Will I Ever Go Back To Provincetown?

Me in the back of my friend Bob's pickup truck, August 1974 at Bob White's Motel, Provincetown, Mass 

Back in the Seventies and early Eighties I used to spend all my vacation days in Provincetown, Massachusetts.  

The first time I visited Provincetown was in 1974.  I had heard a lot about Provincetown being the "Gay Mecca" from my late co-worker Don Lodge. I felt that I had missed out on all the "Gay Mecca" scene because I lived in Philadelphia, PA.  At that time Philadelphia was considered a pale imitation of New York City as far as the gay scene was concerned.

Being young and foolish (relatively), I thought I would grab this last chance of immersing myself into the Gay Disneyland of the East Coast.  

At 32 years old I felt I was past my prime gay attractiveness so I better make hay while the sun shined. Oh yes, I was brainwashed that if you were gay and over 30 years old you were washed up.  Oh how little did I know, witness the fact that I will soon be 75 years old and I am literally having the best time of my life now romantically and sexually.  Something I never would have believed way back there over forty years ago.  But I digress.  Back to the subject at hand.

I talked to my late good friend Bob McCamley about visiting Provincetown.  Bob had a pickup truck.  We were both butch.  What away to make an entrance into the gay Mecca, two butches in a pickup truck. 

Bob agreed to drive to Provincetown.  

He came by our townhouse in center city Philly one sunny Saturday morning and picked me up.  We were on our way!

To be continued:

Me and my friend Bob ready to depart Philadelphia for Provincetown, Mass August 1974

Brad, R.I.P.

Me and Brad in happier times - 1980

Yesterday I received an e-mail from Cincinnati. I did not know the person who sent this e-mail but we both knew Brad Corrill.  He informed me that Brad died September 17th.  Brad was 60 years old.

I met Brad in April of 1980.  We locked eyes at the Drury Lane Bar in center city Philadelphia.  Ironically that was the first and last time I was ever in that particular gay bar. I don't remember why I went in that night but I do know that my life changed forever when I met Brad.

Drury Lane Bar, Philadelphia, PA

I don't remember who started the conversation first but I do know that we both knew immediately we were attracted to one another, a lot.  We spent the night together at a place where he was staying temporarily.
Brad was homeless.

A few months earlier he had moved to Philadelphia from Cincinnati after meeting "Gene", a Philadelphia gay bartender who was visiting Cincinnati.  When I met Brad Gene had thrown him out and Brad was living with a straight couple (friends of Gene) until he found his own place.  

Brad had a problem because he didn't have a job or money.  I had an apartment that I had a lease on until January of 1981.  I had gotten the lease because Bill and I had sold our town house in center city Philly and our new home was under construction in Chester County.  Bill was staying at our house under construction.  I was still working in center city (I had asked Bill to take early retirement) and needed a place to stay until the construction of our house was completed.  I told Brad he could stay at my apartment on Spruce Street until he found his own place. Thus began the summer that I experienced the most extreme highs and lows of my life.  The summer that I was almost destroyed.  

Brad at "The Ranch"

My journal entry recording the drama that was our life back then so many years ago

I'll attempt to make this a concise story as possible while covering all the pertinent facts but I could easily write a novel of that summer. The most dramatic summer of my life.

I fell in love with Brad.  I thought he fell in love with me.  To me he was like a lost puppy.  A sweet, sensitive, funny and (of course) very attractive guy.  And he needed me.  I grew to need him needing me.  I was going to take care of him.  Big mistake. For you see the problem was that Brad was an alcoholic and a drug addict. We was weak. I thought I could save him.  Big mistake.

Brad at "The Ranch" - 1980

The first month or so we were both ecstatically happy. We were in our own world of bliss.  I seriously considered leaving Bill and starting a new life with Brad.  Big mistake.  

The first sign of a problem was when I arranged an interview for Brad with my real estate agent who was looking for a handyman.  I left work that morning to be at the real estate agent's office for Brad's appointment at 10:30 am.  10:30 came and went.  11:00 came and went.  I frantically called Brad.  When I got him on the phone he was slurring his words.  He was drunk.  He told me he couldn't make the meeting because he "wasn't feeling well."  He was drunk.  I was mortified.  So embarrassed.  

