Tag: Louis

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The Shooters: A book review by Louis

Telling Your Story theme of the day: Reading

Plot Summary of The Shooters (2008) by W. E. B. Griffi,

Genre: International spy thriller

Style of writing: soap opera, episodes based on quickly shifting scenes.

Carlos Castillo was an officer in the Department of Homeland Security. Then there was a Presidential Finding that authorized the setting up of another agency, the Office of Organizational Analysis in reaction to the assassination of some important ambassadors in Uruguay, Paraguay and Argentina, one of whom was Ambassador Jack Masteson. Carlos Castillo’s middle name is Guillermo. He is the son of Jorge2 Castillo who, when he was stationed in Germany in the U. S. Army, had sex with a German woman who later became pregnant. J2C did not know she was pregnant and was shipped off to Vietnam where he died in combat.

12 years passed and the unnamed mother of Carlos learned she was soon going to die of pancreatic cancer. She goes to local army base and inquires about Jorge2 Castillo’s whereabouts. She learns he died in combat in Vietnam. For his first twelve years Carlos Guillermo3 Castillo was named Karl Wilhelm3 zu und von Gossinger. In other words, he was a German boy growing up in Germany in an impoverished German aristocratic family. Even when he was older, he was blond and fair-skinned, Nordic. Still he was half “Texican,” the grandson of Juan (Don)1 Castillo and Doña Alicia Castillo. A “Texican” means a native of Texas whose ancestry is Mexican especially those who were living in Texas when Texas was still part of Mexico.

Don Fernando1 Castillo was wealthy and owned a Learjet, that is, he was also an airplane pilot.

When Karl Wilhelm’s mother contacted this elderly Texican couple, Doña Alicia flew to Germany and met her grandson whose existence she did know of until then. Karl’s mother was bedridden. Karl’s impoverished German family could not really help him. Of course, Karl was technically illegitimate and was a minor embarrassment. Dona Alicia took right over, took good care of Karl and dying mother. Once mother died, Doña Alicia brought Karl back to Texas where he was of course renamed Carlos Guillermo3 Castillo and where he spent the rest of his childhood, that is, in San Antonio, Texas.

As a result of his childhood in Germany and his subsequent service in U. S. military, CG3C speaks English, German but also Hungarian. As an adult, CG3C worked in the American military, he was a Gulfstream airplane pilot, and all his colleagues called him Charlie. Many other characters in the novel have first name Charles or Charlie. So when reader reads Charlie said this or that, he has to be aware of which Charlie is being referenced (which can get complicated). One of CG3C’s colleagues, Alfredo Munz, is German, so he calls CG3C “Karl”. Other of his colleagues call him “Ace.” Reader gets confused.

Before entering military service in the U. S. Army, CG3C went to West Point as a cadet. He and a fellow cadet, named Randolph Richardson, let’s call him RRIII, frequently played dirty tricks on one another. This led to a serious dispute between the two that resulted in a hearing before the Cadet Honor System Tribunal. RRIII lost his case but never forgave CG3C and his cohorts. And vice versa.
Later CG3C went to Fort Rucker, Alabama, to learn how to fly an updated version of the Gulfstream super airplane and again met RRIII and his fiancée, Bethany2 Wilson, daughter of Harry Wilson, deputy commander at Fort Rucker, Harry Wilson had an important connection with CG3C and that was that he was copilot in the Vietnam War with CG3C’s father, Jorge2 Castillo. The name of Bethany2 Wilson’s mother was Bethany1 Wilson. Both women called themselves “Beth” just to confuse the poor reader even further. B2W and CG3C were of course at odds with one another since her future husband and CG3C would never really get along with each other and she sided with her future husband, RRIII. After a while, however, CG3C and his colleague, TomPrentiss, recounted his biography to B2W and she was so impressed, let her guard down, and she started getting attracted physically to CG3C and eventually had sex with him. They were both of course hush-hush about their romantic interlude, their tryst.

Once the Office of Organizational Analysis was set up, CG3C was sent to Uruguay to protect the Masterson family. Jack Masterson a U. S. ambassador to Uruguay was assassinated in a massacre that took place on the Estancia Shangri La, located in central Uruguay and owned originally by Jean-Phillippe Lorimer, the son of another retired Ambassador who later on in the novel went down to Uruguay to live in his late son’s estate, estancia, despite OAA’s opposition. His son had been assassinated. Presumably, all these assassinations were committed by drug lords.

The novel does not discuss specifically how CG3C was held accountable for his technically unsuccessful task of protecting the Masterson family. He was sitting with his innumerable colleagues in a safe house, a mansion in the Pilar suburb of Buenos Aires, called Nuestra Pequeña Casa. It had originally been purchased and set up by two CIA agents, Paul and Susanna Sieno. While he and his colleagues were sitting in the quincho (a sort of fenced in patio), assuming they were operating in complete secrecy, CG3C’s dog Max detects the presence of an intruder, Colonel Jacob (Jake) Torine, a black U. S. Air Force Colonel who tells them he and a significant number of local U. S. Air Force personnel inferred why and how CG3C’s “secret” operation was all about. CG3C and company were horrified that their so-called secret operation was virtually public knowledge. A bit later, Colonel Jake Torine was inducted as another officer of OOA. Torine was actually motivated to ask for CG3C’s assistance in preventing harassment of his fellow USAF personnel by drug lords.

Once Torine showed them that their operation was not all that secret, they had to return to another safe house in Alexandria, VA. Once things cooled off, they returned to Nuestra Pequeña Casa. CG3C and company, that is, the Office of Organizational Analysis, were sent back to Argentina, to Nuestra Pequeña Casa, safe house, to retrieve Byron J.3 Timmons, the grandson of Byron Timmons Sr. who was a close friend of the unnamed POTUS, and POTUS owed him a favor. Byron Timmons Sr. was a retired chief of police of the Chicago Police Department. BJ3T had been kidnapped by local drug lords, tied up in a secret location with two other Uruguayan anti-drug police officers. 
Until recently, the drug lords never killed drug enforcement or any other law enforcement officers in Argentina, Uruguay and Paraguay. BJ3T with two anti-drug trafficking Uruguayan police officers were turned by their kidnappers into drug addicts themselves. The three were tied up with hands over head to a cable above their heads and were injected intraveneously at regular intervals with heroïne.

