Tag: Michael King

Posted on

Mayan Pottery and How It Came To Be by Merlyn and Michael

     As we go back beyond the time of what most people think of as the era of recorded history, the archaeologists, anthropologists, and sociologists have the bits and pieces that form a different pre-history every few years.


     Our story starts about 32,000 years ago in a village on the Tigris River. There was at that time a famous soothsayer whose reputation had spread for thousands of miles. This was unusual since most travel was within 40 or 50 miles from any given location. One day a young man by the name of Yahoo (not to be confused with a search engine) came to the soothsayer to find out about his future. The soothsayer was shocked beyond comprehension as Yahoo was to be the ancestor of most of the movers and shakers of history; Abraham, Lao Tse, Gautama Sid Hartha, Moses, Confucius, Jesus, and Mother Theresa. All this the soothsayer saw. He also told Yahoo that his descendants would populate a very large land to the west that wouldn’t be discovered by the majority of humanity for another 25,000 years.

     And as predicted a number of groups of the descendants of Yahoo crossed the frozen ice from present day Russia to the Alaskan frontier about 20,000 years ago. One group sought shelter where Sara Palin’s house overlooks the shores of Russia. The state of Alaska must have been paying the electric bill as the porch light may have guided them there. This group was starving when, as if by some miracle, a herd of reindeer passed by and several were slaughtered which saved their DNA for the later Tabasco, Olmec, and Mayan peoples. One of the reindeer was curious and smelled his bleeding relativities and ended up getting his nose covered with blood, all the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names, but he ended up becoming famous 20,000 years later. He became the most famous reindeer of them all.

     Those descendants of Yahoo coming from the north eventually migrated as far south as present day Peru while as late as 5,000 years ago some of the descendant of Abraham (also Yahoo) traveled by boat across the Atlantic following the winds and ocean currents and arriving just south of where Columbus landed just 508 years ago, more DNA proof of the descendants of Yahoo.

     What is now considered to be the first true civilization of the Americas is the Olmec, 500 BC-150 AD, who were the primary cultivators of the early ancestor of Corn which may have originally come from south western South America. Other contributions to future civilizations were pottery and sacrifice. The Mayans perfected the role of a leader god through using the famous golden poison arrow frog’s venom, the most potent venom known at the time, to slowly take very, very small doses until eventually developing both immunity and an addiction to the poison. The royal family could then hold a tiny gold frog that if touched by anyone else could kill as many as a hundred grown men. A room about 12X12X12 was discovered a few years back that was full of skeletons of these tiny creatures.

     Another of the annual sacrificial pageant performances performed by the god king was the piercing of the penis with a flint blade so the blood would bring about a good harvest. We can’t imagine what his appendage would look like after a few decades of such ceremonial sacrifices.

     One of the interesting things about the Mayans was their passion with astronomy. They built on the Olmec calendar which was already at least 1500 years old. They continued revising until today we have a calendar whose origin is about 3500 years in the making. Contemporary voodooists and nut cases predict that even Nostradamus knew of this time, the end of or the starting of some Time Rock, the Mayan calendar.

     A special characteristic of Mayan pottery is known as Mayan Blue, a glaze which has stood the test of time beyond any other. So here goes on Mayan pottery. Take any piece that has survived to this day and put it up against one done today that you might find on Santa Fe’s Art District on first Fridays in Denver and the only thing about the Mayan is that it’s old and characteristic of a bygone era. Beauty and the appreciation of objects are very subjective, sometimes interesting in a museum, but not necessarily in our house. If you compare the old stuff with those on Santa Fe, the Mayan looks like it was done by amatuers and of course in many ways it was. It is nice that there are those who appreciate antiquity and will preserve it for those yet to come and be the later descendants of Yahoo. It takes a study of the Mayan culture to appreciate the utilitarian function and the significance of the figures and designs.

     The Mayan calendar is one of the things we focus on since 12-21-2012 is only a few days from now. Archaeologists have unearthed a Mayan mural of a calendar projecting some 7,000 years into the future. The 5,125 years of the present calendar is the end of an era with the new and productive era being heralded in by the god of creation and war, Bolon Yokte. So we’re safe for at least another calendar and a half. We can wonder, however, what this god will do on Friday.  We think he would at least call on President Obama to plan out our future. They’ll probably do a better job than trying to work with the House and the Senate.

