would include: old, ancient, adult, and grownup. Another thing about this word is that it can also be used as a proper noun as a “stand alone” name or even part of a name; as in the John Wayne movie, “The Sons of Katy Elder” and “Elderberry” as in bushes and wine.

As we are not met this day to discuss the merits of movies or to relax with a glass of Elderberry wine or listen to sermons by Elder Berry, I will present for your enjoyment, boredom, or discomfort my take on the topic of Elder Words. Be forewarned, this topic is sometimes rather depressing so I will pause briefly so anyone can take an anti-depressant or you can tough it out without one. I guarantee there will be a happy ending, however sad the journey to get there.

As one moves through life from younger to not so younger and thereby gain a life time collection of experiences speaking with those persons who either preceded or are following down the path of destiny, we have the opportunity to reflect on, ponder, skim through, or try to remember those conversations and what they may have meant or done to us.

As a potential elder everyone has one or more embarrassing words moments that parents like to recall at family gatherings. Words like, “Mom, my urine is runny.” Embarrassing words may not become embarrassing words until after the fact, as in, “I don’t want to go get it because I might break it.”, then after 4-minutes a loud crash is heard in the school hallway.

And then there are words spoken by children before they become self-sufficient: “I want. . .”; “Can I have. . .”; “Will you buy this for me?”. Sadly, sometimes these words are re-spoken by those same children after they become senior citizens. At that time, the now elder is often told by his now grownup children: “You can’t watch TV until you eat all your dinner.”; “No, it’s too dangerous for someone your age.”; “It costs too much.”; “You don’t need that.”; “You can’t have ice cream. Have some yogurt instead.”; “It’s your bedtime.”; “I don’t have time to drive you everywhere you want to go.”; “I’m not made of money you know.”; “You want to have a party while we’re gone for the weekend! Do you think we’re crazy?” Those are the moments that make an elder think weird thoughts of the type, “Oh crap! My children have become me! Now I’m in real trouble.”

Sometimes parents deliberately create “embarrassing words” moments for their children, as in these words said over an external CB loud speaker while stopped at a large intersection in Salt Lake City; “Don’t touch me there Ricky, until we get home.”

Potential elders also get elder words of advice as they grow: “Don’t eat that from the floor.”; “Just say ‘NO’!”; “Do yourself a favor and . . .”; “You get what you pay for.”; “When you go to the chicken coop, just kick the rooster away like I do.”; “Please do me a favor, when you visit grand-elder, don’t be noisy or demanding because grand-elder tires easily.”; and the ever popular, “Don’t lie to me again.”

Then there are elder work-related words. Some of which we never wanted to hear: “You’re fired!”; “Get me your supervisor.”; “All you public servants are ass holes!”; “Touch your finger tips to your nose.”; “Assume the position.”; “You have the right to remain silent and I suggest you use it. You long-hair hippie freak.”

Of course there are also hateful elder words like: “I’ll make a man out of you.”; “It’s my way or the highway.”; “You’re no son of mine.”; and “I want no homos in my house. Get out and don’t come back!”

Now let us consider the words of the Eldest of all. His guidance to us is to “Honor thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.” Over time this Elder’s advice is often quoted as, “Honor your father and mother” but the reason is seldom given. Now in our time it has been shortened again to the simple but less powerful, “respect your elders” or “respect your parents.” These smacks of a dictatorial demand of parents but again lacking any explanation as to why that should be done. It often boils down to those famous but unsatisfying elder words, “Because I told you so.”

Now as most parents and other observant elders know by either personal or sad experience, requests, demands, or procedures that don’t have logical, reasonable, or plausible explanations as to the “why” something is a procedure, request, or demand will cause different levels of irritation in children. Irritation leads to frustration. Frustration leads to resentment. Resentment leads to suppressed anger. Suppressed anger leads to a rebellious attitude. A rebellious attitude leads to a conflict of words (if you are lucky and violence if you are not). A conflict of words results in elder words like: “Are you stupid or something?”; “Don’t sass me.”; “Don’t talk back to me.”; “If you say that word again I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”; (Mother to son, “Don’t talk to me like that. You just wait ’til you father comes home.”); (Father to son—after coming home, “Never talk to your mother like that again.”); (Father to son—double standard, “Don’t talk to me like that you little shit. Go get my belt!”)

