The Blue Wave

Chris Pappas, first openly gay an elected to the U.S. Senate.

 Last night I was up until 2:30 AM this morning following the midterm elections returns. 

The majority of American voters finally came to their senses and massively rejected the spineless Republican candidates and put Democrats back in power. Not all Democrats won (Florida is still in ignorance) but enough won, especially in Texas to turn that state blue. 

There is so much I want to say about this historic election which I don't have time now to do so. However I do want to note that for the first time in American political history an openly gay candidate, Chris Pappas of New Hampshire was elected to the United States Senate. I'm old enough to remember when being openly gay was against the law. We've come a long way my fellow Americans. I'm glad I have lived long enough to see this.

By the way, is it me or do a lot of gay couples look alike?

Happy Pride Month!

 

"Boots"

 

Me, 1960, Army Basic Training Fort Dix, New Jersey

I'm watching the Netflix series "Boots". It's about a young gay man who joins the Marines and his experiences at boot camp. 

This morning I was brought to tears when I witnessed his experience with tear gas. Literally brought to tears because it reminded me of my own experience.

This whole show almost mirrors my experiences in Army basic training when I joined the army at eighteen years old in January of 1960. In fact those experiences are so uncanny I almost suspect a Hollywood script writer read some of my previous blog postings on this blog and inserted them into the story of this young gay man in this Netflix series "Boot Camp." Seriously. 

Two nights ago there was a fire watch episode. That was my experience with a few minor changes. That's when I became convinced that this Hollywood script writer probably read my own basic training experiences.  Now if there is an episode that comes. up with the hand grenade, I'm suing. Actually not, but then I will be convinced that I was the inspiration for this series. I'm serious.

Slight Delay!

 

Pat and I November 10, 2013 in Philadelphia, PA

It looks like there is another slight delay in Pat and I getting married! 

I hope to get marriage before this corrupt conservative dominated Supreme Court outlaws same sex marriages. Oh yes, that's going to happen. The only question is are they going to grandfather the law (those who were married before can stay married) or declare null and void ALL same sex marriages. 

I do not have a doubt in the world that is what the Supreme Court will do. Clarence Thomas, the most vile Supreme Court justice only second to Samuel Alito, said as much after they reversed the Roe versus Wade decision that had held for almost fifty years. They (the Supreme Court) are just itching to feed more to their MAGA base and gays are always easy to demonize. Of course they could do something meaningful like demand the Justice Department release the full Epstein files. 

What is the delay this time in Pat and I getting married? Would you believe a cold? Yes, Pat has come down with a terrible cold. The first for him in about ten years. He's really a sick puppy now. I hope this isn't serious but he's pretty sick. He thinks he caught his cold from his bandmate over the past weekend. His bandmate's wife had a serious cold.

I've had a handful of serious colds in my lifetime, all of which I caught from people I worked with who had children in school. And you know schools, especially with small children, those schools are virtual Petri dishes of germs just waiting to be spread.

An Unforgettable Father's Toast At His Gay Son's Wedding

See if you can get through this video without choking up. The best I can say about this is that I did not have a father like this. But what I can say is that my father did like Bill. Thank God. My Mother loved Bill too. I am so comforted to know they are all together in Heaven now.

Bill with my parents at their home sometime in the 70's

From left to right, my father Ike Tipton, Bill and my Mother Betty Tipton and my father's dog "Pepper" (oh how he loved that dog!)  All in Heaven now!

Mid-Century Modern | Official Trailer | Hulu

As regular followers of this blog know, last month I returned from a two week holiday in Palm Springs.

Pat and I have been taking annual holidays to Palm Springs during Modernism Week. This is an event in which Palm Springs celebrates the mid-century modern style of buildings and furniture during The Fifties (last century). 

Every year in February since 2016 Pat and I have been making this annual visit to Palm Springs. Pat loves the mid-century modernism style. I do too. Except for a four year interruption due to COVID and the three years I was caregiving for Bill, Pat and I have made this visit every year. 

This year we stayed with our friend Glenn who lives in nearby Cathedral City. Yes, we were three older gay men of a certain age living together.

Thus, imagine my happiness when I heard HULU has a new series starting tonight called "Mid-Century Modern" starring three older gay men living together in the same house in Palm Springs. This show was touted a "gay version of Golden Girls." The show is actually filmed in a sound studio in Burbank, California.

So I checked out the preview of this new series. 

WHAT A DISAPPOINTMENT!

First, I am sick to death of this portrayal of gay men as two dimensional cartoons. Yes, I said it. A portrayal of gay men as (are you ready because I'm going to say the "F" word) FAGGOTS. 

I did a little further checking and yes, it is directed by James Burrows of "Will and Grace." Yeah, "Will and Grace" was about as an accurate depiction of gay men and a certain section of the "gay lifestyle" THAT DOESN'T EXIST.  

I remember what my cousin said when I told her I was gay and how shocked she was with the information. Then she tried to show me she was "all right" with my revelation by saying "Oh, I watch 'Will and Grace." I told her I didn't watch "Will and Grace" because it was a cartoon version of how gays live. Oh I suppose SOME gays live like that but not in my experience. Real gays live a much more interesting life than the New York Broadway version.

I did a little further research by checking clips from future episodes of "Mid-Century Modern" and was even more disgusted. Yes, there was Richard Kind, the standard goofy New York/Broadway based actor who plays the same goofy role.

Richard Kind

Richard Kind plays Richard Kind. Another episode showed Judd Hirsch. Oh God! Is he still alive? Judd "I am the greatest Broadway actor ever!"Hirsch.

Judd Hirsch

And of course there is Nathan Lane playing the lead role. Nathan is funny at times but let's face it folks, Nathan Lane plays Nathan Lane. That's his shtick. That gets tiresome very fast. Nathan Lane, facing the camera, shouting his one-liners like he's in a Broadway theater facing the audience.

Nathan Lane, "Mr. Broadway"

So Broadway. 