     This will also introduce an era where we can all wear huge feather headdresses and little skirts. Just think of the businesses that can grow and all the unemployed will be put to work making these highly desired fashions. The world economy will become healthy and President Obama will be honored with another Nobel Peace Prize. The religions of the world will have to make adjustments and the new Mayan pottery industry will surpass anything that has ever been on the New York Stock Exchange. Because the god Bolon Yokte is the god of creation and war, through these negotiations the global warming can be reversed to provide universally perfect weather conditions. All war will be terminated and the ensuing peace will save trillions of dollars. Sara Palin will be known as the savior of the indigenous peoples. Historians will discover that this was all predicted before it came to pass by a couple of gay senior citizens at the GLBT Center in Denver.

About the Authors

Michael

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 5 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

Merlyn

I’m a retired gay man now living in Denver Colorado with my partner Michael. I grew up in the Detroit area. Through the various kinds of work I have done I have seen most of the United States. I have been involved in technical and mechanical areas my whole life, all kinds of motors and computer systems. I like travel, searching for the unusual and enjoying life each day. 

Posted on

To Be Held by Michael King

Increasingly in my senior years I am more aware of the power of touch, human warmth and acceptance, with acknowledgement and sincerity in my interactions with others. I went to a study group thirty-six years ago and had a new experience. The male host, as I was leaving, grabbed me and gave me a big bear hug. I froze. Never had anyone except a close family member had ever done that. Even as a child there was seldom more than a pat or handshake. 

Slowly, as I became a father and had intimate relations with my wife, I was more and more affectionate and receptive of warmth and closeness that I’d seldom experienced as a child. However, I had never hugged or been hugged by a man and only by the women that I had dated or married. When Jim hugged me, my automatic stiffing and adrenalin rush became an obsessive mind blower over the next several weeks, something I’d never even thought about. Intellectually I knew that hugging was one of the things that everyone at the study group did as they said good bye. I wasn’t prepared emotionally. It is surprising how a single, seemingly innocent happening can be life changing.

At the time I could not have let myself think of having an emotional or physical interaction with anyone other than my wife and kids. I was now introduced to a group of people who showed each other their welcomeing, acceptance, acknowledgement and greetings by hugging each other, and doing so without any sexual or manipulative overtones. It took a while for me to adjust to this totally different way of interacting with others. This whole thing about touching and having different emotions and intensions became a new and complex learning experience, both mentally and experientially.

As the years passed and my last marriage dissolved I became more and more attracted to men, another challenging and mind boggling growth experience. I must be an awfully slow learner or had so much childhood baggage that it took many years to wrap my mind and emotions around the simple act of an affectionate, heart-felt hug or even being comfortable in intimate encounters, of which I hadn’t had much experience. Not only does our thinking change almost unconsciously over time, but so do our emotions, our attitudes, our beliefs and the naturalness of opening our arms, inviting a hug and having that contact that is warm and personal without the unwanted overtones.

I now have a reputation for being a hugger. It is amazing how starved people are for acceptance and acknowledgement. Yesterday I was with someone I hadn’t seen for a couple of months. We greeted each other and gave each other a hug. It was so natural and caring and she said what I so often hear, “I really needed that.”

At the GLBT Center, Prime Timers, and in other situations when it seems comfortable, I usually invite hugs and often a kiss. Most of the time a hug is accepted and I think, appreciated. Receiving that acceptance and affection for me is a joy and a boost. It makes being so much more meaningful and positive. I feel uplifted, accepted and appreciated.

I’ve heard that it is a gift to someone to offer your friendship and affection. I believe and experience that as true.

I would also mention that to wake up in someone’s arms is one of the most comforting and fulfilling of experiences.

Living a life filled with love is what I am most thankful for among all the other wonderful blessings that are now a part of the joys of my beingness.