There are elder words that are not generally spoken out loud but, nonetheless, pass through the consciousness of elder and younger minds. “Can I afford it?” “I can’t afford it, but I’m buying it anyway.” “Does he/she like/love me?” “How will I survive on only social security.” “Oh crap, I don’t remember his/her name.” “I think I’m losing my mind.” “Am I bi or gay?” Etc.

Taken as a whole, all these elder words paint a rather dismal portrait of the language of elders. I believe that over our life-time we elders have learned too many of the wrong words and not enough of the right words and how to use them.

In my experience, all grandparents have a special brand of English elder words for their grandchildren. I’ve even used this language myself recently and will again this week. I will now show you how I use it to communicate with my grandchild. “Schmooch, Schmooch, do you have a kiss for grandpa?” (With finger rubbing closed lips) “Blubb, blubb, blubb.” “Open wide. Yum, yum.” “Yea! (clap, clap, clap).” “Pppppst on the tummy.” “Psssst with tongue.” “Putt, putt, putt” with lips. “(blow a kiss).” “No, you can’t eat my cell phone.” And, “Don’t eat that from the floor.” That one seems to be universally contained within all cultures.

When the time comes I’ll add these elder words also: “Hi. Grandpa is here. I brought you a present.”; “Here is a cookie, but don’t let your mom see it or tell her I gave it to you.”; “Your bedtime is 9:00 but I’ll let you stay up until 10:00 as long as you don’t tell anyone.”; and “Let’s sneak out and go get ice cream.”

Elder words that are relatively rarely spoken: “Let me show you a better way to do this.”; “Wow. You did that really well.”; “Am I doing it right?”; “How can I do it better?”; “Let’s go play catch.”; “Why don’t you invite 2 or 3 friends and we’ll go to a movie.”; “Yes, I’m busy but I will always make time for you.”; “Do you want to talk about it?”; “Hey, I’ve got this extra $5 bill you can have with your allowance this week.”; “Where do you want to go on vacation this summer?”; “Yes dear. I’d love for your mother to come visit.”; “Yes, you can invite your friends over for a party. What do you want for snacks?”; “How do you feel about . . .?”; “You’re so smart.”; “You’re so bright, I’m gonna change your name to Sunny.”; “Can I help you with your chores?”; and, “No dear. Nothing you wear makes you look fat.”

The topic of elder words would not be complete without the words that are never ever said enough to anyone, “I love you.”

© 2015

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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Dancing with the Stars, by Betsy

For what reason I do not know, but this topic brings to mind images from my childhood. We can all remember being outside in the dark of night, lying on the ground on our backs looking up at the stars. If you look at a group of stars long enough, they start to dance. At least they look as if they are dancing-jumping from here to there in a very lively fashion. Of course we know the stars are not dancing, rather our eyes or brains are playing tricks on us. But I felt that vision from the past deserved space on this page.

Another image from childhood relates to dancing, but certainly not with any stars. In about the 6th grade in my homogeneous, non-diversified community of Mt Lakes, New Jersey, a suburban very small enclave within commuting distance of New York City, most of the boys and girls in my class at school were enrolled into dancing classes at the local community church.

The dances that were taught were the fox trot, the waltz, the rhumba, and the jitterbug. This was about 1946. Perhaps our parents’ motivation for sending us to dancing school included their belief that young children should be distracted from the news reports coming out of Europe in the aftermath of the 2nd world war revealing the horrors and the reality of the conflict.

More likely our parents sent us to dancing school not so much to learn to dance well, but to prepare us to enter the social world and to learn the proper decorum and social graces needed for high school years and beyond. Anyway, it was the thing to do and all my friends attended with me on those Saturday afternoons.

