Loneliness - Friends

My four pet chickens - good friends

Who among us isn't lonely at one time or another?  One doesn't have to be alone to be lonely.  You could have a Mother Goose house full of kids and an adoring spouse and still be lonely.  You could be the Belle of the Gay Ball in Rehoboth Beach and be lonely.  And yet, you could live alone and not be lonely.

I've also considered myself a loner.  I like to be alone.  Yet, I often feel lonely.  Sounds crazy doesn't it?  Hey, I've been trying to figure myself out for the last seventy years.

I am the oldest son in a family of five.  I have two younger brothers.  Growing up they were best friends, I kept myself aloof from them.  Probably because I knew I was "different".  By "different" I knew I was gay by the time I was four years old.  Of course I didn't know what "gay" was or even the word but back then I certainly did know I was "different."

Me and my two brothers - 1947 - check the distance I have from my brothers - body language

I grew up (from four years old to eleven years old) in a second floor apartment building in the small Pennsylvania town of Downingtown during the Eisenhower years of the Fifties.  Several of my aunts and uncles and my cousins also lived in the same apartment building.  Even though we were poor (didn't wear shoes in the summertime) I never lacked for things to do or friends.  I am the type of person who has one or two Best Friends.  I'm not really a social butterfly with tons of friends.  I specialize.

Growing up I didn't consider myself lonely.  There was my friend Chubby (who wasn't fat by the way), Eddie Rose, Lee Harris and perhaps my best friend ever (even to this day) my comic book trading buddy Larry.

When I entered high school Larry continued to be my BF until his family moved away when we were in ninth grade.  Then came my new BF, Bill B.  We were both in band.  Bill played the bass drum and I played the Sousaphone (not the tuba as most misidentify the Sousaphone).  Bill always saved a seat for me on the band bus and I him whenever our football team had an away game.  Even though we took different courses in high school (he academic and me commercial) we continued to be BF's even to today.  Both Bill and Larry are straight and married.  We're still friends but the wifey's come first and I understand that.

I joined the Army when I was 18 years old.  I immediately made a BF in basic training.  His name was Mike Tine.  I lost track of him after basic training.  We corresponded for awhile after we both left basic training but that correspondence faded away.  I still have his letters.

After basic training I went to Army Security Agency training school in Ft. Devens Massachusetts.  I almost immediately became best friends with Bob Mc.  We were BF's for the six months we were both at Ft. Devens.  When we graduated from the Army Security Agency training school we choose different allotments (assignments).  I spent the next two and a half years at Ft. George G. Meade in Maryland and Bob spent his tour of duty at Ft. Bragg, North Carolina.  Yes, he did parachute jump.  God, I'm glad I didn't go there.

Me and my old Army Buddy Bob

We continued our correspondence and friendship over the years.  In fact, a few months after I left the Army I came out as a gay man to everyone I knew and I found out that Bob was also gay!  We both had no idea each other were gay.  We continued our friendship over the years.  My friendship with Bob is the reason I now live in Delaware.  He bought a place in Delaware back in the Seventies and I used to visit him often.  I fell in love with Delaware for its mild climate, gay presence in Rehoboth and friendly taxes (they don't sock it to senior citizens like Pennsylvania does).  Unfortunately Bob has dementia and our friendship is no more.

Now to my biggest BEST FRIEND.  That would be "Bill", my lover, partner and cohort these past forty-eight years.  Bill swept me off of my feet when we first met at the Westbury Bar back in the summer of 1964 while the Supremes played on the jukebox.  Bill and I have almost nothing in common.

Bill is thirteen years old than me.  At 22 years of age to his 35 years of age, back then he was more like a father figure to me.  That worked for me because my father was not close to me.  I wasn't one of those kids that dad played ball with or even took out to the ballgame.  Are you kidding?  His usual communication with me was to mock and belittle me.  Talk about low self-esteem.  By the time I left home for the Army I could do pull-ups on a curb.

Me at 14 when self-esteem was probably the lowest 

Over the years I grew to love Bill even though we had very little in common.  Bill has always treated my like a prince.  He never restricted me with this the usual American Puritan practice of monogamy.  We both agreed that we weren't going to live out lives by someone else's insecurities.

So where was I going with this posting?  I meant to talk about loneliness but I got off the track a bit with the "friend" thing.

So here's the deal, Bill and I still don't have much in common.  He doesn't like to eat out, he doesn't like to go to the theater, in fact he doesn't like company in the house.  He just likes to be around me.  Which I will admit can be a bit smothering at times.  Our biggest problem is that he thinks I don't pay him enough attention.  He thinks I pay more attention to my friends on FaceTime and my blog.  Well, maybe I do but I'm here at the house ALL THE TIME except when I go to work.  I try to balance things out so he doesn't feel neglected.  It's not easy.

Me when I used to eat out with friends 2011

Lately I've been feeling a bit down.  I thought it was depression but now I realize my condition is probably loneliness.  I think if I had a dog or cat (which Bill doesn't want, he doesn't like cats and can't take the loss of another dog) I wouldn't be as lonely.

My one and only cat "Bobby" - 1955

I like to go out.  I like to have a circle of friends.  Not gay fuck buddies but real friends.  I'm not into sex, never really have been and especially not now at this time of my life,  just friends.  I thought when I moved to the Rehoboth Beach area, where there is a heavy concentration of older gay men and women I would find plenty of friends.  Hasn't worked out that way folks.  Maybe it's me but I don't think so.

After all my years of experience I think it is nigh well impossible to have a monogamous gay friend.  It just isn't going to happen.  Either they're too bitchy, controlling, or just horn dogs.  I hate to be so negative but it just isn't going to happen.