About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 4 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities, “Telling your Story”,”Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio,” I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

Posted on

Closet Case by Micahel King

          Denial can be unconscious and costumed in so many different and creative ways. I look back on at least sixty some years of telling myself who I am, what I think, what I believe, how I feel, what I want, and an infinite number other adaptations to identity. Now of course I am the same me that I have always been and will always be, but my self-concept and my attachment to definitions of selfhood have run the full spectrum and back again. Wow, isn’t it fascinating what the ego can come up with? And when in full defensive mode the distortions or imaginative propaganda that we try to kid ourselves with is downright funny and occasionally quite sad.

          Many of the costumes I have worn over the years are still hanging in the back while all the newer ego outfits are easier to put on or take off. These identity outfits include those I will gladly wear to most any occasion while others I reserve for those special occasions when I want to appear in a particular way. Of course if you’re like me you will have a huge wardrobe. That’s fine. It gives us the ability to be interesting and have character. The trick over a lifetime is to have an assortment of clean, neatly pressed and just plain honest, up front outfits that cover most any situation in a somewhat suitable way.

          Now that I can wear my outlandish ear adornments with bright colorful paisley shirts and unusual patterned and multicolor sweaters that when in combination tells the world that I am a somewhat eccentric, flaming queer with no second thoughts.

          O.K. I will be fair. There was a time when I was just as flamboyant but tried to pretend that since I was a father and had girlfriends that no one would suspect my innermost desires. Well not too long ago when I finally had my first boyfriend I told my daughters. They all said that they had known since they were young. So why did I keep so many of my most interesting outfits hanging there, practically unused for all these years? I admit that I have either thrown out or given to charity (that’s a line of bull, isn’t it) many of the adornments and outfits that no longer fit. I still have more possible looks than most people I know. I do drag and had lots of fun with my grandson, daughter and son-in-law being catered to by my lover in the audience. I’ve come a long way, baby! Most of the time my closet door is wide open. It really isn’t my style to think of myself as having been a closet case. I may have been able to keep my job, get promotions, have the friends that I avoided, etc., but at the time I wasn’t feeling that I could be the me that wears whatever I want and not try to cover anything up. Since I do need a warm coat in the winter, I try to make sure I have the right color of fuchsia scarf to clash with my red coat and Tibetan bead earbobs over the purple paisley shirt and computer knitted multicolor sweater with purple socks to match. Why did it take most of a lifespan to be and do what I feel most comfortable with and that is as honest as my ego will let me be. I do think my ego is having a hell of a lot more fun now that there is no need for defenses. I often get complements on my many outfits.

About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is
Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70.
I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married
twice, have 3 daughters, 4 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides
volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling
your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”.
I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the
activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting,
doing sculpture, cooking and drag.
Posted on

Coping with Loved Ones by Michael King

          After all we are apes and in spite of our self-concepts of advanced culture and civilization we still have the quarrelsome and emotional nature similar to what we see in our wild cousins. Any group, family or pair of humans in association will encounter frustrations and anger either individually or collectively. Our natures can be modified and we can learn to control the way we interact and we can suppress the urge to strike out when upset, but even with those closest to us and that we love the most, we will occasionally have to cope with both their words and actions that bother us as well as our own thoughts and feelings.

          My daughter, yesterday, when I asked her how things were going with their new dog which the whole family loves, said “She has her moments.” I interpreted this to mean that there was a little coping going on.

          My grandparents were always bickering. I decided not to do that. My mother was always bitching and gossiping while my father seldom spoke. I decided to not be like them. I never liked confrontation, arguments or violence so I guess I developed coping techniques that modifies my tendency to strike out, accuse, argue, etc.

          My 25 years of marriages fortunately went by with few disagreements. Merlyn and I don’t argue. However under it all there is that conscious awareness of maintaining mutual respect, courteous and kind interaction and above it all a show of affection, love and understanding while we cope with the amazingly different ways each of us thinks and acts.

          Both of us have been single parents and I’m sure that having experienced the myriad of coping tests one has under those circumstances has helped us develop the abilities to somewhat satisfactorily deal with coping with loved ones.

          I am so grateful to have the privilege of coping with Merlyn. There is nothing I would rather do. It seems that he doesn’t mind coping with me.