This was strictly ballroom dancing of course. So equal numbers of girls and boys were needed. My partners usually were Tom Brackin and Mousey MacMillan. STARS—they were not. I preferred Tom to Mousey, but somehow I always ended up with Mousey. I never did know what his real name was……

During college and early adulthood I mostly danced with the man I eventually married and who was the father of my three children. I can’t call it dancing as I think back on it, however. It was more like a shuffling of the feet, in place, more or less, or not at all, in time with the slow, dreamy music while in a bear hug type embrace. As for the jitterbug neither one of us ever felt confident enough to do it in public in spite of the dancing lessons of earlier years.

During the two decades of raising my children, I don’t think I danced much at all. I probably didn’t even think about it. So there was a huge gap of time between the pre marriage dancing and entering the world of dancing that the lesbian bars presented.

When I came out, never mind I was middle aged, dancing became very important. I was looking for some stars. If the dance floor was the place to find my star, then on the dance floor was the place to be. In the excitement of finding myself and my new life it seems at first I was somewhat blinded —not by the stars I danced with but by the ones that were in my eyes.

As the next several years raced by I learned a lot, stuff that I had been rather sheltered from in my youth. As a fledgling lesbian, dancing was an important part of my life. This is one of the few places where, I learned, we go to meet women—places where you dance—the Three Sisters, Divine Madness, Ms. C’s.

It was at Divine Madness one night that I did in fact meet the love of my life, the one with whom I would spend the rest of my life. It was not so much the dancing. She had other qualities and characteristics that attracted me. But dancing with her was fun. Thanks to the Mt. Lakes Community Church dance classes and Mousey McMillan, I could be waltzed around the dance floor as long as she was leading and she didn’t mind that I counted under my breath—1,2,3,1,2,3— rather than trying to converse. The conversation could come later after the dance. “This woman is very special,” I thought.

“Can you do the Two-Step?” she asked one Saturday night. She, being a lover of country music was a fan of this lively jig. The only two step I had ever known or heard of was the Aztec Two Step, some unpleasant digestive ailment I picked up while traveling in Mexico one summer.

“I’m not familiar with it,” I said, “but I’m game to try if you lead and don’t mind counting aloud for me if I need help.” Yes, I did need lots of help, but somehow it didn’t matter. I was dancing with a STAR—my star— and we’ve been dancing ever since.

© 23 July 2017

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver Women’s Chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change), and the GLBT Community Center. She has been retired from the human services field for 20 years. Since her retirement, her major activities have included tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with the National Sports Center for the Disabled, reading, writing, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 30 years, Gillian Edwards.

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I Used to … but Now I … by Nicholas

I used to ride 50 miles in a day on my bicycle. Now I do it in a week—most weeks.

I used to use a telephone like a telephone to talk to people. Now I send text messages and check email. Sometimes I’m even hoping that no one answers my call so I can just leave a message and not actually have to talk, as in carry on a conversation, with a human being.

I used to love working in my garden and I still do but my back says, get real, or I’ll hurt you.

I used to wonder what to call Jamie. Now he’s my husband. I agree, we need some new terminology to avoid all the baggage of husband and wife.

I used to think that I had nothing in common with my parents and would live a much better life because I just knew more about how to live a better life. Now, I think of them as my role models for aging well, knowing when to quit it and when to hit it.

I used to think I was brilliant and would go far in this world. Now, I don’t think I’m so brilliant but I have gone far in this world, to many places I never dreamed of, and I’m still pretty smart.

I used to be closeted, confused and alone. Now I’m not. Well, maybe still confused.

I used to try to keep up with national and world events and politics and give excellent opinions on important matters. Now, it’s all beyond me. If I had a prescription for all the world’s ills, or even any one of them, I would not hesitate to send it out to all concerned parties. But I don’t.

I used to read newspapers regularly. Now there aren’t any.

I used to feel free to have second helpings of dessert. Not anymore.

I used to ask God for help, for strength, for forgiveness. Now I’d just ask for an apology.

I used to seek more freedom. Now, I guess I have it.

© 2014

About the Author

Nicholas grew up in Cleveland, then grew up in San Francisco, and is now growing up in Denver. He retired from work with non-profits in 2009 and now bicycles, gardens, cooks, does yoga, writes stories, and loves to go out for coffee.

