Death Of First Love

Young Dessie around the time I met him (I've always had a "thing for cute nerdy guys in glasses)

 "Do you play pinochle?" I looked up from where I was lying in my bunk, while reading a book in the Army barracks at Fort George G. Meade circa 1991 to see the spectacled cute face of fellow soldier.

From 1960 to 1963 I was stationed at Ft. Meade in Laurel Maryland working at the National Security Agency. My questioner had recently arrived from a one year tour of duty at Shemya,, Alaska; the closest United States location to Russia. His name was Dessie. We both were in the Army Security Agency whose purpose was communication intercept of foreign powers. 

I told him that I didn't play pinochle but I was willing to learn. He asked me to join him as a partner for a pinochle game with two other of our Army comrades who were in the barracks that evening. Thus began a regular occurrence, playing pinochle several times a week to pass the time by. 

We were both eighteen years old. He was from Georgia, I from Pennsylvania. 

After several evenings of playing pinochle, Dessie would indicate by leaning his bare Bermuda clad leg against mine when he had a good hand.  It was our personal signal. However, whenever he leaned his leg against mine, I got a little more from his "signal" than what he intended that he had a good pinochle hand. In fact, I began to look forward to our pinochle games more than just winning games. I enjoyed being with him. I enjoyed watching his mischievous smile. 

Eventually I asked him to return home with me on some weekends.  I only lived two and a half hours away from Ft. Meade and could go home on weekends. Dessie was from Georgia and lived too far away to go to his home on the weekend. 

Dessie an me (bottom row from left to right) - 1962 at Chesapeake City, MD

Now I have to make clear, I had a crush on Dessie, he didn't have one on me. He was totally straight. But being on Shemya for a year, without the option of dating women for a year, he found other outlets for his sexual needs (use your imagination).  I must have given myself away by my attraction to him, because he expected me to comply. Well, at that time of my life, even though I knew I was gay, I didn't know what the hell two men did together.  I had heard but I knew I didn't do THOSE things. But I did "explore" a bit, which was my very FIRST time. Up until that time all my sexual fantasies were just that, fantasies. You see I was from a small town and back in the late Forties and Fifties there was no Internet, and only Willie the Worm puppet on TV, what did I know about sex and THAT thing? But I did enjoy his company. In fact I practically lived for his companionship. He was funny, smart, intelligent and kind. However, eventually, he tired of my friendship after about a year and distanced himself from me. I developed new crushes but never got to the "exploratory" stages like I did with Dessie.  My remaining tour of duty with the Army (three years), my sex life was all fantasy and wishful thinking. 

I remember how hurt I was when he cut me off from his friendship. I thought I would never get over it but as is the case with all first loves, one does survive and I did. But I never forgot him. Over the years I've often wondered what happened to him and what kind of life he had. A few times I even sent him a Christmas card but never got a response. 

Then today, I casually put his name in my iPhone and I found his obituary. Dessie died January 11th of this year, the day before I found Bill collapsed on the floor of our kitchen. Ironically Bill is also originally from Georgia. What a coincidence, I lost my first love from Georgia but I found my lifetime love from Georgia.

I read Dessie's obituary and found that he was married for fifty-four years. He and his wife had two sons and he has one grandchild. From the video of photos of his life posted on his funeral home site, it appears that he had a successful happy, and straight life in Georgia. I'm happy for him and the family that he has left behind as his legacy. I was saddened to read one comment on his memorial page that said he is no longer suffering pain. Thank God Bill, as his health declines, is not in pain. 

So many of my friends, former co-workers, relatives, and Army buddies have passed on. I try not to dwell on how many have passed, many of whom were no longer in my life for years anyway. I am thankful for my new friends like Pat, and Glenn and my old friends like Larry and Don who continue to live as I do. But the day will come when I am no longer here. As my brother John says "Ronnie, we all get our turn" and indeed we do.  

Than you Dessie for your friendship during that very formative time in my life. I will always remember you for your kindness and generosity and humor. .

Rest in peace Dessie.

My First (and last) Girlfriend

In 1957, when I was 15 years old, I thought it was about time I had a girlfriend. However, I had a "problem", I liked guys.  

Picture this; a very shy, introverted, awkward, 15 year old boy with very low self-esteem (thanks to my father who rarely missed an opportunity to belittle me); growing up in the Fifties in a small town wants to be accepted as "normal."  I knew I had these "urges" (homosexual) but there was no way I knew how or could even conceive acting on those urges.  I was at a crossroads.

