Tag: New York

Posted on

Where I Was when Kennedy Was Shot, by Louis Brown

Wikipedia: On November 22, 1963, John F. Kennedy, the 35th President of the United States, was fatally shot in Dallas, Texas while riding in a motorcade in Dallas’ Dealey Plaza, at 12:30 p.m. Central Standard Time.[1]

On that date I was a sophomore at Queens College, located in Flushing, Queens, NY. I was on my way to a swimming class in a gym building that looked like and still looks like an airplane hangar. As I was approaching the front door of the building another student told me what happened and we both walked over to a car parked in the parking lot in front of the gym-swimming pool building, and the owner of the car put his car radio on leaving the front door open; and we all listened. It was horrifying and frightening, of course.

Politically, I would say that, in the USA, it has been downhill ever since. And with the exception of Jimmy Carter, we really have not had any president with as much potential and enlightened attitude, as shown by John Kennedy, since. At least Jimmy Carter had morals. Barack Obama was good for the first 6 years then he conked out when he got enthused about TPP.

The whole nation was dazzled when John F. Kennedy was elected. One reason for Kennedy’s power was his granting a seat to the AFL-CIO at the table of power-making decisions. And the AFL-CIO delivered in those days. Working people had protections, status and reason to believe in a better future. About two years ago I called the AFL-CIO of Colorado, and they said they are not on speaking terms with the Democratic Party. To state the obvious, when the Democratic Party decided to stop advocating for working people, they got massacred by the wealthier, very nasty Republican Party. If the Democratic Party does return to advocating for working people and really listens to the AFL-CIO, they will become the majority party again. Otherwise they will shrink even further.

John Kennedy valued working people, granted appropriate power to the AFL-CIO, he valued college graduates. He believed our educational system should be well-financed and respected. Back in the early 1960’s the American educational system was number one in the world. Today it is about number 38 and declining.

Mrs. John F. Kennedy, Jacqueline née Bouvier (later Onassis) was not only beautiful but knew how to decorate mansion interiors and so decorated the White House with a French accent. The Kennedy’s were fabulously popular in Europe and Latin America. Americans were proud of their political leaders, of course, now we are ashamed and embarrassed, really ashamed.

Although I am a Bernie Sanders/Jill Stein fan, I think we should continue along the path of enlightened capitalism, as advocated by John F. Kennedy. Although I don’t have a phobia of socialism that the establishment constantly promotes, John F. Kennedy’s economic philosophy actually worked for the vast majority of Americans.

+++++++++++++++++=

3-17-13 Thinking of the Kennedy’s on St. Patrick’s Day

It must have been in the late 1990’s, when I was working as a caseworker for the NYC Human Resources Administration, I was sent to Headquarters at 330 Church Street in way downtown New York, that is to say Manhattan. Back then I could easily see the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center. I had a Citibank checking account, and there was an ATM about 2 blocks around the corner from where I would go about 3 times a week to get lunch money. One afternoon I went, and I noticed an extremely handsome Irish-looking fellow. It took a few seconds, but I realized that the other young man was John F. Kennedy, Jr. Like any “peasant”, JFK Jr. went to the ATM and did his routine to withdraw what I presume was a small sum of money to get through his day.

Occasionally, he was accompanied by a tall pretty woman who dressed like a hippy. Back then all I had to do was watch the news and I learned that she was Carolyn née Bessette Kennedy. As the months passed, I saw both of them frequently. I learned why they were using that particular ATM. It was located in SoHo which at that time was undergoing gentrification, and John and Carolyn had purchased an expensive condo in one of the tall apartment buildings nearby. The two of them were actually my “neighbors” for the duration of my assignment downtown. I never got up the nerve to say “hello” or “hi there”, but occasionally I would roll my eyes at another person waiting to use the ATM to indicate there was someone famous in front of us.

Eventually, my assignment ended, and I no longer got to ogle the handsome Kennedy couple. Then about a year later I heard he and Carolyn had died in an airplane crash, actually, July 16, 1999, Atlantic Ocean, off the coast of Martha’s Vineyard. The news of this accident really saddened me.

Some speak of the “curse of the Kennedy’s”. It could be a curse, I guess, or is something going on behind the scenes that the public is not aware of?