About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is
Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70.
I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married
twice, have 3 daughters, 4 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides
volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling
your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”.
I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the
activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting,
doing sculpture, cooking and drag.
Posted on

Going Pink by Michael King

Oh, the glow of a sunset’s reflection on the snow. The blush of being caught with your pants down, the frills of a little girl dressed up in pink. Boys don’t wear pink is sort of an old rule. There was the pink triangle and the gas chambers for gays of the 40s in Germany. Yet in the 50s it was OK to wear the pink and gray shirt and occasionally see a pink and gray car drive by. But it seems that pink was mostly related to expensive stucco hotels, the color for little girls and bigger girls too, prom dresses, weddings, etc., and for gay men. Though I haven’t seen many gay men dressed in pink, the walk-in cooler in the flower shop was pink because the fairy co-owner expressed his gay status in that way. It was an unmistakable statement. So upon my new identity I fantasized my statements.  Red is more my color, but I want at least a touch of all clear, clean colors in my surroundings.

When it was a fact that the “Don’t ask, Don’t tell” was officially rescinded, I wanted to make a statement. As a veteran, I wanted to fulfill one of my fantasies. Quite by an unplanned circumstance I saw a pink wig at a thrift store. Immediately I knew what I wanted to do with it. Thus began a shopping spree to find all the rest of my fantasy. Both of my lovers were very supportive. Since one was working and had family responsibilities most of the search for my debut attire was with Merlyn, who soon became comfortable going into the ladies’ stores, watching my try on items, or the vintage shops, the lingerie departments and costume shops. I looked all over for glasses and then created a wire and jeweled extension to the frame of a pair of reading glasses that I accented with pink nail polish. The rhinestone earrings came from an antique mall.
Then came the big day; or night really. Escorted by my two lovers, both dressed in black, Queen Ann Tique, a name given to me by John Kelly, arrived at Charlie’s for the repeal celebration.
 I had been interviewed by Channel 4 when the vote passed and was introduced as a gay activist. From that point on my new mission has been to flaunt my gayness and now the grand entrance and celebration. Having been born a king, at 71 I was now a queen, a queen in pink.
By Christmas, I was able to add to the pink thing. I had another fantasy. In deciding to decorate for the holidays, I dragged out the decorations from storage and discovered that since it had been years since they had been used, the tree was missing. I must have gotten rid of it when I last moved, so, now to find that perfect tree. Merlyn and I were in an antique store that we frequent when we were greeted by one of the dealers with open arms stating, “Whatever you want we have.” My response was that I wanted a pink feather Christmas tree. Her eyes got large, her mouth opened and the shocked look on her face preceded the statement, “How did you know? We just got one in two hours ago!”
Again we got to go shopping for decorations. We found  a pair of fucia glittered deer, a clashing big pink bow, balls and garland and topped it off with what we thought gay guys should put on top of their pink feather Christmas tree; a fairy of course.
My next pink thing hasn’t been thought of yet, but I do have the rest of eternity to be pretty in pink or whatever.

About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 4 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities–“Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”– I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

Posted on

Breaking into Gay Culture by Michael King

           It was a little over 4 years ago that I got the nerve to go to the Gay Pride activities at Civic Center. I had gone about 15 years ago and ran into someone that I knew and at that time I was so far in the closet that I couldn’t admit even to myself that I was fascinated and curious about the gay culture. Having seen someone that recognized me freaked me out. So after all those intervening years, I finally got up enough nerve to check things out again. My problem wasn’t with being gay, but with other peoples’ reactions. But now I was retired and my only concern would be my kids’ reactions. I figured it didn’t matter much at this point in my life now that they were grown. But I saw no point in saying anything unless I had a lover. I didn’t know much about gay culture and was uncomfortable with going to bars, straight or gay. And for the most part I was unaware of the gay activities and groups where I might meet others and learn about these things.