Me - 1957 - at a crossroads

I thought my urges for all those male classmates of mine was a phase I would pass through.  Those times when I would get aroused just sitting in at my desk while one of my favorite classmates delivered a book report with a hard on, was a "phase"  I would pass through.  While our fellow classmates would laugh at our classmate who had this predicament standing in front of the class trying to hide his erection, I was about to have a wet mess right at my desk.  Time to get a girlfriend Ron!

About a year earlier I had noticed a girl two grades  ahead of me.  She was a senior, I was a sophomore.  I was struck by her natural beauty.  She reminded me so much of my Mother at that age (16).

My Mom, Betty Hadfield - 1939

Her name was Vivian.  Coincidentally she lived on the same street in Downingtown, (Pennsylvania) where my Mother was born and grew up - Pennsylvania Avenue.  She only lived a few houses away.

My Mom in her only schoolgirl photo - 1939

I was also attracted to Vivian because of her demeanor.  She was quiet and gracious.  She wasn't one of these loud and boisterous girls of that time who used to so intimidate me.  To me, those kinds of girls at that time reminded me of a Venus Flytrap. 

I was SCARED TO DEATH  of them.  

Vivian didn't scare me.  But there was a problem, in addition to the obvious (that I wasn't sexually attracted to her).  At the age of 15 (me) and 17 (her); two years was a BIG AGE difference.  I was a sophomore and she was a SENIOR.  

I made my feelings known to some of my fellow band members.  Someone (I still don't know to this day) got the WORD to Vivian that a tall, skinny, shy sophomore was interested in her.  I don't remember the exact first time we exchanged words but I do remember that after talking to her I felt very comfortable. This girl was no Venus Flytrap.

I felt very comfortable with Vivian.  She liked me because I wasn't one of those loud and boisterous guys of that time.  

Me wrapped up in my Sousaphone - 1959

Vivian - voted "Quietist in her class" - Ironically she's pictured with a Sousaphone, my band instrument - 1957

Now, I had another problem.  I didn't have a car.  Back in the Fifties, unlike today where just about every teenager is presented with a car on his (or her) 16th birthday, I didn't have a car.  A couple years before I got rid of my bicycle (after I quit my paper route).  Besides, back in that day, it wasn't cool for a teenager to have a bike, that was for kids.  

Last picture of me on my bike - 1955

Vivian and I went out on dates but they were always double dates with my friend Larry.  I remember once when we went to the Exton Drive-In.  Larry and his Paramour of the Moment were in the front seat of his '54 Ford steaming up the windows and Viv and I were in the back trying to see the movie through those same steamed up windows.  I think I did slide my arm around her shoulders and she cuddled in a little closer to me but that was as close as we came to petting (look it up) that night.

Vivian - far right - 1957

While dating Vivian I thought I had my "urges" under control.  I thought I was moving past my "phase" of my basic instinct of being attracted to guys.  Oh how did I ever fool myself?  You have to remember back in the Fifties there was a LOT of pressure to conform and I wanted to conform, believe me.  I wanted to be normal. And here I was with a girl who I liked, who was beautiful, who made me feel comfortable and who seemed to enjoy my company and who (and this is important) put no pressure on me to perform.  And I didn't perform, no where close to it.  As I mentioned earlier, an arm around her shoulder and maybe a peck of two of a kiss but no swapping saliva or checking out each other's tonsils with our tongues.

Then came the time of Vivian's senior prom.  Of course I was expected to ask her to her senior prom, since we were boyfriend/girlfriend.  What to do?  I didn't have a car.  I would have to ask my father if I could borrow his car.  He never loaned me his car before and I didn't think he ever would but this was a DATE to the SENIOR PROM.  

My senior prom - 1959

I finally gathered up enough courage to ask him.  Even though this was my father I was always intimidated by him.  Just ask any of my friends, he intimidated them also.  

My dad, The Intimidator - no, this isn't a mug shot - it is his employee ID at Lukenweld when he was 21 years old

I thought I chose a good time to ask him to borrow his car.  Two of his younger brothers were visiting him and they were joking around in the living room.  I was cleaning the bathroom (cleaning our house was my responsibility and I did a great job).  As I exited the bathroom to empty a pail of dirty water I casually asked him "Pop, can I borrow your car to take Vivian to her senior prom?"  He immediately said "No!" and then continued his joking around with his brothers.  I don't know what I said but it was very disrespectful, the most disrespectful I've ever been to him in my life at that point (and since actually).  

As I was returning to the bathroom, he turned me around and gave me a solid punch to my jaw and said "Don't you ever talk to me like that again or I'll kill you!"