© 2 April 2017

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.

Posted on

My Happiest Day, by Louis Brown

Adventures of the Good Shepherd Fellowship

On previous occasions, I described several of my “happiest” days. This time I will describe what happened to me when I spent a weekend in Saugerties, New York, at the Catholic Convent of the Sisters of the Poor, with my gay religious group, the Good Shepherd Christian Fellowship. So, it will be my happiest 3 days. Our little group regularly met in the basement of the Unitarian Church of Flushing, in Flushing Queens New York City.

What made this a particularly happy occasion was that the Sisters of the Poor knew exactly who we were and agreed to let us have our religious retreat. The theme of our weekend was exploration of the future possibilities of gay positive Christianity. To clarify, though we were meeting in a Catholic convent, this was not a Catholic event. The Good Shepherd Christian Fellowship was my attempt to get gay and Lesbian people to meet the local Protestant clergy. The religious retreat weekend itself was a business exchange with the owners of the Sisters of the Poor convent.

Still when we showed up, a Catholic priest greeted us warmly and graciously. The person who led the retreat was an out of the closet Lesbian Presbyterian minister. I wish I could remember her name. She was from South Haven Presbyterian Church on Long Island.

The convent no longer had any resident nuns (sisters) as it used to have. They all grew old and passed on, but their convent was maintained beautifully. There was no such thing as a younger generation of wannabe nuns, or novices. We all got a good idea of how the Catholic Church treated these nuns. The housing was very comfortable. Each nun had her own room (rather than a “cell”). There was a large kitchen where they prepared their meals. The convent or nunnery was located on a beautiful ten-acre park on top of a small mountain overlooking the Hudson River. The whole setting was beautiful. I was even impressed when I heard the mission of the Sisters. They went into town and literally helped the poor and homeless in the local towns as opposed to leading a comfortable leisurely contemplative life at the convent.

The point is that, when most gay libbers react to churchdom, understandably they react with extreme hostility and mistrust. They become anticlerical atheists, etc. actually they react in a manner similar to that of my skeptical parents.

On the other hand, I am somewhat friendly to churchdom myself especially since our current political and educational establishment exclude people who think the way I do — progressives. It is time to turn to the churches to get our progressive agenda realized. At least, so I like to fantasize.

Still, I did my bit to get gay men and Lesbian women in my local neighborhood to talk to the local liberal Protestant clergy. One Reformed Church of America minister led our service; William Cameron, led our service when our group asked him. He was embarrassed and seemed a little awkward. But he did do the job.

On another occasion, an Episcopal priest from the nearby hospital for terminal children agreed to lead our service, and did so two or three times, but this upset the Episcopal priest in charge of Saint John’s Episcopal Church across the street from the Unitarian Church. So the St. John’s priest led our services several times. He explained that the Episcopal priest broke some Episcopal Church rule when he led our services. Both of these Episcopal priests met and settled their dispute. Both were out of the closet gay men. Which proves we gay men have friends and allies inside these churches.

I think gay and Lesbian people should talk to the American Protestant clergy and ask them to give us status as an at-risk minority group, and the reformed churches should support our gay rights agenda. And they should cooperate in all attempts on educating the public on the evils of homophobia. Many reformed churches have said yes to this proposal. That is, the churches are giving us what we want and need.

For a few years before me, Dignity Queens, the gay Catholics, held services in the same basement of the Unitarian Church of Flushing. And I frequently attended these services. I tried to offer a Protestant alternative. It sort of worked but I did not get the help I needed for promotion of my ministry.

26 October 2016

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.
Posted on

YWCA, by Gillian

It was October 20th 1964 when I arrived at the door of the YWCA.

My friends and I were delivered there, so my diary tells me, by a very chatty driver of a huge orange and yellow taxi. We did not, my past self informs my present self, understand a single word he said the entire way from the pier where the Queen Elizabeth liner had docked that morning, to the ‘Y’ in mid-town Manhattan. I knew at that moment exactly what Sir Winston Churchill meant when he said that Britain and the U.S. were two countries divided by a common language.