           So I leisurely strolled around Civic Center Park and observed, but without much understanding of the goings on. I was approached by this elderly man who handed me a green card about a luncheon held on Wednesdays with a group of gay men called the Prime Timers. The little gentleman I later got to know. His name was Francis Acres and I credit him with opening the door for me to discover a part of myself that was yearning for expression and acknowledgement. At the time I thanked Francis for the invitation and stuck the green card in my pocket fully intending to trash it when I got home. However just as I was about to throw it in the garbage I looked at it again. Suddenly it seemed like it was the thing I had hoped for. I called the telephone number on the card and left a message for someone to call me with more information. I didn’t get a response. On Wednesday I called the 20th St Café where the “Nooners” luncheon was held and found out the time it started. Not knowing how long it would take by bus, I got there quite early. Don Harvey and Jim Michaels were there, greeted me and explained the procedure for buying the lunch and some information about the group. I watched as the members came in and had my first exposure to a gay activity. By the third Wednesday I joined Prime Timers and have been going to events and activities ever since. I started going to the Monday “Coffee Tyme” where last year, I met my lover. Slowly I was feeling more and more comfortable with the group activities and discovered that many older men had also been married, raised children and came out late in life. Others have always been gay while a couple of the guys I met were not only out, but still married. I was no longer the only one with a family and straight friends. I got involved in The Denver Church, later to be known as The Center for Spiritual Living-Denver. And about 2 1/2 years ago, I started going to activities at the GLBT Center.

          When I met my first lover at “Nooners,” I finally told my kids. A surprise to me, they all said that they had always known. My oldest daughter said, “I knew you were gay before you did! Ha, ha, ha.”

          Now on Mondays we go to the Telling Your Story group, of which this writing is for this week. On Tuesdays is the Men’s Coffee group. Wednesdays is “Nooners,” Thursdays I go to The Open Art Studio and on Fridays I volunteer at the front desk. “Nooners” on Wednesday and The Center for Spiritual Living on Sundays are the only regular activities not at the GLBT Center. Of course there are other activities now and then, some monthly, others only one time events, others a few times a year. We also belong to the Colorado Front Rangers.

          Except for Sunday, Thursday and Friday, while I am either at one or the other Centers and while Merlyn is at the Gym, both of us are always together.

          I’m now experiencing one of the most rewarding and happy periods of my life. I am very comfortable being myself and doing things I would never have done in the past. I went to the celebration of the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” with my two lovers dressed in drag, fulfilling a fantasy I have had for a long time. I rode sitting on the back of convertibles in two Gay Pride Parades, waving like the queen that I have become. Last month I had 4 outfits, including 4 wigs and 3 pairs of shoes as I participated as Queen Anne Tique in The Gray Stocking Review. I am recognized by people that I don’t remember meeting because I’m almost always wearing large and often unusual gages. Gages is the name the kids use for body jewelry worn in piercings. Many of mine are 0 gage. I only wear 6 gages in my nipples. I also have a few tattoos, even though there is nothing particularly gay about that.

          A comment that I make perhaps too often is, “I was born a king, but it took me 70 years to become the queen I am today!”

          When interviewed by Channel 4 after the vote to repeal “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” I looked so gay, it even surprised me when I saw it on the news. The anchor introduced the interview with this statement, “Michael King, a gay activist.” When I heard that remark, I realized that I now have a mission. I will let everyone know that I love being myself. So I guess that by now, I’ve truly broken into gay culture almost totally and feel so wonderful for having done so.

About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 4 grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.