I forgave him.  I tried several more times to get him a job, all to no avail.  But still I said he could stay at my apartment until he found a job and his own place. Then one weekend I returned from our (me and Bill's) home in the country early.  I returned on a Saturday night instead of my usual Sunday night.  When I climbed the stairs to my fourth floor apartment on Spruce Street and opened the door I see a leather clad, bearded man who I did not know.  I asked him "Who are you?"  With a sneer on his face he looked at me and said "Who the fuck are you!"  I told him "I'm the person who is paying rent on this apartment and you can get out of here right now."  Mr. Butch Leatherman snarled "Who's going to make me?" Barely controlling my seething anger I said to him "If you don't walk down those stairs right now I'm going to throw you down those stairs." He took a measured look at me after hearing my "suggestion" and turned around and left.

2122 Spruce Street - my apartment top floor (fourth) with dormers

Interior of my "penthouse apartment" at 2122 Spruce Street, Philadelphia, PA

After he left Brad and I got into a furious argument.  Brad rarely argued but this time we were screaming at each other.  I highly resented him bringing strangers into my apartment and I also felt betrayed because I thought Brad cared for me.  I found out that night he didn't, but more about that later.  

Our argument continued until Brad jumped me and threw me to the floor with his forearm against my neck choking me, while he screamed "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

I couldn't breath.  He was choking me to death.  While I was flailing around on the floor trying to breath, my right ankle hit the turn on/off knob of the radiator heater by the wall. The force of the impact broke the skin and my blood began flowing from my ankle where I hit it on the radiator.  The sight of my blood brought Brad to his senses and he released his choke hold on my neck.  

While I was gasping for breath, he was now saying over and over "I'm so sorry Ron!  I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"  That was the night that I knew that I had to end our relationship.

That past summer I had taken Brad to Provincetown with me only to witness him taking off with a straight couple for a threesome.  He was bored with me.  I asked him what happened.  He said "I don't know Ron, I just fell out of love with you.  It just went away."  

Brad and I in Provincetown (whale watching excursion) - July 1980 - we did have good times

I thought I could make Brad love me again the way he did when we first met.  I took him with me when I visited my friend Bob McC. at his weekend place ("The Ranch") outside Georgetown Delaware.  All to no avail. All Brad was interested in was what Gene was doing.  Where Gene was.  It took me a long time to realize that I was just someone to use.

Brad and I at Bob McC's "The Ranch" near Georgetown, Delaware - when I still made him happy - 1980

That night I told Brad he had to move . . . back to his home in Cincinnati or else we would both be destroyed.  Brad had left my apartment once before.  He moved in with someone else only to be told to leave because of his drug habits and I suppose his propensity to bring strangers back home.  That's alright if you have your own place but quite another different story when you're a guest at someone's home (or apartment where I have the liability).  

The first time Brad left my apartment, I saw him sitting on a bench in Rittenhouse Square where I used to criss cross through when I went home after work.  I walked by him only to hear him say "Ron? Can I talk to you?"  He told me he needed a place to stay.  I loved him and didn't want to see him homeless, sleeping on a park bench in Rittenhouse Square so I told him he could stay at my apartment until he found someplace else to live.  

Brad meeting me for lunch at 8th and Chestnut Streets, Philadelhia, PA 1980

I was in love with Brad and wanted to "save" him.  But what I didn't realize, what I was so foolish to believe; was that I could win out over the drugs and alcohol.  I believed in a Hollywood ending to our story.  I kept thinking back to the first time I met Brad and how special that time was.  I wanted to believe those times would come again. I was fool.

My apologies for making this a very long blog posting but I'm doing a bit of catharsis here folks.  For you see folks, I never completely fell out of love with Brad.

The day after that evening when he almost choked me to death, I purchased a one way ticket for him to his home in Cincinnati and give him a hundred dollars.
  

Cincinnati, Ohio

I watched him walk up 23rd Street to the Greyhound bus station from the fourth floor window of my Spruce Street apartment with a heavy heart.  I was devastated because I knew I was sending away someone I loved deeply.  I truly believed I could turn his life around and we could live happily ever after.  What a fool I was but at that time that is what I truly believed.

Greyhound Bus Terminal - Philadelphia, PA

The days and weeks after he left I wrote him letter after letter, pleading for him to come back.  Who was the weak one now?  I have to give Brad credit because he knew our relationship would never work and he didn't come back.  He didn't answer my letters, he didn't call.  He ignored me. That was in the fall of 1980.

Thirty one years later I found his address and sent him a Christmas card.  I had since moved on with my life but was curious if Brad was still alive.  He was.  He sent me a Christmas card back.  That spring he sent me a litter hinting that he would like to visit but that I would have to pay for his transportation and also get him a hotel room.  That I wasn't going to do but it was nice to hear from him.  He was still living at the same place and the same person who he returned to in 1980.  I was happy for him.  The following November he sent me a birthday card.  Again, very nice of him. Brad was always the sweet and gentle soul.  Only thing was he wasn't in love with me like I was in love with him.  And that's alright, you can't make people love you.  It's either there or it isn't. I don't mean to make this all about me and whine but the fact was that I fell in love with Brad and he fell out of love with me.  These things happen.