My tattered old diary pages tell me little of the ‘Y’ itself – I record the address at 610 Lexington Avenue, and dismiss it as ‘dark, dirty and dingy’. In the event, we stayed there for only five nights. Immediately we all had jobs, we rented a cramped furnished apartment at 161 Madison Avenue. I say little of this place in my diary; I imagine I was suppressing it. As I recall, it well surpassed the ‘Y’ for dark, dirty and dingy. From this apartment we began the daily grind of American everyday life. But the first four days I spent in this country, wandering out in ever expanding circles from the ‘Y’ to explore my new country, everything was as exotic and constantly astonishing to me as if I had landed on mars.

I had rarely experienced central heating constantly blasting into every nook and cranny. The buildings all seemed dreadfully overheated and stuffy, to me. The UK was then, and to a large extent still is, a country of open windows no matter the weather. I found so many permanently closed, and in fact physically un-openable, windows to be very claustrophobic. The next weekend, when we went looking for somewhere to rent, one of the few pre-requisites we all agreed on was – windows that can be opened. That one thing considerable narrowed our choices.

Food was a source of never-ending amazement. On the first night, wandering around Washington Square with four young men we had met on the ship, we stumbled upon a dark, airless, overheated little cafe where they served one item. Steak and baked potato for one dollar. With a Ballentine’s beer, $1.25. No variations, no additions. It was smoky and loud. The tables were sticky. Who cared?? Non of us, all from Britain, had eaten much steak; two of the men, and I, had never had it. The man at the counter asked, we gathered after his third attempt, if we wanted medium or rare. We hadn’t a clue what that meant. Honestly, talk about ‘right off a da boat’!

In our homes you got whatever it was as it came. On the rare occasions we had eaten out, fish of various kinds took up most of the menu. Mutton and pork was sometimes available, with no choice of how it was cooked, roast beef possibly, especially for the Grand Occasion of Sunday Lunch, but steak was available only to the rich. And here it was, before our very eyes and almost in our hungry mouths, for a dollar. We ate there every night until we all had jobs, and quite often after that.

Another huge surprise was coffee shops. By that time we had them in Britain; for some reason they were mostly Italian and they all served what these days we would probably call lattes, with little consideration for anyone who might prefer their coffee black. If you wanted your cup refilled, you paid the same again. Small sidewalk coffee shops abounded in Manhattan. For a nickel you got a cup of black coffee; indeed a bottomless cup, as some almost disembodied hand kept re-filling it. It came with a little glass milk-bottle-shaped container of cream, languishing in the saucer. Cups, even those which were vaguely more mug-shaped, still came with saucers in those days.

So, we discovered, we could satisfy our hunger for $1.30 a day: endless cups of coffee in the morning, skip lunch, steak and potato and a beer for dinner.

But, when we ranged a little further afield on our third day, we found the most incredible gastronomic emporium yet – the Horn and Hardart Automat. None of us had conceived of such an establishment in our wildest dreams. We watched, silently, as by then we had learned to do, to avoid the fools rushing in mode of operation. Perhaps some of you remember these places, the last one of which closed down in 1991, Wikipedia informs me. This one was one big room with small tables with chairs, and a long counter with stools. The walls seemed to be made of many many little glass panels. Behind each pane was displayed an item of pecuniary delight: slices of pie, sandwiches, cookies, cold cuts, salads, cheese, cooked meats and vegetables. Cafeterias I was very familiar with, but not of this style. First you exchanged your cash for Horn and Hardart tokens, small brass objects with H & H stamped on them, to insert in the required slots. Many doors opened at the drop of a nickel or dime, some more luxurious items required a quarter. We loved it! The surroundings were insalubrious, to say the least, but there were many choices available and you could eat well, if plainly, for less than a buck. And we were broke. We alternated the Automat and the $1.25 steak and potato for a week or two – at least until our first paychecks.

Out of curiosity, while writing this, I googled my first two addresses on American soil. I couldn’t find out much about that particular YWCA, but it is still at the same address. In the only street-view photo I could find, it still looks dark, dirty, and dingy! The old Warrington Hotel, however, at 161 Madison Avenue, appears to be significantly gentrified. It now appears to be a mix of small businesses and medical offices. The only one I could find for sale is 1200 square feet and described as a ‘medical business condo’ for lease Monday – Friday at $8000/month.