The other two other housemates are Matt Boomer, a younger gay man who plays the hottie. His role is as an airline steward who is always looking for sex. More gay stereotypes. Then if course us the now de rigor black actor that is in ALL series and movies these days of political correctness. I never heard of this actor, his name is Nathan Lee Graham.

Nathan Lee Graham (on the right). What? Laverne Cox wasn't available?

I'm sure he's a fine actor but from what I can see of the previews he looks like Ru Paul out of drag. And I'm sure he's the smartest gay in the series, of course. 

Folks, I have some expertise in this area. I am a gay man of a "certain age." I just returned last month from sharing a beautiful Palm Springs area house with two other gay men of a "certain age." And I'm here to tell you our lives are vastly more interesting than this two dimensional gay cartoon depiction that is being foisted on us by the New York Broadway types like James Burrows as what life is like of three older gay men sharing a house in Palm Springs. I was even going to watch just to see the Palm Springs scenes but the show isn't even filmed in Palm Springs. It's filmed on a Burbank California sound stage. More fakery.

This show, to me as a gay man who knows how real life is with two other older gay men who shared a house in Palm Springs, is the equivalent of having a series of blackface minstrel show.

How's that New York/Broadway living in your gay bubble James Burrows? 

This show is nothing more than a quick buck to be made on the backs of regular gays reinforcing the show business gay stereotypes. We really haven't progressed much from the flitty Franklin Pangborne

stereotype of a gay man from the Thirties films have we?

A lot has changed in my lifetime (all eighty-three years) of how gay people are viewed by the entertainment and media but one thing that hasn't changed is the depiction of real gay people who lead real lives, especially older gay men.

This picture was taken February 17, 2025 in Palm Springs during me and Pat's visit to our friend Glenn's home in Palm Springs (Cathedral City, only a few miles from Palm Springs actually.) 

This picture was taken at a restaurant where we were having dinner. Yes, we're "older gay men". I'm eighty-three years old, Pat is seventy-seven and Glenn is sixty-nine years old. I can guarantee you that our stories are MUCH MORE INTERESTING than a bunch of tired old Broadway actors spouting stereotypical gay laugh lines. 

Me, Pat and Glenn at Jimmy's Restaurant in Palm Springs, California February 17th, 2025

Here's an idea James Burrows, do a series with me, Pat and Glenn. It's not hard, oh wait maybe it is. Here's my suggestion, start the series with the way we're living now. Both Glenn and I recently lost our longtime partners and Pat is from Canada, and is now my fiancé. Glenn is still looking but settled into his life as a single guy who lives with his cat Sadie. All three of us have at plenty of stories of the present time and in addition, we have a fabulous history in which you could do flashbacks. Now, THAT would be an interesting and REALISTIC depiction of what life is REALLY LIKE today in Palm Springs of three older gay men. And you could even tie our stories in a really funny guy, Bruce Vilanch.

One year, as Pat and I were waiting for our flight at the Palm Springs airport I saw Bruce sitting by himself waiting for his flight. I went over and introduced myself and asked why I don't see him on TV anymore. Bruce, the funny guy that he is, says "Me too! Talk to my agent!"  

Message to James Burrows and or HULA or even Netflix (if you ever decide to do a REAL series about older gay men), I'm available for consultation for this series. I don't have an agent yet, but I can get one.

Glenn, Me and Pat at The Reef Restaurant, Palm Springs, CA February 19, 2025

Can't Sleep

 

Me, tall guy in the back second form the left, hanging out at the Service Club at Ft. George G. Meade, Maryland 1960. This occasion was my friend Sal's birthday party. What were the women doing there? Every Wednesday night the Service Club had dances which local women could attend. Ironically, most of my friends were gay but that didn't seem to bother the girls because we always had a good time at those weekly dances. In fact, Sal's girl friend ("Pat") took this picture which explains why she wasn't in the picture. 

4:32 AM Saturday morning. 

Yep, you read that time right. I'm up very early this Saturday morning because after my usual nocturnal bathroom visit, I couldn't get back to sleep.

This has been happening every now and then the past  year or so. I don't know what the explanation is other than I do get a lot of sleep what with my daily afternoon nap of an hour or more. Yesterday I think I slept for over two hours. 

On my Bose radio right now "Our Day Will Come" is the music that is playing. This song has special significance for me. It was one of the first songs I heard when I moved to Pittsburgh after I was discharged from my three year Army tour of duty at Ft. George G. Meade, Maryland. 

Why did I move to Pittsburgh and not my family home when I got out of the Army? Easy answer. I wanted to come out after being in the closet at the National Security Agency two and a half years and surviving all the gay witch hunts that was a constant threat. I couldn't come out (as a gay man) at home in my small hometown of Downingtown, Pennsylvania but I could come out in a big city like Pittsburgh. 

Again, why Pittsburgh? I had a friend who lived right outside the city who I was friends with at Ft. Meade. His name was Sal De Rosa and he was in the Air Force.

My friend Sal DeRosa in the Army barracks near my locker, I surprised him by taking his photo in 1961. Sal lived in the Air Force barracks which were right next to the Army barracks where I lived. I think he came over for me and we were going to go to the nearby Service Club which is where we usually hung out with our friends after a day of work at the NSA headquarters building.

When I was stationed at Ft. Meade all branches of the service (Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines) all had adjoining barracks nearby the huge NSA headquarters building. Sal had completed his tour of duty with the Air Force a few months earlier than I did with my three year Army stint. Sal lived in Elizabeth with his family (mother, father and brother), right outside Pittsburgh. Sal was going to be my contact with the gay world, which back in January of 1963 was a lot different than it is today.

Sal and his friends took me to my first gay bar in the nearby town of Clairton, Pennsylvania, a small, rough steel town right outside Pittsburgh.