And of course another BIG factor is that I am an OLD GAY MAN. To use a very worn cliche, I am way past my expiration date.  Gay and seventy years old?  What am I still doing alive?  My time was up thirty years ago.  I AM THE INVISIBLE MAN.  Oh sure, I am the subject of interest by my widowed former classmates, gay or not.  But to have a friend my age?  Forget it.

So I go on with my life.  Next month I have a trip scheduled to the Holocaust Museum in Washington D.C.  I will go alone on the Old People's Bus.

I have my interests.  I like to blog, take pictures, garden, work at the hotel, walk, research genealogy, and read.  Most times this works but sometimes I do yearn to talk to someone my age, with my outlook, and my sexual orientation who isn't looking for something else besides a friendship.  I don't think that will ever happen again in my life and that is sad.  Sometimes that blanket of loneliness just falls down on me and takes everything out of me.

So there, did I make any sense?

Me at my computer today 

"Tim"

John J. Timothy "Tim"
1936 - 2010

Yesterday I wrote about Friends.  Specifically I wrote about that very unusual breed a Life Long Friend. Folks that we met early in our life who have stuck with us through thick and thin.  Folks who didn't run at the first hint of scandal or financial ruin or rejection of an amorous relationship.  Folks who like me just as I am.  True friends.

Of course I wrote that piece with the full knowledge that I may offend some of those people who I have friended later in my life.  Does that mean they're not my friends?  It certainly does not.  Of course they are my friends too but they arrived at a point in my life at a great disadvantage to them.  They didn't know me when I was young in my formative years.  The years where I made the maximum amount of mistakes in my life.  Of course I would like to think that I don't make mistakes at this point in my life, entering my eighth decade of existence on this planet.

At this time in my life it is very tough to cross the threshold of friendship to Friendship.  "Bob", the man featured in yesterday's blog passed that threshold.  Perhaps this assumption sound pompous and presumptuous on my part but it will just have to sound that way.  That's just the way I feel an I make no apologies.  "Bob" would understand.  At least I hope we would.

Then there are the other "friends" one makes along the Path of Life.  One such person photo is featured at the top of this blog.  We (Bill and I) always knew him as "Tim."  He was the driver of the American Legion Post 18 van to the Veterans Medical Facility in Wilmington, Delaware.

Veterans Administration Medical Center,
Wilmington, DE

The VAMC Lobby, Wilmington, DE

Bill and I are both veterans as was "Tim".  Tim was a volunteer driver of the American Legion van.  We always looked forward as having Tim as our driver.  Why?  I can't exactly put my finger on the reason other than both of us felt a comfort level with Tim that we didn't feel with any of the other van drivers.  Was Tim gay?  No.  Did Tim have some special attribute that drew people too him?  Not really.  But he did have that quiet confidence and niceness (I don't even know if that is a word) that one just understood that he cared.  He really did care about each and every one of us vets that he would ferry back and forth to the Wilmington VA.  As he sat in the lobby of the Wilmington VA lobby, patiently waiting for the last of his riders to finish their appointment, we had many conversations.  I never heard him once complain about having to wait for any of us, although there were times when some of us old vets would try the patience of a saint (like the time one old vet fell asleep on the fifth floor and we waited hours for him - and we didn't know where he was).

Tim patiently waiting in the lobby for his group to finish their appointments so he could take them back home to Sussex County

During those times in the lobby Tim and I would talk.  Sometimes Bill and I went up together (a real treat) but more often we went at separate times.  We always enjoyed "riding up with Tim."

During one of my conversations I found out that Tim's real name was "John Timothy."  But everyone called him "Tim."  It fit.  One the day I took this photo of Tim (and no, he didn't bitch and complain when I asked to take his photo - friends don't do that), I had the longest conversation I ever had with him.  I learned that he was married but that his wife had died some years earlier.  I also learned that he had a son who lived in Pennsylvania who was married and had children, thus Tim was a grandad.  I also learned that Tim lived by himself down near the American Legion Post.  Bill and I often discussed asking him over for dinner but never did.  Maybe our reluctance was because having him over for dinner would take him "out of context."  You understand, some friends are only friends "in context", or in other words that part of our lives that they have a function.

Little did I know that that day I talked to Tim would be the last day I would see him alive.  I knew Tim had a medical condition.  He had heart problems plus he had some kind of cancer (I forget which kind).  He told me that when he had his heart attack he went to the local hospital in Lewes.  He couldn't make the 89 mile trip to the Wilmington VA only to have it closed.  We had something in common because I also told him about my kidney stone emergency.  When my kidney stone as passed a few years ago I didn't know what was happened.  I thought I was dying.  I called the VA and they told me to go to their emergency room.  That was out of the question because I knew I wouldn't last by the time I got there.  Besides, I couldn't very well call Tim and schedule a ride.  I went to the same local hospital that Tim went to when he had his heart attack.

Tim would always bring the van around the front of the VAMC and help each one of us into the van, whether we needed it or not.  He had a little steeping stool behind the seat which he would pull out to help us step into the van. He was a pure gentleman.  

About eight months later, when I had another appointment at the VA I called Tim to reserve my seat on the van.  I left a voice mail like I always did.  Tim always would put me on the calendar at the Post to reserve my ride.  Bill and I usually stopped at the Post (like we did today, I have an appointment at the VA on Monday at the dermatology department) to make sure our names were on the calendar.

When we checked the calendar to make sure our names were on it, much to our surprise we discovered our names weren't on the calendar.  I think I asked one of the vets who was playing pool at a nearside pool table, where Tim was.  He told me "Oh, didn't you hear?"  I said "No."  He said "Tim died in September."  I immediately felt a slight pang in my heart.  "There goes another one" I thought to myself.  I've lost another friend (treasure) in my life.