During the course of the novel, after much hopping from air base to air base, CG3C returns to Fort Rucker, Alabama, and, in order to observe the damage wrought by Hurricane Katrina along the gulf coast, jumps in an airplane, accompanied by RRIV, son of RRIII, and RRIII’s father-in-law, Commander Harry1 Wilson. They fly east first along the southern coast of Alabama then the Florida pan-handle coast. CG3C even lets the 8 year old RR-IV pilot the airplane for a few minutes, of course under his close supervision. One of CG3C’s colleagues takes a picture of this outing on one of his cell phone photography devices.

On this reconnaissance flight were CG3C, RR-IV, Niedermeyer (one of CG3C’s colleagues), Commander Harry Wilson, RR-IV’s maternal grandfather. Later Niedermeyer shows the photos to CG3C, and RR-IV uncannily looks a lot like CG3C. Coup de foudre, CG3C realizes he is RR-IV’s real father, and RRIII does not even know or suspect the truth. If he did know or find out, then what? CG3C writes a report on what he found out in an encrypted message to himself on his laptop. His grandmother, his abuela, Doña Alicia Castillo nagged him about not having a family. Little does she know she has a great grandson. RR-IV is of course the result of CG3C’s romantic interlude with Beth2 Wilson, and Commander Harry1 Wilson is not aware either of his grandson’s actual paternity.

CG3C’s superior is General Bruce J. McNab at Fort Bragg in North Carolina, but CG3C is given so much leeway and independence that General McNab’s input into the plot is minimal. CG3C is actually directly responsible to unnamed POTUS. To reiterate, the OOA or Office of Organizational Analysis was set up in response to the Presidential Finding which gives it legal authorization to set up clandestine operations on foreign soil. The Presidential Finding came into being as a reaction to the assassination of U. S. Ambassador to Argentina, Jack Masterson.

CG3C recommends that a fleet of Huey helicopters, being kept originally in Fort Rucker, Alabama, be flown to Jacksonville, Florida, where they were to be landed on an aircraft carrier, the Ronald Reagan. Once on the Ronald Reagan, they could be transported to a certain point off the coast of Uruguay. Three different officials are hostile to CG3C’s mission, and they are Milton Weiss of the CIA who feels CG3C’s mission is going to interfere with his mission of interdicting illicit drug sales in Argentina, Uruguay and Paraguay. Eventually these illicit drugs, mainly heroïne, are smuggled inside of cruise ships. CG3C requests permission from José Ordoñez, Uruguayan Policía Nacional Chief Inspector who tells him, in so many words, that he would rather that he, CG3C, and his operation stay out of Uruguay altogether, but he does not enforce his real wishes, and CG3C is able to plan to refuel his Huey helicopters in the Lorimer estate in central Uruguay, the Estancia Shangri La, which previously was the seen of a massacre one of the victims being Ambassador Jack Masterson. His other 3rd nemesis is Liam Duffy, Commandant of the Argentine Gendarmería Nacional, some of whose anti-drug police operatives had recently been assassinated by drug lords. Duffy was originally an Irish cop from Brooklyn, NY. He would rather CG3C and his operation not conduct business in Argentina at all.

To make a long story short, OOA does send in the helicopters and rescue the three anti-drug police agents, including Byron3 Timmons. He had been turned into a drug addict, but was subsequently detoxed.

Moral of story: Despite one’s intense desire to act on one’s patriotic instincts and on one’s general need to enforce the law and out manuever criminals, in this case, South American drug lords, one’s efforts can be foiled by human foibles, politics and in-fighting inside the establishment of the powers that be. CG3C does triumph in the end, however.

9-26-13

About 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.

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My Favorite Fantasy = Gay Power by Louis

Off the top of my head, I would say a roll in the hay with Tom Selleck – Darn, he’s so hairy, and he has such a pretty smile.

On second thought, my favorite fantasy is the bulk of gay people, instead of pursing “assimilation,” rather they should accept the radical view of history. I heard that Martin Duberman was disappointed with the direction of American liberation these days. I guess I agree with him.

Not so many years ago, after a long barrage of cheap hate mongering from certain Republicans claiming Black people are parasites because a large number of them live on Food Stamps, I believe it was the Black Panthers who responded by saying they did not want Food Stamps, they wanted Power, Black Power.

I think the LBGT community has to go through this radical stage. We do not want grudging scanty tolerance from some liberal churches. We want gay power. This means, we are well organized enough and interwoven with the power brokers of Wall Street, the European Economic Union, etc. that we can tell someone like Putin, that, if you mess with gay people, you’ll be sorry. We have to have the power to back up our threats. According to the radical view of history, considering the large number of gay people in the world, we can achieve this power. Have faith. Organize! Remember the cry to organize, expressed by so many American and European labor leaders of the 1930’s.

Once “empowered,” the priests, ministers, even the Imams and Mullahs will start preaching the holy nature of gay people, instead of what they are doing now. The Pope will gladly speak with our gay lib leaders, our real gay lib leaders, not the phony balonies, of which there are many, let’s call them smiling homophobes. When our real empowered leaders sit down with the Pope, the Pope will HAVE TO LISTEN.

Especially, when we go to church, we do not want to hear about the evils of same –sex attractions, we want to hear about how Christianity can empower the international gay community, the “Homintern,” as J. Edgar Hoover called us. Some precious few theologians are talking turkey. Make sure you listen to them. Jesus spoke at length about empowering the powerless. Of course, so did Mohammed, and Buddha and on and on. Listen!