Clairton, PA (exactly as I remember it from 1963)

Oh I remember that bar well. Just a local neighborhood bar in an old ramshackle two-story building. The ground floor with the omnipresent flashing neon sign outside was for the local straight population. That was NOT where gays went. Instead we went up the steps up back that went to the second level of that building. I followed Sal and his friends Howard and someone else whose name I can't remember now, led me up those stairs to the door on the small landing outside. I could hear music playing softly on the other side of that door. To say I was nervous would be a gross understatement. Butterflies were flying in my stomach. Sal or one of his friends knocked on the door to be let in. Yes, this is how one went to gay bars back in the early Sixties. Speakeasy type entry. The guy who opened the door recognized Sal and his friends and let us in. 

What I saw simply amazed me. I had literally stepped into another world. What I saw were men slow dancing together to the slow dancing music coming from the juke box.

Not my photo but similar to what I saw when I walked into my first gay bar in Clairton, PA. Men in suits dancing together, like this. YES! I had arrived, I LOVED IT!

Many of the men had suits on and looked like "regular" men. I don't know what I had expected, men dressed like women? Well, I didn't see that, I saw men like me........dancing together. It is hard to describe the feeling that flowed through my body when I saw the incredible sight of two men dancing together. I do know though that it was an incredible feeling of acceptance. 

We walked towards the bar with the lights behind the multiple booze bottles reflected in the back mirrors in the dimly lit room with the small dance floor with those men slow dancing cheek to cheek. I didn't know it at the time but I was the "new face" in the bar. If you know anything about the "gay lifestyle", being the new face in town, especially a gay bar, is something to behold and experience. 

We ordered our drinks and settled in. Being the new face in town, it was only a few minutes before a man in his early thirties, crew cut, horn rimmed glasses, suited, well built man drifted over to our group and asked me if I would like to dance. WOULD I LIKE TO DANCE? OMG! I THINK SO!  

I put my drink down as my friends smiled knowingly to each other as I accepted this man's hand as he led me to the dance floor where all those MEN were still slow dancing TOGETHER.  Remember, this was before the disco invasion that was launched by gay bars. This was Forties style nightclubbing albeit it in much more modest circumstances.

As my dance partner enveloped me in his arms, (he was about six feet in height, a little shorter than my then 6'4" height), we merged in with the other slow dancing all male couples on that minuscule dance floor. First thing I realized he was leading. Oh wow, I'm dancing backwards, just like a girl. Hey folks, that wasn't easy. I'm telling you! But I quickly got the hang of it and I didn't even have to contend with high heels. 

So how was it dancing with a man Ron? Well, it was great! Now I understood why dancing was so popular, especially slow, cuddly dancing.  I felt so at home. I felt like I belonged. For the first time in my twenty-one years of life I felt like I belonged. And what a wonderful feeling that was. The sexual tension, you could cut it with a knife. And something else I immediately noticed although at first I was a little confused. Well, not really. But initially when he pulled me closer to him my right leg felt this "ruler" in his pocked. "What's he doing with a ruler in his pocket?" I thought. Of course it only took me about five seconds to realize that what was in his pocket wasn't a "ruler" but an indication he was very glad to be dancing with me as I was him because it turned out I had developed a "ruler" too! During our dance he asked me if I would like to go to the bathroom. How solicitous and kind of him! I told him I didn't need to go and continued to dance. Again he asked me if I would like to go to the bathroom, again I declined. After our dance ended, I returned to my Chesire Cat smiling friends at the bar. They asked me "Well, how was it?" I told them I thoroughly enjoyed dancing with Mr. Crew Cut, black horn rimmed glasses, nice build, ruler in his pocket dance partner. I also told them I thought it was unusual that he kept asking me if I wanted to go to the bathroom. My friends immediately responded "Well, you did go didn't you?" I said "Of course not, I didn't have to go." They laughed which I didn't understand. I didn't get IT. Then they explained to me why he kept asking me if I wanted to go to the bathroom. OH NO! Man oh man, was I ever naive. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. They told me WHY he wanted me to go to the bathroom. Of course he would go with me and, well you can figure that out for yourselves. Well, back then, as naive as I was I would never engage in anonymous sexual activity with a stranger, no matter how butch and attractive, in public bathroom. But I have to say I was flattered. 

When we left the bar for downtown Pittsburgh and the after hours bar the A.V.A. (another whole experience which I will write about later), they told me who the man was who asked me to dance and then go to the bathroom. He was the local police chief of the township. And no, it wasn't a trap to ensnare homosexuals frequenting that bar, this guy was serious. He was gay.  

And that my friends is a little bit of my gay history early this Saturday morning. And what does this have to do with the sone "Our Day Will Come." That was the song that was playing in another gay bar my friends took me to during my stay in Pittsburgh. That was the song that was playing when I met my first boyfriend, Joseph Labriola. And that story I may tell the next time I wake up very early on a Saturday morning and I can't get back to sleep. 

Cowboy Ron - Fifty Years later

 

Me, Yesteryear's Old Time Photos Rehoboth Beach, DE June 2024

Me, July 1974 Provincetown, Mass

July of 1974 I made my first trip to Provincetown, Massachusetts.  I had heard so much about "P-town", the "gay paradise." 

I visited with my late friend Bob McCamley. I had planned to spend the week with him at a place called "The Ranch".  I knew P-town was VERY gay and even though both Bob and I are gay we didn't want to be with the.....how should I say this?  The stereotype swishy gays.  Well, what a surprise we had. "The Ranch" clientele was just that. Very gay. ULTRA GAY.  Not for us, thank you. All that "her" and "she" pronouns used in place of male pronouns. 

We spent one night at "The Ranch" then the next day we found a room at "Bob's Motel" on the outskirts of Provincetown.

Me sitting in the back of my friend Bob McCamley's pickup truck at Bob White's motel on the outskirts of Provincetown, Mass July 1974

The new accommodations were much better. Not so "ultra gay".  More like normal people who just happened to be gay. Thank you. By the way, if I'm offending anyone gay who is reading this who takes umbrage to my descriptions of "ultra gay", that on you friends. I use the "he" pronoun when I refer to a male and "she" when I refer to a biological woman. 

Well, the vacation still didn't work out quite as I had planned it. Bob immediately met "Brian" from Vancouver Canada and that was the last I saw of him. I was on my own. 

