Tag: SAGE

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Keyhole, by Phillip Hoyle

These days I sometimes have trouble fitting the key into the keyhole. Luckily, since retirement, I carry only one rather ordinary key. The problem is not with our front door lock. No, it’s the specialized keys that cause me the greatest challenge, like those on the free lockers at the Denver Art Museum. The funny key doesn’t want to go in either way I try, upside or down. I’m sure it’s due to my rather clumsy ways and inaccurate perception of angles. But I persist and do eventually get the key in, retrieve my backpack and the refunded quarter as well.

But another meaning of keyhole intrigues me. I recall as a child hoping to peek through a keyhole and see something unusual. Could one solve a mystery with just one peek? I looked but never saw anything interesting. If I knew the room already, the view was too focused. If I didn’t know it, I had no idea what I was looking at. But these were mostly childhood games of imagination.

My fascination with exotic places, one fed by my constant reading, took me around the world in my mind, introduced me to new cultures, customs, and costumes. Of course such views were limited to keyhole glimpses. I wanted more. I kept reading. I had a few other experiences living in an army town, where I appreciated my schoolmates, quite a few who came from or had lived in other countries, ones who sometimes looked and dressed differently. I liked that; I liked them. I scoured National Geographic magazines whenever they were available. I found myself engaged rather than put off by difference.

But was I only deluded? Was I making keyhole peeks to see only what I thought was there? I’m sure in many ways the answer is yes. That seems to be the way things are. But I kept looking, reading, and saying ‘hi’ to the unusual. I liked life in Kansas but still kept looking around through keyholes and kept scanning the horizon.

Here there is a larger story. By here I mean in this very room where LGBTQA folk tell their stories. Telling Your Story gatherings provide keyhole glimpses into other people’s perspectives and lives. Along with the public libraries and local museums, I count our weekly storytelling my greatest Denver life gift. I like providing these glimpses, but mostly I love hearing them, each one an invitation to see a wider world.

Recently I sent one of the stories I had told this group to the writing critique group I am a part of. The varied responses surprised me. Of course, that group’s purpose is to figure out what the piece is about, advise the writer what the reader found effective, and to share questions raised by the story or some detail in it—in that order. I was surprised to find that questions about my actions (as well as my writing) came in the opening statements. Somehow my behaviors in midlife seemed so bad they had to be confronted from the beginning. I’ll not go into the content of that here, but I thought how different that was compared with this SAGE group’s reactions when I first read the story. The discussion in the critique group was lively. In it one participant suggested that perhaps her reaction came from not knowing how to write to an LGBT audience. As the talk continued, another exasperated person said, “I feel like I’ve become the Church Lady.”

I became acutely aware how different were the responses of the two groups. In saying these things I’m not critical of my critique group’s insights or of their rather visceral reactions. Of course, I have done things that have not been good. I just thought moral issues were differentiated from writing issues and separated from them. Maybe what they saw through the keyhole of that story surprised them. Of course I forgive them. They’re nice people and one of them is certainly as queer as I am.

I do believe that assumptions get in the way for some readers and listeners when the experiences described seem too different. Prejudice has a lot to do with that as does the keyhole effect of not seeing the larger picture. Glimpses can give only micro views.

But then I remember I’ve always liked the peculiar, had long hoped someday to say with Dorothy, “I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

© 16 July 2018

About the Author

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.”

He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com

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One Monday Afternoon by Phillip Hoyle