Have you ever been to a gay lib protest rally? Some time the chant went, “What do you want?” “Power!” What kind of power?” Gay power!” That was music to my ears.

I was taught to believe for many years, that yes, there are gay people, a few poets and artists in Greenwich Village in Manhattan. They can be tolerated by the powers that be, but they are very, very few in number and they are powerless. What a crock! I have just “learned” there are gay people in Denver, Colorado.

I also “know” that there are gay people, by the millions in Russia, Europe, Asia, Australia, Canada, to judge by the size of the Pride Marches.

A few years ago, there was even a “congress,” a meeting of lesbian and gay Muslims in London, England. It is vital that there be a gay and lesbian positive news agency to tell us more about what happened at that meeting, what strategy did they come up with to liberate gay and lesbian Muslims, again, of which there are millions and millions.

What about the millions of lesbian and gay Catholics? How do we organize them? What about the millions and millions of lesbian and gay Chinese and Indians? How do we organize them?

One of my co-authors in this group described his youth in Germany. Why not a lesbian and gay Deutschverein right here at the Center? Denver Colorado has an Alliance française, thanks to in good part due to contributions from the Gay and Lesbian Fund. Why not a lesbian and gay Alliance française at the Lesgay Center of the Rockies? Accept the challenge, organize! If these groups could be organized, can you imagine how much our prestige would be enhanced?

The Jewish people set up Yeshiva University. The Black people set up Howard University and a large number of other black universities and schools. Where are the lesbian and gay schools, universities, religious societies? We can have it all if we think big, organize! Think globally, think international! Look carefully at what the Blacks and Jews have done to organize themselves.

Carlos Castillo also reminds us of the need for a lesbian and gay Spanish club. Well, we have the same language; there is a need for a British lesbian and gay club. Don’t you want to say hello to lesbian and gay Europeans, lesbian and gay Asians, lesbian and gay Africans, lesbian and gay Australians, lesbian and gay Central and South Americans? I do. I heard for many years the lesbian gay pride marches in Sydney. Australia, were the largest in the world.

MCC is setting up lesgay positive churches in South America. What’s happening down there south of the border? Educated people want to know. Information please!


One day, I am sure, because of sheer necessity my fantasy will become a reality.

© 10 October 2013
About
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.

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A Letter to My Younger Self by Louis

Uncle Louis went to visit his brother, Arthur, for Christmas in California, and stayed for a couple of weeks visiting. One evening, UL and nephew Louis (NL) started chewing the fat, so to speak.

Louis Jr. has his own opinions. He is 12 years old, is somewhat athletic and is above average in intelligence but not a genius. He had a long conversation with his gay uncle (moi), and politics, religion, adjusting to a world that is not particularly friendly to gay people. Also discussed were politics, religion and the meaning of following one’s career, etc.
UL: So what do you in the athletics department, Louis?
NL: Well, Mommy and Daddy enrolled me in the local Little League. I played in a couple of baseball games. I told Mommy and Daddy that I was uncomfortable competing to try and beat the other team. Being on a team seemed to me like being in a “herd.” So they let me off the hook.
UL: Your Mommy and Daddy and I know you are gay, you know you are gay; how many problems does that cause you?
NL: Everybody who cares knows I am gay, but no one makes an issue of it. If a bully tries to push me around, my friends intervene and stop the bully. I might add that I do enjoy playing volley ball. I like hitting the ball and shouting and hollering, but which team actually “wins” the game is sort of vague. I like that. There aren’t any grown-ups around keeping track who won what.
UL: I can’t tell you what to read and what to think, but I would like to know what you’ve read, already.
NL: Well, I do like to read, especially magazines about hiking and sport cars. I know there is such a thing as “classical literature”. I tried reading Dickens, I didn’t get it. I did enjoy reading Penrod by Booth Tarkington and Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer because they were stories about kids my own age.
UL: Maybe when you are a little older you might want to read Moby Dick and poetry by Emily Dickinson. Sometimes when you read books, there are different levels of meaning. Picking up on the deeper meanings makes the reading more enjoyable.
NL: Yes, maybe one day.
UL: Do you pick sides when you watch TV and see our two political parties arguing.
NL: Well, Daddy tells me he used to be a Republican. I do not completely understand what they are fighting about; I know I think they quarrel too much.
UL: What does Dad think about you getting into the Army or Air Force or Navy one of these days?
NL: I think, uh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be a pacifist. We have a debating club at school, and some of the kids say the wars we engage in all the time are dumb. Still, I like the idea of the discipline becoming maybe a State Trooper or maybe the Coast Guard.
UL: One of these days, you are probably going to choose a boy friend to live with on a permanent basis. Some of our moral leaders think you should treat your mate like a sub-human.
NL: Actually, I noticed Mommy and Daddy don’t treat each other that way, and actually I already have a sort of boy friend. Sometimes we go to the movies together. His name is Bobby, and I don’t think he is a sub-human. He’s two years older than I am.
UL: Of course, you have to watch out. Your present or future boyfriend might treat you like a sub-human.
NL: Well, if that happens, I guess I will look elsewhere for a mate.
UL: In the past, many preachers used to rant and rave against gay people in church. Do you go to church?
NL: Mommy and Daddy take me to church about once a month. To be frank, I don’t get it. The preacher tells us we need a moral compass, a light-house to guide us. What does that mean?
UL: I think it means sometimes you get into a predicament and you don’t know which way to turn so you trust what your moral teachings indicate. In reality, though, you have to make your own decisions. Most people think that the Republican Party, especially today’s Republican Party, only protect the interests of wealthy people, and that the Democratic Party, does pretty much the same thing but does care more about middle class people and the poor. Are you going to be a Democrat or Republican?
NL: My older Brother, Wally, just started college and he joined the campus chapter of the Young Republicans. He said he is going to try and encourage the Republican Party to be more middle-of-the-road. Mommy is a Democrat but lately she is unsure they are the good guys. I think there is a possibility of a third choice. One day when I know more, I can make up my mind.
UL: What happens when your government gets enthusiastic about some war, but you have your doubts? I think you should ask yourself some skeptical questions like who really benefits from this war? The military contractors? The arms manufacturers? What if you think the American public does not really derive any benefit from the war?
NL: Well, I’m a kid. I guess I’ll think about that later.
UL: The last big important question. What is your attitude toward poor people, toward homeless people, people who do not have enough to eat.
NL: Mommy used to volunteer at a soup kitchen on the other side of town. Over there people live in run-down shanties, and some of them do not smell so good, Mommy says.
She was able to buy good food in bulk, at whole – sale prices so the soup kitchen could afford to feed a hundred people or so. She said she felt good about it. I care about poor people. One day I probably will get involved in feed the hungry campaigns. I do see pictures of starving children in Africa and India. It’s sad. And then of course there are the sick and dying in the hospitals. Something to think about.
After I returned home to New York, about a month later, I received a letter from Louis’ mother in which she said that, in Louis’ school, she met with Louis’ guidance counselor who told her that he thought that Louis was “mal-adjusted”. She asked me my opinion. I told her that I had a long talk with nephew Louis, and au contraire I thought he was very well-adjusted. He has no unwholesome prejudices about himself or others. He just feels uncomfortable in a competitive sports environment, but he makes good moral judgments when he needs to. Nephew Louis likes school, likes to read so he should do well academically.