I’m assuming it becomes an ‘airbnb’ or something similar on weekends. I did not record the size of our apartment there, but I wrote that it had a kitchen, dining room and two bedrooms. We paid $178/month. For the extra $7,822, without weekends, I hope it’s a whole lot less dark, dirty, and dingy now!

© June 2016

About the Author

I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have been with my wonderful partner Betsy for thirty years. We have been married since 2013.

Posted on

Public Places — Do It In Public, by Nicholas

I like doing it in public. I’ve always liked doing it in
public. There’s something about being out there that adds an extra pleasure.
I get tired of staying home and when I get antsy, I love to
go out into the city. I like city spaces. I like being with people even if it’s
a lot of people I don’t really want to be with. I’m talking about that
superficial, but still meaningful, social contact that city streets and spaces
provide. Cities like New York and San Francisco are full of such spots from
crowded subway trains to busy streets to popular parks with great views. People
like being around other people even if there is nothing close to relationship
material present. Look at any Starbucks or any coffeeshop. No sooner does one
open than every seat is taken with people chatting, working online, and just
reading The New Yorker. That would be me reading The New Yorker.
Coming from Eastern cities and San Francisco, Denver and
Denverites have never struck me as very socially inclined. Coloradans are much
more taken up with maintaining their own personal space and they think they
need lots of it. One person on an eight-foot long park bench is considered
crowded here. I have unintentionally jumped many ques when I didn’t realize
that the guy standing 15 feet back from a counter was actually next in line.
To my delight, Denver is coming to have some urban spaces,
places where you can wander and dawdle and people-watch among the crowds on a
sunny day.
First among them, of course, is Union Station which is not
just a building but an entire complex of buildings and streets and pedestrian
passageways. The station itself is impressive as an urban interior. It amazes
me how it is always busy with folks eating and drinking, lingering and passing
through to catch their buses and trains.
Our concept of space seems to be changing. Suddenly,
Denverites want to be around each other. The plaza in front of Union Station is
always streaming with pedestrians. Some eating ice cream. Some kids playing in the
open fountain. Some on their way to or from work. Some disappear around corners
and down alleyways to the train platforms behind the station or to the new
condos just built on what used to be empty, rusting railyards. One day I found
a place that makes Saigon coffee (now called Vietnamese coffee) tucked away in
a passage on the side of the station.
To the west of Union Station is a series of bridges and parks
that provide views of the city. Cross the first bridge and you come to Commons
Park with walkways along the Platte River. Nestled at the south end of the park
is the refurbished AIDS Grove, a peaceful spot tucked away amidst the busy
city. The next bridge takes you over the river to Platte Street with its
interesting shops like the Savory Spice Shoppe (my favorite) and the English
Tea Room. A third bridge crosses Interstate 25 and leads to what may be
Denver’s most charming neighborhood, Highlands, which is hilly and down right
quaint and lined with great eateries with great views. If you lived there, you
could walk to work in downtown and lots of people do.
Other spaces intrigue me as well. Like the plaza around the
main library and the art museum. Another pedestrian entrance into downtown from
the south through Civic Center, which, when it isn’t packed with crowds for
special events (like Pride Fest coming up), is generally empty. Except when the
lunchtime food trucks pull up and lunchers pour out of nearby offices.
Of course, I have to mention Denver’s first public space, the
16th Street Mall, sometimes called the city’s front porch. It’s way
too urban to be anybody’s front porch. By that I mean there is plenty to
dislike there from loud teenagers to haranguing preachers. That’s what makes it
urban—this is no small town square where everybody knows everybody else. It’s a
raw mix and you never can control what’s in the mix that day or evening. But
it’s still a pleasure to stroll down the always busy mall.
So, there you have a brief tour of public places I like. It
seems that Denver is getting to be more like a city every day. And I’m glad.
More people should do it in public.
© 3 Jun 2016 
About the Author 