I did run into Bob and Brian in town one day (they were on their way to one of those singing piano bars which I hate, Broadway tunes "Annie! TOMORROW! TOMORROW!" I asked Bob if he could spare an hour or two to have his picture taken with me at one of those old time photo places that often show up in tourist destinations like Provincetown. Much to my surprise he could spare an hour (no more) and we had our picture taken. 

Me and my friend Bob McCamley 1974 Provincetown, Mass
(yes, he was a little annoyed that I took him away from his boyfriend Brian to have this picture taken)

After the photo was taken Bob took off with his paramour and I didn't see him again for another several days. I think he and Brian did grant me a lunch with them but otherwise I was solo for the remainder of our vacation in the fabled P-town. I didn't meet anyone nor did I partake in anonymous sex but I did thoroughly enjoy the ambiance of Provincetown which is beautiful, especially escaping from the heat and humidity of center city Philadelphia where I lived at that time. Subsequent years I visited Provincetown by myself except for three occasions when I took someone else with me. Of course they took off too, shortly after our commuter plane from Boston landed at the Provincetown airport. Remember that Bob Murphy and Brad Corrill? Yes, they were the two. I paid for their way too but that was my foolishness. I should have known better. Three times? Yes, I took Brad with me twice, once stiffed wasn't enough for me. 

You might ask why didn't Bill go with me?  Bill didn't want to travel to a gay resort. No way, no how. I did convince him one year but he wouldn't leave his Best Western hotel room. That was his one and only time visiting Provincetown. 

I hope to visit Provincetown one more time before I check out of this aging human body and return to the Spirit World. I'm pretty sure I can talk Pat into going with me. And I'm pretty sure he will stay with me and not go running off with someone else once we hit the ground in P-town. That's what I love about Pat, he likes being with me and I life being with him. Now Pat isn't one to go to a "gay" place either, he feels as I do with all that "gayness". That's for others to swish it up. And I'm happy for them if that's their thing. It's not our thing, thank you. 

These days I have a small group of friends mainly as a result of my advanced age (82), and.......well I guess it's all because of my age. Eighty-two year olds don't make many new friends now do they? No problem though, Pat and Glenn (Pat, he from Hamilton Canada and Glenn from Cathedral City California) visited me this past June where we had this old time photo taken of some serious old timers.....us!  And you know what folks?  I'm having the best time of my life now. 

Glenn, me and Pat June 2024 Rehoboth Beach DE

You know when I was young I used to make fun of older gay men, and the bars they hung out at ("wrinkle bars"). At that time in my Foolish Youth I would express out loud to my friends "What in the world do they do with their lives?" Now that I'm one of THOSE OLD GAYS I know. As Noel Coward famously said "Youth is wasted on the young." I was on of those foolish young folks. Oh boy, if I knew then what I know now. But then it's not supposed to work out that way is it?

Have a great day everyone and if you want to gay it up. Go ahead! I'm going to take my daily afternoon nap now.

"Bros"

Finally, FINALLY, I found a good gay movie!

The name of the movie is "Bros" and I saw it last night on my Netflix DVD rental.

Oh, not that there hasn't been some excellent gay themed movies ("Brokeback Mountain", "Boys In The Band") but they all ended badly. Spoiler alert!

This one doesn't end badly. The gay characters don't kill themselves or get killed in the end. How refreshing! Even more refreshing this is actually a well written and well acted movie about gays.

Believe it or not straight folks, most gays aren't like the folks you've seen in "Will and Grace" episodes. "Jack" isn't your typical gay guy although he is funny (at times, his Cher impression is fantastic). But so often gay themed movies are played by straight actors. What's up with that? Are there no gay actors? Well we KNOW the answer to that question. Of course there are many gay actors, many still in the closet but the way our culture is now is that if an actor is gay most of the movie going public will not accept him (or her) in a straight role. Sad but true. The brutal truth, homophobia still reigns in the land.

Back to this movie. It has been SO LONG since I've laughed out loud at a scene in a movie and believe me folks, there are plenty of scenes in this movie to get you laughing. And for my gay followers, this is one of those rare movies that UNDERSTANDS US. You know what I mean. It's obvious it was written by gays and acted by gays. Here's a fact for my straight friends, nobody can laugh more at our (gay) foibles than gays ourselves. And this movie GETS it! 

There are also some sweet tender moments in this movie as there should be in any ROM-COM movie.

Me (tall, slim guy far right with head turned) in Provincetown with my friends Gino and Bob circa 1979 - those were the days!

Another thing I liked about this movie is when they went to my favorite gay resort Provincetown, Mass. I was prepared to see scenes Toronto Canada. I remember how disappointed I was when I first saw that long ago "breakthrough" gay TV series "Queer As Folk". It was supposed to take place in Pittsburgh, PA, a city where I came out in the winter of 1963. Pittsburgh's downtown of Grant Avenue, Fifth Avenue, and Forbes Avenue isn't big. I worked at the Pittsburgh Hilton Hotel right on the Golden Triangle in the heart of downtown Pittsburgh. Try to imagine my immense disappointment when I couldn't recognize even one street scene of "Pittsburgh" in "Queer As Folk". I did some checking and sure enough, the series was filmed in, wait for it, TORONTO, CANADA! Thus it was with great pleasure when the story of "Bros" shifted to Provincetown, they actually filmed there! Downtown Provincetown isn't that big either and I actually recognized every scene, including the place where I used to stay in the summer of the Fabulous Seventies. 

And one more thing I liked about this movie that didn't insult my intelligence like most movies and almost all of the lame gay movies I've seen over the years, was the sex scenes weren't gross. No swapping spit, sweaty limbs, grunts and groans. The only nipples you're going to see in this movie are men's nipples and after all folks, especially my gay friends, wasn't that our little secret all these years that the media never hid men's nipples? They don't in this movie either but they manage all the intimate scenes tastefully. 