10-01-2013

About 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.

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From Brooklyn to College Point, New York by Louis

Long ago, far away

I guess long ago and far away could mean recounting the adventures of Alexander the Great (gay general) in ancient Persia. But since I am getting to become an antique myself, I thought I would reminisce about the years 1949-1950. The first president I remember was Harry Truman. Who was the first U. S. President you remember? I was living with my mother and father, my maternal grandmother and my paternal grandfather and four brothers in an apartment on Baimbridge Street in East New York, Brooklyn. Today Baimbridge Street is located in Bedford-Stuyvesant, which is not one of New York City’s better neighborhoods.

My younger brother Charles Francis was born in 1949. So I helped my mother and grandmother take care of him. Unfortunately he has since died – too much hard liquor. I remember a lot of soldiers who had returned five years previously from Europe after World War II recounting their experiences and showing us their helmets and rifles some of which even had bayonets although I remember Obama saying the use of bayonets was discontinued after World War I.

My grandfather used to take me on the electric trolley train and we would ride to Coney Island which back then was in its heyday. I was six years old and was awe-struck by the plethora of sparks showering down from the overhead electric wires that provided the energy for the trolleys to travel.

In 1950, we moved to our own house in College Point, Queens, NY. It had brown shingles, a big screened-in front porch with a sofa. Of course, it was still an urban setting, but to me, with the big yard in back and plenty of room as compared with the apartment in Brooklyn, it was like moving to the country. Back then College Point was a lower middle class town with lots of vacant lots and two well-maintained parks. A walk across town would bring you to a large expanse of untouched swamps. I and a bunch of other children loved to seek out the frogs, pheasant, and the rabbits. Unfortunately, all that is now gone. Nowadays College Point is run-down, dirty and overcrowded. So I am trying to relocate to Colorado.

On a hot summer’s day, a neighbor took us to the CYO swimming pool in neighboring Whitestone. I guess I lingered a little longer than I should have in the boys’ locker room.

In other words, when things are perfect, and one is happy, why do things have to change, go downhill?

Sept. 10, 2013

About 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.

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Thoughts on SAGE Queens and SAGE New York by Louis

This past Tuesday, I left from my apartment in College Point, Queens, New York and got on the nearest bus, the Q-65 and went to the next town over, Flushing, to the intersection of Roosevelt Avenue and Main Street, where I boarded the elevated number 7 train, the Flushing local which I rode west for eight stops to the intersection of 74 Street and Roosevelt Avenue in Jackson Heights, Queens. Jackson Heights is the main gay neighborhood in Queens – the “ghetto”, so to speak.

I was accompanied by my New York “boyfriend” of sorts, Kevin. I signed in and listened to the discussion of the meeting, led by John the Director. They have a restaurant club, a walking club, a new camera club, an art club, etc. They had already had their annual trip to Fire Island where this year they had a memorial service for lovers who had recently passed away.

One member of this club, a black man, and a veteran I think, named Claude follows the same itinerary as Kevin and I. After this meeting at Sage Queens in Jackson Heights, Queens, the three of us walk back to the 74 Street stop on the number 7 train and continue further west out of Queens and into Manhattan. We take the number 7 train to the last stop, Times Square at 42nd Street, where we transfer to the downtown (that is south) IRT local two stops to 28 Street and 7th Avenue. When we get off, we come up right by the famous gay landmark, the Fashion Institute of Technology (which, by the way, is bad English, it should be the Institute of Fashion Technology, that’s really what they mean). We cross the street and enter the building at 305 7th Avenue and take the elevator to the 15th floor.

Recently, I was chosen to be interviewed by a representative from Fordham University where the Social Work Department is trying to improve services for SAGE New York. I told the interviewer, among other things, that, like many seniors, I need affordable dental work, a hearing aid and a new pair of glasses. Medicare does not pay for any of these items. More importantly, I said there should be a gay and Lesbian French club. I noticed that some woman was holding a 6-week Italian course at Sage New York, a step in the right direction. And lo and behold, a few weeks later, I noticed that, on Friday evenings, from 6 p.m. to 7 p.m., there is a French Conversation meeting at SAGE New York, another step in the right direction, in my opinion. When I get back to New York City in a few weeks, if it is still meeting, I want to attend the French Conversation hour, held Friday evenings. Why not a Spanish language club?