I lost my balance and fell part way into the bathtub.  My uncles heard what happened and all went silent in our little ranch style living room.  I was going to cry but decided not to, I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he hurt me.  My father had beaten us before (my brothers and I) but never with his fist.  Always with a belt and never any real damage.  More fear and noise of that swinging belt than damage.  He never used the buckle side like his father did on him which left permanent scars on his back.  My father didn't leave a physical scar that day but he left a big emotional scar.  I had embarrassed him in front of his brothers and that was an unforgivable sin.  I never asked him again to borrow his car.

Then I did something for which I have been forever ashamed of myself - I stood up Vivian for her senior prom.  What was I thinking?  How did I think I could get away with doing such a dastardly and cowardly act?  Needless to say I was at my most self-absorbed, selfish, adolescent self at that time, feeling tremendously sorry for myself and not thinking of Vivian's feelings.

Me - 1958 - my Junior year in high school ( I hated this picture)

That Monday when I went back to school I was peppered with questions from some of my bandmates and class members:

"What happened?"
"Where were you?"
"Why didn't you take Vivian to her senior prom?"

I don't remember exactly what I told everyone but I'm sure it was some lame assed excuse.  I think I called Vivian and told her I was sorry but I couldn't get the car.  I know, lame.

Much to Vivian's credit, she didn't hold my selfishness against me.  She said she "understood." 

For the next few months we continued to be boyfriend/girlfriend.  I did take her to her Senior Graduation Party at St. Joseph's Lodge in Downingtown.  

I remember us walking outside on that June night, holding hands.  I informed her that I was going to join the Army because I couldn't find a job.  Now here's the thing, if I could have found a job I would have married Vivian.  Yes, I would.  Remember, this was back in the Fifties when peer and societal pressure was so great there was no alternative for a burgeoning gay guy to come to gripes with is life situation.  Yes, I would have been one of those gay guys who got married and proceeded to ruin two lives by living a lie.  Thank God I couldn't find a job or else I would have traveled down that dead end road.

Ron in the Army! - 1962

During my first year in the Army I continued to write to Vivian but eventually our correspondence fell off and we lost touch with one another.

Fast forward forty years to 2001.  I'm working at First Financial Bank in Downingtown.  One day a man comes into our office to inquire about opening a rollover IRA.  He says his name is "Roland Beale."  I recognize him and his name right away, he is Vivian's older brother!  I tell him who I am.  Of course he knows who I am and asks how am I doing?  I told him fine and I asked about Vivian.  He told me she was married and has SEVEN children!  Also, four grandchildren!  Man oh man, talk about dodging a bullet.  Can you imagine me with SEVEN kids?  How about ONE KID?  Oh my goodness, I am SO GLAD I didn't go down THAT road.  

I asked him to give Vivian my best.  He left and I never heard any more about Vivian until 2007.  That was the date of her 50th class reunion.  I heard from a friend that she was asked to dance at her class reunion.  The still shy Vivian demurred but was finally persuaded her to go out on the dance floor and dance, much to the happiness and enjoyment of her classmates and herself.  

Hearing that story about the sweet and gentle Vivian brought back fond memories.  If I had known, maybe I would have attended her 50th class reunion and asked her to dance to make up for that long ago missed senior prom.  

Since then I've often entertained the idea of contacting her.  Think I should?  I think I will. 

At this time of my life I'm all for tying up loose ends. Besides, we never got a photo of us together.

Me with a Senior Prom date I did keep - Susie - 1958
Only able to keep this date because I double dated with my friend Larry and his date Sonja
Larry drove his 1954 Ford - Don't I look thrilled? Body English folks, body english

Before Bill

Jim cooking Swiss Steak in my Coatesville, PA apartment - 1963

"Before Bill", what does that mean you ask.  Well, as regular followers of my blog know "My Bill" is my life partner, spouse, husband, or whatever the current term is for a long term same sex couple.  Back when we first set up house together we were known as "lovers."  Remember that pre-Stonewall term for same sex partners?  Quaint isn't it?  Sort of paints a picture of two hotties swinging from the chandeliers nude doesn't it?  Well, not quite.  At least after the first wave of lust wore off (if you know what I mean).  

"Before Bill", I had a lover.  His name was Jim Groh.  Oh yes, I was "married" before.  Even though Bill and I have been together 48 years now, I was briefly "married" to another man.  That's Jim in the photo at the top of this page.

I met Jim at a gay bar in Philadelphia (same place I met Bill about a year later).  The year was 1963 and I was 21 years old to Jim's 24 years old.  Bill was 35 years old to my 22 years, an "older man".  Jim and I were about the same age.

