Tag: Public Places

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Public Places, by Gillian

Over
the fifteen years that Betsy and I had Brunhilda, our VW camper van, we made
great use of so many public parks I couldn’t begin to count them.
That’s
how I started this piece, not really knowing where it was going from here. But
a thought struck me. Why couldn’t I begin, and eventually succeed in,
counting them? Betsy and I, ever anal, kept logbook-type diaries of every trip
we ever took with ol’ Brunie. 

So.,
I lugged armfuls of dusty old, and some not so old, notebooks, up from the
basement.

I
began to count, using that age-old tried-and-true method (though admittedly
very low-tech) of four short strokes with a line through them counting five. I was
surprised to find it actually only took me an hour or so, but admit to the
somewhat loose totals at which I arrived.
We
have camped for about 125 total days in over 50 National Parks. Several of
these were a few days together, as we explored the Park.  

We
have camped for over 150 days in State Parks in almost every one of the lower
48. In fact, I believe we have camped in every single state, neither Betsy nor
I can think of one we’ve missed, but I’d have to check through all those old
books again, not to mention all that illegible handwriting, to be 100% sure and
I really don’t care that much right now; in fact, I doubt I ever will! Many of
these stops were just one-nighters; a useful, but also frequently very
beautiful and interesting, place to stay on the way to and from somewhere else.
Town
and county parks, often only discovered by chatting to the locals, also often
tended to be one-night stands but nonetheless are frequently undiscovered gems.
Often, they are centered on some feature of local fame: an old historic cabin,
a little one-room local museum, a unique geologic formation, or the old water
mill. We have spent about 60 nights in such locations, and it’s here you tend
to meet interesting locals looking for someone new to talk to, and invariably wanting
to have a good look inside Brunhilda. Some places we have camped while Betsy
pedaled her ass around this State or that, have not in fact been campground at
all; merely the local school ball field or the town park – facilities are
always made available to a bicycle group wanting to stay the night and perhaps
leave behind a few bucks when they leave.
We
have camped 12 times in National Historic or Geologic Sites, frequently well
off the beaten path and little utilized, and so, very quiet. These are also
usually places of great interest, occasionally enough to keep us there for a
second night.  

Our
very favorites are probably the BLM or National Forest campgrounds. They are
inexpensive, quiet, and usually well away from any freeway. They are in deserts
and forests, on beaches and lakes, beside major rivers and tiny trickling
streams. Humans are the minority of their visitors. We share them with animals
and birds. We share them, sometimes not so gladly, with snakes and bugs. But,
despite the latter, we have returned several times to some of the 50 or so we
have used, often staying more than one night.
Our
public spaces are great gifts to us, some from the present but mostly from
previous generations. I am ever grateful to those with the foresight to create
these places, and to the avid campers of the early years of cross-country
motoring who engendered the need for established campground amid the beauty of
the wild, such as we enjoy today.
© 6 Jun 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.
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Public Places, by Betsy

I recently had occasion to kill some time in downtown Denver. Gill and I were meeting family for brunch one Sunday morning. The restaurant was on the 16th St. mall so we took the W line train to Union Station, hopped a mall shuttle and arrived on time, fresh, unstressed, and hassle-free— made possible by our choice of public transportation—no fighting traffic, no searching for a place to park, etc.

After breakfast and visiting, Gill returned home on the W line. The others went their way. I had two hours to wait before attending the 1:00 pm performance of Carmina Burana by the Colorado Symphony Orchestra and Chorus at Boettcher Concert Hall.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning so I decided to amble down 16th St. mall and see what I could see.

I was immediately reminded of how I love downtown Denver. I was struck by the numbers of people bustling about on a Sunday morning. Half the stores were closed it seemed. So, what were all these people doing? Going somewhere and most of them in a hurry. Many were sitting in restaurant patios drinking whatever or eating, but mostly just enjoying the environment, the clear blue sky, and warm temperatures.

I immediately realized that the magic about this mall environment is made possible by the fact that there is no automobile traffic. Only and occasional shuttle bus, bicycles, skateboards, and scooters. Even the hand/foot propelled vehicles are not allowed to be ridden on the mall. Everyone is required to be a pedestrian.

