Four years ago I moved to southern Delaware to retire. I moved for several reasons, the main reason being to escape the high Pennsylvania taxes. Another reason was the slower paced life in Delaware. Where I moved, the Rehoboth Beach/Lewes/Milton area on the east coast also has a high population of older gay men and woman who have also retired to southern Delaware. After a lifetime of homophobia, it was a pleasure to retire to an area where I would be accepted as who I am.



Another reason I moved to southern Delaware was the milder temperature. Southern Delaware is location one temperate zone below where I lived in Pennsylvania. I was told that it doesn't get as cold in Delaware and, this is a biggie, not as much snow. As a matter of fact, I was told when it did snow it rarely lasted more than a day.


That fact was true the first three years I lived in lower slower. Not last year. Remember the back to back blizzards in January? Oh yes. Fun times. However, I was lucky that I didn't have to go to work during that period. The hotel business was so slow that the owner laid off me and the other part-time Old Guy.


I remember during those back to back blizzards of last year when I was told "You'll never see another one of these again in your lifetime." Ah ha! I should have known better! Right now I'm sitting at the hotel front desk fielding phone calls. Yes, I'm stuck at the hotel. No complaints, at least I have a warm place to stay for the night. I've been shoveling the snow outside the side and front doors but man, I'm telling you that this 69 year old geezer isn't used to that exercise.


I just got another phone call. It was from Significant Other. He was going to come in and pick me up tonight but I decided not to because the weather bureau is calling for 18 inches of snow before this stops. Also the winds are gusting up to 50 mph. Real fun times. Anyone who says they LOVE SNOW has to be crazy! I hate it. But, I'm glad I can do something to help out where I work.


Last year during the back to back blizzards my manager was stuck at the hotel for three days while I was snug as a bug in a rug at home. Turn around is fair play (or something like that). 


Please excuse me now for I smell the aroma of a Stouffer's frozen lasagna wafting from the micro-wave in the kitchen. Dinner is calling.


Later...............................

Moving On

One of the charter members of our group is leaving Gayberry, aka Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. My friend Cajun and I were informed last night by our other friend that he is selling his home and possibly moving to Florida (depending on if he can get the deal he wants on the condo he’s been scouting out.) Our friend is single and thus an anomaly in the gay population in this area. Most of the gays and lesbians in the Rehoboth/Lewes/Milton area are older, long term couples. Our friend who is leaving the area does not have a partner. My other friend in our little dining group last night used to have a partner but that relationship ended a couple years ago after a 31 year run. In fact, he has been debating whether or not to stay in the area also. It is something to think about because in this area, if you’re not part of a clique or in a relationship, life can be very lonely at times.

I don’t think this has much to do with the fact if one is gay or straight, to be single in today’s world be lonely if one permits it to be so. I am in a long term relationship (45 years) and life is very comfortable for me at this time. However, my partner is 80 years old (I’m 67 years old) and chances are that I will eventually end up single. There is no way I will partner up with anyone again. My life partner and I are still trying to work things out after 45 years; does anyone seriously think I would take on a whole new training prospect at my age? Hardly.

When I decided to move from my home in Pennsylvania, mainly to get away from the high taxes, I had several choices. One was Johnson City, Tennessee which is a beautiful part of the country and near and dear to my heart because of the Tipton-Haynes Historic Site. Johnson City is right across the border from the North Carolina Mountains and hollers where my father was born and where I yearn to do a lot of my genealogical research. Pop was a hillbilly.

Another area I considered retiring to was Greenville, South Carolina, home of my youngest brother. Greenville is a beautiful area of the country and not far from Johnson City. Both areas of the country offer mild winters which is very attractive to me in my declining years.

However, as attractive as both of these areas of the country are, I decided against moving there because of their hostility to gays and lesbians. If I would have any kind of life in those areas I would have to live a “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” life. And that isn’t me. I don’t live a lie.