Of course I liked Jim (what's not to like? He's a hottie, check the pic).  And Jim liked me.  At the time I met him neither one of us had a car.  

My Coatesville apartment rear (tan) wall - 2005

I lived in a small, furnished efficiency apartment ($65 a month) in Coatesville, Pennsylvania, 42 miles west of Philadelphia.  Jim lived with his parents in Philadelphia. 

The front entrance (tan wall - ground level) to my Coatesville apartment - 2005 - not quite "The Ritz"

Jim worked as a manager at Sears Roebuck. I worked as an accounts payable clerk at Lipsett Steel Products, Inc. in Coatesville.

Jim took the SEPTA bus to work.  I walked the two miles to where I worked.

After Jim and I met and hit it off, he would take a train from Philadelphia to Coatesville, to spend most weekends with me.  

We would cook for each other. Both of us like to cook.  Swiss steak was our favorite dish.  The picture above is of Jim at the stove in my apartment cooking up a batch of Swiss Steak.

Jim usually came out Saturday morning and left Sunday afternoon.  We would stay in the apartment all weekend; either cooking or playing board games.  Of course we engaged in "other activities" but not ALL THE TIME.  As I said, I'm not a swinging from the chandeliers kind of guy.  

One habit we got into was buying a pie from the neighborhood bakery and devouring that whole pie while we played board games.  As you can see from the picture below where we were horse playing (I am a "horse playing" kind of guy, Bill and I still do it now even though we're Old Men, some things never change).  I think I weighed about 175 in that picture.  My ideal weight is 160 (which is about what I weigh now and have since I graduated from high school).  

Jim and me horsing around - 1963

Jim and I kept this routine up for about three months until Ron Got Restless.  I wanted to go OUT.  Yes, I wanted to go to the bars.  Jim didn't.  He was quite happy to keep me at home.  

Well, finally one weekend I talked him into going to the bar where we met.  That turned out to be a disaster.  I discovered that Jim was very jealous.  And I mean JEALOUS.  He had me boxed in a corner of the bar and wouldn't let me out.  Of course the Tipton Temper flared and we had a big fight.  That was the beginning of the end folks.  I could never have a serious relationship with anyone that possessive and jealous.  It would be like smothering me.  That kind of attitude just doesn't work with me.

I sent Jim a "Dear Jim" letter.  I never saw him again until about a year later.  By that time I had met Bill and moved in with him and was working at Girard Bank in Philadelphia.  

Jim sent me a letter to my old address that was forwarded to me.  He asked if I could return two water color pictures that he had left on the walls of my bedroom at my Coatesville apartment.  Of course I agreed. There were his pictures and he should have them back.

Over my left shoulder one of Jim's two water color pictures that I eventually returned to him - 1963

We made arrangements to meet at lunch time on Chestnut Street in Philadelphia, right outside the bank building where I worked.  

At the appointed hour I saw Jim walking down the street towards me.  He had a sad look on his face.  I felt bad.  

He approached me and said "How are you?" I said "I'm fine, how are you?"  I had his two framed paintings in a shopping bag and handed them to him.  He asked me "Where are you living now?"  I told him "Pennsauken, New Jersey.  I met a man named Bill Kelly. We're lovers and we live together now."  I think I saw the sadness in his eyes deepen.  Maybe he was hoping for a reconciliation.  I felt bad.  He took hold of the shopping bag handle and with a resigned smile said "I hope you're very happy."  I said to him  "Are you living with anybody?"  He said "No, I'm still living at home but I'm doing fine."  There was an awkward pause for what seemed like a long time as he slowly looked down at the bag I had handed to him, but was probably only ten seconds and then he said "Well, I have to catch a bus and get back to work."  I said "You take it easy Jim." I watched him turn around and walk through the lunchtime crowd of people on Chestnut Street towards Broad Street to catch the SEPTA bus to take him back to where he worked in Northeast Philadelphia at Sears.  Sadly I watched until the crowd swallowed him, wondering how much different our life would have been if I hadn't broken off the relationship.

That sunny April day in 1965 on a crowded center city Philadelphia street was the last time I saw Jim. In the years since then (1965), I had been to the bars many times but never once saw Jim.  Not once.  I never heard anything about him either.  A few years ago I tried to look him up on the Social Security Death Index to see if he died.  I only found one "James Groh" but he was born in 1904, a different Jim Groh. Jim had disappeared as if he never existed.

A few weeks ago I was going through some old black and white negatives and found these two pictures that I had of Jim.  They are the only two I have of him. I took them to Walmart and had prints made.  Looking at them now brings warm memories of that time long in the past when we were both innocent, naive and happy in our new found love.  