One Monday afternoon with a folder of
stories in hand, I made my way to The LGBT Center in the 1100 block on
Broadway, the place with the purple awning that I had visited often to borrow
books from the Terry Mangan Memorial Library. My friend Dianne had looked at
The Center’s website and called me to say they were offering art programs and a
weekly storytellers gathering. She thought I might be interested, and she was
right. For quite a few years I had been attending a writers group, a monthly
gathering of men and women in which I was the only gay, but now I thought I’d
like to read my gay-themed pieces to an LGBT audience to see what response I
would receive. Excited by the prospects I entered the building, climbed the
stairs, registered my presence, and made my way to the library where the group
was to meet.
I knew the storytelling was part of
SAGE, a seniors program, and wondered how I’d compare with other participants.
I was younger except for Jackie who was the group leader. She was quite a bit
younger than I, a graduate social work student at Denver University who had
started the group as part of her internship with SAGE. Jackie’s warm and
friendly personality attracted me, and she was just funky enough and humorous
enough for me to relate to her. Two or three other men attended my first Monday
afternoon with the group. We introduced ourselves to one another and the
storytelling began. Since I’d never attended before, I had no story about the
topic, but I did have a couple of stories about my experiences as an older man
who came to Denver some years earlier to live his life as an openly gay man. Two
participants told stories extemporaneously, sharing interesting events in their
lives. Jackie read her story, something about one of her boyfriends back in New
Jersey. The other participant read his story in a thick Alabama accent.
I knew I had come to the right place. Thus began my tenure with The Center’s
SAGE of the Rockies “Telling Your Story” group, a storytelling relationship
that has endured over three years.
The next Monday afternoon one of the
extemporaneous storytellers surprised us and himself by reading a story.
Somehow the experience of putting his feelings on paper moved him deeply,
reading them aloud nearly devastated him, and hearing them read nearly devastated
the rest of us. What was this group? I suspected our times together might
become more than any of us anticipated.
Over the ensuing weeks—April through
June—we told our stories to one another; sometimes asking questions for
clarification, sometimes responding with our own similar experiences and
feelings, and always appreciating the candor and depth of the sharing. But
Jackie broke into our satisfaction by announcing the end of her internship; she
had received an assignment at another setting for the final months of her
academic program. Michael piped up to say we already had our next leader. We
looked around the room and then a realization hit me. I felt like I was again
in church; I was being volunteered. When the truth of it was clarified, I
agreed only to consider convening the group. The Center would be closed for a
month while the programs moved into the new facility on East Colfax Avenue. I
suggested that on the first Monday afternoon of opening week we come together
with stories on the topic “Beginnings.” In the meantime I would confer with
Ken, the acting SAGE director, about the possibility of leading the group.
I did volunteer to lead the group, an
experience of great importance and meaning for me. Prior to accepting the
responsibility I had gone nearly twelve years without leading any kind of
group. In fact, I had rarely attended any meetings for over a decade. I
reasoned perhaps it was time I re-entered group life and asked the participants
to brainstorm several topics we could use for the next meetings. We did so and
since then have generated so many topics we’ll have to meet weekly for
several years to use them all. The LGBT makeup of the group has presented no
particular challenges because of the personalities of group members and their
dedication to building community that features a broad spectrum of human
experience. But the most important thing I discovered in assuming this
leadership was that the group barely required any leadership, barely needed it.
It’s the easiest group I ever led, and I had led many, many of them in a church
career that lasted thirty years. Also, I never before led a group with such a
high average IQ or so much creativity and talent, both raw and trained. And
still after many months I never can imagine what to expect each week. Such fun,
such humanity, such diversity, such community. It all began for me one Monday
afternoon.
© Denver,
2013
About the Author
  

 Phillip Hoyle
lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In
general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two
years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now
focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE
program “Telling Your Story.”
He also blogs
at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com
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Wisdom by Pat Gourley

When looking at the definition of the word “wisdom”  -‘having or showing experience, knowledge and
good judgment’ – I have to honestly say it seems not much of that applies to me
at age 65. Perhaps real wisdom will come in the decades after 65 if I am lucky
enough to experience them. I am though relatively content with where I am with
how I move in the world and my overall view of it despite the fact that I don’t
appear to be offering up much to the eventual survival of the species.
I do think though I have a bit of wisdom incorporated into my
nursing work and I do believe that a level of true compassion, as opposed to
the often politically correct ‘idiot compassion’, has over four decades been
slowly ripened and gets expressed in perhaps actually helping the folks seeking
health care I run into these days. This involves an approach I really started
to only hone in the early 1990’s in the AIDS Clinic at Denver Health and
supported by the philosophical writings of my favorite nursing theorist
Margaret Newman. I have I think shared this quote from Newman’s work in the
past but here it is again: “The responsibility of the nurse is not to make
people well, or to prevent their getting sick, but to assist people to
recognize the power that is within them to move to higher levels of
consciousness”.
A recent example of this in practice is offering to take
certain select friends to see the documentary Fed Up currently playing at the Mayan Theatre. Rather than
continued harping at them about how their diet is fueling their metabolic
syndromes and in certain case frank diabetes, I am simply facilitating their
exposure to this wonderful film and maybe some of it will hit home and get
incorporated into changes in their diets. Though an after movie stop at Gigi’s
Cupcakes at 6th and Grant makes me wonder if I didn’t just piss away
a ten dollar movie ticket and in the interest of full disclosure that would be
my ten dollar ticket I am talking about. Hey, when it comes to taking direction
from almost any nurse it is best not to do what we do but rather do what we
say. Or perhaps more in the spirit of Margaret Newman look at where we are
pointing to and see what might be over there for you.
I’d like to change gears a bit here and turn my focus from
cupcakes to acronyms and an application to today’s topic of wisdom. Our Story
telling Group is part of the S-A-G-E activities offered by the Center. SAGE is
an acronym that stands for “Service and Advocacy for GLBT Elders”. That is
pretty much a big snooze as far as I am concerned. I would much rather have us
referred to as “sages” all small letters and no acronym even alluded to. The
acronym, SAGE, also seems to heavily imply that we are a group in need of
advocacy and services. There is certainly no denying that some of us queer elders
are in need of both service and advocacy at least at certain times during our
golden years. However, it is much more appealing to me to be recognized as a
sage with much to offer the larger queer world than a member of a group called
SAGE focused on providing advocacy and service.
One definition I ‘Googled’ on for a sage is someone “having,
showing or indicating great wisdom”. Well I think its time we all accepted that
definition and put on the mantle of sage. Again to cop a bit to Margaret Newman
I think many of us around this table are very capable of helping our LGBT
brothers and sisters to recognize the power that is within them to move to
higher levels of consciousness.
One form this might take is embedded in idea that Phil and I
have been lightly kicking around for sometime and that might be an e-book
perhaps, an anthology of stories from this group from those of you who have
come to openly queer consciousness in your SAGE years.
There has been so much wisdom expressed in many stories I
have heard here but I am often most moved and impressed with those coming out
stories being shared by folks who have come out in the last 10-15 years and
much more recently for a few. These stories would I think be a great benefit
and succor to those other elders contemplating this same leap. There is an old
Zen saying: ‘leap and a net shall appear”. What a great gift of a net these
stories could be for someone deciding at 50 or 60 or 70 to come out as queer.
I have shared many of my own coming out experiences primarily
from the late sixties but really how much would a 60 year old today relate to
my crazy ass stories of fucking with my high school mentor in the biology lab
of a Catholic prep school on a Good Friday afternoon no less. Rather people
relating stories of coming to queerness out of long and often very happy
heterosexual unions often resulting in offspring during the swirling years of
gay liberation, AIDS, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell and marriage equality would most
likely resonate much more than tales of hallucinogenic trips at the bathhouses
of the 1970’s.
So in closing I would like to anoint us all as the true sages
we are and push us a bit to start sharing our deep wisdom about the many areas
of life we have occupied, particularly the queer corners.
© 22 June
2014  
About the Author  