I didn't realize how close I was to Tim until I learned of his death.  I felt like I lost something out of my life.  People like "Tim" are few and far in between.  Even though I only knew him for a short time, I feel privileged to have known "Tim" and I considered him my friend.  I hope he considered me the same.

Delaware Veterans Memorial Cemetery, Millsboro, DE

Bill and I visited Tim one last time a few months ago at the Delaware Memorial Veterans Cemetery outside of Millsboro, Delaware. We had a heck of a time finding his grave but we didn't give up.  We weren't going to leave until we found Tim's final resting place and paid our respects.

Bill looking for our friend Tim

We finally found it on the far side of the cemetery where the ashes of deceased veterans are placed.  We didn't realize that Tim was cremated.  He was in a box.  Somehow it didn't seem right.

I found Tim.  This is where we said our goodbyes to Tim for the last time

On that sunny Saturday morning this past fall; Bill and I said goodbye to Tim for the last time.  Maybe we'll see him again.  We certainly hope so.  Tim was our friend.  He is missed.

Life and Death

Don (in red), Al (in white) and me (in black) on the way to a Halloween party 2009

Al came home a few days ago.  He came home to die.

Al has stage 4 liver cancer.  The cancer has spread throughout his body. The radiation and chemotherapy Al has been receiving is no longer effective in controlling his cancer.  The cancer has spread throughout the rest of his body.  Now the only option left is to makeAl as comfortable and pain free as possible at this time, the end of his life.

I met Al and his partner Don a few months after Bill and I moved to Delaware in 2006.  I had heard that there was another gay couple who also built a house in this development and who were also having trouble selling their other house.  I wanted to meet them and share our situation, perhaps it would make us feel a little better about the dilemma were were in.

I watched their house for the next several weeks and one day when I saw their car parked out in front I knocked on their door and introduced myself.  Yes, they were also having trouble selling their home.  They lived in New Jersey.  We commiserated.

Soon the four of us developed a friendship.  Bill and I had Al and Don over to the house a few times for dinner and they had me over to their house.  I think Bill went once but Bill usually doesn't like to go to other people's houses for dinner.

In the next year I frequently accompanied Al and Don to local restaurants and a few shopping trips.  However, one summer two years ago we had a falling out.  I won't go into the details here, it's not important.  What I will say was that even though we are both gay (Al and Don and me and Bill), we really didn't have anything in common and were beginning to grate on each other's nerves.  We let the friendship (what there was of it) wither away on the vine.  Sometimes that happens with friendships, gay or straight.  It has nothing to do with sexual orientation.

In the two years since that time Bill and I would see Al drive through the neighborhood.  Don was always working.  Al stayed at home all the time, he was on disability.  Al is only six months older than me.

Al with he Pekinese "Lucy" 2009

About two months ago, all activity ceased over at Don and Al's (we can see their garage door from our dining room).  We assumed that Al's health had gotten worse and he was in the hospital.  As it turned out, we were right.

Last week one of our neighbors informed us that she heard that Al had stage four liver cancer.  That is a terminal illness.  Then last week we saw several vehicles parked outside their garage.  There was a lot of activity.  It was obvious that Al had come home to die.  I assume one of the vehicles was the hospice care worker.

Bill made a suggestion that perhaps we should go over to see them.  I wasn't sure.  After all, we hadn't spoken for two years.  What would we say?  Wouldn't it be awkward?  Wouldn't be be interfering?  Would we be perceived as vultures?

We decided not to see Al.  I don't know what good it would do.  One friend of mine did suggest we see them just to "close the door."  I honestly don't know. I've never been in a situation like this before.

Every day Bill and I look out our dining room window over at Al and Don's to see the activity.  It is ironic that we're looking out our dining room window because Don got on my case once that I never use the dining room when they came over for dinner.  I still haven't served a meal in my dining room.

I feel bad for Al and Don.  A slow death is not something I would wish on anyone.  And it is certainly not the kind of death that I want to go through.  I've experienced too much of this already because it is the way my Mother went last September.  It is an ugly, demeaning, painful, and uncomfortable death.

We're on a Death Watch now.  I'll remember those good times we had in the past.  Sad times here.

Al at the Purple Parrot with Richard the Waiter (Al loved to flirt with the waiters at the Parrot) - 2009

Reunion With Old Friends

My surprise birthday party November 9, 1979

Tonight I had dinner with two old friends I haven't seen in over twenty years.  Actually I think it's been almost thirty years.  Hard to believe but I think the last time I saw them was at my 38th birthday party in 1979 at my friend Big Bob's single wide on his twenty-two wooded acres outside of Georgetown.

Pictured above is me cutting my birthday cake at my surprise birthday party (and it really was a surprise, my first and last.)  My friend Howard is the red headed (and bearded) guy to my immediate right.  Pictured above is Howard today.

Tommy, Howard and me - 32 year reunion!

I was so happy to see my friends after all these years.  We had so many good times back in our happy and carefree days of the Seventies (which were our best years!)  

I have to admit that I didn't recognize my friend Howard.  It wasn't until he spoke that I recognize his unique Sussex County accent which is like none other in this country.  It is a mixture of southern drawl and I don't know what else but it is unique.  Howard may have changed physically but his personality hasn't changed one iota.  He is still a very upbeat and happy guy, just the kind of person I like as a friend.