Thus, I decided to live in Sussex County, Delaware. While most of Delaware is as conservative as the rest of the South (we still can’t get a hate crimes bill out of the state legislature), the east side of Route 1 is not unfriendly towards gays and lesbians. Not that they’re all that open. After all, Rehoboth Beach is still known as the “Family Friendly Resort” of Washington D C and the Delmarva Peninsula. Don’t expect to see any gay pride marches down Rehoboth Avenue anytime soon. The gay population in the Rehoboth area is generally restricted to raising funds for AIDS awareness and police sensitivity training and drag shows for the amusement of the visiting tourists. While all good and worthwhile causes, the gay presence in the area is pretty much boxed in to the standard stereotypes one expects in a gay resort. Gays and lesbians bring a lot of money into the area and that pretty much explains the acceptance of the open presence of gays and lesbians in the area.

Even though gays and lesbians are still not considered equal to their straight counterparts (I doubt if I’ll ever see same sex marriages legalized in my lifetime while I’m living in Delaware), the discrimination is probably less here than it is in many other parts of the country. One of my favorite measures of success is that when Bill and I go shopping or eat out, we don’t get the stares we got in Pennsylvania. Down here in Gayberry, there are just too many same sex couples shopping and dining together to make that a novelty. It is a pleasure to go out and not get that “stare.” In Johnson City or Greenville, we would get the “stare”, guaranteed. We’ve been there and done that. No thank you. That’s not the way I want to live the rest of my life.

If I should ever become single again I’m not sure if I would continue to live in Delaware. That’s a bridge I’m going to have to cross when I come to it. As I said before, this is my last partner. No more. I’m too old to go through all that drama again. I’ve been fortunate and have made a few good friends in the 2 ½ years I have lived here. But still, it would be lonely living alone. It is hard coming home to an empty house. But I think I have a solution. I’ll get a cat.

I hope my friend finds happiness and contentment wherever he decides to move. He will be missed. He added to the fabric of our life.

Bingo-a-Go-Go

All day I was looking forward to going out last night to Bingo-a-Go-Go in Rehoboth Beach. I haven’t been able to attend these four times a year fund raisers for AIDS because I’ve had to work at the Inn. Thus, it was a pleasant surprise when my friend Paul and Jack called me last week and asked me to join them for a night of dining and fun and festivities. Wouldn’t you know it? Monica from work called me about 1 in the afternoon and asked if I could work her shift for her because her youngest child was sick. I had to turn her down because I had already purchased the tickets for bingo and made dinner arrangements at Casa Dileo with my friend Paul and Jack. I had also invited my friend and neighbor Barbara. She said she couldn’t make dinner but would meet us at the Convention Center.

Four o’clock rolls around. I had arranged to meet Paul and Jack at 5 PM in front of Casa Dileo. I drove into Rehoboth and parked at my friend Ed’s house so I wouldn’t have to fight the traffic from the Convention Center when bingo was over. Walking from my friend Ed’s place to Casa Dileo, I ran into my first problem, construction work being done on Route 1. I couldn’t walk on the side of the road. Dodging traffic I walked to other side of the road. My cell phone rings. It’s Paul. He wants to know where I’m at. I told him I’m dodging traffic trying to walk to the restaurant. I hang up. My cell phone rings again. It’s my neighbor Barbara calling. She said she wasn’t feeling well so she wouldn’t be joining me. Take note, already I’ve received two bad omens for the night.

I meet Jack and Paul in front of the restaurant. As soon as I walk into the restaurant I’m turned off by the smell. It smelled like I was walking into a garage. I didn’t need to change the oil in my car. What was that smell? I didn’t want to ruin the evening since it was Paul’s suggestion we dine at Casa DiLeo so I said nothing. After we were seated and given our menus, I noticed that this was one of those restaurants that had the same items on the menu, doubled in price for dinner. I could get an Eggplant Parmesan dish, “lunch” price $8.95. The “Dinner” price $15.95. Either it was the same entree, with a jacked up price for dinner or it was a lot more food, neither of which was an option I wanted last night. We agreed to order a pizza and share it.