There appears pop art at every turn of the head—the buffalo herd near Wazee St.—six or eight life-size buffalo silhouettes standing on the side walk, musicians at almost every block playing guitar on one corner, flute on the next. And then there are the brightly painted upright pianos sparsely scattered throughout the mall waiting to be played by anyone who cares to try.

The center of the mall strip is a cultural center of its own: people playing board games on the stationary checkerboards, permanent concrete fixtures in the center of the mall strip, people reading the Sunday morning paper, people reading a local map, people playing the pianos. I’ve often wondered what they do with those pianos when it rains or worse when it hails which we all noticed it has a tendency to do here.

In spite of its location in the heart of downtown, the mall is amazingly peaceful, at least one gets that sense. The benches and chairs and tables and especially the plantings make it so. The trees, grown to maturity now, are plentiful complemented by the ever-present giant flower pots displaying a splash of color here and there.

I almost ran into a steer on the mall. Beautifully painted light blue with colorful depictions of the Denver skyline, DIA, some trees and mountains representing our beautiful area parks. These words were written clearly on its rump.

“DIA Denver International Airport is the nation’s largest—53 square miles

Denver has the nation’s largest city park system with more than 200 parks within its city limits.

Not to mention the 300 days of sunshine each year.”

No wonder I love this place. Especially in the summer. I love the park-and-ride bicycles standing neatly in a row on their racks waiting for the next rider to jump on. What a great idea. I’m glad to see this grab-a bike-program being used and persisting. If I were in a real hurry, I could pay the fee pull a bike out of its stall jump on and pedal to Botcher, deposit my borrowed vehicle and be in my seat in 10 minutes. But I have plenty of time so I continue with my amble.

Arriving at the DCPA I am struck immediately by the awesome view straight ahead of me—the snow-covered peaks of the Front Range between a bright blue sky behind and the green foot hills in front. All this from a vantage point in the midst of downtown Denver. Takes your breath away. Again, now on the main concourse of the DCPA, I realize that it is the absence of traffic that makes this environment so special—relaxing and hassle free in spite of the numbers of people moving about.

It was time to go into the concert hall and take my seat. Soon I was again transposed momentarily to some other world by the awesome beauty of this powerful piece of music by Carl Orff, Carmina Burana. There is something so special about listening to live music. The performance was inspiring. I felt a wave of pride in MY orchestra, MY chorus, MY concert hall—all mine because we all belong to MY hometown.

I have been to many awesome public places most in this country and some in other countries. On this day, I could easily say that downtown Denver is just about my favorite.

© 6 June 2016

About the Author

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

How very clever the person who suggested today’s topic
must think he or she must be. Even smug when he or she imagined how much
control he or she would have over all the Storytime minions. It is positively
evil, but still waters run deep and we will get you in the end.
Now, we have the opportunity to rise to the challenge.
Are you enjoying this imposed agony? Perhaps you have already determined the
muse I rely on is not trying nor inspired. May be the time of day, lack of
sleep or absent inspiration.
Perhaps ‘Public Places’ brings to mind somewhere that
you discovered true love, or the golden splendor of a South Dakota wheat field.
California Highway #1 and the first view of the Pacific Ocean, or the enfolding
serenity of Big Sur, or the majesty of Muir Woods.
Another discovery is the beauty and charm of the city
of Savannah with its 200-year-old array of parks that seemed interspersed every
other block.
Then you mustn’t overlook the public places resorted
to for various nefarious reasons, but we don’t put them in the same box with
Mt. Rushmore or the steps of our Capitol the day same sex marriage was
celebrated.
My muse has finally surfaced and brings our minds back
to the NOW: to kick start an important PUBLIC PLACE where all are welcome, and
the beautiful celebration last Friday of two of our most beautiful compatriots.
On a wonderful sunny morning on the rooftop of our Center was a validation of
the right place for all of us to be.
[NOTE: Two SAGE members were honored for their GLBT
work.]
© 6 June 2016 
About the Author 

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Hail to the Watch Queen, by Pat Gourley

Just when I think I can’t stumble on anything new in the queer world I discover an old name for a sub-genre of gay men I was not aware of. This occurred last week when I happened on the phenomenon of the “watch queen.” Richard Black posting in the Urban Dictionary back in 2005 offered three common definitions for the Watch Queen: 1st somebody who just gets off watching others have sex, which I assume could now apply to any Internet porn watcher, 2nd the lookout who watches for security or the vice squad while others are having sex in Public Spaces and 3rd the gay men too old (his words not mine) to engage in sex but still enjoy watching.