I looked for an earlier picture of my friend Tommy from that same Seventies period but apparently I haven't scanned them on my computer yet.  One of the few pictures that I haven't scanned.  Well, take my word for it I recognized my friend Tommy right away.  About the only thing that changed with Tommy is that his full head of hair is now white and cut short.  Other than that he still has that same sparkle in his eyes even though he is 81 years old now!

Bob, Jim and me 1980

My friends Bob, Jim and Bart tonight at Zorba's

However, for the past thirty years I have been in contact with my friends Bob, Jim and Bart.  I've seen them age gradually over the years (as I have.)

While I enjoyed our reunion tonight one thing is for sure, this will be the last thirty year reunion!  We're all just a bunch of Old Geezers now.  How did that happen?

Old Geezer's Club 2011 

Early Morning on the Boardwalk

Lifeguard stand early this morning at Rehoboth Beach, DE

This morning I took an early run  (5:30 am) down Rt. 1 to Rehoboth Beach to deliver a birthday present to my friend Wayne (aka "The Cajun.")  I can't keep up with his work schedule (he is a host at a very popular restaurant on the main drag in Rehoboth Beach) so the only way I could give him his present today and avoid the Friday tourist crowd (aka "The Horde") was to drop his present on his doorstep real early in the morning.

While I was in downtown Rehoboth Beach I decided to take advantage of being in this very popular east coast beach town and take a walk on the boardwalk.  One big advantage of arriving early in the morning in Rehoboth Beach is that there is very little traffic and you don't have to feed the meters until 10 am.  Another big advantage of going to Rehoboth this early in the morning is that I had a straight shot down Rt. 1 to Rehoboth Beach, which is six miles from where I live north on the east side of 1 near the Broadkill River.  In fact, I made all the red lights on my cruise down Rt. 1 into Rehoboth this morning.  I can't remember the last time I did that, if ever.

After I dropped off Wayne's birthday gift on his doorstep, I headed for the beach.  On my way to the beach  the thought crossed my mine  that he might step out of his doorway and step on the present I left and lose his balance and go tumbling down his stairs.  He is a bit clumsy around stairs.  Oh well, it is in fate's hands now.

I drove my car off of Wayne's little side street and onto Rehoboth Avenue down to the bandstand.  I decided to park on the road which is Wilmington Avenue.  As I get out of my car and look towards the boardwalk, I see a few hardy souls out for their morning walk.  The sea breeze gently wafting in from the ocean was still somewhat cool.  The humidity hadn't arrived yet.  Stepping on the boardwalk I see the morning sun just beginning to rise over the Atlantic Ocean.  I get out my Canon Powershot A560 camera and take a few iconic pictures for this blog.  I love taking pictures, especially of sunrises and sunsets.  As all dedicated photographers know the early morning and late afternoon light is the best time to capture those heavenly colors of nature.  Pictures taken at high noon don't make it, they always look washed out.

View of Rehoboth Beach from the Boardwalk this morning before the sun was up

After taking a few pictures I start my Morning Walk on the boardwalk.  I was taught this about five years ago by a friend who always took a brisk morning walk on the boardwalk to stay in shape.  He is the same age as I am and is in great shape.  I want to stay in great shape too.  I am in great shape if I don't mind saying so (bragging here.)  I find that walking is the absolute best exercise.

I see people jogging. I can't see all that banging on my joints.  That must take a toll after a while.  In fact, I knew several people who used to jog but quit after they had to have knee replacements.  I'm having enough replaced as it is (teeth.)  I don't need to put any more stress on this one body I have because I want to make it last for a long time.  Besides, these people who jog don't look like they are enjoying themselves.  They look like they're in pain.  And who needs all that sweat.  I sweat enough as it is.

Almost empty boardwalk this morning with two lone joggers

After traversing the length of the boardwalk, I did something I rarely do.  I walked down on the beach.  Yes, I put my Nike sneakers in sand.  I walked right to the shoreline.  There were a few people on the beach.  The usual guy who is operating his metal detector.  Some early couples sitting in the life guard chairs, taking advantage of that high vantage point before the lifeguards arrived for duty.  And the seagulls.  Plenty of seagulls looking for a handout.  I would have brought something with me to feed them but I think it is against the law.  Rehoboth Beach has a LOT of rules and restrictions.  I don't want to run afoul of any of them.  I am a good citizen.

Squatters at the lifeguard station early this morning waiting to greet the sun

I took a few more pictures of the sunrise on the beach then I headed back to my car.  It was starting to get hot and humid.  The sea breeze wasn't helping now that the sun had risen over the horizon.

Me at Rehoboth Beach this morning at sunrise

Time to head back home.  But not before stopping in the Giant supermarket and picking up some fresh, local produce and ice cream sandwiches.  I hear it's going to be another scorcher today.

Fresh produce at Giant this morning

Dinner at Paul and Jack's Place

Bill and I took the long ride down to Ocean City, Maryland this afternoon for dinner with our friend Paul and Jack. This is the first time I’ve driven to Ocean City since we moved here almost three years ago. It was an experience. First we ran into the heavy rush hour traffic in Rehoboth Beach. Then as we entered Dewey Beach, the skies opened with a heavy shower. We had to pull off the road for about 20 minutes for the cats and dogs to stop falling.

Then we were on our way again driving down the narrow strip of land that connects the southern most part of Delaware from Ocean City, Maryland. We drove through sunshine, another shower, sun again and again another shower. It was like we were being tested. Finally we saw the high rises lining the ocean beach that are unique to Ocean City, Maryland. Paul and Jack’s condo was just off 120th Street.