Brad's birthday card

After Brad I vowed that I would never let something like this happen to me again.  It almost cost me my life and my life long relationship with Bill, someone who has always stood by me through the bad times and good times.  Bill, a man I grew to love.  I make no apologies for falling in love with someone else, the mind goes (at least mine does) where the heart goes.  Maybe there was some greater Power saving me.  I think Brad knew that we could never have a relationship.  He went home to someone he did love and his friends.  His sojourn in the City of Brotherly Love in that summer of 1980

Philadelphia, PA

didn't turn out the way he wanted it to.  He was always in love with "Gene."  I may have been a momentary diversion for him but his true love was always Gene and I should have known that but I choose to ignore that obvious fact.  

I had not seen a photo of Brad since that fateful summer.  Last night when I received that e-mail from his Cincinnati friend informing me of his passing, he also sent a link to Flicker. There were three photos of Brad.  I was warned by his friend that Brad hadn't aged well. I could see by the photos that he hadn't.  Looking at those photos made me sad but at the same time made me happy because I saw Brad smiling.  He was happy, he was among his friend, he was in his element.  

Brad and friend in Cincinnati - recent

I hope his passing was easy and he is in a wonderful place now.  Who knows Brad?  Maybe we'll see each other again under better circumstances.  But this I know, for a few brief shining moments in the summer of 1980 I knew pure joy.  Thank you Brad.

Brad at home

Below, a video of our July 1980 week long vacation in Provincetown.  We met our friends Bob Mc, Gino and Joe and his partner Bob.  All gone now.  Only memories.  I'm the last one standing . . . . again.

Throwback Thursday - September 1974

Me - Provincetown - 1974

Ah yes, I remember September 1974 just like it was yesterday.  Actually it was FORTY YEARS ago. I'm finished folks.  I don't know how much longer I can put off the inevitable.  This "Ron Show" doesn't go on forever your know.  But I do have good memories.  

In the Seventies I always vacationed in Provincetown, Massachusetts.  The Gay Disneyland as P-town was called back in those hallowed, disco-crazed days.  

At first I used to spend at least a week in Provincetown, staying at Angel's Landing on Commercial right in the center of Provincetown.  With one exception (Labor Day Weekend 1974 - the time this photo was taken by Bill) when Bill went with me, I always traveled alone.  Oh wait, I didn't always travel alone.  On three other occasions I took a "guest" with me (Bob M. one trip and Brad C. on two other trips).  Both didn't turn out the way I had planned.  Both of the guys, once they got into Provincetown, met someone else and took off with them until it came time to return to Philly (I was paying for the plane tickets) at which time they showed up on my rented doorstep. Ah yes, those were the days when I was played for a fool.  See, not all good memories but I had plenty of other good times to offset their betrayal.  


I loved Provincetown because of the geography, and the freedom.  Even though I was out at home and work, I still felt the yoke of homophobic oppression on me when I lived and worked in Philadelphia.  First time I walked down Commercial Street in Provincetown, I felt that total sense of freedom that straight people take for granted all the time.  

For many gay people, Provincetown was a source of unfettered gay sex.  Not for me, not that I'm a prude (far from it).  But the Bacchanal Sex Buffet just wasn't my thing, romance was (fool that I was). 

Back to reality.  Here I am today; sitting at my computer desk; fatter, older and grayer with sagging skin and a daily need for a nap.

Happy Throwback Thursday everyone.  I hope your memories are as happy as mine.

Wanted by Everyone!

Helen, GA - 2013

My latest old time photo folks.  This one was taken last month at Helen, Georgia during our annual Trip South.

Bill and I had almost perfect weather during our trip.  Just a little bit of light rain on this day that I ventured into the tourist town of Helen, Georgia to see what was up.  

Bill videotaping in downtown Helen, Georgia (we were up very early thus no tourists on the streets yet)

Helen, Georgia is a little recreated German Alpine community in the mountains of northern Georgia. It is a little touristy town.  Bill and I were just going to pass through it but we enjoyed our overnight stay so much that we decided to stay two more days.  

Helen, Georgia

We stayed at the Hampton Inn which was a replica of a Bavarian hotel.  Hotel wasn't too clean and had paper thin walls and a terrible breakfast (sour waffles, maybe it was a "German" thing) but we could walk to all the attractions instead of dodging Interstate Highway traffic to figure out where we were going to eat.