I've often wondered what happened to Jim.  I hope he had a happy life.  He was a good man.

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).

My First Boyfriend

This morning while I was searching through some old pictures looking for examples of my natural talent for photography to show off to a friend of mine who complimented me that I should have been a professional photographer (was that a long sentence or what?) I came across this picture of My First Boyfriend.

This picture was taken in the summer of 1962 at a friend's summer cottage near the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland.  I was in the Army at the time and stationed at Ft. George G. Meade in Maryland.  I worked at the National Security Agency.  Yes, I had a top secret clearance where gays were not allowed.

I state this is my First Boyfriend as opposed to my First Time.  Back in this day I was still a bit (a lot actually) backwards as to the ways of carnal knowledge.  What I did know was that I liked being with this guy and he liked being with me.  He allowed me to go a little further than "just pals", but I never did go "all the way."  I was too afraid.  But the time we did sleep together on several occasions away from the barracks.  He was my first introduction to the male body other than my own (which I didn't know anything about anyway).  Believe me, I was the typical Small Town Boy who knew NOTHING.

This may be hard from some to believe today but back in the late Forties and early Fifties when I grew up there were NO GAY PEOPLE.  There were queers.  I knew I wasn't ONE OF THEM.  They were dirty old men who hung out in public restrooms looking for a peek.  That wasn't me.  In fact, I'm still very uncomfortable in public restrooms; I avoid them whenever I can.

Back in the Fifties there were no TV shows or movies or books about being gay and how one acted.  Everything was courting the gals.  Hey, I tried that.  While I liked the girls (as friends) it wasn't until I met My First Boyfriend that I knew how many buttons that I had on my panel of eroticism to be pushed.  When I met First Boyfriend, I had a constant (you know WHAT - which I won't print because my partner gets upset when he reads my graphic language).  Let's just say I was in a constant state of "excitement."

So anyway, I'm going through some of my old black and white pictures to show off my natural talent for composition and "capturing the moment" and I come across First Boyfriend.  Hey, the excitement is still there!

Over the years I've tried to contact him once in 1966 by a phone call (I gave the message to his wife, he never called back) and once with a Christmas card in 2009 (which he must have gotten because the card wasn't returned to me).  I don't know what exactly I would say to him other than I wish him well and appreciated his friendship during the "experimentation" phase of my introduction to my real sexuality instead of the false one that I was trying to follow.

He's probably a granddad now, bald and with a big beer belly.  But I'll always remember him from this formative period in my life.  He doesn't know how much he helped me.  It is ironic that my two main introductions to realizing my homosexuality were both from straight men.

Three years after this picture was taken I had my First Time with a 29 year old married father of three small children who seduced me.  I wrote about that experience in a previous blog which I did include his name (from the Social Security Death Index - he died in the Nineties).  After posting that blog I heard from two of his now grown children who found me through an Internet search.  His daughter said there were always rumors about their father's "flings" and my blog confirmed those rumors.

I have no intention of having My First Boyfriend's children contacting me so he shall remain nameless.  But the memory remains.  Nice memories, very nice.

My First Love

Bob's letter to me after he left Philadelphia 

Forty seven years ago at an after hours gay dance club in Philadelphia I met Bob.  Bob was 29 years old and recently relocated (with his wife and two children) from Washington state to Philadelphia, PA by his employer Boeing Aircraft. 

Across the smoke filled room on the crowded dance floor I saw him dancing.  He was dressed in a light colored (I think gray) suit which was unusual dress for the patrons of the Pennrose Club.  Most of the men in the club were dressed casually.  But his suit isn't what caught attracted caught my eye.  What attracted my attention was him.  He stood out from the mass of young men on the crowded dance floor. He was slightly built (maybe 5'7", about 130 lbs), dark short hair, square jaw, flashing, mischievious black eyes and a dazzling smile.  I was a goner once he looked at me with those flashing dark eyes and his open and friendly smile.  He was looking just a me.

Bob Surina - the only picture I have of him - an old yellowed newspaper clipping

Sitting at the bar with my friends Ron and Ed I thought to myself  "Wow!  That is one nice looking guy."  I turned around from the dance floor and told my friends about this "knockout" that I saw on the dance floor.  Much to my surprise after the music stopped I felt a tap on my shoulder.  I turned and it was him!  The dazzling guy in the suit on the dance floor who I was admiring earlier.  He asked me if I wanted to dance.  I was a bit tongue tied but I did manage to blurt out "Yes!"  He led me by the hand (a curious sight in retrospect because I was much taller - 6'3" than him) to the dance floor.  A slow song was playing.  He put his right hand in my left hand and his other hand in the small of my back and started to lead.  It was natural for him to lead.  Not because he was older (29 years to my 21 years) but because he was just that type of guy.  He was a take charge, masculine, yet genle man who obviously saw me looking at him and decided to take advantage of the opportunity.