And of course there is an overall message in this movie. BE YOURSELF! Some may like you, some may not. SO WHAT! Just be yourself and who knows, you may find someone you likes you just as you are even if you aren't the mythical "California Blonde Swimmer", a fact which I never understood. The California Blonde Swimmer type never did anything for me. Troy Donahue? What was THAT all about? Rock Hudson didn't even turn me on and that was before he came out. Sure, he was very handsome. I saw that. Just like I could look at a beautiful woman but to arouse my hormones? Never worked. I like to get to know the guy I'm with. Of course looks comes into it but the personalty is Number One. I have to click with that personality. Lucky for me I found someone after all these years. We click.

After seeing a movie like this I've often thought my life could be made into a movie. Of course it would fail at the box office like this movie did. Yes, this movie failed at the box office even though is was rated in the 90% category by both critics and the audience who saw it. Let's face it folks. Not every movie can be about car chases and violence for thirteen year old boys. I find those movie very boring. Pat likes them though. I much prefer "Downton Abbey". Pat doesn't like "Downtown Abbey". He says it's boring "looking for Lady Mary's teapot." I get it Pat. 

So if you want a good old fashion ROM-COM movie with genuine laughs and a few tender moments and a worthwhile message and an intelligent script and well acted, this movie is for you. Granted there are no "bankable" stars in this movie but I think you'll find the all the characters likable and most of all believable. 

Enjoy!

Me in Provincetown 1979

Ron and Bill's 57th Anniversary

 

Bill and me 1964 at his Pennsauken apartment

Yes, today is our 57th anniversary. Fifty-seven years ago this evening I walked over to thank the anonymous gentleman who was sending me drinks across the bar for the previous three months. 

The location was the corner of 15th and Spruce Streets, Philadelphia, PA. The place was the Westbury Bar, my gay bar of choice in those furtive days of 1964, way before Stonewall liberation. 

I've recounted this story many times before on this sixteen year old blog so I'll try and make it a little different this time, and shorten it. 

The previous year I had got out of the Army after a three year enlistment. I would have made the Army a career for twenty and possibly thirty years but because I was a HOMOSEXUAL, that was not allowed. I barely got out of the Army with an honorable discharge anyway because I was station at Ft. Meade, Maryland and the National Security Agency. I didn't ask for that job but that was the job that was assigned to me after I finished six month of Army Security Agency training at Ft. Devens, Massachusetts. To work at NSA one had to have a top secret clearance and being a HOMOSEXUAL would definitely disqualify me from serving HONORABLY. By the way, this whole thing about not having gays in the military (we weren't called "gay" back then by the way, HOMOSEXUAL was about the nicest term. I don't have to recite the other terms but we all know what they were - and still are to this day.

Anyway, to make a long story short (and not get caught up on that injustice), I departed the Army in January of 1963 and came out totally three moths later in April when my Mother caught me with my boyfriend of the moment in my apartment during a surprise Saturday morning visit.

From April 1963 to July 1964 I would make almost weekly treks to Philadelphia with friends to the Westbury Bar, in search of Mr. Wonderful, Prince Charming, The Love of My Life, etc.

I lived in a furnished one bedroom apartment in Coatesville, Pennsylvania; a steel town suburb forty-three miles west of downtown Philadelphia. 

I was poor. I barely had enough month to "go into town." At that time drinks at the bar were .75 cents. I always gave a dollar, a twenty-five cent tip. That was understood. 

I always took three one dollar bills in with me to the bar when I visited The Westbury with my friends Ron (yes, another "Ron" and Ed. Both of whom have since departed this earth). 

I didn't have a car but both Ron and Ed had cars. They would take turns hauling me in with them. I guess I was good company (I hope).

One Saturday evening while Ron, Ed and I were engaged in some gossipy conversation (as was our wont) at our usual corner of the bar, Jerry the Bartender tapped me on the back of my hand that was on the bar to get my attention. He had a fresh glass of gin and tonic (my poison of choice at that tender age) and indicated by nodding his head in the opposite direction to a smiling black haired older man on the other side of the bar, near the skeet ball machine. He said that gentleman was sending me a complimentary drink. "Oh no" I thought. I had seen that "gentleman" often in the bar playing skeet ball with his friends, they were quite boisterous at times. Oh sure, he was good-looking and popular but not really "my type" (I prefer slight, nerdy guys with glasses). This gentleman was athletic, classically handsome and popular and older. NOT what I was looking for in Prince Charming. I nodded my head in acknowledgment towards his direction and resumed my conversation with my friends Ron and Ed. I said something like "Can you believe that? He thinks all he has to do is buy me a drink and I'll go home with him! NOT GOING TO HAPPEN." 

Of course I took the drink, it was free and I was poor. And if this person wanted to send me a drink that was just fine with me but there was no way I was going to be just another notch on his gun (no pun intended).

Thus began a regular ritual that every time he was in the bar he would send me a drink. I would acknowledge his generosity then resume my air headed conversations with my friends Ron and Ed. And yes, those conversations were of no substance believe me. This was when I was very young (twenty-two) and all caught up in the new freedom of Gaydom and a Place Of Our Own To Be Ourselves. 

My friends would often say "Why don't you go home with him? I would! He's good-looking!" But no, I had absolutely no intention of EVER going home with THAT GUY. Harumph! He thinks he can "buy my" with a drink? Besides, he wasn't "my type." 

Then can July 3rd, 1964. Again, I was driven to Philadelphia by Ron and Ed (I forget whose car, probably Ed's). They had someplace else to go and left me at the bar. It was early Saturday evening, maybe about ten o'clock. Well, maybe that doesn't sound "early" but for gay bars at that time the real action didn't start until eleven or later. That's when everyone made their entrances, all carefully dressed to attract the most attention from the same sex in the bar that night.

I was standing at our usual spot, the far corner of the bar, deep in my thoughts. By this time I had gotten to know Jerry The Bartender pretty well. In fact I had a crush on him (who doesn't get crushes on the bartender?) but Jerry, while always pleasant, never gave me any indication of a mutual interest in me. Then came The Drink. Jerry pushed the glass of gin and tonic in front of me as he had so often the past three of so months.  He didn't even have to say anything. He just smiled. I knew who sent the drink. 