I am certainly familiar with the voyeuristic joys of watching other men have sex but I had never associated the descriptive phrase, “watch queen” as someone who is a lookout while others have at it. Watch Queen I think could be another archetypical gay male role that should be enshrined in out pantheon of identities – The Noble Protector has a nice ring to it.

As it turns out being a Watch Queen was something that Laud Humphries was accused of being when doing extensive research for his groundbreaking 1970 observational work on gay men having sex in public restrooms called The Tearoom Trade. His work is considered seminal in many ways about the sub-group of homosexually inclined men who cruise specifically public restrooms. This work has also been severely criticized as unethical since he never revealed his true purpose to those he was observing and subsequent publication of his findings was done without participant consent though no one’s identity was ever compromised near as I can tell. The role he would often take when in the field doing his research apparently was as the Watch Queen. Now he was a gay man himself, married and a former Episcopal clergyman who came out only after the publication of Tearoom Trade. Humphries died in 1988 in his late 50’s.

Though I do think public restroom cruising is no longer as widespread as it once was it is still alive and well. A form of almost totally non-verbal communication through a series of subtle and sometimes not so subtle gestures, postures and eye contact leading to sex, if not on the spot then onto a nearby hookup in a car or bushes, so much for the necessity of the spoken word.

In one of the better pieces I found describing and providing an analysis of Humphries work was by Tristen Bridges titled Laud Humphries’ Discussion of Space in “Tearoom Trade”. Quoting from Tristen’s article: “He {Humphries} found that a large percentage of the men participating were married {to women}, many were religious (mostly Catholic), a large percentage were either in the military or veterans, and perhaps most interestingly of all – a large majority of the men who did not identify as gay were socially and politically conservative. In fact, Humphries found that only 14% of the men in this study could be said to be a “typical” gay man.” https://inequalitybyinteriordesign.wordpress.com/2012/05/01/laud-humphreys-discussion-of-space-in-tearoom-trade/

An extremely sophomoric interpretation of Humphries’ work would be to conflate his findings with the current unbelievable flap around transgender bathroom access. Such use of his work for justifying this form of blatant discrimination misses the mark on so many levels it really does not deserve to be addressed at all. In no way is gay male use of public space for sex predatory. The vast majority of predation happens in secret, non-public space, offices of congressmen and churches come to mind.

If anything, taking Humphries work to heart it should be a clarion call for gay liberation. Let me say though that the fine art of the silent, public cruise for mutual sex can be engaged in by the truly liberated if that is their cup of tea so to speak. It could be viewed as preserving a uniquely queer and time-honored form of human interaction and communication.

I would venture to say if you really want to protect kids in public restrooms we should hire a Watch Queen for every public restroom. These are gay men who truly know how to keep public spaces safe not only for mutual consenting hookups but for peeing and pooping unmolested.

© June 2016

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Public Places, by Will Stanton

Gee
willikers!  What am I supposed to write
about the topic “Public Places?”  We all
have been in public places many times all throughout our lives, unless one of
us always has lived under a rock.  Were
we expected to write about something we did that was wonderful and spectacular,
or was it something embarrassing? 
Regarding myself, I can’t think of anything exciting enough to be worthy
of describing.  I haven’t led the most
adventuresome life.
I
assume by the term “public places,” the person who selected the topic was
thinking of areas where there are lots of people around, where whatever
occurred was witnessed by a large number of people.  Well, I can relate incidents that I witnessed
or was told about that might have some modicum of interest to the
listeners.  So, here goes.
When
I was in college, I was friends with one guy, Jeff, and his younger brother,
Jim.  They had very different
personalities.  My friend often displayed
a weird sense of humor; his brother always preferred to appear more serious – –
– that is, until they were together. 
Occasionally when they got together, the situation turned into a folie
à deux, that is, a “madness shared by two.”  
Having been in Army ROTC, they both ended up as army lieutenants in
Vietnam.  Jeff returned first and rather
let himself go, not doing anything in particular, not bothering to shave, just
taking it easy.  Prim Jim, however,
returned in uniform expecting a similarly neatly dressed brother to pick him up
at the airport.  Instead, Jeff appeared
wearing an old, torn raincoat and looking bedraggled. Spotting
Jim, he shuffled over to him, mimicking a demented Quasimodo.  Jim, already terribly embarrassed, became
even more so when Jeff, imitating some kind of transient who was truly off his
rocker, mumbled in a very loud voice, “Can you tell me where the really big
planes are?”
  