As I wrote in a previous blog posting, dancing with him was pure heaven.  I never felt such joy before in my short life.  I knew then and there the pure sensual thrill of dancing with someone who you find very sexually attractive and who had that extra "something" and Bob had "it" in spades.  This guy literally took my breath away.  Dancing with him I was in another world.  Of course it didn't take long before I realize we were both aroused.  Wow.  I had never experienced anything like this before.

I have written about this experience before but I write it again because something has changed.  A few months after I posted that blog (April of this year) , I heard from one of his children by e-mail.  I was both surprised and thrilled.  Over the many years since that fateful night of that I met Bob for the first time, I  always wondered what happened to him after our affair in 1963-1964.  Last week I received an e-mail from his son informing me what happened to his dad, my lover of 47 years ago.  That e-mail from his son caused me to reawaken all my memories of Bob Surina all those years ago.

Me in my apartment in Coatesville, PA 1963 - the time I was seeing Bob

Much has happened in my life in the past 47 years.  My memories of my magical time with this wonderful man had receded far into my past.  Much of the detail I had forgotten.  But now this sleeping giant of my very first love has been reawakened.

I had ended my relationship with Bob because he was married and had children.  As much as I loved him I did not want to start out my life as a "mistress" to a married man.  Had Bob been single we would have probably been lifetime partners.  I was totally in love with him as he was with me.  But back then, Bob had a family.  I didn't ask him to leave is family nor did he offer to leave them.  He would make the long trip from where he lived in Philadelphia with his family to where I had a small efficiency apartment in a small town 37 miles west of Philadelphia.  He made that trip almost every Saturday morning or whenever else he could grab a few hours to be with me.  When we were together it was like heaven.  I never knew such joy as when I was with Bob.  He was sweet, gentle, kind and above all, very, very sexy.  He had a wonderful sense of humor.  I had never experienced such happiness before in my life as I had those few short hours each Saturday morning that I used to spend with Bob. I loved spending time with him.  I could tell he liked to be with me too because when we were together the outside world didn't matter.  I finally found out what love meant.  All those lyrics to love songs now made sense to me.  They now had meaning for me because we were both in love.

I eargerly looked forward to Bob's visits.  I lived for Bob's visits.  However, over time I wanted to do more than just stay in my apartment.  I wanted to go out.  I was 21 years old and I was afraid I was missing something.  Of course, now with the wisdom of time, I look back in retrospect and realize how foolish I was.   The ignorance and selfishness of youth.  I had both qualities in abundance I am ashamed to admit.

I eventually ended my relationship with Bob.  I knew I hurt him by doing this.  I guess I was selfish because I wanted him all to myself but I knew this could never be.  He had a wife and three small children.  Back then in the early Sixties, whem homosexuality was such a taboo subject treated with fear and paranoia, a man leaving his family (with children) for another man was unheard of.  I never considered asking him to chose a life with me over his family.  I was young and full of hope and confident I would meet someone who I liked as much as Bob and who was single.  Some I could live my life with until the end of my time on this earth.  I did meet that man the following year in July.  His name is Bill and last week we celebrated our 46th year together. 

However, over the years I've often wondered what happened to my first love, Bob.  His son told me that his father and mother eventually divorced and Bob married again and had three more children.  His son also told me that Bob had two children from a previous marriage.  That meant my Bob had a total of eight children during his lifetime.  Wow.  He also told me that Bob died of emphysema (he smoked 3 1/2 packs of Salem cigaretts a day.)  He said Bob also drank prodigious amounts of coffee.  That was Bob, a bundle of high energy.   I guess he felt he need a lot of stimulants to maintain his fast paced lifestyle.

His son also told me that his mother wrote a book about her marriage to Bob.  He said I might find the book interesting but warned me that it didn't paint a flattering picture of his father.  I went on Amazon.com and ordered the book, "I Love You This Much".  I'm reading the book now.  His son was right, his former wife does not paint a flattering picture of Bob.  In fact, the picure she paints of Bob is of a man I did not know.  I don't know whether or not to believe her and her portrayal of Bob.  The "Black Devil" she describes in the book is so unlike the sweet, kind, caring and loving man that I knew all those years ago.  What really blew my mind was the time period she is writing about is the same time period Bob and I were seeing each other.  It is so eerie to read her physical description of Bob with his pale skin that she could see the blue veins on thes side of his forehead because those are the same blue veins I saw.  She describes his "mischievious dark eyes."  Those are the same eyes that I saw.  She speaks of his charisma which he had in abundance.  Bob could charm the pants off of just about anybody and he did me (literally.)