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A Guilty Gift?, by Pat Gourley

In an effort to catch up with
the group topics I am combining “Gifts from Afar” and “Guilty Pleasures”.  I am using the title of this piece “A Guilty
Gift?” as a possible metaphor for my own HIV infection. Please don’t interpret
the use of this metaphor on my part as personal “slut-shaming” since nothing
could be further from the truth. Nor do I for a minute view my HIV infection as
a gift.
I was most certainly infected
in late 1980 or early 1981 and it could have been in the rectory of the
Methodist Church in Aspen Colorado or as likely at the Empire Baths here in
Denver. Either way I suppose that the behavior, most likely with my legs in the
air, that lend to my infection could be viewed as the result of indulgence in a
guilty pleasure.
By 1980 though I had long ago
stopped viewing getting fucked as something to feel guilty about. It had become
one of the true pleasures of my life. It did not start out that way though with
my first bottoming experience being with a cop in Gary Indiana in the summer of
1968. Note to self from that experience: do
not ever use shaving cream again as lube. This was a very unpleasant
experience that I did feel guilty about for a few years actually. However, in
large part on the basis of my first very positive sexual experiences with a
dear man a few years my senior the previous year (1967) I was able to work
through the guilt in time for my move to Denver in late 1972.  By the mid-1970’s I was a raging homosexual
activist and enjoying the many pleasures of the heady sexual liberation that
came with the blossoming of the emerging LGBT movement back then.
As I have written before I
have often wondered if a mushroom trip one night in the fall of 1979 at the
Empire Baths, that went a bit array, was not a premonition of a much bigger
nightmare to come. Were the gargoyles that adorned the walls of the outdoor pool
at the Empire Bath speaking to me, telling me that night to flee for my life or
announcing the arrival of a “gift from afar”? Maybe both! A gift in the form of
a resilient little virus called HIV.
It is now widely accepted that
HIV in humans originated from a similar virus found in a species of chimpanzees
in western equatorial Africa. This Simian virus was likely transmitted to
hunters infected when butchering these chimps for bush meat and it then mutated
in them into the HIV we know. Why this seems to have blossomed mid-20th
century is still conjecture but one interesting theory is that the European
colonization of parts of Africa forced the native Africans off the more
desirable land for farming and into the jungle areas where hunting bush meat
became a necessary source of protein. That would be one bitchin’ bit of Karma
wouldn’t it?
Hindsight can be a most potent
and effective teacher. The proverbial “if I only knew then what I know now” is
a frequently engaged mental exercise.  However,
we really aren’t psychics so feeling guilty that we are not is a big waste of
time. Living life to its fullest is inherently a risky proposition, and
mistakes will be made.
 I think it is certainly true for many of us with
HIV infection to view this virus as a gift from afar and that it is the direct
result of a guilty pleasure.  That view I
think though comes from very faulty thinking around health and illness, a view
still very prevalent today. The unsound and simplistic view is that being
healthy comes from being good and being sick from being bad. I would remind
everyone that no one gets out alive or as the Grateful Dead so succinctly sang
“if the thunder don’t get ya’, the lightning will”.
It may seem that I am blowing
off the reality that my actions have had consequences. Certainly they have even
if many of those actions were quite pleasurable in the moment and the
consequences a real bite in the ass down the road. I accept total
responsibility for my HIV but I really don’t engage in feeling guilty about it,
certainly not now 30 plus years down the road. I am much more likely to feel
very lucky to be alive today with this infection when so many in my life are
not. Guilt I think can be viewed as a form of regret about something that has
already happened and it is really a bit of toxic self-indulgence.
My main “guilty pleasure” these
days is primarily an addiction to ice cream almost always eaten in the evening
before bed. The “gift” if you will for my persistent indulgence in this
sugar-laden fat bomb several times a week may very well be Type 2 diabetes
eventually.
I was recently stunned by a
comment made by one of the Physician’s Assistants in the Urgent Care Clinic I
work. He had I think probably just seen a diabetic patient with unfortunate symptoms
related to diabetes, a necrotic toe perhaps that would require IV antibiotics
and maybe amputation. His rather forceful statement was:      “These
days I would rather have HIV than diabetes”.
Needless to say this comment
has stuck with me on more than one occasion when I am downing a pint of Ben and
Jerry’s, this shortly after taking my evening HIV meds. Guilty pleasures and
gifts from afar indeed!
© 17 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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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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I Used to Think by Gillian