Naturally,
everyone within ear-shot turned around to look, regarding Jeff with great
suspicion and discomfort.  I assume that
this incident qualifies for happening in a very public place, an airport with
hundreds of people around.  I hasten to
mention that this occurred long before 911, so Jeff was not hauled off by the
authorities.
Jeff
and Jim also were rather disdainful of university-fraternities.  I recall one day their walking together past
a row of fraternities where a large number of frat-brats were sitting out on
their porches.  Now, this was back in the
day when fear and disgust of homosexuals was far more prevalent than now.  Realizing that they were being watched, Jeff
and Jim suddenly threw their arms around each other and began dancing gayly
down the sidewalk, merrily singing.  The
expressions on those frat-brat guys’ faces were priceless, and I enjoyed seeing
it all.
Speaking
of gay, I wrote earlier about the gayest person I ever saw on campus.  In everyone’s eyes, Peter was obviously
gay.  He looked rather androgynous, had
long golden hair, and was considered remarkably beautiful.  His choice of cute little clothes added to
that perception.  But, Peter was far
different from most gays at the time. 
People found him to be so remarkable looking that he had gained a
surprising sense of self-esteem and confidence. 
Usually,
people simply stared at Peter in astonishment.  If
anyone might have said something nasty to him, I imagine
that Peter did not let it bother him.  He apparently
rarely had any such experiences.  I do know
of one occasion, however.
I
recall one evening walking into a campus-bar where
both
straight and a few gays went. I saw Peter entering ahead of me.  Once inside, some college-stud, sitting with
his date, looked at Peter in complete disgust, and said
in a loud voice, “Look, here comes a fagot!”  Everyone
turned to look at the speaker and Peter.
As
Peter passed by, and without hesitation, he spoke up loudly stating, “This man
just called me a ‘fagot.’  Yes, he called
me a ‘fagot.’  What is a ‘fagot’?  Can someone tell me what a ‘fagot’ is?”  Everyone stared at the homophobic
college-stud, whose face quickly had turned a deep red.  He then sank down in his chair, as though he
wished he could disappear, thoroughly humiliated.   Peter, head held high, proceeded on by to
seek out some friends.  There sure were a
lot of people in that public place, and stud-guy sure drew a lot of attention
to himself that he didn’t plan on.
Last
of all, I remember my trip to Fort Lauderdale for spring-break from
college.  Late one afternoon and evening,
I was at a night-spot on the beach.  In
addition to lots of college guys, there also were some older, wealthy Cuban
emigré-men, all enjoying themselves.  I
noticed a young stud who looked no older than seventeen, very buff and very
smooth, wearing a tiny swimming suit.  He
occasionally dove elegantly, smoothly into a small swimming pool.  Then he would climb out, deliberately seeming
to ignore the crowd, and quietly stroll around the rim of the pool as though he
were on parade at a fashion-show.  He
knew exactly what he was doing.  With
regularity, one or other of the Cubans would walk over to him and slip a
large-denomination bill into the boy’s tiny swimsuit.  This went on for a while.  Finally, he must have received some rather
impressive amount because he quietly proceeded to strip naked, stand for a
moment to be admired, and then smoothly dove into the pool.
Well,
I would say that night-spot certainly qualified as a public place, and he
certainly drew attention from the crowd. 
I can understand why, too.  Hey!  I’d be satisfied just having a body like
that, even without all that money.
© 17 May 2016  
About the Author 
I have had a life-long fascination with
people and their life stories.  I also
realize that, although my own life has not brought me 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.
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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.