But this mean and vindictive man she consistently describes in her book is a man I don't recognize.  I understand that she knew Bob much longer than me but I think some of her anger comes from a woman deceived.  She felt betrayed. I don't blame her for feeling that way.  But look at Bob's position.  He wanted the All American Family and yet he was a homosexual, living a double life.  The torment this poor man must have went though.  I never had a hint of what he was going through when we spent those many happy hours together in each other's company at my small apartment in Coatesville, PA.

Something strange has happened to me from having my memories of Bob revived and from reading his former wife's book.  I now feel very, very sad for Bob.  My last communiction with Bob was in March of 1964.  He wrote to me from the bowling alley he was managing in Tacoma, Washington.  He told me when he received my letter his first impulse was to "hop on a plane" and fly to Pennsylvania to be with me.  In his second letter he asked me to move to Tacoma, Washington.  He said he had a "lot of money" and would see to it that I "had as much as you have now."  He said that if I couldn't move to Tacoma, then he would send me round trip plane tickets to visit him in the fall during my vacation.  He wanted me to check out the area and make a decision as to whether or not to move to Tacoma.  Of course at that time my mindset was that I would never get involved with a married man. What kind of life would we lead? I would be his mistress again.  I wanted a life for us together.  This was impossibile because he had a family.  It was out of the question.  I didn't go to Tacoma.  I don't even remember if I responded to his plea.  I just didn't go. By this time I had met someone new (Jim) and was busy with my new life.  Jim was single (lived at home with his Mom) and visited me all weekend as occasionally on weekdays.  I liked Jim but I wasn't as head over heels in love with him as I was Bob but I attributed those feelings to the fact that Bob was my first love.  Again, the folly and foolishness and naiveté of youth.  I had no lack of those qualities at that time (still do in many respects I have to admit.)

Much has happened since that time in the spring of 1964.  I broke up with Jim because he was too possessive.  I met Bill in July of 1964.  Bill lived in New Jersey.  He would come out to my apartment in Coatesville and pick me up and take me to his apartment in Pennsuaken, New Jersey to spend the weekends.  At the end of the weekend he would make the round trip to take me back to my apartment in Coatesville, PA and return to his apartment in Pennsauken, NJ.  Looking back on those times I must have been a pretty desirable boyfriend to receive all that attention.  But I digress.

In December of that year (1964) Bill asked me to move in with him.  I was reluctant because I didn't want to be tied down.  I was still young and I wanted to go out and meet people.  Bill said I could still go out but just keep my activities discreet.  He said it was pointless to try and restrict a young guy who was just starting out in life.  He told me I would eventually tire of the bar scene (which I did some years later.) We had an open relationship.  We were realistic.  We loved each other.  We didn't have to prove anything to anybody.  We knew that.

After I got a job at a center city Philadelphia bank in February of 1965 I moved out of Coatesville and in with my new lover Bill.  Bill and I eventually moved to Philadelphia.  We lived a few years in Roxborough then we moved to center city Philadelphia for eleven years.  I went out often to the gay bars and clubs.  Sometimes I went with Bill and sometimes I went alone.  I vacationed often at the gay Mecca of the East Coast, Provincetown, Massachusetts.  I met many guys over those years.  Some I had brief relationships  and some I just became friends.  I experienced much.  Much happiness, some sadness.  I didn't miss much.  I saw many of my friends die of AIDS related illnesses.

Me in Provincetown, Mass sometime in the 1970's

In 1980 I had enough of the big city gay lifestyle.  I wanted a quieter existence in the country with Bill.  We sold our house in center city and moved to the country in the suburbs of Philadelphia.  Actually, we didn't live too far from that efficiency apartment I had in Coatesville, PA. We also lived near my parents. I wanted to be around during their advancing years to help them if needed.

Bill and I lived in our "country house" on 7 acres of wooded land with our three Pomeranian dogs, Horace, "T" and "Babydoll" .  We lived there for 25 years.  In November of 2006 we sold our house and retired to Delaware, where the taxes are cheaper.  In all those years, there probably wasn't a time that went by that I didn't think of Bob and how his life turned out. 