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

Acting, by Will Stanton

The word “acting” first brings
to mind theater acting or perhaps movie acting. 
I, however, briefly considered delving into a deeper subject.  I always have been fascinated with human
minds, and I have been aware that people often put on acts in front of others
throughout their daily lives.  William Shakespeare wrote, “All the world’s a stage, and all
the men and women merely players.”
The degree of acting varies
greatly from person to person depending upon his perceived situational needs
and depending upon his own nature.  I,
for example, don’t care to engage in artifice; I’d rather be just who I
am.  Acting takes too much effort, and
perhaps I’m just too simple-minded to be clever at it.  Others, however, are like chameleons, saying
and doing anything and everything they deem necessary to attract and influence
other people.  An extreme example of that
is the last three (especially Republican) presidential primaries.  Many people enthusiastically succumb to such
manipulation, but I am repulsed by it. 
So, rather than my being
repulsed and spending time talking about the vagaries of human nature, I’ll
return to the more enjoyable subject of theater acting.  Here are a few snippets of theater
occurrences from my early days.
My first experience being in a
play was at age seven.  My elementary
school was run by the local university, which provided student teachers with an
opportunity to practice by assisting the regular teachers.  One young lady wrote “The Marshmallow
Mushroom.”  I was an elf name
“Muffin.”  I was a very competent
elf.  I enjoyed the experience and still
have the script secreted somewhere with all my keepsakes.
Two years later, the
university was celebrating the sesquicentennial of its founding, and they had
commissioned Alan Smart to write an historical play called “The Green
Adventure.”  I played a pioneer lad.  Ever since that time, I never have looked at
the script, but I have that one, too.
Of course, I participated in
the infamous genre of high-school plays. 
The usual botches and glitches occurred in all of them: forgotten lines,
mixed-up scenes, stiff acting.  I was
sufficiently unimpressed with our productions to remember them today.
I’ll never forget, however,
what happened to my oldest brother.  That
class put on the famous “Annie Get Your Gun.” 
My brother was cast as Buffalo Bill. 
The problem was the audience never did figure out who he was.  That is because the lead actor totally forgot
his first-act lines and kept repeating the lines from the end of the second act
to the point where the rest of actors just went ahead and skipped half the
play.  So by the time my brother wandered
onto the stage wearing a cowboy hat and a quizzical grin, no one knew who he
was.  That role did not lead my brother
to a career in Hollywood.
At the same time, the girl
destined to become my brother’s wife was participating in a high-school play in
Katonah, New York. They were performing “Arsenic and Old Lace.” As you recall, the
loony brother who thought he was Teddy Roosevelt always assumed the responsibility
of taking the supposed “victims of yellow fever” to the basement to be
buried.  The stage was built three feet
above the main floor of the auditorium, and a trap door provided access to the
space beneath.  The play director
decided, having no stairway to a basement that the trap door would suffice as
the apparent entrance to the basement. 
Of course, when “Teddy” dumped his victims down into the basement, they
had learned to bend their knees to simulate descending into a deep
basement.  During the first act, the trap
door was covered with a carpet.  The
problem was that, during the first act, the carpet was there, but someone had
forgotten to replace the trap-door cover. 
So in the midst of the first act, an unsuspecting student-actor walked
across the carpet and immediately slowly sank three feet down into the floor
where he remained standing, torso and head above the floor, and wearing a very
surprised expression.  Fortunately the
play is meant to be a comedy, however, the howls of laughter from the audience
came at an unexpected time.
I tried participating in just
one play as a college freshman.  The
theater department had a good national reputation, so I thought that I would
see what it was like.  I played the
servant “Mishka” in “The Inspector General.” 
I don’t recall seeing any mention of me in any newspaper rave
reviews.  Apparently, I didn’t have the
immediately recognizable attributes of stunning stature, handsome looks, and
captivating voice to merit much attention.  The young stud who starred in “The Fantasticks”
was a corn-fed Kansas boy whose natural talent and good looks guaranteed the
role, even without any prior experience. 
Apparently, I was destined to play character roles such as servants,
extras, or just one of the elves.
There is one charming play
that I sentimentally recall.  Although I
never had the pleasure to be in it, I saw a wonderful production of it by my
university theater department and, later when I arrived in Denver, by the young
students at Arapahoe Community College. 
The play was “Dark of the Moon,” a folk-play about simple back-woods
people living in the Smokey Mountains. 
Although the theme and setting may seem too antiquated for these modern
times, it was remarkably popular for many years from the 1940s through the
1970s, so much so that up-and-coming actors such as Paul Newman eagerly wished
to be part of the play. 
The story in a “nutshell” was
that “John Boy” fell in love with “Barbary Allen,” a beautiful girl previously
never seen in those hills.  It turns out
that she is a witch-girl with no soul and who lives three hundred years, after
which she turns into Smokey-Mountain mist. 
Of course, the story has love, rivalry, and tragedy.  There also were occasional scenes at the
general store with the old folks sitting around the pot-bellied stove with
their musical instruments and singing Appalachian ballads that coincided with
the story.  I became so fond of the story
that I bought the script to read, twice, once because I loaned a copy to a
friend who failed to return it. 
Now that I have reached my
dotage, I recall “Dark of the Moon” with sardonic humor.  That is because I recall the youngsters of
Arapahoe Community College doing their best to imitate the elderly, they
themselves never having experienced the stiffness, pain, and other afflictions
of old age.  They did their best, but
somehow, they just did not look convincingly old.  And, I don’t think that additional experience
acting would have made any difference.
© 2 Aug 2012 
About the Author 
I also realize that, although my own life has
not brought me I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life
stories.  particular fame or fortune, I
too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones.  Since I joined this Story Time group, I have
derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group.  I do put some thought and effort into my
stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.
Posted on