On this one rainy afternoon I found an old time photo place so you know I JUST had to take advantage and have my photo taken as a bad old cowboy.

The first time I ever had an old time photo taken was during my first trip to Provincetown, Massachusetts in 1974.  I remember the year well because the Watergate hearings were underway.

Commercial Street - Provincetown, Mass 1974

I was on that trip with my good friend Bob Mc.  Walking down Commercial Street in Provincetown I noticed an old time photo shop.  Sure, these places are overpriced tourist traps but still, I like them.  Here is the photo that was taken. Ironically, the only prop I needed was the gun.  The hat, shirt and leather vest I was already wearing.  Bob and I had planned our first visit to Provincetown to a place called "The Ranch" (which, by the way, was anything but).  So this was my first old time photo.

Provincetown, Mass - 1974

I didn't get another old time photo made until three years ago when I invited my friend Larry down for his birthday and had our old time photo taken.  Now I get one every year.  

Rehoboth Beach - 2011

My Friend

2010

My friend, who shall remain nameless to protect his privacy will be moving into an assisted care facility next week.  Actually, he needs total care but his partner is with him and will help him.

This picture was taken in the summer of 2010, the last time my friend visited me and Bill at our home.  He almost backed into the house.  Backing out of the driveway, he almost knocked over our neighbor's mailbox.  After those near misses we decided that was the last time we could have him drive his own car over to our house.  Actually, we were more afraid that he would injure himself or someone else on Route 1, which he has to cross to get to our house.

I won't go into all the details of my friend's decline only to say it is a combination of Parkinson's and dementia.  The last time I saw him was last week.  He was very confused and paranoid.  I'm not sure if he even knew who I was.

 I'm kneeling in on the left, my friend standing behind me- Ft. Devens, Mass - 1960

I met him when I was in the Army in 1960.  We both went to school together at Ft. Devens, Massachusetts.  Best friends, we never knew each other was gay.  No, we didn't have secret crushes on each other, we're not each other's "types."  However, we did remain good friends over the years.

Surprise birthday party for my friend - Philadelphia 1982

We both worked in center city Philadelphia for many years.  Then came a time when my friend grew tired of the rat race and left his job for the anonymity of rural southern Delaware.  His income took a major hit but he was happy.  He was free.  No more  daily commuting to Philadelphia from his home in Norwood, PA.  No more jumping through hoops for his bosses.  No more stepping over the homeless on his way to and from work.  Freedom!

One of the many lunches we used to have when we both worked in Philadelphia

After he moved to Delaware I often visited him at his single wide trailer on twenty-acres of wooded land which he called "The Ranch."  It was a getaway for me, him and many of his other friends.  We all just happened to be gay but no orgies.  Well, maybe a few if we got lucky at the bars but that's another blog entry.

Weekend at "The Ranch" 1980

When it came time for me to retire of course my first choice was southern Delaware where my friend lived.  I loved the relaxed way of life.  I loved the low taxes.  I loved the growing gay community where I felt more comfortable to be who I am.  Freedom!

About ten years ago I started to notice certain signs that things with my friend weren't quite right.  I pushed them out of my mind.  However, over the years these "signs" began accumulating until I no longer felt I was imagining things.

Gradually, my nightly phone calls to my friend to exchange the latest gossip, complaints,  jokes and endless repeating of war stories from our Army days drifted off to a few a week, then a few a month and now I don't call at all because no one is at the end of the line.

The last time I visited him was last week.  I don't think he knew who I was.  This morning Bill went down to visit him and his partner, they were there but didn't answer the door.

Next week I understand they are moving into an assisted living facility.

Many of my friends from my Army days have died.  Many of my classmates have died.  I still have two good friends left from high school, one of which I talk to almost everyday on FaceTime.  I make every day count.  I take nothing for granted.  Time is slipping away.

Probably never to be repeated again - one of our many dinners out at local cafes in Delaware

The Love of My Life

Brad and my landladies pussy during our trip to Provincetown, Mass July 1980

How many of you can claim to have had a "love of your life?"  I am one of those fortunate few.  