Then one night,during a slow period at my hotel front desk job,  I was researching Ancestry.com on the Internet for my genealogy records.  I was checking the Social Security Death Index to get the dates of when some of my relatives died.  The thought came to me to check to see if Bob, my first love,  was on the Social Security Death Index.  His name would be easy to look up because it wasn't a common name.  I put in his name "Robert Surina."  To my surprise his name came up immediately. 

Robert Donald Surina

7 Jul 1933

20 Jun 1990

A wave of sadness immediately swept over me.  Bob was gone.  He had been gone for almost twenty years.  Then I thought of all those years while he was still alive.  Those years that I was so involved in my life that I didn't even have a moment to give him an call and ask him how he was doing.  Oh how I regret now that I didn't call him.  I know he would have been glad to hear me as I would him.  I close my eyes and I can hear his voice now.  I can see his knowing, mischievous smile.  It just breaks my heart to think of him and that I will never, never see or hear him again.  Gone.  Gone forever.

I'm not a religious person but I do consider myself to be somewhat of a spiritual person.  I'm not even sure what "spiritual" means.  But I do feel that perhaps someday I will see Bob again.  I am reminded of the movie Robin Williams made some years ago.  It was called "What Dreams May Come."  Robin Williams' character goes to heaven.  He discovers that all the religions are in heaven.  Everyone.  You can be whatever you want to be in heaven.  Whatever form, whatever age you prefer.  You can stay in heaven as long as you want before you are reincarnated back to earth as a newborn child.  To me this make emminently more sense that much our our obedience based organized religion teachings on earth. 

Now I'm going to say something really crazy.  I feel Bob's spirit is with me now.  I feel his presence.  I feel his warmth and love.  That doesn't mean that I don't love my present partner, Bill.  I do.  But I feel something.  Maybe it's all in my head.  After all, I did fall on my head by rolling off a roof when I was just a toddler (my babysitter wasn't watching.)  Whatever it is, my imagination or the real thing, it feels good.  I have an inner sense of peace and tranquility.  I don't know how long this will last but for right now I feel something and the only way I can explain it is that Bob knows that I miss him and he is with me now.

The mind is an amazing thing.  We have the ability to fool ourselves into believing something that isn't so or we are blind to things that are obvious to others.   One thing that I will always have that no one can take away from me are my memories of Bob and time we spent together.  We were both supremely happy. Bob was my lover.  That's what gay guys back in the Dark Ages (before the Sexual Revolution of the Sixties and Seventies) called each other who went steady....lovers.  I loved Bob and he loved me.

Bob's former wife writes of her spirtiual awakening, secure in her belief that her love for Bob was valid and Bob's homosexuality was a perversion.  She was wrong.  Bob was trying to live two lives the way our homophobic society dictated at that time.  To support his family and maintain his dignity he felt he had to portray himself as a straight family man.  Yet he had his hidden desires for members of his own sex.  To be homosexual is not a perversion.  I was born gay.  I had no choice.  The same was probably true for Bob.  He dealt with his homosexuality in a different way.  The only perversion in our society is the way they treat members of our society who have an attract to the same sex.  Thank goodness the newer generation is more realistic about gays and lesbians in our society and do not discount them as human beings but as equal to them in every aspect of freedom.

What Bob and I had during our brief time together was more than sex.  We had a bond. We had a bond that was doomed by the strict societal codes of that time we were together.  The relaxation of sexual codes didn't begain until the late Sixties.  That was too late for me and Bob.  By the time the restrictive sexual codes began to fall I was with a my partner Bill, who I dearly love.  Bob was divorced and remarried and had three more children.  Our brief relationship in 1963-64 was but a sweet memory. 

I never thought I would feel this way about Bob again after all these years but I have to honestly admit, I miss him.  I miss him more than I ever thought I would, even after all these years.

After reading his wife's book and all that was going on in his life, I just wish I could have been there for him to give him a hug and offer my support to him.  Just to give him a hug and offer him comfort.

I think I may have made a difference in his life.  I do believe there is a reason for everything in this life.  I do believe in The Plan.  I believe that some day I will again see Bob and that melt your heart smile of his.  I don't know how, when or where but I do know I will.  Whenever I think of Bob now I get a warm, peaceful feeling.  That is how I know he is still with me.

Now that I am nearing the end of my life I am comforted by the fact that I just may experience Heaven the way Robin Williams did in his movies "What Dreams May Come."  I will be in a perfect place with those people and my pets that I have loved during my lifetime.  That perfect place will have no room for pain, hate and discrimination.  That perfect place will be Heaven.  I hope to see you there Bob.  I miss you.  I never stopped loving you.

Me at my computer July 2010 - 47 years later writing this blog posting