Queens Community for Lesbian and Gay Seniors, formerly SAGE Queen, by Louis Brown

I
have been in New York City for the past 2 months because I had to stay there to
wait for my scheduled cataractectomy of my right eye. When in New York City, I
reside in College Point in Queens County. I have noticed over the years that
the Lesbian gay community of Queens County is not really as well organized as
the gay community in Manhattan. For example, Manhattan has a healthy chapter of
MCC, and most churches have a Lesbian-gay caucus.
About
30 years ago, I organized a group called The Good Shepherd Christian Fellowship
which lasted about 2 ½ years in the basement of the Unitarian Universalist
Church of Flushing. My purpose was to have local gay and Lesbian people talk to
the local Protestant clergy. It worked up to a point, but in the long run it
did not catch on. About 2 years before I started my religious project, a
chapter of Dignity Queens was open for business that also met in the basement
of the UU Church of Flushing. I remember the UU Church only charged $75.00 for
the use of the basement, and it had a very nice kitchen the tenant could use.
This was perfect for the Good Shepherd Christian Fellowship’s special gay
Christian Seder Service.
Then
of course around Easter time the UU Church held its own ecumenical style Seder
service. Once, a rabbi said that a Seder service should only be held in a
Jewish Synagogue. I think the message of the Seder service is universal and
should be celebrated by various religious traditions of course in a reverent
respectful manner.
Personally,
I am only semi-religious, but I am uncomfortable with the general lack of
options for gay people to have safe churches to go to.
One exploring
soul I told you about last year was openly Lesbian Rabbi Laura who
coincidentally also lives in College Point, my home town in Queens County. Last
year Rabbi Laura gave a course in comparative religion at New York SAGE. The
course was well attended. Last summer, also by way of coincidence, Laura met
John Nagel, the director of Queens Community House for Lesbian and Gay Seniors,
which operates out of the Jewish Center in Jackson Heights Queens. They met at
Cherry Grove on Long Island which, as you know, is an important gay and Lesbian
mecca. I recently asked John Nagel if he met Rabbi Laura. John said he had and
even tried to start her comparative religion course at Queens Community House,
but there was an insufficient response so the course did not happen.
About
two years ago Queens Community House was SAGE Queens. For some reason I do not
know about, they split away from SAGE although they remain on good terms with
SAGE New York. Queens Community House’s program for gay and Lesbian Seniors is
set up like a Senior Center, which means lunch is served
daily, Monday through Friday. I go Tuesdays and
Thursdays, Tuesday because that is the day of the general meeting and
Thursday because there is the spiritual hour.
The
past 2 Thursdays John Nagel made a presentation of the Christian religious
thought of Emma (Curtis) Hopkins, 1845-1925. Quoting briefly from her
biography, as seen on Wikipedia:
Differing from Eddy’s (i.e. Mary Baker Eddy, founder of
Christian Science), lead in speaking of God as both Mother and Father, Hopkins
conceptualized the Trinity as three aspects of divinity, each playing a role in
different historical epochs: God the Father, God the Son, and God the
Mother-Spirit or Holy Comforter. Hopkins believed (as did Eddy, though not as parochially)
that spiritual healing was the second coming of Christ into the world, and this
was the hallmark of her early work. Hopkins also believed more specifically
that the changing roles of women indicated their prominence in the Godhead,
signaling a new epoch identified by the INCLUSION [my caps] of the Mother
aspect God.
I
particularly liked that idea of INCLUSION. John Nagel’s obvious purpose in
discussing Emma Hopkins’ theological writing is to tell Lesbian and gay people
that obviously homophobes do not have a monopoly on faith, on Christianity. It
is all up for interpretation, and our community needs religious scholars to
develop a gay and Lesbian positive theology to fit our needs. Previously John
read passages about an ancient Islamic scholar Rumi and his soul mate Seth.
Their affectionate correspondence with one another points to a gay and Lesbian
history and an as yet unnamed Lesbian and gay history in Islam.
Also
on Tuesdays and Thursdays at the Queens Community House meetings, Tony the Personal
Trainer, has a bunch of us do our exercises. Previously that would not have
interested me much, but, I had to have a lot of physical therapy since last
September 2014 when I had my bicycle accident, and Tony’s exercises make a very
appropriate extension of my physical therapy. I have already run out of what
Medicare would pay for this. Tony’s exercises are practically the same thing. I
go to Queens Community House with my College Point boyfriend Kevin who is
slightly spastic from aphasia so also derives benefit from these exercises.
My
“moral” for SAGE of the Rockies is perhaps an attempt to see if you can obtain
further services from Denver’s version of Office for the Aging. For example,
last summer Queens Community House’s annual trip to Cherry Grove was free. On
paper, New York City paid the bill although in reality some wealthy game, I am
pretty sure, ponied up the cash.
Joining
up with the New York City Department for the Aging also means lunch which costs
$2.00. It is always on Tuesdays and Thursdays chicken with barley or rice with
vegetables. It’s not that lunch is all that great, although it is well cooked,
it enables the participants to stay longer perhaps to participate in the
afternoon programs.
© September 2015 
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.
Posted on