Posted on

The Interview by Michael King

For
several years I’ve been going to the GLBT Center for a program called
“Telling Your Story”. Each week we have a topic which runs the gamut
from “Weather” to “Queer, Just How Queer?” to “Mud”
to “Drama Queen” and so on. When I first started going to “Story
time,” the other name we call it, I would choke up and remember
experiences that I had so suppressed that I hadn’t thought about them for 60 or
so years. It seemed that once acknowledging the pain and denials of these old
happenings, I was relieved and another piece of my baggage seemed to have been
dealt with. The experience I’m writing about this time is a little different as
I am consciously telling about something for the purpose of sharing and also for
reflecting on or getting in touch with not only my feelings but also to share
these experiences with others that might want to know about the events of the
last few days.
The topic for July 16, 2012
is “The Interview.”
I
looked up the word “interview” in my little pocket dictionary and was
surprised that my concept of the word differed some from Merriam Webster’s: 1:
a formal consultation; 2: a meeting at which a writer or reporter obtains information
from a person; also the written account of such a meeting.
My
thoughts on the topic were more along the lines of a job interview or a TV
program technique, and I guess that does also apply within the dictionary’s
definition. If that’s the case then the
meeting Merlyn and I had on Thursday would or could be called an interview,
though at the time I didn’t know I would be writing an account of the
experience.
On
Wednesday I stopped by the office to pick up the rent receipts. Mable asked if
I had been to my apartment yet. I said “no” and she said that someone
from the victim assistance unit had been there and had left a note under my
door. I thought that someone had reported the injuries to my face and knee from
having had a bad fall after tripping on the raised sidewalk some 9 days
earlier. Perhaps they thought it was a gay bashing or mugging.
Entering
my apartment, I picked up the form that had been shoved under my door.
“City
and County of Denver, Department of Safety. July 11, 2012. 1:30PM I am very
sorry to have to bring you this news. There has been an emergency and I was
unable to contact you in person. Therefore, you have been requested to contact (then
written on a blank line) Lindsay–Boulder coroner’s office–at (the number) who
has more information concerning this situation.” It went on to state that
they would give me assistance and who to contact in their office.
I
immediately knew what had happened. I was sure that a homeless man I had known
years before had died. His name was Michael and has been one of the people I
most love. It was near impossible to relate to Michael, but the place in my
heart though full of love also has had a very big hole.
I
called Lindsey, got a recording to call another number and finally got her on
the phone. I gave her my name and she confirmed that it was Michael who had
died and that I was the only name on his emergency contact from some paperwork
the police had access to. Lindsay is Kayla Wallace’s assistant. Kayla is the
lead investigating officer.
Michael
had died in his sleep at The Boulder Shelter for the Homeless. I called there
and left a message (standard operating 
procedure) I also found out that the case manager for Michael at the
shelter was Karyn. I called her and she said that the body had been found that
morning in his bunk when he didn’t wake up.
Merlyn,
my companion and I talked a lot about Michael and my experiences with him years
earlier. A few weeks ago Merlyn had helped me do a search for Michael thru an
agency we found on the internet. It gave his previous addresses. I recognized
some of them from years and years ago. One was in Boulder and we planned to
check it out sometime even though I thought that it too was an old address.
I
have thought much about Michael over the years and wondered what he was doing
and how he was. I have gone over and over in my mind what I could do or could
have done. Long ago I realized that he preferred the homeless lifestyle, but I
could never grasp why that would be his choice. He knew how to work the system, and he had been very good at it when I knew him. But the last time either
anyone in his family or I had seen him was 15 or so years ago. He liked Boulder
and I assumed that that was where he probably was. His brother-in-law had seen
him a couple of times, but there was never a further contact.
Merlyn
suggested we go to see the shelter and maybe find out if anyone knew him and
could fill us in on his life since I last saw him. Thursday morning I called
Karyn and made arrangements to meet her and see the bunk where Michael died.
By
this time I was already fatigued.  I had
spent most of Wednesday afternoon and evening talking to Michael’s sisters and brother-in-law, and finally his brother called me from Albuquerque while Merlyn
and I were at Taco Bell. Merlyn had wanted to take me out to dinner and even
though I wasn’t very hungry I needed to take a walk. My knee was stiff and
sore. I was spacey from the pain pills and exhausted from all the phone calls
as well as the emotions of the day. I don’t hear well, so when I got a call on
Merlyn’s cell phone I didn’t have any idea who I was talking to. I had only
known that Michael’s brother had been named Jonathan so I didn’t connect when
the caller said it was Jon. Finally he explained that he was Michael’s brother.
I had now talked to two of Michael’s sisters and his brother-in-law several
times and now his brother.  Michael’s
mother is in the hospital with a brain tumor which causes her to be erratic and
hallucinative.
Jon
certainly has his hands full. He seems to be a really nice person. He asked if
I would send him some of Michael’s ashes. He will wait until his mother can
accept the news. Surgery is scheduled for the 25th and one of the sisters is
planning to be there also.
So