Even though I missed the first turn, we still arrived on time (5 o’clock) and were greeted warmly by Paul and Jack at the door. After a tour of the premises we settled down to an evening of camaraderie and friendship. This was not a “Boys in the Band” get together of gay friends. The times have changed. No hurtful displays of self hate and deadly zingers in this get together of gay friends.

We sat down to a delicious dinner of mustard and wine chicken recipe and wild rice with a side of asparagus. Paul, Jack and I washed it down with Zinfandel wine. Bill drank water. For dessert we had Key Lime Pie made especially by the Notting Hill Coffee Shop in Lewes, Delaware. I picked up the pie in the morning in Lewes in a very crowded coffee shop. It was worth the extra effort because the pie was delicious even thou it fell apart when cut. I was warned to keep the pie in the freezer until 20 minutes before serving. We didn’t do that but no matter. The pie was delicious anyway even if it was a pudding pool in the middle of our dessert plates.

After we thanked Paul and Jack for a wonderful evening together with friends, Bill and I got on good old Route 1 and headed north to home. All in all, we had a delightful evening with friends. Thank you Paul and Jack for your hospitality.

Making Friends

One of my few disappointments in living in this area of Delaware is the lack of making new gay friends. The Rehoboth Beach/Lewes/Milton area of southern Delaware is supposed to be the gay capital of the East Coast. We are located almost right in the center radius of the Philadelphia/Balitmore/Washington D.C. geographical map. We are a beach resort community without the cold waters and large pebbles of the Provinctown, Massachusetts beaches. Delaware also doesn't have the high taxes of Massachusetts for the brutally cold winters. Thus, one would think that living in this so called "Gay Capital of the East Coast" would be a melting pot of meeting new gay friends. Alas, that is not the case. At least with me, it has not happened. I have made a few gay friends (I can count them on one hand), but after living here almost three years I've just about given up on making any new gay friends.

Ironically, I have made many new friends. Except for that handful of gay friends (Wayne, Paul, Jack, Doug and Bob), all of my new friends are straight. Not that I am complaining. My new straight friends are about the nicest people I have ever met. Some are my neighbors and others are the folks I work with. I have made many new friends from service areas such as our regular restaurant (Zorba's) and our regular grocery stores (Food Lion and Wal-Mart.) Bill and I also keep The Home Depot and Lowe's in business. We've been at those stores so often that the store clerks treat us as old friends. Yesterday (and today) both Bill and I will visit our other favorite service place, The Garage (we both have old vehicles that need servicing.)

Maybe I was being a bit naive when I expected to be greeted with hugs and kisses from my gay brothers and sisters when I moved down here permanently in November of 2006. Actually, I think I was being very naive. Part of the difficulty is that I'm not of the Washington D.C. crowd which seems to comprise most of the gay cliques. From my vantage point (on the outside looking in), this is a crowd of gay folks who have very generous pensions and can afford to frequent the expensive restaurants that I cannot afford. Also, most of these folks seem to already know one another from their previous lives and as I found out many years ago, most gay men (gay women I don't know that much about other than they really stick together and have very little to do with gay guys) stay with their own group of friends. The only exceptions they seem to make is if they are cruising for a sexual encounter and that activity is definitely not on my radar at this time of my life.

So I'm thinking "Is my life less rewarding now that I haven't made many gay friends?" The answer of course is "No." My life is very rewarding. I have a beautiful home and wonderful neighbors. I work at an absolutely lovely hotel with the best co-workers I've ever worked with in my life (and that is no exaggeration.) My boss is a wonderful man even though he's young enough to be my grandson. The owner of the hotel is a generous and delightful man whose only "fault" (if it can be deemed as such) is that he demands perfection from his employees.

The few encounters I have had with meeting new gay people usually starts with the same question "What do you do?" This question hasn't changed since my days of bar hopping back when I was much younger. The"What do you do?" question is invariably followed by "Who do you know?" question. This question apparently is to determine if one fits into the pecking order of the local gay social order. If you don't know anybody, you might as well call for the check and go home because no one is interested in making friends with you. This phenomena isn't unique to the local gay scene, I ran into it when I used to vacation in Provincetown, Massachusetts by myself for many years. I was one of the rare gay men who went on vacation by myself and (with a few notable exceptions) stayed by myself during the entire vacation. I gave up a long time ago trying to break that invisible self protective wall that the gay cliques surround themselves with.

The reason I'm writing about this subject his morning is as a response to an Facebook message I received from two new friends that I have made through my blog. They said they would be delighted to have breakfast with me at my favorite restaurant if they lived closer. Mike and Glenn live in West Hollywood, California so the chances of that happening are close to nil in my lifetime. But it did make me wonder, why hasn't that offer been made to me from any of the local gay Mafia? I do not have the answer to that question.

At one time I thought maybe it was me. Maybe I wasn't attractive enough or maybe I didn't make enough money to qualify. Hey, maybe I wasn't smart enough of (this is one requirement I will never meet) I wasn't "gay" enough. By "gay enough" I mean an stereotypical mincing, bitchy, drag loving queen. That I am not. I'm just a regular, masculine guy who lives a typical suburban lifestyle. Granted, I'm not into show tunes but I do like Bette Davis and Joan Crawford.

Yes, it will always mystify me why I haven't made more gay friends but I will treasure those few gays friends I have made and my many straight friends. As I have often said, "I have a lot of straight friends, not that there is anything wrong with that." And as for Mike and Glenn of California; I hope someday that we can make that breakfast date. That would be something that I would really enjoy.

No Pictures!

One more day of work at the hotel and I can go back to my regular schedule, working Monday nights and off the rest of the week. Today will mark the sixth day in a row of work at the hotel. I love my job but I am just about wiped out. I am looking forward to some time off to recuperate.