I used to think I was straight, but now I know I am actually as queer, as the saying goes, as a three dollar bill. No, that’s not really true. Oh, the queer part is, but back then I didn’t think I was straight, because the words straight and gay were not yet in play; indeed the concepts barely were. So what I actually thought was that there was something wrong with me that I didn’t get all excited about boys the way my girlfriends did. But I also believed it would go away. It was just a phase. It would pass.

I used to think, when I got married to a man, that it was forever. I took my marriage vows very seriously and meant every word of that rather horrid phrase, till death us do part. It was the end of a phase. Of course I know now that it was doomed from day one. My previous feelings were not a phase, and neither was my marriage, being no more than a piece of rather good acting on my part, albeit somewhat subconscious.

I used to think, when it came over me that I just had to come out, that I would lose a few people I thought of as my friends, but so be it. Now I know that most people, even back in the early eighties, really didn’t care. And it gets more that way with each passing day.

I used to think, when I first came out, that I would never get too serious about any one woman. I would simply play the field making up for decades of lost time. Now I know that when you meet that special woman, all previous thoughts, in fact all thought of any kind, flies right out the window.

I used to think, long after coming out, long after committing my life to partnership with my beautiful Betsy, that there was no hope that gay marriage would ever come to this country, even as it spread to many countries across the globe. I told myself I didn’t care. We had as loving and committed a relationship as was possible. We didn’t need, or even want, that failed straight institution. I know, now, that I was in a wee state of denial. After all, if something is unavailable what is the point in hungering for it? I still have a dream that we queers can do something better, but meanwhile I proudly clutch my official, legal (at least in about twenty states) marriage license.

I used to think that my liking for alcohol would pass. Just another phase. I know now that at the age of 72, after drinking my way quite steadily through over half a century, that is not likely to happen. On the other hand, it is not the temptation it once was. Or perhaps to be more accurate I should say that the temptation, if succumbed to, is much shorter lived. I tend to fall asleep after one beer, unless I remain in constant motion and my arthritis argues strongly against that.

I used to think, as a pudgy child, that my battle with weight would also pass. Yet another phase! And indeed for many years taken up with raising four step-children and putting in long exhausting hours at work, I settled comfortably in the acceptable center of that BMI range. For several years now, though, I have been pushing greedily against the BMI north face, and sometimes toppling over. I now know that if I ever return to the center, where all the charts and measurements estimate I should be, if I ever lose considerable weight, it will probably result from some condition not promising me health and longevity.

I used to think that someday I would no longer feel pain from the death of my mom and dad. Suffering the loss of one’s parents is, after all, the natural progression of life. Now I know I shall never get used to being an orphan, and will always have that tiny empty space inside me.

I used to think that someday I would write that unique novel. It would be translated into at least thirty different languages. My name would be recognized in as many countries. I would walk into a meeting room on a business trip to, say, the IBM facility in Melbourne. Those Aussie jaws would drop as they chorused, “Oh my word! You don’t say you’re THE Gillian Edwards?!” Now I know it’s one chance in a million that I’ll even have some inane comment go viral to make me at least famous for a day. Or a nano-second. I am honored to have a very occasional short piece published in that most erudite of journals, Out Front. I also know, now, that if I can write a few hundred words which occasionally amuse or emotionally captivate a small minority of a group of wonderful people gathered around a table on a Monday afternoon, that is the only claim to fame I need.

© August 2014

About the Author

I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have now been with my wonderful partner Betsy for 25 years.

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A Circle of Loving Companions by Pat Gourley

Harry Hay is best known for founding the Mattachine Society in 1950 an organization certainly seminal as far as the modern gay movement is concerned. He is also fairly well known for helping create the Radical Fairies in an attempt to redirect what he felt was the disheartening slide of the Queer movement into dreary assimilation. Hmm, I wonder how that worked out?