This past Tuesday, when we arrived, in preparation for senior dinner, which is served at 5 p.m., we said hello to a group of Japanese students who were “teaching” Origami. I remembered Betsy and Gillian who went to the gay Games in Vancouver, Canada a few years ago. My point is “Think international!”, especially nowadays, when we here about the persecution of Lesbian and gay people in Russia. The Japanese students helped serve dinner. It was all quite interesting.

After dinner, Kevin and I went to the nearby Long Island Railroad station, located in Penn Station and bought 2 discount senior tickets to return to Flushing, Queens. Well, actually, Kevin is not a senior, is too young, but he is disabled so qualifies for a discount ticket. We returned to Main Street and Roosevelt Avenue in Flushing, NY where we boarded the Q-65 and returned home.

© 10 September 2013

About
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.

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Building Worldwide Community by Louis

We gay people have a choice. We can continue to be the eternal victims of religious fanatics or we can organize and become a world power. Let’s choose the empowerment option.

I recently sent an e-mail to Shari Wilkins, Program Director of the Center. I suggested the Denver Gay and Lesbian Center set up a foreign language club. I set up such a club at the Center on West 13 Street in Greenwich Village in New York City about 30 years ago. The announcement for the group was put into their monthly newsletter. 65 people showed up for the first meeting. There were so many people that the Center had to put us in the garden. I mainly listened to the suggestions of people who were interested. It was a very informative exchange. The main message was that an international style of education would give everyone a better understanding of gay liberation as a worldwide movement.

I kept the group going for about a year. A Lesbian couple from Switzerland showed up and shared their experiences. They said that in Switzerland, the laws were liberal because the Swiss culture believes in science, including more modern views on human sexuality.

One evening a good looking young man from the Catalan region of Spain showed up and explained the differences between Spanish, Portuguese and Catalan. Everyone was fascinated. At another meeting a small group of people from the Czech Republic showed up and tried to explain the basics of their language.

I kept the group going for about nine months until I got burn-out. It was kind of exhausting scheduling all the time. If groups like this could be set up on a permanent basis, it would be better.

Another group I set up was la petite Ecole française. I wanted to do grammar and such, but it just turned into a general French club where gay and Lesbian French people could gather in a safe environment. The first session of the group drew 35 people. I sort of let the group go where it wanted to go naturally. One evening a group of three gay ice hockey athletes from Quebec, Canada, showed up and told about their experiences as athletes at the Olympic Games that were taking place back then in Quebec or Montreal. Another participant, Gaston, kept us up to date on how gay liberation was going in Paris. He was in New York because he worked for IBM.

We also tried to keep up with ILGA, the International Lesbian and Gay Association. I believe they attempted to set up a permanent mission to the U. N.

I wonder how that is going. If ILGA could accomplish what they envision as their mission, our worldwide community could start registering human rights violations complaints with the U. N. about hostile legislation such as what is now happening in Africa and the Soviet Union. Then I saw a new group, International Gay & Lesbian Human Rights Commission. Is it for real? How does one obtain further information?

I think another important educational tool we need in the various Gay and Lesbian Centers is perhaps a retired lawyer who knows how to keep up with changing case law regarding our civil rights issues. He could make a monthly report to the community in the Community Center. Events like this were held at the Center in New York. Invariably, large numbers of people showed up to hear what is going on once the events were held.

Denver, 2013

About 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.

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Searching for El Dorado by Louis

A Dominican youth selling his paintings

A favorite place – Dominican Republic

(a) I apologize this essay sounds like an advertisement for tourism to the Dominican Republic.

(b) Favorite protégé: Leonardo R.

(c) Some people would say one’s favorite place is Boulder, Colorado, or pre-AIDS Fire Island on south coast of Long Island, New York. Another beautiful city is Charleston, S. C.

(d) The first time I went to the Dominican Republic, la República Dominicana, was 25 years ago. I paid money gradually into a scholarship fund established by the NHYC HRA, Local 371, for needy Hispanics to go to school. A worthy cause. This paid for a flight on American Airlines from NYC to Santo Domingo Airport. I went to a “luxury” resort in Juan Dolio, a section of the Caribbean Sea Coastline, on the DR’s south shore, about 10 miles east of Boca Chica and 15 miles west of San Pedro de Macoris. I sat in the pool and got free daiquiris and rum and cokes. I got photographed sitting on a burro or was it a burra? I had a ball.

(e) Then there was the side trip to Santiago and Punta Cana on the north shore of the DR. Two more beautiful sun-drenched cities.

(f) 2nd visit, 2 years ago. The name of the resort I went to was the Albatross. A business woman was also there, she described how she came to DR to relax. She previously went to Breckenridge, Colorado. My brother and I had just visited Breckenridge, CO. A coincidence.

(g) Another coincidence is the 60-year old barber in College Point in NYC. He goes to DR every chance he gets because he has a Dominican girl friend there. He goes to Boca Chica.

(h) One afternoon, I was sitting on the beach enjoying watching the geckos and sea gulls, when I noticed a man swimming in the water. I looked a little closer. He wasn’t actually swimming, he was taking a bath. When he got out of the water, he approached me and said “Hola”; I got red in the face. We got acquainted.

(i) Leonardo served as my guide although he could only drive in the areas of DR where the police had no jurisdiction, which, for some reason I do not know, is inland and covers a lot of territory.

(j) If you get stopped by a local cop, and it does happen more or less regularly, you have to hand over the equivalent of $3.00 or US $3.00. One cop told me they have to do this because their pay is not sufficient for them to buy lunch.

(k) I visited with Leonardo’s relatives. L. loves his mother, his aunt, his uncles, his cousins.