Hold on! I just heard the door bell ring. It's my friend Jay of "Ed and Jay" fame who have requested that I do not publish their picture on my blog. I have granted their request. Frankly, I don't understand what their problem is with their picture on my blog because I don't post their full names. The only thing I can assume is that they do not want to be associated with me publicly because I identify myself as gay on my blog. Whatever, I will comply with their request. It's not the first time I had this request. Another longtime friend from high school does not want any pictures of us taken together while dining. The last time I visited him we were having lunch at the Chicago Bar and Grille in Lionville, PA. As is my usual routine I asked the waitress to take a picture of us. My friend said "No pictures!" Okay. Not a big deal. I only have the pictures taken because I like to collect pictures of my dining out experiences with friends and co-workers. I've been doing this for years, over fifty years to be precise.

My friend, lover and life partner Bill doesn't like to have his picture taken either. Most of the pictures I take of him he has his hand in front of his face. I think the reason Bill doesn't like his picture taken is that he isn't comfortable with his 80 year old face. Hey, I'm getting older too. At 67 years (and counting) I no longer have that boyish look either. The way I look at the situation is "it is what it is." What am I hiding from? Myself? The world? But that's just my take on having my picture taken. I'm one for recording history. Since I'm a big genealogy aficionado, I'm assuming someone in the future will find these thousands of pictures that I have accumulated over the past 50 plus years of interest. That's my view.

I have another friend who recently ended a long term relationship. His decision was to toss out all the pictures of his former relationship. That's something I don't understand but that is his choice. He obviously considered that his pictures were for him only and since he was no longer in that relationship then he had no more use for those pictures. Sort of like erasing history of those who have fallen in disfavor much as the Russians did when rewriting their history books when Stalin or some other former dictator fell out of favor. It is called rewriting history. But then, that's the choices that some people make. More power to them. For me, I put it all out there; the good, bad and ugly. God, if I got rid of all the pictures of people and places that are no longer part of my life, then I would have very little left of a history of my life.

Recently a friend and reader of this blog has been sending me pictures of where he lives and older black and white pictures of his childhood. I find those pictures fascinating, especially the older black and white pictures. While he didn't have the ideal childhood, he obviously treasures his early photos because they do bring back memories of part of his life that he found some enjoyment despite the not so good times.

That's the way I look at taking pictures, it is a pictorial chronicle of my ongoing life. While I will respect the wishes of those friends of mine who do not want their pictures taken with me, I'm also disappointed in their selfishness and self-involvement. Where do I get these friends? Are they a bunch of closeted, self-hating gays who are in the closet and don't want to be exposed? Are they a bunch of old men who don't want the world to see how old they are now? I have to admit I don't get it but I'm glad I don't feel that way. Take a look at the picture on this blog. It was taken about a week ago outside my garage and I had finished some heavy duty yard work. I've looked better but hey, it is what it is.

Forty Five Years and Counting

Today is the 45th anniversary of when I met my life partner, Bill Kelly, my life partner.
I met Bill at the Westbury Bar at the corner of 15th and Spruce Streets in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania on a Friday evening, July 3rd, 1964. At the time I lived in Coatesville, Pennsylvania, 45 miles west of Philadelphia and Bill lived in Pennsauken, New Jersey, 7 ½ miles east of Philadelphia. The Westbury Bar in Philadelphia was a centrally located gay bar in the area where gay men from the tri state area could meet and socialize.

The night of July 3rd wasn’t the first time I saw my future life partner. Approximately two months before I was at the Westbury Bar with my two good friends Ron and Ed. I was in the Army with Ron and I had known Ed from my high school days in Downingtown, PA. Visiting the Westbury Bar on the weekends was our treat. On a weekend night which I don’t remember the exact date, Bill sent a complimentary drink over to me via the bartender Jerry. Jerry placed a drink in front of me and pointed to a black haired older gentleman (“older” being 35 years to my 22 years) across the bar. I look across the bar and see the smiling face of the very popular man who I had seen in the bar before and who I wasn’t particularly attracted to because:

1) He wasn’t my “type.” My “type” being someone more my own age and not quite as popular as Bill was with the local bar patrons.

2) I didn’t want to be another notch of the bedpost of the local lothario as Bill appeared to be in this bar.

I nodded to Bill across the bar to acknowledge that I received the drink he sent but did nothing else. On subsequent visits to the Westbury over the following two months, Bill often sent drinks over my way and I didn’t take the bait. In fact, my friends Ed, Ron and I used to joke about Bill’s pathetic attempt to pick me up with a few drinks. And yet, Bill persisted in sending drinks over to me whenever he saw me in the bar.

On a Friday night a few months later, July 3rd, 1964, I was in the bar by myself. Again, Bill saw me (I always stood at the same corner of the bar, Bill usually was with his many friends next to the Skeet ball machine) and had Jerry the bartender send another drink my way, compliments of him. Ironically, I was more attracted to Jerry the bartender than I was to Bill but that is another story for another blog posting.

This night when Jerry placed the gin and tonic in front of me and, with a smile, indicated that my secret admirer Bill had sent the drink I decided to thank Bill in person. I had lost count of the drinks he had sent to me but at least I could thank him. If nothing else, I am polite. My Great Aunt Grace taught me many years ago to always say “Thank You” when someone showed me a kindness. Plus, I also felt a little guilty about making fun of Bill with my friends when he had sent me drinks over on my previous visits to the Westbury Bar. By no accounts did I have any plans on going any further with Bill. I certainly did not intend to get picked up by him.