I looked across the bar towards the skeet ball machine where The Gentleman Who Sends Me The Drinks usually was stationed with his friends playing skeet ball. There was no one there. Jerry saw me looking and he nodded his head to the gentleman sitting at one of the tables to the left of the jukebox. 

Tables you say? Yes, back then there was a smattering of low, round tables with one of those cheap netted glass bowls that held a flickering candle. 

I looked towards the direction to where Jerry nodded. There HE WAS. Sitting by himself. I never saw him sitting by himself before. He was always with his posse of friends. 

There weren't too many people in the bar. I nodded to him in acknowledgment of the drink he sent to me. He must have send me a couple dozen drinks over the previous three months. 

So there we were. Him sitting by himself at that low table with the candle flickering in that cheap Italian restaurant candle holder. I'm standing at the corner of the bar, BY MYSELF.

I thought to myself, because I was feeling a little bit guilty of accepting ALL THOSE DRINKS, I would at least thank him. And that's what I decided to do.

I left my coveted spot on the corner of the bar (one had to stake out coveted spots in gay bars in those days) and walked over to his table. I wanted to thank him for the drinks and nothing else. I swear NOTHING ELSE. I certainly had no intention of going home with him THAT night. I just wanted to be decent and thank him for all the drinks he had sent over to me the previous three or so months. 

Now, I was fully prepared to an exit. I expected him to put a LOT OF PRESSURE on me to go home with him because he had bought me all those drinks. I had an exit plan. I was going to thank him and walk out of the bar to the gay bar across the street, The Allegro (no longer there by the day, now it's the Kimmel Music Center). 

I walk over to him sitting at the table; and still standing I looked down at him and said "Thank you for the drinks and all the other drinks you have sent to me." He looked up at me, smiled and said "You're welcome." And that was it. No jumping on me with heavy, desperate, aggressive behavior as I expected. I had often experience that behavior from other men who tried to pick me up, sometimes with a complimentary drink (they think they own you then) or just trapping me in the corner of the bar (which happened a few times too, I literally had to get rude and bust out of being physically blocked from walking around the bar). Yes Virginia, this was what it was like back in the Bad Old Days when gay bars were routinely raided around election time. When one feared being "outed" by having one's name in the paper for being arrested during one of those raids. This was even before disco came to gay bars and straights found out gay bars were a cool place to dance. These were serious, cruising days folks. 

Well, I was a bit surprised by his gentleness and lack of aggressiveness. And to be quite frank about it, he wasn't at all as I expected. Oh sure, he still wasn't "my type" but he was handsome and masculine. Not a feminine bone in his body, which I found immediately attractive. In fact he had a deep masculine voice. I liked that. And his body, which of course I did a quick visual check, was ......nice. Hmmmm. 

Anyway, I decided to sit and talk awhile. He seemed like a nice guy and I found out he was a nice guy. And of course I went home with him that evening after he asked me if I "would like to stop over at his place for a drink." (standard operating line in a gay bar pickup folks, sorry I couldn't relate a more original pickup line). 

He lived in the opposite direction of Philadelphia, to the East. He lived in Pennsauken New Jersey which was across the Ben Franklin Bridge.Twelve miles to the east of Philadelphia. 

When he asked me over to his place I told him that I didn't have a ride home (I had been stranded before and wasn't about to be stranded again). He said he would take me home the next day. My apartment in Coatesville was fifty-six miles from his apartment in Pennsauken, New Jersey. That impressed me. And I trusted him. By the way, I did finally "score" with Jerry the Bartender (before I met Bill) and HE STRANDED ME after we had our intimate encounter. I was left wandering the streets of center city Philly in the early morning hours of Sunday morning until I could catch the first train to Coatesville, and this after I had to wait until Jerry closed up the bar at 3:00 AM or so. I didn't like Jerry so much after then. HE was the scorekeeper and here I thought I was in love with him. Just goes to show you. Anyway, back to Bill.

I stayed that night with Bill at his two bedroom, garden apartment in Pennsauken, New Jersey. And yes, I did have a drink. In his refrigerator he had just about every kind of juice drink you could imagine. No food, lots of juice drinks. Apparently I wasn't the first guy Bill took back to his apartment. Oh well.

Thus began my relationship with Bill. 

Over the next seven months Bill would pick me up at my apartment in Coatesville, which remember was FIFTY-SIX miles from his apartment in Pennsauken, New Jersey, and take me back to his apartment for the weekend. We did that almost every weekend. Bill always had something planned for us to do. I liked him and he liked me. 

Then came a time he wanted me to move in with him. Initially I turned him down. I told him that he wasn't the person I was looking for.  I liked him but I didn't love him.  I told him it wouldn't be fair to him or me because if I moved in with him I would still be "going out", looking for Mr. Right. Without hesitation he said, "If you moved in with me you can still go out, just be discreet about it." He said "A caged bird never sings." And he would never want to "hold me back." He also said he traveled a lot (he worked for RCA then General Electric as an electronics technician) and would be gone for months at a time and I would have that time to myself to do whatever I wanted. 

I still hesitated because that wasn't my idea of a relationship. I had pictured meeting Prince Charming and living happily ever after, monogamous to one another. Not still hanging out at the bars looking for Mr. Perfect. 

Bill got angry. The first time in our relationship that I saw his anger. He said if I didn't move in with he I would never see him again. 

Now I had a real dilemma. I liked Bill, really did but I was just afraid of being trapped.  He insisted that I wouldn't be "trapped." He said "Do whatever you want to do just be with me."

And that my friends was the beginning of my life long love affair with Bill. 

During our fifty-seven years together I can remember at least a half a dozen times I was going to leave him for someone else (thank God I didn't do that). We've had our share of battles, all verbal. Nothing physical. If there was anything physical I would have been one the first times.