I was
born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross
nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver,
Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have
currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco,
California.
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Stories of GLBT Organizations by Ray S

When I noted the address, 1301 East Colfax Ave., I thought it was the new location for Pleasures. Interesting, but that didn’t make sense with the info I had from a recent edition of “Out Front” a newspaper which I had surreptitiously read when no one was around. My mission was to learn what, where, and when about some sort of conference about “adult” (nice-speak for “old”) gay folks being held this weekend.

Cautiously my closet door creaked open just a bit and barely sticking my head out I bravely made my way to the address which turned out to be some place named anonymously “The CENTER.” Then if you looked close in fine print you read “Advancing LGBT Colorado.”

Long story short a really nice guy, I thought he was straight, clued me in and took my registration fee.

The next day I arrived at the conference site hotel to have a whole new world open up for me.It was wonderful to observe the diverse (overused word but accurate) crowd. Mr. “Center-Ken” had put this really first class show together with lots of dedicated volunteer help. People manning or “woman-ing” booths hawking pertinent products or information of all kinds. It was SAGE high on some really good stuff.

At one presentation the group–we had all signed up for various subjects regarding gays far beyond the millennium age–was hearing all about preparing for some financial or medical eventuality adult GLBT’s will be confronted with. When I asked the young man sitting to my right (he had to be 30 or so and that’s young!) if he knew what these folks were talking about, it didn’t matter what the answer was because suddenly I was smittten with an instantaneous crush. Could he possibly be interested in Daddy? I hardly qualified for lack of the necessary sugar, but I felt my ardor rising. See, you can teach an old dog new tricks.

Turned out after luncheon and the speaker, we broke up into small groups again for various “learning experiences” and low and behold the new object of my affection was leading one on the subject “self esteem,” right up my alley.

Needless to say my love light had flared brightly for at least the duration of the lunch hour, then flickered out with challenges of trying to locate something called self esteem and learning his partner was a famous drag queen, on top of experiencing hovering in and out of my cozy closet.

Once the whole Dog and Pony Show had terminated I was aware I had found a new friend and was resigned happily returning to my pre-baby boomer age group. I could see the bright light under the crack between the floor and the bottom of the closet door. Somehow between Mr. Ken-Center and the SAGE Sheraton Downtown a new life had begun.

Footnote #1, with apologies to Mr. Oscar Wilde

The Picture of Dorian Gray ne’ me that appeared in a recent edition of “Out Front” has come back to haunt me, but delightfully so. Last night after I had finished this testimonial, my cell beckoned around 8 PM. The voice of my “friend” from far away St. Louis called to tell me how happy he was to have received a copy of said publication and the SAGE OF THE ROCKIES STORY TIME stories. This coincidence was doubly welcome when my young friend (he must be 35 by now–just a kid) told me we would get together when he is passing through on a business trip to Wyoming in May. Does hope spring eternal or at least stumble a little?

Footnote #2 Germain pg. 45

“Life is a mirror which riddles the truth;

Age is but an excess of youth.”

April 7, 2014

About the Author

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Thoughts on SAGE Queens and SAGE New York by Louis

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 10 September 2013

About
the Author

I was born in 1944, I lived most of my life in New York City, Queens County. I still commute there. I worked for many years as a Caseworker for New York City Human Resources Administration, dealing with mentally impaired clients, then as a social work Supervisor dealing with homeless PWA’s. I have an apartment in Wheat Ridge, CO. I retired in 2002. I have a few interesting stories to tell. My boyfriend Kevin lives in New York City. I graduated Queens College, CUNY, in 1967.