For those of you who are regular readers of my blog, the love of my life isn't who you think he is.  Then again, maybe I'm confusing the "lust of my life" with the "love of my life."  Bill and I have been together forty-eight years.  Our first meeting wasn't one of hot and passionate sex, on my part anyway.  Sure, I liked Bill but I wasn't "in love" with Bill.  I grew to love Bill.  When I first moved in with Bill, when I was 22 years old (to his 35 years old), it was with the understanding that I had my "freedom" or else we wouldn't have set up house together.  Turns out lo these many years later that was the best decision I ever made in my life.  I grew to love Bill and would never leave him (nor he me) under any circumstances. They only time our love will stop is when one of us dies, which at our age (71 and 84 respectively now), shouldn't be too far off.

No folks, the "love of my life" was a man named "Brad."  No last names here to protect the guilty (he's still alive and not so well in Cincinnati).  

Oh I could write so much about that hot and passionate summer in 1980 that I met Brad but I will try to keep this short and interesting.  One thing I do know now, that I never loved/lusted after anyone any more in all my years on this planet. 

So how did I meet Brad?  Ironically I met him in a bar that I never frequented.  The bar was called The Drury Lane in Drury Lane (what are the odds?) in Philadelphia.  The bar I used to always go to was the "247 Bar" on 247 South Seventeenth Street (again, what ARE the odds?) in Philadelphia.  I don't remember why I decided to go to the Drury Lane that one spring night in 1980 but I did. Fate.

After a few drinks I saw this drop dead gorgeous looking man eyeing me from across the bar.  My knees went weak. 

The 80's were my heyday and I usually got my fair amount of attention when I frequented the gay bars but rarely from a looker like this guy.  Most of the guys who cruised me I wasn't interested in.  I usually went home alone.  Bill?  Remember, we had an "open" relationship (still do by the way but it is "inactive").

I don't remember who said the first words but I do remember that we knew we connected right away from that universe exploding eye contact.  

I also have no recollection what we talked about but I do remember that we went back to the place where he was staying near 10th and Spruce Streets. He didn't live there but was staying with a straight couple.  I found out later that the straight couple were friends of his former lover (that's what we called serious boyfriends back In The Day in the Gay World).  Much later I found out that his former lover had kicked him out and he was staying temporarily with those straight folk.

Well of course we slept together that night.  Need I elaborate?  Babydoll, I found out what LIFE WAS ALL ABOUT THAT NIGHT  I went around the world and back and then around again, and without a hot air balloon.  All of a sudden all the lyrics of all those love songs now made sense.

Too soon the light of dawn swept across us as we lay on his temporarily borrowed straight friend's bed.  Brad needed a place to live.  He was homeless.  Just my luck.  Didn't matter.  I was IN LOVE. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!

To be continued (this is a book that I'm trying to condense into a few blog posts).

Blonde Ron

Blonde Ron - 1981 (with a little help of peroxide and sun)

Ever wonder what a blonde Ron looked like?  You haven't?

Mom and her two blonds sons and me (on right) -  1951

Blondes run in our family.  My father Isaac was a blonde.  My brother Isaac, Jr. is also a blonde. His daughter Karen and son Isaac, III are also blondes.  I was not a blonde.  In fact, along with my Mother, I had dark brown hair.  My youngest brother John has light brown hair.  Not quite blonde but not quite dark brown either.  Isn't this interesting?

Me (center) with my two younger blonde brothers, blonde father and dark haired mother - 1947

So, during the height of my Wild Years I thought I would go blonde.  I combed some peroxide in my hair before leaving for my annual summer vacation in Provincetown, Mass.  OMG!  Did I ever turn blonde!  I DID NOT LIKE IT.

However, the deed was done so I headed off to the gay summer playground of Provincetown, Mass.  Know what they say "Be careful what you wish for?"  My vacation was a bust folks.  I wasn't mobbed by all the good-looking guys on my arrival at the Provincetown airport.  No one noticed me in town and my nightly forays to the Back Street Bar and the Atlantic House went for naught.  Even my afternoons at the Boatslip Tea Dance I went unnoticed.  Perhaps it was because I felt so self conscious. I'm not sure why I got the reaction I did to my new blonde persona.

When I got home, thoroughly humiliated, having to explain to my co-workers at Girard Trust Bank where I worked in Philadelphia why I suddenly had BLONDE HAIR from this summer's vacation when I had none before.  I used the old excuse "I was out in the sun a LOT!"   That excuse didn't go wash with most.  I couldn't wait for my hair to grow out to it's normal dark brown.

Next year when I appeared in Provincetown with my normal dark brown hair, all was well again with the world.  I still wasn't mobbed at the Provincetown airport, nor the Boatslip Tea Dance or the Atlantic House or Back Street bar but I did "make some friends."

So the morale of this story is "Blondes may have more fun but gentlemen prefer brunettes."

Me - Provincetown - 1979 - brown hair