(l) His very petite elderly aunt looked sort of dried up like a raisin. But I knew that was the tropical sun that had made her skin a dark brown. She looked very different from what I am used to. But she looked fine. I asked Leonardo’s relatives if they had enough to eat. The aunt and uncle said they have plenty to eat. They harvest the veggies from their garden plots and they have chickens laying eggs, and pigs, and goats and bulls and cows for milk. The point is they were 3rd world dirt farmers, but they sort of lived well without any cash.

(m) They showed me where they live. In the U. S. I have noticed the popularity of tool sheds, sometimes designed like little houses in the backyards. In the DR a “casa” is the size of one of these tool sheds. Which was fine. They were living in paradise, right? So what does the size of their house mean? And then of course the hurricanes blow down big houses so easily anyway.

(n) I had a rented car so Leonardo and his (beautiful) cousin piled into the vehicle and led me on a little trip through the back woods where they all got pretty much naked and netted some fish in a babbling brook. They said that would be their dinner. I thought to myself, “How delightfully primitive.”

(o) In the DR, you can take a trip on a catamaran that takes you to a town about 30 miles east of Juan Dolio, called San Pedro de Macoris. I took the trip, more champán, more booze, more beautiful boys swimming. More beautiful tropical coastlines.

(p) Then there were the horse rides, the casino, the really ritzy resort , the Talanquera Beach Resort, at the end of the roadway in front of my resort, the Albatross. The Talanquera had a boutique selling Dominican style clothes; it had a French restaurant, an African restaurant decorated with a large black shield, more lovely primitive art, decorating the main hotel, an American restaurant. There were three reflecting ponds: the palm gardens pond, the flamingo ponds with beautiful pink flamingos eating shrimp; and the orchid pond with a magnificent floral display.

(q) The Talanquera displayed the local art which consisted primarily of gorgeous oil paintings. I am fussy about my art. The local artists enjoyed painting palm trees on beaches, scenes from the sugar plantation days of 150 years ago and abstract paintings depicting African themes of mother earth. These paintings are tasteful and magnificent. They are hung on the fences of all the tourist resorts. The colors are rich and vibrant.

(r) Once when I was sitting in the front yard of my pseudo-luxury resort, the Albatross, I observed the passing of a herd of wild goats. They were adorable, and, like the humans, they were enjoying themselves. The resort architecturally was substantial and lovely, but of course since we were in the 3rd world, one could not drink the water and the plumbing and electricity were iffy.

(s) I remember the week before I went to the DR in February of 2011. In New York it was a typical winter. I remember walking down the street being pelted with frozen ice pellets in my face. I said to myself it is time for DR.

(t) Unlike the Mexican diet, dominated by hot spicy tomato sauces, the Dominicans seem to prefer fresh fruits and vegetables. The tropical fruits are particularly tasty: mangos, guanábanos, guavas, tamarind juice, avocados and papayas.

(u) After a while, one wants to prepare one’s own food. This requires a short trip to the local supermercado, “Jumbo’s”. Leonardo and I went there. I told Leonardo to buy what he wanted. His favorite purchase was octopus tentacles. He said he and his family would really enjoy dining on this delicacy. For me personally, I never ate calamari and do not have plans on doing so. A chacun son goût.

(v) While I was in Jumbo’s shopping with Leonardo, I noticed an elderly blond American doing shopping with a young Dominican man who looked like a movie star. I knew instantly why this (I presume gay) American was enjoying the DR. Inwardly, I applauded his good judgment. Gather ye rosebuds …, right? I suppose the Pope would disapprove, but Oscar Wilde would have understood.

(w) I frequently had lunch in a nearby restaurant and made the acquaintance of several Italian businessmen who said they were investing in Juan Dolio to make it look like the Italian Riviera. Many of the other guests at the Talanquera were Italian, some Americans, and the French.

(x) I asked Leonardo if he knew how to read and write. He said sí. I thought Leonardo would be better off if he had a driver’s license, went to school to start to learn English and apply for a passport so that he could come to the U.S.A. For me that would have been a good investment. Leonardo agreed to all three of these projects but never followed through. We never found out how either how I could send him money other than via Western Union or Moneygram.

Denver, 2013

About 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.

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Biography of a Disabled Couple/A Visit to the Doctor or Nurse by Louis

(1) In addition to the LGBT community, another biological minority consists of the disabled population. There was even a national social movement that resulted in the Americans with Disabilities Act (1990). The activists even created a new sociology called the sociology of disability that promoted the idea that “disability” is only a relative term since disabled people would not actually be disabled if their social environment was structured better to fill their needs.

(2) In 1971 I did volunteer work in Goldwater Memorial Hospital, on Roosevelt Island which, back then, was an odd park-like island with two hospitals, Goldwater Memorial and Byrde S. Memorial Hospital. Goldwater was designed to serve the needs of severely disabled patients. Byrde S. Coler was a hospice hospital for the terminally ill. The island was located across the East River facing the upper east side of Manhattan.

(3) As a volunteer I met a young woman who was dependent on an iron lung to breathe. Let us call her RG. RG was one of the first candidates to try and survive by breathing with what was then newly developed breathing equipment using a mouthpiece connected to an air pump. That was significant progress for her.

(4) RG told me that about five years previously she was a senior in a Catholic Nurse Training School. She was assigned to various hospitals as a nurse’s aide. She met and fell in love with a medical student, an Irishman. He was about a year away from becoming a medical physician. I saw pictures of the fiancés later. She was very beautiful, and he was very handsome like one of the Kennedy’s.

(5) RG must have picked up some kind of disease in one of the hospitals; as a senior, she started to feel weak and tired all the time. She told her doctor. Time passed, and her symptoms worsened, eventually she could not get up out of bed in the morning. She started to have difficulty breathing. She had to be hospitalized.

(6) When the med student fiancé saw what was happening to her, he left her.