Merlyn drove me to Boulder and we met with Karyn. This is what I will call the
interview; finding out what the life and last days of a homeless man was like.
What has happened in the last 15 years?
I
think it was a UPS guy at the door with Karyn when we arrived. He left and she
warmly greeted us and took us to her office. Even though she had only been
Michael’s case manager for a few months she had know him for some time. She had
been fond of him. Her description was of a quiet, but friendly and quite
independent, pleasant loaner. His history was a pattern of using the shelter,
getting into a housing program, breaking the rules by letting others crash at
his place, then losing his housing and repeating the cycle. He maintained close
contact with mental health and between all the agencies he successfully had
food, clothing, shelter and money for cigarettes. He knew and was known by his
community of choice. Karyn said he was very dark. I think probably from the sun
as he was fair and had been a blond when he was younger. She was surprised to
find out that he was only 47; apparently he looked much older. I would have
thought his hair would have been gray, but she said there was very little gray.
She figured he was part Native American from his looks and mentioned that it
was as if he was a hippy from the 60s. Michael had told people that he was in
fact a Native American, a veteran who had suffered injuries in the war and
numerous other scenarios that weren’t true.
Tim,
another case worker, knocked on the door. After introductions, explained that
he had known Mike, as they all called him, for 12 years.  The interview confirmed that Michael was for
the last 15 or so years duplicating the patterns that had been my experience
years before when I helped him find housing, get food and checked regularly to
see how he was doing.
Karyn
showed us the bunk Michael was sleeping in when he died.
There
were so many things for me to process. I think that was true for Merlyn as
well. My worst fears over the years had been dispelled. He wasn’t found in some
dark alley. He hadn’t been mugged or beaten. He apparently wasn’t on drugs,
other than prescription drugs. He wasn’t in a filthy, rundown shelter. Quite
the opposite. He had spent a total of 1100 nights over the last 10 years at the
shelter, almost a third of the time. It is a newish, modern and spacious
building, very clean and well appointed. The group areas are warm and
comfortable and the outdoor recreation and sitting space is very nice; quite
comfortable. The shelter opens in the evening and is empty during the day. The
men and women have a bus that takes them downtown, but it is only one way. Many
can be seen on the streets. They are checked for alcohol when returning. The
rules are strict, but humane and they are treated with dignity and respect.
Karyn
shared that Michael had a sense of humor, that several days ago she had
observed Michael sitting outside in the recreation area as another homeless man
was shooting baskets all by himself. When finished, the basketball guy was
heading back to the building and as he passed Michael, Michael asked him ”
Who won?”
Now
for my observations and reflections. Michael was in a very nice shelter,
perhaps nicer than the best youth hostel that I ever stayed in. It reminded me
of the one in Amsterdam. He was in the Transition Unit, which means that by the
end of August he would have been in permanent housing. He was on an up cycle.
Both
his older sister and Merlyn have encouraged me to write about why Michael may
have chosen being homeless as a lifestyle. He didn’t have to be alone. There
were other people around and he could relate to them as he chose or he could be
by himself. He didn’t have to clean up his living space, a kitchen, bathroom,
bedroom, do the laundry or maintain and protect possessions. When he needed
clean clothing, there were places to pick up what he needed. There are places
to get food and places to shower and sleep. No one expected him to “make
something of himself”. He didn’t have to work or compete for position,
take orders, follow a schedule, maintain equipment or appliances, be indebted
to banks, credit card companies, or make payments on a car, a mortgage, a
student loan or be responsible for hospital and doctor bills. He could observe
the world go by and feel free, detached and could participate in conversation
and some activities with others as he wanted to. He was not responsible for
children, a wife, girlfriend, lover or anyone except himself, and then only to
be in some program or another that provided his needs when and as he wanted. I
think that once he was in permanent housing he would soon get lonesome, miss
the street companions and before long be living in filth and squalor, let
others crash there and loose that privilege again as has happened in the past.
The shelters for the homeless and living on the streets gave him the
fulfillment of his physical and emotional needs, companionship and a security
without responsibility.
Since
his snoring was very loud and erratic he may have had sleep asthenia, quit
breathing. The autopsy will take 6 to 8 weeks.
The
body was transferred to Crist Mortuary and sometime, probably this week, will
be cremated.
My
interview concerned a 47 year old man that I had known in the past and that
lived most of his life in and out of homeless shelters. It seems he had a good
soul. Though his family wasn’t capable of sharing their lives with him and vise
versa. He was loved. Though interactions had been difficult, he was always
loving.
I
feel that I can report to his brother and 3 sisters that he lived a life that
he chose and did it on his own terms. He had the respect of those who live that
lifestyle and those who provide services. He was apparently well liked. He
achieved his goals. He had mastered the skills necessary for life on the
streets.
I
have a sense of closure and feel privileged to have known and loved Michael. My
deep love comes in part from the fact that I was his father.