After dinner, we drove down to the Rehoboth Convention Center for the night’s festivities. I’ve been to a couple of gay bingos before. The first time was a lot of fun because it was new. The second time, well, not so much. Last night? It was boring. Basically gay bingo is every straight person's stereotype of a gay guy calling out the numbers interspersed with raunchy gay themed jokes. The word of the night last night was the four letter Anglo-Saxon word for excrement that begins with S. The bingo caller was much amused by ending just about every sentence with that well known four letter word.

Throughout the audience are about a half a dozen drag queens who checked to make sure you have a bingo when you call out “Bingo!” The joke is, if you call “Bingo!” in error, you have to wear a ratty old drag queen wig. That’s funny the first few times when you see it then it becomes old. It was old last night.

The drag queens had bright, colorful, flashy outfits which they changed several time during the evening. If you're into drag, it may have enjoyed seeing the different gowns and dresses on the slim hipped ladies with Adam's Apples. While it wasn't like checking out Princess Diana's new gowns, it was fascinating to see what new dress and wig Mona Lotts would appear. The guys playing the drag queens were a pretty somber bunch. One would expect more humor and levity but it seemed like they were also tired of the format and would rather have been somewhere else.

The event is a worthy one, it raises money for AIDS charities. It is gives the gay community a chance to assemble in one spot and experience fellowship. However, something odd this year, I only saw one person I slightly knew (introduced one through a mutual friend.) We didn’t see anyone else we knew, NO ONE. That was strange. Maybe our friends were on to something. Maybe they also got tired of the format. Maybe I don't have that many gay friends.

It wouldn’t have been a bad night if one of us could have won at least ONE bingo. But, as is always the case, no one I know wins. The last time I won a bingo was back in 1960 at the service club in Ft. Meade, Maryland. I won a Kingston Trio record album (which I think I still have, not because I like the Kingston Trio – I hate folk songs – but because it was proof I actually won something.) Most of the prizes last night were cash but one prize was a “beauty basket.” That was the prize I came closest to winning (like I needed THAT PRIZE.) If I won that prize I would have donated it back to the cause.

One thing that I find interesting and has always puzzled me when a group of gay men and lesbians gather together is how much the cliques stay intact. There is little if no interaction between the people unless they knew them previously. Yet one can go to straight event and strike up a friendship with straight people much easier. I've never been able to put understand this phenomenon about gay people, their tendency to stay in cliques when out in the public. They cling to their small group of friends. I can understand why lesbians are so insular, they don't want to have anything to do with men. They do quite well with their women friends, thank you. It's the men I don't understand. If you start up a conversation with a stranger, right away they think you're coming on to them. There is little understanding just for a friendship without the sexual connection. This attitude of most gay men is something that has baffled me for you and I'll probably go to my grave never understanding it.

All in all, it was good to have an evening with my friends Paul and Jack but I won’t be going back to gay bingo again. Maybe I’m getting too old for this kind of thing. I remember 30 years ago when I was 37 years old. I was standing in a gay bar (the 247 in Philadelphia) when the bartender started to flick the lights on and off, calling “Last call!” I thought to myself at that time “What am I doing here? I would rather be home in bed.” That’s the way I felt last night. I would have been better off in bed. Actually, I wish I would have to work for Monica. At least I wouldn’t still be burping up that pizza I had last night.

Losing a Friend Part I

On this day, forty nine years ago, I joined the United States Army. January 27th, 1960 was also the day my future best friend, Big Bob, was drafted in the Army. We didn’t meet that day. I was on a train from Downingtown, PA to Philadelphia, where I would switch over to a Trailways bus that would deposit me at Ft. Dix, New Jersey to begin basic training. Bob was headed to Ft. Jackson, South Carolina on a troop train for his basic training. We wouldn’t meet until March when we both arrived at Ft. Devens, Massachusetts for Army Security Agency schooling.