(7) RG’s condition worsened. Naturally she became depressed. She gradually lost control of most all her muscles. She was hospitalized long-term at New York Hospital. Once, she was about to die when a physician at NY Hospital prescribed a massive dose of a combination of steroids and antibiotics This treatment worked somewhat. It arrested the progress of the disease but unfortunately, it did not undo the damage.

(8) RG’s diagnosis was listed as “polymyositis”, POLIO, but the name of the disease only described the symptoms, Polymyositis, = weakness in many muscles. Her condition was stabilized, however. No doctor ever isolated the cause of her muscular dysfunction, like a germ or virus: no known etiology.

(9) To accommodate her, a large van was purchased and adapted, in which she could travel in her motorized wheelchair. RG still had some feeble strength in her arms and hands so that she could push a sensitive switch on her motorized wheelchair, giving her mobility.

(10) To fight her depression, a trip was arranged to Lourdes, France. RG later wrote that her visit to Lourdes was uplifting. She saw other disabled people. She did not recover physically, but she writes that she came to accept herself more, she forgave her fiancé who disappeared when her condition worsened.

(11) RG is now 70 years old, and her spirits are good. She still goes to the hospital, Long Island University Hospital, about twice a month. She is dependent on 3 home attendants 24 hours a day.

(12) In 1973, thanks to the intervention of a politically influential doctor, Dr. A., RG went to Burke Rehab Center where a medical expert in prosthetic devices tried and failed to construct an “ecto-skeleton” to enhance the strength in her arms and legs. RG told Dr. A. she wanted to go to Fordham University and earn a Masters Degree in Social Work. She was accepted at Fordham in Bronx, NY. It was an adventure for her to be driven in her enormous van from Astoria, NY, to Fordham University for evening classes. I helped her with the typing and editing of her papers, but, basically, on her own, she finally received her Masters Degree and became a licensed social work counselor.

(13) To back-track a bit, while at the Burke Rehab Center, RG met FM, who suffered from severe ataxia due to lithium poisoning. FM was from nearby White Plains, about 3o miles north of New York City. FM had earned an engineering degree from McGill University in Canada, had met the “perfect” girl there, and she loved him, and they planned to get married. Then she got sick and died. FM got very depressed, went for psychiatric help. The psychiatrist prescribed lithium treatments, which, in those days, was the preferred method of treating depression. The dosages were too high, however. FM got deathly sick, had to be hospitalized. He was diagnosed with blood poisoning. The levels of lithium were toxic. FM lost his ability to walk, has to use wheelchair to move about. His speech is slurred. His hands shake so much, he really cannot write anymore. His vision is somewhat impaired. After his condition was stabilized, FM was sent to Burke Rehabilitation Center for rehabilitation where he met and befriended RG. FM was then sent to Goldwater Memorial Hospital.

(14) While at Goldwater Hospital, RG and FM asked for assistance to live independently in the community. RG and FM got married spiritually if not legally, and they rented two apartments in the same building in Astoria, NY. After about ten years there, they purchased a home in Whitestone in a very nice neighborhood. And they lived happily ever after.

(15) Currently, FM is trying to graduate from wheelchair to walking with walker, and, to improve his vision, he is exercising with specialized charts and playing the mind-improving games of lumosity.com. FM is also better able to eat his own food as opposed to being fed.

(16) Once a year RG gives talks at seminars at Long Island University School of Nursing. Both RG and FM are interested in liberal politics.

© 22 June 2013 



About 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.

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MCCR, Dignity, Integrity and the Radical Fairies by Louis

Personally, I am what you would call semi-religious. In this essay I talk a lot about “I, I, I, me, me, me” not for the sake of an ego trip but to use myself as a typical gay American trying to find his spiritual niche, a pilgrim. I think religion should be a part of one’s life. We know, however, all too well, that the churches we have been dealing with as we were growing up were mostly intolerant bastions of homophobia.

Many religious gay people grew up in a church they thought was a sanctuary. A sanctuary is supposed to be a safe place. If the identity of the gay religious people was revealed, they were often asked to leave; in many instances, the “sanctuary” was not safe at all, au contraire, it was dangerous and hostile. As a result, the vast majority of gay people have become atheists, agnostics or humanists, and they have a low opinion of churchdom. My parents felt that religion was a mental sickness. So many wars in the past have been fought over differences in religious dogma. They thought religiosity = hateful intolerance and narrow-mindedness. And religious people just love judging their neighbors. They claim to worship God but they really worship the almighty dollar and social climbing.

I thought many religious people have these faults, but just as many do not. So, I went shopping for a church. Many churches nowadays tolerate gay parishioners. MCC offers an even better theology in which we celebrate our sexual orientation in a joyous Christian service. It is completely gay and Lesbian positive and completely Christian. Jim Burns is the pastor of MCC Denver. He is exactly what is needed. About 30 years ago, an MCC minister said that real liberation and empowerment of our community will come from our spiritual understanding of the divine nature of our sexual orientation, of our status as God’s children with all the rights and privileges that derive there from. I feel comfortable with that assessment.

Integrity is the gay “caucus” of the Episcopal Church which claims it has a positive view on gay rights, which is true. Integrity nowadays assists gays looking for a church to choose an accepting Episcopal church as opposed to a homophobic congregation, of which there are still many unfortunately.

In New York City, however, Integrity has a history of putting on beautiful services of its own with the emphasis on pomp and circumstance and beautiful organ and classical orchestral music. If nothing else, an Integrity service was a grandiose cultural event. Their services were held at St. Martin in the Fields in the West Village. It was run by Lesbian and gay people. It was Episcopal but quite independent.

