How To Stay Young

Swallowtail butterfly in my backyard last summer - I await her return!

A friend sent this to me a few days ago.  So true!

HOW  TO STAY YOUNG

1..  Try everything twice. On one woman's tombstone she said she  wanted this epitaph:"Tried everything twice. Loved it both  times!"

 2.  Keep only cheerful friends.The grouches pull you down.
(Keep  this in mind if you are one of those  grouches!)

 3.  Keep learning: Learn  more about the computer, crafts, gardening,  whatever... Never  let the brain get idle. 'An  idle mind is the devil's workshop.' And the devil's name is  Alzheimer's!

4.  Enjoy the simple things.

5.  Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh  until you gasp for breath.And  if you have a friend who makes you laugh,spend lots and lots of  time with HIM/HER.

6..  The tears happen: Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person  who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. LIVE while you are  alive.

7.  Surround yourself with what you love: whether  it's family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, hobbies,  whatever...Your home is your refuge.

8.  Cherish your health:
If it is good, preserve  it. If  it is unstable, improve it. If  it is beyond what you can improve, get  help.

9.  Don't take guilt trips... Take  a trip to the mall, to the next  county, even  to a foreign country, but NOT to where the guilt  is.

10.  Tell the people you love that you love them, at every  opportunity. 

I  love you, my special friend!

Remember!  Lost time can never be found.

Be  kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some  kind of battle.

"Chicken Man" Rehoboth Beach last summer - enjoy life NOW!

Returning to the Scene of the Crime

Me - bar scene - Philadelphia - 1980

Here I am, sitting at my computer at 9:40 pm this Saturday night.  Back "in the day" when I lived in center city Philadelphia (1969 to 1980) I would be getting ready to hit the bars.  Those days are long gone (thankfully).  I remember the last time I was in a bar (gay).  It was my birthday, November 9th, 1979.  I was still hanging around the bar (no birthday luck that night) at 1:55 am which the bartender flashed the lights on and off and hollered "LAST CALL!"  Hey folks, if you were a regular bar goer like I was in my flaming wasted youth, if you were still in the bar when those lights flashed on and "LAST CALL" rang out, you.were.a.LOSER.  That's when I took stock of myself and said "Self, what are you doing here?"

Me, "slightly" inebriated - on Halloween night 1980 - double exposure (I'm also on the bottom right)

Yes folks, that was the night I decided never again to spend my Saturday nights trolling the gay bars. Oh sure, I had my regular coterie of buddies.  And every now and then I would score (Bill and I had and have an open relationship - get over it) but mostly going "out to the bars" was part of my social life.  But at 38 years old I knew my time was up.  No regrets, no "I'm too old" stuff.  I was just tired of the whole scene, ready to move on to something else. 

Me, always popular with "the ladies" - 1980

That's when I decided to move from center city Philadelphia to the country, our 6.875 wooded paradise four miles outside of Downingtown Pennsylvania.  It took us about a year to sell our house in Philadelphia and move "to the country."  We lived in the country for 26 years until the time came again to make the move which is when I decided to move to Delaware, which is another whole story actually worthy of a book or a small novella but not one blog entry.

Our former home in Pennsylania

So what's my point tonight?  Well, I've decided to celebrate my 72nd birthday by spending the weekend in Philadelphia, PA.  I've already made my reservations at The Latham Hotel on 17th Street.  Oh how many times have I passed that hotel and always wanted to stay there.  Now I'm doing it, albeit with a 15% senior citizen discount (why not?)

The Latham Hotel, Philadelphia, PA

I did some checking around (on the Internet) and found that one of my hangouts, the Bike Stop, is still open so I'll drop in.  God, I remember when I was a youngster and I used to see old gay guys come in the bar and I thought "hope that's never me!"  Well folks, it's going to be me on my birthday weekend but I won't be trolling for a one night stand, that's for sure.  Just not interested.  However it will be nice to see old friends (if they're alive) again.

My old friend Ron Lord, owner of The Bike Stop

Dr. Spo will be in town that weekend.  Hopefully we can meet up and I can show him around some of my old haunts.  Maybe not.  However, I am looking forward to returning to the scene of the crime.  Should be interesting.

How To Stay Young

This morning while I was out shopping (in a snowstorm yet) for the final touches to the Bloggerpalooza, Bill said to me "What?  Are you in your second childhood?"  A valid question since I entered my eight decade of existence on this earth.  Born in 1941, a month before Pearl Harbor, I am now of the older generation.  But you know what folks?  I don't feel that way. Oh sure, when I get up on the morning I ache all over.  "Arthur Ritis" is a permanent guest in my house.  

Hi, my name is "Ron" and I'm an Oldie Goldie

My body may be aging, I may be more forgetful these days with more and more of my brain cells dying off but I have never lost the zest for life.  