The Radical Fairies had a definite spiritual bent and cultivated a rejection of straight culture. As I have written here on other occasions I feel it was the devastation of AIDS and the resulting preoccupation with survival and death for so many and in so many insidious ways that took the gas out of the Radical Fairie movement. That though is not to deny that Radical Fairies are not still vibrantly around today here and there.

Another less well-known effort of Harry’s was the formation in 1965 of a queer collective that he called a “Circle of Loving Companions” an entity lasting for decades. I’ll quote a brief description of this group from Stuart Timmon’s biography of Hay called The Trouble with Harry Hay (1990): “ The Circle was often politically active, and Harry stressed the name symbolized how all gay relationships could be conducted on the Whitmanesque ideal of the inclusive love of comrades. The Circle’s membership specifications were based on affinity…”

I first became aware of the name by way of written correspondence I had with Harry and his loving companion John Burnside in the late 1970’s. The phrase “Circle of Loving Companions” was frequently the letterhead on his written correspondence to me in those days and was also stamped on the outside of envelopes as part of the return address. I still do prefer “loving companion” as a descriptor of intimate queer relationships that sits with me much better than partner, lover, significant other or the current rage “husband”.

If I didn’t at the time I should have realized that I was a part of a genuine Circle of Loving Companions that was formed here in Denver out of the intoxicating crucible that was gay liberation the 1970’s. Viable remnants of this Circle remain in my life today but significantly depleted over the years, primarily by AIDS.

I met the most significant loving companion I have ever had in the fall of 1980 shortly after the second Radical Fairie Gathering here in Colorado in August of that year and a few short weeks after returning from my father’s funeral back in Illinois. David was at the time the Methodist minister in Aspen Colorado and was a close friend with one of the roommates I had in our house up in Five Points. He was visiting this friend and staying at our house when we were first introduced. We actually had a bit of a courtship consisting of a couple of dates before we fucked, something extremely rare in the gay male world of 1980. Over the ensuing months though I realized that I did have a deep affinity for this person and he soon left his church in Aspen and moved into the house on north Downing

Street that was sort of the Radical Fairie vortex for Denver at the time. He must have felt a real affinity for me to make such a bold change.

In hindsight I think it best to have a primary loving companion when one is part of a Circle of Loving Companions and David certainly filled that role for me. Our affinity only deepened over the next fifteen years until his death from AIDS in 1995. The nineteenth anniversary of his death is this week on Wednesday the 17th, 2014.

Since his death I have been involved in one other long-term relationship. I guess you can call 11 years a long-term relationship and though it had its moments there didn’t seem to have the same sustained ‘affinity’ in so many ways I had with David. This second long term partner did not seem to fit as well into my circle of friends and this to me is something that any current partner I might fall in love with would need to accommodate. Something to keep in mind is introducing any prospective partner to your circle of companions sort of like straight folks do with each other’s biological families.

So I guess any new partner would need to be a bit of a collectivist and tolerate the coming and goings of my circle and I would certainly need to be accommodating of his companions. I also would insist on dependability. You need to always be there for me and me for you. Sex at this stage of the dance is quite peripheral to the whole enchilada and though mutual orgasms occasionally that involve seeing Jesus would be nice they are definitely not required.

As mentioned above my circle of loving companions is much depleted from what it was 35 years ago but still limping along. It has though it seems gotten much more difficult to add new members. If anyone is feeling an ‘affinity’ and is interested in interviewing for a position in the Circle we could meet over coffee.

© September 2014

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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Lavender University by Pat Gourley

My involvement in the Gay Community Center began back in 1976. My first volunteer duties started very shortly after it opened at its first location in the 1400 block of Lafayette. This was an old brick two story duplex that I think was owned at the time by the Unitarian Church on the corner and the Center was renting the space from them. My main duties initially involved phone volunteering and coordinating other phone volunteers along with building our database of referrals, which we kept on a single Rolodex! A majority of our calls were for social referrals to local bars and bathes and the emerging number of local LGBT organizations, and also not a few requests for gay-sensitive therapists and health care providers. We referred men frequently to the Men’s Coming Out Group still in existence today, which met early on in the Unitarian Church itself, their library I think.