So I left my comfortable corner of the bar and walk around to where Bill is standing by himself at the other side of the bar and, approaching him, I said “Thank you for the drinks.” I don't remember exactly what Bill said but seeing him up close and hearing him talk (a nice, deep, masculine voice) I discovered he was not who I thought he was from seeing him across the bar with all his friends yucking it up and having a good time. This was a nice guy! He wasn’t the stereotypical, shallow, gay accented guy or the arrogant, heavy pressure dirty old man type predator type who usually frequented gay bars of the Sixties. Bill was a nice guy who I felt comfortable with immediately. Instead of just thanking him for the drinks he had sent over the past few months and returning to my perch on the corner of the bar, I found myself enjoying a conversation with this pleasant man.

I don’t remember how long we talked but when it came time to leave Bill asked me if I would like to go back to his place in New Jersey. I told him that I didn’t have a way back home because I took the bus down to Philadelphia from Coatesville (I was staying at the YMCA – yes – this was prior to the Village People and “The YMCA” - I was a naïve back then as I am now unfortunately.) Bill offered to take me back to my apartment back in Coatesville in time for me to go back to work. I took him up on his offer and left the Westbury Bar with him to go to his car and spend the night at his apartment in New Jersey. We had a lot to talk about and the bar was closing.

After that first weekend (Bill returned me to my apartment on Sunday), we spent every weekend together. Bill would pick me up at my apartment in Coatesville, PA and drive me to his apartment in Pennsauken, NJ and we would spend the weekend together. We would go on trips, sometimes we would just go to the local farmer’s market. I liked to cook so I would experiment with different recipes with Bill. Eventually I invited my friends Ron and Ed over to meet Bill and we had many dinners together.

Towards the end of the year I decided that I wanted to work and live in Philadelphia (my friend Ron worked at a major bank in Philadelphia and they had an opening in his department.) Bill asked me to move in with him. I turned him down. While I enjoyed his company, I was only 22 years old and I knew I had a lot of wild oats to sow. I didn’t want to be tied down. Bill assured me that if I moved in with him he wouldn’t “tie me down.” I took Bill at his word and, after I got a job at the bank in Philadelphia, I moved in with Bill in February of 1965. We’ve been living together ever since.

Of course our story doesn’t end here but this is how it started, 45 years ago today. I am one very lucky guy to have met Bill. There isn’t a day that doesn’t go by that I realize how just how fortunate I am. While the road hasn’t always been smooth over the years, I do know that I met my soul mate that summer July night in 1964. Our one wish before we leave our existence on this earth is to make our partnership equal in the eyes of the law of this country. We want to get married. Happy anniversary Bill. I love you.

A Day at the Beach

Today I decided to visit the beach in Rehoboth Beach. I live so close but rarely go to the beach. One of the reasons is that I am susceptible to a precancerous skin condition so I don't lie on the beach anymore seeking that sexy, healthy tan. But I do love breathing in the sea air and walking the boardwalk on a beautiful summer day like today.


On my way in I took along some of my neighbor's backyard vegetable bounty to deliver to a friend who has a place in Rehoboth Beach. This is a friend that I had dinner with last night. When I arrived, I noticed that he was edgy. Something was on his mind. It didn't take too long to find out when I asked to take a picture of him and his friend. He was angry and demanded "Why do you have a blog? Why do you do it?" I could see he was very agitated. What was his problem? I soon found out. His picture was on my blog. Now why is this a problem? He said he thought my blog was only read by a few of our friends, he didn't know the world had access to reading my blog. My friend isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. I explained to him that anyone could read the blog. Then he demanded again "Why do you write it?!" This took me back a bit but I responded that I write about my life. He quickly got to his source of agitation; he didn't want me putting his picture on my blog. His friend also stated the same request. I told them that wasn't a problem. I would not put pictures of them on any of my future blog postings.


I left this rather uncomfortable encounter with my friend to take a walk on the boardwalk in Rehoboth Beach. Today was a perfect summer day for the beach. A gentle breeze flowed in from the ocean. Hundreds of colorful umbrellas dotted the beach. The sounds of the sea gulls blended in with the gentle rush of the waves and the distant voices of the families sunning themselves on the beach completed the picture of summertime fun at the beach. While walking I found that I was still bothered by my friend's request. Why would it bother them that their pictures appeared on my blog? Then it hit me. It bothered them for the same reason as it bothers many of the gay men and women who travel from Washington D. C. to Rehoboth Beach and have their pictures appear on the Internet website of the local gay publication "Letters." They don't want their pictures on the website for the world to see. Someone might think they're gay. They might have to come out of the closet. As side note, I think it's ironic that many of the same people who don't want the world to know their gay are usually the gayest acting and their family, friends and co-workers already know they're gay. No one would be surprised by the revelation that they are gay. It is old news.

Yes friends, that's probably why my friends don't want their picture on my blog. I identify myself as gay and they don't want that association. Personally I am against outing anybody; gay, straight or bisexual. However, those gays who continue to stay in the closet are the gays who permit the oppression of gay men and women to continue. That's why I decided to come out in 1963, way before it was fashionable to come out. I've paid a heavy price for coming out. In fact, just tonight my partner told me a friend of his will not continue his close friendship with him as long as he "continues to live with the devil." That would be me. I am the "devil" he refers to. Why? Because I do not apologize for being gay and I am not ashamed of being gay. I never have been ashamed of being gay, unlike many of my gay friends many of whom are still in the closet. The simple fact is they don't have the moral courage to come out and be who they are. They would rather have their oppressors define them. That's more convenient for them. They are embarrassed and ashamed of being gay.