During our fifty-seven years together we've lived in two apartment, purchased one townhouse in center city Philly (all so I could walk to work and the gay bars, yes I continued to go to the gay bars on the weekends). We built two houses. One in Pennsylvania near my parents where we lived for twenty-five years until the high Pennsylvania school property tax forced us to me to the more tax friendly state of Delaware fifteen years ago, where we live now and where both of us will finish out our lives.

Bill worked until he was fifty-five years old at which time he took early retirement because his company wanted to send him to Africa for a year. At that time I was making enough money at the bank to support both of us so I urged him to take early retirement (which he got a lump sum payment) and stay at home with our Pomeranian dogs. Of course the best laid plans often go awry and a few years after that I lost my job at the bank (bank mergers) but I managed to keep us afloat with other jobs. Nimble Ron here. 

We have had an extraordinary life folks. I will always be so grateful that Bill send me those drinks and persisted until I finally gave in. By the way, he told me later "I knew I would always get you!"  I told him "If I knew that was your attitude I never would have come over and thank you for those drinks." 

 

Bill and me on our wedding Day July 3, 2013

But fate has been good to me folks. Even now as Bill is fading here from the after effects of his two strokes in January (he's on home hospice care). Bill may not be the strapping endless energy driven man that he was fifty-seven years ago when I first met him on that rainy Saturday night in July, but he still loves me in spite of all the aggravation I've caused him over the years. All the drama that I've had with affairs and my jobs, and through it all Bill has stuck with me. That's true love folks. 

I never thought I truly loved Bill until one of those times I was going to leave him for Another Man ("Harold" was his name, God I'm glad I didn't do that). When I informed Bill I was leaving our home and getting an apartment for me and "Harold" (God, I'm so glad I didn't), there were no histrionics from Bill. Just after I told him, he looked to the ground then up at me and said "Please don't leave me." This was after one of our big fights again folks. Every time I was going to leave him was after a fight. 

At that moment he looked up at me from his lowered eyes and said "Please don't leave me" in his lowered voice I realized at that time I LOVE THIS MAN. What was I thinking? How could I ever LEAVE him? If I did I would spend the rest of my life wondering about what happened to him. 

Over the years Bill had become so dependent on me. For one thing I couldn't imagine him living on his own. But more important I couldn't imagine my life without him in it. 

And that my friends is where we are today. I doubt this time next year we will together to celebrate fifty-eight years together. 

Bill is getting weaker every day. He needs me to feed, bath and dress him. His eyesight is gone, he can't read or do any of his projects of things that give him pleasure. He has profound hearing loss and has to wear a hearing aid which he can't even put in his ears now, I have to do it. His cognitive abilities are slipping, which is so said. It frustrates him that he doesn't know how to control the volume on his hearing aids, the heat control on his heating pad or even how to use the remote control for the over head fan. But he knows who I am and is not in physical pain. And that's what I keep telling myself. He knows who I am and he's not in physical pain.

I lavish him with attention every day. Even though his speech is slurred and I have a hard time understanding him, I sometimes have conversation with him about The Old Days. We can't talk about our dogs (total of five Pomeranians), too sad. 

These days Bill like to sit under the awning of our back deck. He goes out for a walk once or twice a day down to the cul de sac in our development. I take him out for a daily ride.

We've had a good life folks. He still have some time life. One day this will end and I will be sad beyond my comprehension. I had a preview of that feeling when I thought I had lost him after they had air lifted him by helicopter to Thomas Jefferson University Hospital in Philadelphia for a week's stay in their ICU unit.  I thought I lost him and felt so devastated because I didn't even have a change to say "goodbye." But I've been given a reprieve. After a week's stay in Philadelphia and a two week stay in a rehab hospital, Bill has been at home with me. And now we are living the final chapter of our wonderful lives together. 

Oh how many times have I thank the Gods above that I went over to him that Saturday night fifty-seven years ago and said "Thank you for the drinks."

Bill and me this morning on our 57th Anniversary

Snow Storm Crawford Road, Visit to Bob MC and Ed Cage Home Feb 17 2003

A step back in time folks. This time seventeen years ago when Bill and I lived in Pennsylvania on 6.875 acres of wooded land on the side of a hill in East Brandywine Township, outside Downingtown, PA.

This video is in three parts. The first part is me hamming it up shoveling snow from our home in the middle of the woods. When we lived in Pennsylvania we often got the big snow storms that resulted in a ground cover of snow until early spring. This was one of them. 

The second part of the video I'm visiting my good friend (from Army days) Bob McCamley who lived on twenty-two acres of wooded land outside Georgetown Delaware. Bob was my inspiration to move to Delaware, which I did in November of 2006 and where I am now, typing this blog for posterity. It was a foggy day when I visited Bob. Sad to say, my friend Bob passed away five years ago and his double-wide home in the middle of his woods in Delaware is now being slowly engulfed by vegetation. Very sad whenever I go by his road, I can no longer see or even get into the road to his home. Sad, sad. The house is in limbo because his partner Jim is now in assisted living.  

The third part of this video is of my late friend Ed Cage's home at 206 Laurel Street in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.  Ed has also passed on and his lovely original Rehoboth Beach cottage has since been torn down and replace with one of those McMansions that are gradually changing the character of Rehoboth Beach. Ed had asked me to take photos of his recently renovated kitchen so he cold show those photos to his friends. I agreed to do so on the stipulation that I could stay at his place for the weekend, which I did.  This was where I took the opportunity to get the lay of the land because at this time I was considering eventually moving to Delaware because I could no longer keep up with the ever increasing Pennsylvania school and real estate taxes (and state income tax, wage tax, per capita tax, sales tax, and country personal property tax.)  Lots of taxes in Pennsylvania folks which I don't miss at all. Here in Delaware I have ONE tax, a school-property tax with is about one-fifth of what I was paying in Pennsylvania. 