1976 was the year I started nursing school and eventually did my Community Health rotation at the Center. One of my nursing student activities was participating, as a tester, in a weekly STD clinic at the Center on Friday evenings. I am not sure why it wasn’t on a Monday rather than a Friday since the business would have probably been more brisk after a busy weekend in the late seventies, the age of thriving bathhouses. These clinics involved a fair amount of counseling on STD’s and how you got them and how to possibly avoid getting them. Unfortunately, though, we gay men rather cavalierly thought of STD’s as just the cost of doing business and not something to particularly strive to avoid. We drew blood for syphilis and did throat, penis and rectal cultures for gonorrhea. HIV was still several years away.

My Center volunteer activities drifted from phone work and coordination to milking penises and swabbing buttholes to the much more highbrow efforts involved with a program of the Center called Lavender University. Where or from whom the name came has been lost in the mist but it was a queer take off at the time on the very successful Denver Free University. I was a member of the Center’s University Staff from its inception until probably early 1984 when The Center kind of imploded around a variety of issues including extreme tension between some community-based organizations, the tumultuous resignation of Carol Lease and the demands and urgency of the emerging AIDS epidemic. I do believe much of this tumult was fueled in no small part at the time by often-blatant sexism and an at times over the top focus on the perceived supremacy of the penis within the gay male community but that is a topic for another time.

Our quasi mission statement read as follows: “Lavender University of the Rockies is a free school by and for the lesbian and gay communities of Colorado. It is dedicated to the free exchange of ideas, to the examination of diverse points of view and to free speech without censorship.” In addition to being on the University staff I was an occasional instructor offering often erudite classes including one called: Evolving Queer Spirituality or The Potential Significance of Paganism For Gay Men further subtitled “might Christianity just be paganism with the gayness taken out.” In only three of the course catalogs I managed to keep I also see I offered a class on the Tarot and one year a November 1st celebration of the Harvest Sabbat. Yeah, what can I say this was certainly my “witch-phase?”

The most fulfilling repeated offering I made though was one for gay men and involved a series of writings we would read and dissect by gay visionaries including Edward Carpenter, Gerald Heard, Harry Hay, Mitch Walker, and Don Kilhefner among others. These offerings were usually weekly and involved spirited group discussion around that week’s selected piece and food. Most of the sessions were held at the Center or my house up in Five Points. Many of the attendees were budding radical fairies and some friendships were made that last until this day.

These were probably the peak years of what I will rather presumptuously and ostentatiously call my Queer-Radical-Phase. These years of my life involved hours and hours of community work and play with many other often very receptive comrades in arms. It was a very exciting and challenging time for me personally and I think for the larger LGBT community, the world was truly becoming our oyster. It was constantly being reinforced for me on a daily basis that Harry Hay was right-on that we were a distinct people and a real cultural minority.

It is my belief that it was the slowing emerging AIDS nightmare that derailed this truly grassroots revolution and really forced a refocusing of our energies into survival. The tensions created by that little retrovirus locally nearly led to the end of The Gay and Lesbian Community Center and certainly to lots of soul searching and critique of the rich expressions of much of the gay male world we had come to know and love in the 1970’s.

I like to fantasize that if AIDS had not come along we would have seen a much more radical queer community and force for seminal social change than we are today. The community might have led a nationwide revolt that would have tossed Ronald Reagan out of office in 1984 and reversed the countries unfortunate slide into oligarchy. Perhaps igniting a re-election of Jimmy Carter and a return of the solar panels to the roof of the White House. We might well have been in the vanguard of the dissolution of traditional marriage, replacing it with a much more polymorphous and rich arrangement of human interaction and loving support.

A severe curtailing and redefinition of the American military into a force truly devoted to peace on earth would have been another goal. Instead of the race to the local recruiters office for those with no other economic choice everyone would do two years or more of service to the community that would have been of great benefit to the entire world and health of the planet. But perhaps I am putting way too much on our plate or …. hmm … maybe I did do too much LSD in the 70’s.

