A Defining Word, by Ricky

People use words to communicate.  In spite of a few of my acquaintances whom
never refer to me as a person, person of interest or disinterest, I use words
to communicate.  It behooves all people
to communicate accurately by using words whose meaning everyone
understands.  Those of us who have (or
still have at our senior age) a large vocabulary and can actually remember the
words when we need them, hold a big advantage over those persons with a limited
vocabulary – this category does not include young children whose minds are
trans sponge and cis blackholes.  Any
parent can testify to the reality of that fact. 
Perhaps you can remember a time when you were small or when your young
child accurately used or asked for the meaning of a “colorful” word while your mother was standing nearby – words
like: shit, cock, fuck, bitch, son-of-a-bitch, gay, lesbian, homo, or
pervert.  A child’s vocabulary expands
very rapidly indeed.  Especially when
following a child’s inquiry, the adult blurts out “Where the hell did you hear that word?”  The answer is nearly always, “From you
Daddy.”  At this point, you get a very
very stern look from your mother who
is still standing nearby.  (Add “hell” to
the previous word list.)  By the way,
does anyone know why little children seem to delight in saying those words at
the most embarrassing time, place, and circumstance?
While growing up from age 10 forward, I spent many hours of
my summer vacation from school reading for recreation to pass the time I consumed
babysitting my twin brother and sister.  I
had many opportunities to interrogate a dictionary to obtain the meaning of a
word, if I could not deduce its meaning from the context of the usage.
If I didn’t know how to spell a word in elementary school, my
teachers would always tell me to look it up in the dictionary.  I always retorted, “How can I look it up if I
don’t know how to spell it?”  I finally
quit asking and just tried to figure out a way to write my assignment without
using that particular word.
At one time I was a good speller.  I never won the class spelling bee but I was
often 2nd.  When I graduated
high school, my ability to spell began to fade away.  Now I depend on my computer’s ability to know
what I am trying to communicate and to spell all the words correctly and place
them into proper grammatical position. 
I’ve discovered that usually the computer and I are both week in the
grammar area.
Communicating by pronouncing words correctly (making allowances
for regional dialects and not writing a homonym for the correct word) is
equally important for presenting a positive image to others along with having
your message correctly understood. 
Perhaps you can remember President George W. Bush’s mangling of English
(some may call it misspeaking or misquoting). 
“Dubya” attended some prestigious schools:  Harvard Business School, Yale University, The
Kinkaid School, Phillips Academy, and Yale College.  Yet his mangling (there I said it again) of
the language does not reflect well on those institutions or upon the Texas
education system, which already has major problems of its own.  It goes without saying (but I’ll say it
anyway) it does not reflect well upon him either.
Words are used to label things and people.  However, labels do not define a thing.  Poorly paraphrasing Shakespeare, labeling a
rose a skunk, does not accurately call to mind its sweet smell.  Placing a label on a person does not
accurately define who or what that person is like and the danger of mislabeling
someone is all too great.  People are too
complex to be categorized by a label. 
Humans are more than just words.
I am tired of writing on this topic so here is the defining
word of the day, “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious”.  If you don’t know what it means, look it up
in a dictionary or just watch Disney’s “Mary Poppins”.
© 22 Feb 2016 
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 was sent to live 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 9-11-2001
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 

Brother Townsend, by Cecil Bethea

Twenty-three passengers on the
Mayflower were ancestors of Prescott Townsend 
ancestors. Another forebear was the only man to sign the Declaration of
Independence, the Articles of the Confederation, and the Constitution. On
almost any route that Townsend took to grade school on Boston’s Beacon Hill, he
would past a monument to an ancestor or to an event in which some kinsman had
participated
Townsend was born in 1895 when the
blue bloods of Boston still considered themselves Brahmins and felt contented.  Henry James called them, “the sifted
few”.  Besides his inherited wealth, his
father was also the head of a large coal company.  When Townsend was fifteen his father
died.  At sixteen he told his mother that
he liked other boys.  She merely
answered, “Be careful.”.
During his eighteenth summer, he went
out West to work in logging and mining camps of Idaho and Montana where he met
people unlike himself.  The International
Workers of the World, derisively called the Wobblies were trying to organize a
union amongst the unskilled workers and hobos with whom Townsend worked.  He developed a lifelong interest in street
boys and drifters, the outcasts of society.