Queens, Lesbians, and Gay Pride Committee by Louis

Geographical Note: Jackson Heights is located in Queens County in New York City. The big pride parade takes place in Manhattan. Jackson Heights is the second biggest lesbian and gay neighborhood in NYC outside of Greenwich Village. The population is primarily Hispanic and Hindu. 3 major subway lines converge in Jackson Heights so it is easily accessible from anywhere in Queens and Manhattan.

I was the recording secretary of the Queens Lesbian and Gay Pride Committee from 1986 to 1988, for 3 years. It was hard work. At the monthly meetings I had to record pretty much what all the committees had to report. The march in Jackson Heights, Queens, took place and still takes place on the 4th Sunday of June every year. There were the Treasurer’s report, the advertising-promotion committee report, the lawyer’s report, the President’s report, the mass mailing committee report. The promo-advertising-committee had a sub-committee, the fundraising committee that had its own separate report, the website maintenance committee.

The lawyer usually reported on the status of his application to the IRS of the 501.c status of our not-for-profit corporation, QLGPC. For some reason this was an on-going process as opposed to a one-time settled issue.

Of course, the fundraising sub-committee had to report directly to the treasurer, and the treasurer told the General Meeting where the money was being kept, in what bank account. The treasurer had to report to the (rather expensive) CPA of the corporation. The treasurer also reported on the payment of the expensive liability insurance premiums. The officers of the corporation, including myself, had to sign the certificate of incorporation. The fundraising sub-committee was no joke; they received large donations both from gay bar owners and large corporations such as Citibank. Then of course QLGPC sold advertising to businesses that wanted to purchase ads in QLGPC brochures and other promotional material. Naturally, wherever there is a large accumulation of cash, there are going to be embezzlers. But QLGPC was quite successful in finding out and getting rid of its embezzlers. Some of them were jailed.