About the Author

I go by the drag name, Queen
Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay activist who finally came
out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover, Merlyn, in downtown Denver,
Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 4 grandchildren and a great
grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and doing the SAGE
activities,” Telling your Story,” “Men’s Coffee,” and the
“Open Art Studio.” I am active in Prime Timers and Front Rangers. I
now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to do when I retired;
traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and drag.
Posted on

Stories of Where I Came From by Michael King

Along with everything else
in my childhood, being from Kansas was not acceptable to me. As I saw the
world, I wasn’t where I belonged. From the very limited perspective I had at
the time, my environment had no class, no culture and certainly no elegance. I
didn’t even know how to speak the language correctly, or in my expectation,
properly. And that was the key concept in my mind, properly. I felt I should be
in a world where everything was proper, and I felt embarrassed to be living in
poverty and ignorance. And even though I later learned differently, my concept
of Kansas was just that, poverty and ignorance, a bunch of hicks trying to
exist on farms as sharecroppers. And where I was, that was true.

From my earliest memories, I
saw myself, or at least wanted to see myself, as self-assured, secure,
respected and very proper. Of course none of that was true and I was
embarrassed, ashamed and unhappy.

Later, when I learned to
speak without the poor grammar, mispronounced words and the middle Kansas
accent, I was also moving away from the poverty and hopelessness and the
embarrassment of my childhood. I now see that in rejecting my surroundings and
environment, I also rejected my family.

I now know that someone can
be from Kansas and not be a hick. I was so pleased that when I was 10 we moved
to New Mexico. All I’d ever known was living in a shack on a farm, where my
father was a sharecropper, a mile outside of Nashville, Kansas, population
about 110. Now we lived in a town, Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, population
about 10,000. It was exciting and very different. My vistas were expanding and
opportunities for becoming the me that I wanted to be, seemed possible, but I
also experienced much pain and unhappiness.

I discovered that we lived
in the wrong part of town, got laughed at because I still talked like a hick
and since I hadn’t been around people, I didn’t have the skills to make
friends.

Fortunately I did well in
school and learned to speak correctly. I excelled in classwork and participated
in plays, art contests and exhibits and won a scholarship to college.

I escaped the destitute and
hopeless existence of my early years and in college found the environment and
happiness I had for so long wanted.

Fortunately where one comes
from doesn’t mean they have to stay there. It isn’t the geography or even the
environment that is important. It is the consciousness. It took me too long to
realize that. But, I did, and have accomplished a great deal. I was an officer
in the air force, taught school, worked as an art therapist, a mold maker for
fine arts bronzes, did retail, both as owner and as an employee, and worked in
retirement communities. I have traveled to 44 countries and have seen many
environments much worse than mine. As I see it now, I created much of my own
unhappiness. I am now happier than I’ve ever been and have a life that is
wonderful, a lover that is fantastic and a family where there is love, respect
and kindness.
About the Author

I
go by the drag name, Queen Anne Tique. My real name is Michael King. I am a gay
activist who finally came out of the closet at age 70. I live with my lover,
Merlyn, in downtown Denver, Colorado. I was married twice, have 3 daughters, 4
grandchildren and a great grandson. Besides volunteering at the GLBT Center and
doing the SAGE activities,” Telling your Story”,” Men’s
Coffee” and the “Open Art Studio”. I am active in Prime Timers
and Front Rangers. I now get to do many of the activities that I had hoped to
do when I retired; traveling, writing, painting, doing sculpture, cooking and
drag.