I don’t remember the exact moment we met at Ft. Devens, but we became best friends almost immediately. We were both from the same area of Pennsylvania thus sharing weekend rides to our homes in the suburbs of Philadelphia. We probably met the first time on one of those rides.

For the six months that we went to Army Security Agency schooling at Ft. Devens, we spent almost every spare minute together. Ironically, after I left the Army in 1963 I came out about my sexual orientation and discovered that Bob was also gay. He never suspected I was gay nor did I ever give a thought to Bob’s sexual orientation. Our friendship was not based on sexual attraction (contrary to what many straight people think, not all gay men are attracted to all men) but on a commonality of interests and enjoying each other’s company.

After schooling ended Bob and I went out separate ways. I was assigned to Ft. Meade, Maryland and Bob was assigned to Ft. Bragg, North Carolina. We kept in touch the next two years by mail.

A few months after I got out of the service in January 1963, I came out to my family and friends. I made the decision that I didn’t want to live my life as a lie (as I did when I was in the Army working at the National Security Agency with a top secret clearance that I could lose at any time if my sexual orientation became known.) To my great surprise, and to Bob’s, we both became aware of each other’s true sexual identity.

From the years since 1963, Bob and I continued our best friend relationship. When I met Bill in July of 1964 (my life partner since then and the one who isn’t speaking to me now), it was Bob who I confided in. Bob met Bill and the three of us have been close friends over the years.

Ironically, Bob is the reason I’m living in Delaware now. Over the years when Bill has had one of his episodes of not speaking to me, I would take off and visit Bob at his home in the woods outside Georgetown, Delaware. Usually, by the time I got home Bill would be over his funk. I came down to this area of Delaware so many times over the years that I came to look upon it as my second home. When taxes forced me out of my home in Pennsylvania, Delaware was at the top of my list for a new home. Thus it was with great joy that I moved to Delaware in the summer of 2006. Little did I know at that time it was the beginning of the loss of my close friendship with Bob.

To be continued.

Wednesday Night Outing

The tourist season is over and now it is time for our friends to get together again. This evening we met at the Purple Parrot in Rehoboth Beach. Attendees included Wayne, Paul, Jack, John, Jack, Bob and me. Last year Wayne and I began this tradition by meeting at the Purple Parrot on Sunday night for the prime rib special. That meeting grew to include Bob and Harvey (who didn't attend tonight because he was on one of his many cruises), Paul and Jack. Newcomers John and Jack (another Jack) joined the group tonight. All are welcome. It's ironic that this late in our lives that we have all formed this camaraderie. This is quite different from when I first used to go out to gay bars. Back in "the day" it was all about cruising. It was about sexual encounters. Not now. And maybe that is a good thing. Friendship is so much more important now. My brother belong to a large fundamentalist church in Greenville, South Carolina. He and his church members always refer to their "fellowship." I visited his church once. I have to admit that I was somewhat envious of the "fellowship" that he and his fellow parishioners (he was one of the pastors) enjoyed. Of course I couldn't enjoy the same fellowship because I was gay. That was made abundantly clear to me by his pastor during his sermon. This area of Rehoboth Beach has become a retirement Mecca for many gay men and women of the nearby states of Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Maryland, Virginia, and Delaware. Many of the friends at tonight gathering attend the local All Saints Church in Rehoboth. I remember so well in my younger days when I used to hit the gay bars on the weekends in Philadelphia. Back then the goal was all about scoring (meeting another guy for a sexual encounter.) Those days are long past. Now friendship is more important (at least to me.) There was a bar up that Philadelphia street called Maxine's. It was known among us young gay guys as a "wrinkle bar." A bunch of old queens. Well, guess what? All the attendees of tonight's get together are over 50. Some of us are over 60. Well, I guess that's us now. Now here is a fact. I'm enjoying life more than ever now. Way more than I did in my glory days. Life is good.