Then there were more reports from the liaisons to the elected officials, the liaison to the Mayor’s Office (referring to the Mayor of New York City), the liaison to the department of sanitation, the liaison to the police department. And finally there was the liaison committee to the civic organizations, both gay lib type civic organizations and other groups. Among all of these, the most important was

P-FLAG that became a major sponsor of the Queens March. Another important group was ACQC, or the Aids Center of Queens County. In this case the liaisons were also officers of their own organizations, and they would report back to their organizations what they heard at our monthly general meeting. I should qualify this and state that as June approached, the monthly meetings turned into weekly meetings.

Then there were the reports from the liaisons to the vendors of which there were two categories: regular vendors, food vendors, beer vendors (selling beer required another special permit from the City) and the civic groups, such as HRCF, the NLGTF, the New York Imperial Court and on and on and on. They all had to rent their space. If the civic groups could not afford the fee, if applicable the fee was waived. Then there were the Lesbian and gay ethnic groups, e.g. the gay and Lesbian Bolivians. In other words, these groups set up their tents for the festival and rally following the 15-block march down 35th Avenue.

This whole parade committee had been founded and originally promoted by City Council Member, Danny Dromm. Mr. Dromm was also the founder of the Progressive Caucus in the New York City Council. His biography is quite interesting.

Then there was the Hospitality Committee with a sub-committee liaison to the NYC Dept of Parks. The Hospitality Committee was responsible for setting up what went on at the main tent of the Festival where Danny Dromm presented himself to the public to announce important legal victories or setbacks over the previous years. The Hospitality Committee also had to arrange the catering for the guests of honor at the main stage of the Festival. Yours truly was one of the guests of honor. In general, they did a very good job. The entertainment was really sensational and inclusive. And any VIP, such as a member of Congress or an elected official from New York State General Assembly or the Senate, could depend on getting his or her five minutes or so on the stage, once he or she was approved by the QLGPC steering committee. Special mention should be made of NY State Senator, Tom Duane, a long-time gay lib agitator.

Another issue that required planning was the choosing the Grand Marshall of the Parade, which usually was the Borough President. The BP would usually be expected to hold a Lesbian and gay pride reception in the Boro Hall, to which Danny Dromm was usually invited. The ACQC liaison committee also had an outreach team to local hospitals. The most responsive but certainly not the only local hospital was Elmhurst General Hospital that was interested in promoting its own Health Fairs. One of the officers of Elmhurst General Hospital was a particularly good friend of QLGPC.

After the first 3 or 4 years of holding the Queens Lesbian and Gay Pride parade, certain people wanted to start a Lesbian and gay Pride Committee for the borough of Brooklyn. So it happened, and QLGPC formed another liaison committee. So now Brooklyn has its own Lesbian and gay annual pride march and festival, and, for the sake of variety, holds their festivities at night.

An off-shoot of the Hospitality Committee was a sub-committee charged with the responsibility of setting up the Winterpride Dinner. If you wanted to attend, the ticket cost $60.00, less if you couldn’t afford it. So every year there is an elaborate catered affair at one of the rather lavish catering halls in Queens. The one I remember is Dante’s in Jackson Heights. But there were others, when attendance at the Winterpride Dinner got too large, Dante’s could not handle it. At the dinner, you could expect a Baroque quartet, lots of booze and very gourmet appetizers. Again part of the entertainment of the main stage at Winterpride were the necessarily brief presentations of the local politicians who pointed out what they did and are doing for our community.

After 3 years of being recording secretary, I got burned out. Someone succeeded me, I think it was a Mr. Siciliano. After 3 years of this, I said to myself that what gay liberation means to me is not so much political organizing, as important as this is. Gay liberation means to me the status of Lesbian gay people in the Church community. So I ran around to various churches, etc. I told you that story already. Besides the people I was dealing with all had some real political power, they were middle class. I did not really identify with them. I used to frequent the Lesbian and Gay Center on West 13th Street in NYC. I kept track of the groups that formed there. Two groups that intrigued me were COOL – Committee of Outraged Lesbians and Bronx Lesbians from a Lower Class Background. Whoever the founders of these groups were, I say “bravo.” Middle class gay people are not the only people interested in gay liberation. And there is more than one way of being disenfranchised.

Moral: We should all be thankful to the organizers of our annual Denver Gay and Lesbian Pride March. It involves a crushing amount of legal work to keep everything on track.

April 7, 2014

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.