At Harvard, he evidently was more
interested in tennis than books, but he survived.  So many attractions drew him into a very
active social life.  After all, he was in
the SOCIAL REGISTER.  Harvard was very
pro-British during the first years of World War I.  To do his part, he joined the Naval
Reserve.  After the United States had
entered the war, Townsend was called to the colors, where he performed various
duties including being commanding officer of the Naval Unit at Texas A &
M.  After being demobilized, he returned
to Harvard to finish his senior year and later to enter law school.
Law school palled, so at the end of
his first year he quit.  So many
interesting things lured him on to various adventures. In the tropics of
Mexico, he was the co-discoverer of an unknown salamander which was named for
him.  In Paris, Andre Gide recommended
the deserts of North Africa.  Townsend
organized a small caravan with willing. complaisant, or hungry young men.  During his visit the Rift Rebellion, an
attempt by the Arabs to oust the French was taking place.  One small battle interrupted the progress of
his party.  He insisted that the fight
stop because he as an American had precedent over their squabbles.  Strangely enough the combatants ceased their
gunfire while the American passed.  How
things have changed for American tourist!
Back in Paris, Townsend became
involved with the Bohemians; in fact, Bohemia became a part of him for the rest
of his life.  In Boston he was the patron
of poets and a little theater.  Actually
he owned the building where the theater had its quarters.  His house became a home for various nomads of
the artistic and Gay worlds.  Although he
bragged he had never paid for sex, it was difficult to turn down a man who is
supplying you with bed and board.  During
his later years, all of his tenants chipped in to pay a handsome young man to
supply Townsend’s needs
During the 1950’s Townsend was much
more than a horny old man.  He was a Gay
activist.  Actually one could make that
ACTIVIST.  The Boston chapter of the
Mattachine Society had him for one of his co-founders.  Just as all the chapters had strife between
the radicals and the conservatives.  The
organization asked him to make his efforts to repeal the sodomy laws of
Massachusetts a personal cause rather an organizational one.  Townsend did not want understanding and
sympathy from the public but rights. 
Confrontational was his usual means of operation. On April 17th,
1965, he was in Washington for the first Gay demonstration.  Seven Gay men, three Lesbians, and a straight
woman friend marched in front of the White House. No doubt he was the oldest.  In 1970, he drove down from Boston for the
first parade to commemorate the Stonewall protest.  Even at seventy-six, he was amongst the first
two hundred to start the parade which grew to thousands.
In his later years Townsend was not
welcomed by other Gays because he had evidently forgotten the meaning of
personal hygiene and looked like derelict. 
No matter he was a participant in Gay functions.
Prescott Townsend should be
remembered for uncompromising attitude toward Gay rights, his early organizing
of Gay, and his early participation in early Gay demonstrations.
He was a Founding Brother.
© 9 Nov
2005 
About the Author 

Although I have done other things, my fame now rests
upon the durability of my partnership with Carl Shepherd; we have been together
for forty-two years and nine months as of today, August 18the, 2012.
        Although
I was born in Macon, Georgia in 1928, I was raised in Birmingham during the
Great Depression.  No doubt I still carry
invisible scars caused by that era.  No
matter we survived.  I am talking about
my sister, brother, and I .  There are
two things that set me apart from people. 
From about the third grade I was a voracious reader of books on almost
any subject.  Had I concentrated, I would
have been an authority by now; but I didn’t with no regrets.
        After
the University of Alabama and the Air Force, I came to Denver.  Here I met Carl, who picked me up in Mary’s
Bar.  Through our early life we traveled
extensively in the mountain West.  Carl
is from Helena, Montana, and is a Blackfoot Indian.  Our being from nearly opposite ends of the
country made “going to see the folks” a broadening experience.  We went so many times that we finally had
“must see” places on each route like the Quilt Museum in Paducah, Kentucky and
the polo games in Sheridan, Wyoming.  Now
those happy travels are only memories.
        I was
amongst the first members of the memoir writing class.  While it doesn’t offer criticism, it does
offer feed back.  Also just trying to
improve your writing helps no end.
        Carl is
now in a nursing home, I don’t drive any more. 
We totter on.