© April 2014

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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Stories of GLBT Organizations by Ray S

When I noted the address, 1301 East Colfax Ave., I thought it was the new location for Pleasures. Interesting, but that didn’t make sense with the info I had from a recent edition of “Out Front” a newspaper which I had surreptitiously read when no one was around. My mission was to learn what, where, and when about some sort of conference about “adult” (nice-speak for “old”) gay folks being held this weekend.

Cautiously my closet door creaked open just a bit and barely sticking my head out I bravely made my way to the address which turned out to be some place named anonymously “The CENTER.” Then if you looked close in fine print you read “Advancing LGBT Colorado.”

Long story short a really nice guy, I thought he was straight, clued me in and took my registration fee.

The next day I arrived at the conference site hotel to have a whole new world open up for me.It was wonderful to observe the diverse (overused word but accurate) crowd. Mr. “Center-Ken” had put this really first class show together with lots of dedicated volunteer help. People manning or “woman-ing” booths hawking pertinent products or information of all kinds. It was SAGE high on some really good stuff.

At one presentation the group–we had all signed up for various subjects regarding gays far beyond the millennium age–was hearing all about preparing for some financial or medical eventuality adult GLBT’s will be confronted with. When I asked the young man sitting to my right (he had to be 30 or so and that’s young!) if he knew what these folks were talking about, it didn’t matter what the answer was because suddenly I was smittten with an instantaneous crush. Could he possibly be interested in Daddy? I hardly qualified for lack of the necessary sugar, but I felt my ardor rising. See, you can teach an old dog new tricks.

Turned out after luncheon and the speaker, we broke up into small groups again for various “learning experiences” and low and behold the new object of my affection was leading one on the subject “self esteem,” right up my alley.

Needless to say my love light had flared brightly for at least the duration of the lunch hour, then flickered out with challenges of trying to locate something called self esteem and learning his partner was a famous drag queen, on top of experiencing hovering in and out of my cozy closet.

Once the whole Dog and Pony Show had terminated I was aware I had found a new friend and was resigned happily returning to my pre-baby boomer age group. I could see the bright light under the crack between the floor and the bottom of the closet door. Somehow between Mr. Ken-Center and the SAGE Sheraton Downtown a new life had begun.

Footnote #1, with apologies to Mr. Oscar Wilde

The Picture of Dorian Gray ne’ me that appeared in a recent edition of “Out Front” has come back to haunt me, but delightfully so. Last night after I had finished this testimonial, my cell beckoned around 8 PM. The voice of my “friend” from far away St. Louis called to tell me how happy he was to have received a copy of said publication and the SAGE OF THE ROCKIES STORY TIME stories. This coincidence was doubly welcome when my young friend (he must be 35 by now–just a kid) told me we would get together when he is passing through on a business trip to Wyoming in May. Does hope spring eternal or at least stumble a little?

Footnote #2 Germain pg. 45

“Life is a mirror which riddles the truth;

Age is but an excess of youth.”

April 7, 2014

About the Author

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My Favorite Fantasy by Ricky

If I were to follow my financial greediness, my favorite fantasy would involve having lots of money so I could travel when and where I wanted. I am not greedy, but I could become so should I ever have large amounts of personal funds.

A not so favorite but highly enjoyable fantasy involves lots of Baseball Nut ice-cream everyday for treats between meals.
As a pubescent pre-teen and an adolescent teen, to help me fall asleep, I would draft movie plots in my head. One favorite was a series about a group of humanoid, pubescent, hermaphrodite, pre-teen aliens from another planet who land on Earth because their flying-saucer needed some repair. While here they used their advanced technology to secretly fight crime like the comic book heroes of the time.
During my youth, my all-time favorite fantasy, as you might expect from my previous stories, involves a lot of sexual behaviors featuring me. I won’t go into any details but if you could see the geographic setting for my adventures, you would understand without being told that my name in the fantasy is, Peter.
© 14 October 2013

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