I'm not one of those gays who are in your face with "I'm queer, I'm here, get used to it." But, by the same token I don't hide my sexual identity. either. I don't make excuses, I don't substitute she for he when talking about events in my life. In a way I feel sorry for my friends who have permitted their oppressors to define their lives. Ironically, some of my friends who are deepest in the closet are the most sexually active even in their advanced years. The word that comes to mind is hypocrite. I think it is ironic on the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots that was the beginning to tossing the yoke of oppression off of gays, there are still self-hating gays who permit that yoke to stay on their necks.


This week we had one of the prominent family values politicians, Governor Mark Sanford of South Carolina come out and admit that he couldn't keep his pants zipper up. Sanford, one of the first and most vocal critics of former President Bill Clinton's morality, fessed up to being unfaithful to his wife and children by his affair with an Argentine woman named "Maria." The word that comes to mind is hypocrite. Sanford is just one of many politicians, of both parties, who have been exposed as hypocrites. Sanford is a straight political hypocrite. Then there are gay hypocrites. They are comfortable in the closet and don't want to be exposed to the sunlight of honesty because they don't have the courage to face that life. Harsh words from me but that is the way I see it. Unfortunately I know too many of these people. Most of them are very nice, respectable people but they are scared to death of the truth. They will go to their grave never saying the words "I am gay" to a straight person. Those words may cross their lips while on the prowl for a sexual conquest but never in another context. These are the type of people who would permit a "fag" joke to go unchallenged in their presence. Early in my life I used to let the "fag" jokes go unchallenged until one day I had enough and after the joke was told I said "I'm gay and I don't see the humor in your offensive joke." I still remember the look on that individual's face when he heard what I said. He literally was speechless. As the Master Card commercial says, "Priceless."

I may be many things but one thing I am not is a hypocrite. I'll honor my friend's request and not put their pictures in any of my future blog postings. But one thing I want to let those friends know is that my blog postings are about my life. That is my honesty. If they are ashamed of their association with me because I have the word "gay" in my personal description on my blog, well then maybe they should stop being hypocrites and reevaluate their friendship with me.

Saturday Night Dinner With Friends

The past two weeks I've been a hankering for either a char grilled hamburger or Eggplant Parmesan. Since Bill (my partner) doesn't like to eat out, I have to persuade some of my very small (and select) circle of friends to go out with me. I've tried eating by myself (and have done it many times) but it's not the same as enjoying a night out with friends dining.

Tonight I got lucky. My longtime friend Ed (since high school ) came down from his home in Pennsylvania to spend the weekend with another friend at his place in Rehoboth Beach. They usually go out to eat on Saturday night. I invited myself along. One has to be aggressive in these matters sometimes.

We had a very pleasant night at a local restaurant in Rehoboth Beach (Zorba's) that welcomes the gay crowd but is open to all. That the restaurant is "open to all" I found out quickly when, while waiting for my friends outside Zorba's, I watched as two dads unloaded three kids and a two month old in a bassinet into Zorba's. Thus, dinner was guaranteed to be punctuated by a crying and screaming two month old baby. When my friends arrived I suggested that we go elsewhere because I did not care to pay money to dine next to a squalling baby. My friend Ed told me to "relax and go with the flow." Oh yes. I took his advice. It didn't take long until after we were seated that the baby starting to cry. I have to give the dad credit though, he did quiet the infant down which is more than I can say for other parents who usually let the little darlings squirm, scream and generally make the dining experience very unpleasant for the other diners in the restaurant. My friend was right, it wasn't too painful. Still, I would prefer to eat in a restaurant and not a day care center.

While I was waiting for my friends to arrive another man got out of his car and strolled by me and gave a knowing "Hi." Uh oh. I'm being cruised. Strange straight men don't say "Hi" to me. It just doesn't happen. As charming and good-looking as I am (at least I think so), straight men look right through me like I'm invisible. Only a gay man would attempt to start something with this 67 year old geezer. After observing the two dads and the kids and the bassinet baby, I wasn't in the cruising mood. In fact, I'm never in the cruising mood these days. Just not interested. Thus, it wasn't too much of a surprise when my fried Ed told me a "friend" of his would be joining us and pointed to the guy in the armless T-shirt. I said "Oh him. He was just cruising me." Oh for the days of yore when I was all sexed up and went in for something like that. Those days are long behind me. No complaints and no regrets from this one.

The four of us went in, were seated, and were given a board with the specials. My friend Ed saw the calves liver and ordered that. I ordered the Eggplant Parmesan and was not disappointed. I got my eggplant fix. I should be good for at least a month now. Monday night I get my char grilled hamburger fix when I dine at the Purple Parrot in Rehoboth Beach with my friend Harvey.

We had a very pleasant dinner. We engaged in some gentle teasing of Ed of the times when he had a breathalyzer device installed on the steering wheel column of his car due to a DUI. Poor Ed, he had to blow into that device every time he wanted to start his car. Many times he couldn't get it started because he was too nervous. If it didn't work then he had to wait a period of time before he could try it again. He told us of the time he spent the afternoon in a mall parking lot because he couldn't get his car started. The parking lot security guard came by and pointed out to him that he was spending a lot of time in the parking lot. Oh the good times. I don't know if the authorities use such draconian measures now to deter drinking and driving but it sure did work with Ed. He doesn't drink and drive at all now.

We stayed so long at our table that the waitress came by and suggested that she was going to have to charge us rent for using that space. Oops. We overstayed out welcome. Not a problem. We left a big tip and ventured out into the early Saturday night with the sun still shining at 8 pm. Oh how I love these long summer days with friends. It took a lot of years to get to this point in my life that I could enjoy a summer Saturday night out with friends. Who knew a bunch of old guys could have so much fun just talking?