 I miss living in Pennsylvania and our wonderful home but we (me and Bill) have a wonderful home here in Delaware, good neighbors (not so nice in PA) and others. Although ironically, the gay community here in southern Delaware hasn't been too friendly, they're more of a cliquish social club for retired Washington DC government la de dah workers and Baltimore retirees. I occasionally get their publication Letters put out by Camp Rehoboth, they all seem to be having a good time and I am happy for them but whenever I tried to interact with them I was met with disdain and a "you don't belong in our crowd" attitude. Fortunately I haven't encountered that coldness from my neighbors (straight), co-workers and others I have met and become friends with since we moved to Delaware. Maybe I'm not gay enough (the drag thing you know, they're really into perpetuating the gay stereotype of drag everything). But there I go, going off on one of my stream of consciousness rants, which I am prone to do on this, MY BLOG where I can express my true feelings. Yes, I've met a few gay friends since we moved to Delaware (Bob, Chuck to name a few) but nobody close. My best friend outside of Delaware lives in Canada. And you all know who that is.

Back to Ed's place (he never made it to the In Crowd either), when he died in 2015 his place was put up for sale for $399,000; renovated kitchen an all (I loved his kitchen).  His place sold for $633,000 and the new owners promptly TORE IT DOWN.  If you're ever in Rehoboth Beach on 206 Laurel Street (three blocks from the ocean, great location), check it out. It's a three story McMansion rental with a swimming pool.  Poor Ed would be turning over in his grave.

The video is only thirty minutes long and if you can tolerate the unevenness of my defective video camera (I dropped it once and it skipped ever since whenever I moved), it's an enjoyable video of a time past. A moment in time which we will never see again but will be memorialized forever because I posted it on this blog. Yes, that means long after I'm gone (which shouldn't be too long now, check back here in ten years), you all with have this to remember me by.

Enjoy!!

Tipton Family Genealogy 52 of 67 Pigeon Roost Tour April 29 1996

Taking a break from my usual coronavirus pandemic update posts here folks.  

What I'm posting today is an old VHS video that I took in the Spring of 1996 when I visited the mountains of western North Carolina, my father's hillbilly roots. Not much has changed since he left that Appalachia area in 1930 with his parents and eight brothers. He was ten years old at that time.

The video I'm posting is raw, no fancy intro title or ending, just my shaky, huge, should hugging video camera.  

After I left my job at the Philadelphia bank where I worked, I flew down to Atlanta Georgia to apply for a job at Sun Bank. While waiting for an answer after my job interview, I took a sideline visit to my brother John and his wife who lived (and still do) in Greenville, South Carolina. John only lived about two miles from Pigeon Roost, North Carolina, near where our father was born.

On this trip we visited a distant cousin, Horace Tipon and his wife Margie. At their house we looked at a video that was taken by Frank Tipton, whose father Adgie was Horace's brother. Frank never knew his ancestry until he came to one of my Tipton Family Reunions. He told me that his father would never talk about his family. I talked to him and found out he had a brother Horace.  I contacted some of my southern sources and found Horace lived in Micaville, North Carolina. I reunited Frank with this previously unknown branch of his family which is what the video on their TV (which Frank gave them) shows.

After visiting the Horace Tipton's we visited one of the many cemeteries in those beautiful North Carolina mountains, looking for my Tipton headstones which I recorded for my genealogy information. We also took a long ride up Pigeon Roost Rood, also known as Green Mountain. 

Since that visit twenty-four years ago, I've visited several times, the last time being in 2013.  I met my cousin Bob Tipton and his wife Marie to show him our common family roots in those North Carolina mountains. I was going to introduce him and his wife to Glenn and Wanda Renfro. Wanda was the granddaughter of my grandfather Fieldon Tipton's sister Pansy Tipton. Unfortunately that visit never took place because Glenn's son found out (probably through my blog) that I was gay.  He called me the night before the planned visit and asked me "Is it true that you practice the gay lifestyle?"  I responded "If you're asking me if I'm gay, yes I am."  He responded "Now get this bud. If you put on step in my parent's house you'll have me to deal with.  You got that?"  Well, I took that as a threat. Homophobia alive and well in those beautiful western North Carolina mountains along with blatant racism (Glenn referred to President Obama in the most offensive racist terms and of course there were no people of color who live in those mountains). The next day we (cousin Bob and his wife) did take a ride up Pigeon Roost road, the same as shown in this video but we, of course, didn't visit our cousin Wanda. Haven't been back since folks. I know when I'm not welcomed. 

This video is over an half an hour long, and probably not of much interest to most of my blog followers but I'm posting it anyway, part of my legacy in case I don't survive this pandemic and for sure after I depart this world where there is no longer any degree of hate that I experienced like I did during my last visit to this mot beautiful part of our country.

Stay safe every one!

Bill and Pat

For those of you who have wondered what the relationship between Bill and Pat is, this video that I made a short while ago should give you an insight. 

I talk to Pat almost every day on FaceTime. Four times a year Pat and I see each other in person on our trips. Our next trip is to California on February 10th, where we spend a week in West Hollywood and a week in Palm Springs. 

I met Pat in 2013 for the first time in person when he saw my image on the Internet. He found my blog and left a comment. By happenstance I just happened to be blogging at the same time and answered his comment in real time. He was surprised that I did. After a few comments back and forth I asked him if he had an Apple computer and FaceTime.  He said he did. I suggested we FaceTime. I don't know why I did because I've never suggested that before with anyone. Pat didn't know about FaceTime but he tried it. Thus began a great friendship with this wonderful man.  We eventually met in person when Pat took vacation time to travel to Delaware. 

At first Bill wasn't too happy with my close relationship with Pat. During Pat's first stay in Delaware, he stayed at a hotel. When I determined that Pat was special, the special friend I've been looking for all my life, I invited him to stay at our home the next year, which he did. Once Bill got to know Pat and realized that he wasn't a threat to our relationship, he  began to appreciate Pat for the nice guy that he is. 

This digital age is wonderful in so many ways. For one thing it vastly broadens our horizons for friendships. There are only two people though that I FaceTime with though, my longtime friend Larry (from third grade) and Pat. Occasionally Spo will FaceTime me but just to say "Hi!" I don't intend to FaceTime anybody else.  Everything now is working out quite fine as this video will attest. 

Best time of my life folks, best time.