After a while, the NYC Episcopal Church said they did not see any need for Integrity unless it became a funded ministry of the Episcopal Church. The leader of Integrity at the time, Nick Dowen, appropriately declined the offer of funding. One of the later presidents of Integrity agreed that Integrity was unnecessary. Her name was Sandy, a black Lesbian who said she felt perfectly comfortable as a parishioner of St. Paul’s Apostles Church, which she attends regularly with her partner. St. Paul’s Apostle’s church is located a block away from Penn Station. I did not agree with Sandy. Now all Integrity does is guide Lesbian and gay pilgrims to friendlier churches. I noticed that Integrity Denver has the same policy of guiding and advising only, no actual leadership rôle. I was disappointed with the way the old New York City Integrity ended.

I am sure that the Episcopal Church’s claim that it does accept Lesbian and gay parishioners is 90% true, but, without Integrity offering something special to the wider gay community, I lost interest in the Episcopal church.

Back in the 70’s I went to one Lutheran Church in Queens and spoke with the pastor after the service; he was very homophobic. I went to another Lutheran Church where a more liberal pastor said they welcomed gay and Lesbian people. The better choice yet was the United Church of Christ that combines its claim of accepting Lesbian and gay people with a rather aggressive ministry of advocating for our rights.

MCC fulfills my Protestant side, but I am also part Catholic. I thought in error that the Episcopal Church with Integrity as intermediary might be the answer. It wasn’t. So what about Dignity? As sympathetic as I am to their mission or should I say “mission impossible” of reintegrating Lesbian and gay people into the Roman Catholic Church, despite my Catholic side, I do not feel the need to join the RCC.

I want a gay and Lesbian positive congregation that worships with a Catholic inspiration, but I still have not found one.

      Q. “Do you believe in God?”
      A. “Yes, but I do not believe in organized religion.”

A lot of people feel comfortable with this position. I think what this really means is that, though I am a believer, the established churches are for the most part so reactionary, mindless and hateful, they repel me. The adversaries have big well-financed religious organizations that protect an evil status quo. I have nothing; I have no church that is geared to promote my interests including my spiritual well-being.

Lesbian and gay people have been victimized more than most by an evil status quo church. I do not, however, think that this revulsion of traditional churches is universal. The Unitarian Universalist Church is a beacon of enlightenment. Perhaps the gay pilgrim could join a UU congregation and fight the fight for gay rights in an American organized religious setting.

A radical alternative for the Lesgay pilgrim could be the Radical Faeries. According to Wikipedia:

The Faeries trace their name to the 1979 Spiritual Conference for Radical Fairies.[note 1] The conference, organized by Harry Hay and his lover John Burnside, along with Los Angeles activist Don Kilhefner and Jungian therapist Mitch Walker, was held over the Labor Day weekend in Benson, Arizona and attracted over two hundred participants. From this, participants started holding more multi-day events called “gatherings”. In keeping with hippie, neopagan, and eco-feminist trends of the time, gatherings were held out-of-doors in natural settings.[6] To this end, distinct Radical Faerie communities have created sanctuaries that are “close to the land”.[7]

The Radical Faeries recognize that, in the context of an earth-oriented spirituality, such as the religion of Native Americans, gay people were never marginalized but were accepted members of the Tribe. Radical Faeries also promote the idea that earth-oriented spirituality should be based on our common sexual orientation. This leads to empowerment and liberation of our community. I think the Radical Faeries make a very convincing case for a new spirituality.

© 25 June 2013 




About 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.

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The Rise of the Guardian Angels by Louis

From September 1962 to June 1966 I attended Flushing High School in Flushing, Queens, NY. There were 3 types of preparation regimens one could follow. First there was the academic or college preparatory. I was in that group. Most of my classmates were Jewish. Then there was the commercial course, consisting primarily of teenage girls preparing to become secretaries. The boys in the commercial course studied woodworking and some English. The commercial course people were primarily white. Then there was the General Course leading to a minimal type of high school diploma. This was almost exclusively black and Hispanic.

The first year I attended, I was assaulted a few times by some white gang members. Even back then they called themselves the “Aryans”. They were mostly Germans from my home town of College Point. Then there were the Amazons, the girls’ gang. They invited me to join their gang. I agreed. They knew I was gay and said I was their type of client. They attacked members of the Aryans, and I was never bothered again. Once the Amazons wanted to attack a certain girl named Monica. Monica was very refined and soft-spoken. The Amazons were heavily made-up and somewhat aggressive. I beseeched them not to beat up Monica. So they spared Monica. Once the Amazons wanted to attack a small-statured Jewish boy, Charles, who read a lot of books. I again beseeched them not to attack him. So Charles was spared.

Once, before I went to high school, I was in the local park, Chisholm Park, in College Point, and I was sitting with my brother Wally, who was reading The New York Times. For some reason this enraged one of the local Aryans, who came over and set fire to the paper with a cigarette lighter. We were more amused than intimidated. We also had an Italian-American friend, Patsy (at home Pasquale), and he liked to read books and poetry. So the Aryans used to bully him too. I guess College Pointers were expected to stay away from books.

Although I was spared being bullied any more, the gangs still made life unpleasant in High School. One of the Aryans told me that, in their meeting, they really wanted to attack the black gang, the Panthers (or what have you), but they couldn’t because the Panthers were too numerous. So they decided to attack the Hispanic gang, well more precisely the Puerto Rican gang, the Borinqueños. Gradually, Flushing High School became a police state. Sections of the school were separated by large metal gates manned by policemen sporting well-displayed pistols.

The friction between the Aryans and the Borinqueños intensified, and a “rumble” was declared. The rumble or “armed” confrontation was planned for a summer evening on Main Street of College Point. The Borinqueños had machetes while the Aryans had heavy-duty chains. The rumble started by both gangs breaking out the front windows of almost all the stores on our Main Street. No gang member got killed, but many were injured and hospitalized. When the police first showed up, they could do nothing because they were outnumbered. Reinforcements did not show up for another couple of hours. By then most of the gang warriors had disappeared. They were particularly proud of the damage they had caused and of the injuries they had inflicted on members of the opposing gang.

About 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.