Smiling, even in the dentist's chair!

I still love music, from the Fifties through the Sixties to the Seventies (perhaps my favorite decade) and even the Eighties.  Hey, there is even music today (Adele) that I love.  And I love glitter.  Oh boy do I ever LOVE glitter.

I've never lost my sense of humor or my fondness for teasing.  Thank God I haven't turned into one of those curmudgeons like so many men of my age.  Have you seen some of those guys?  They look like constipated bullfrogs.  

Add caption

So there I was this morning at Michael's, buying tiaras for the Bloggerpalooza (I heard there were some queens attending) and Bill says "You must be in your second childhood."  No folks, I never grew out of my original childhood.  And I hope I never do.

Some lucky person at the Bloggerpalooza will get this hat at a drawing at the Bloggerpalooza

"The Older Gentleman"

Me with an "Older Gentleman" in a Toccoa, Georgia antique store last summer

Yesterday my boss called me with a question about a guest's reservation.  He said the guest said she made her reservation with "the older gentleman."  Um.....I think that would be be since the other front desk clerks are two women (Lisa and Monica) and Robert, who is 28 years old.  I...AM...THE...OLDER...GENTLEMAN.

Me (on the right in the green) with the other "Older Gentleman" who used to work at the hotel

Well folks, this is still taking some getting used to.  It wasn't so bad when Lisa's predecessor worked at the hotel.  His name was "Bob" also but he was actually a few years (four) younger than me but because he had the white hair, when a guest referred to "the older gentleman", we all knew they were probably referring to Bob.


However, Bob left the hotel a few years go so now I have assumed the mantle of "the older gentleman."  How do I feel about it.  Bemused actually.  At one time, when I was  younger, I guess I would have been put off by being referred to as "the older gentleman."

Right now I'm reading a book about a gay couple in Provincetown, Mass in the 1990's.  I was interested in this book because I vacationed often in Provincetown in the 70's and early 80's.  The time period of this book takes place in the early 90's, past my prime time.  For you see folks when you're gay like me, your expiration date runs out pretty fast.  Mine ran out when I was 37 years old.  That was in 1978.

I remember exactly when it ran out too.  I was standing in the 247 Bar in Philly one summer Saturday night.  Two a.m. rolled around and the bartender flashed the lights on and off three times and yelled out "last call!"  And as any self-respecting gay man knows, if you're still in a gay bar when they flash those lights and yell "last call!", you know your time is up.  As they say, stick a fork in him, he's done.

I remember clearly what I thought.  "What am I doing here?"  I thrill of meeting someone new had long since gone.  I was going to the bars on the weekend out of habit,  a habit of fifteen or so years.  I just remember I was so tired that night and all I wanted to do was go to bed....alone.  I couldn't be bothered with the whole rigmorale of taking someone home, going through the motions and getting them out.  Oh no, I was done with that.   Besides, I was never the one for the whole acrobatics of sex anyway.  I'm a romantic.  I always enjoyed just being with someone than I did hopping in the sack.  If I was a woman I guess I would be called frigid.  Whatever.

Anyway, I gave IT up that Saturday night on that hot summer night in July of 1978.  I stopped going to the bars.  Oh sure, over the years I've been to a few bars since then but only as an observer.  Sure, I still attracted some attention but as I said before (and B.B. King also said) "The thrill was gone."  


I find this book I'm reading about the trio of gay protagonists in Provincetown so fascinating.  The narrator is thirty years old.  He is bemoaning the fact that he is "so old."  He feels he cannot attract the younger guys any more.  He's afraid he will be like his first boyfriend who is "really old" at 37 years old!  Thirty-seven?  My God, that's a mere child.  Are you kidding me?

Oh how I remember when I was that age.  I thought the same thing too.  In fact, the first man I was intimate with was 29 years old to my 21 years.  I thought he was SO OLD.  Oh sure, I was terribly attracted to him but I did think HE WAS OLD.  Oh the folly of youth.  What was it that Noel Coward said?  "Youth is wasted on the young?"  So true, so true.

I remember when I was in my early twenties and I would see these OLD gay guys hanging out at the bar.  In fact some of them had their own bars which we (my young friends and I) called "wrinkle bars."  Ah ha. Guess what?  I'm there!  And another "guess what?"  I don't care.

I often wondered how those old gay guys could live with themselves, being SO OLD.  Now I know, IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER.  It really doesn't.

I've given a lot of thought to why I feel this way.  Maybe it is because of a loss of testosterone as I got older.  Maybe it is a realization there is more to life than jumping in the sack and doing the sexual acrobatics (which I rarely got full satisfaction from by the way).  Oh, don't misunderstand me.  Every now and then a really good-looking guy will check into the hotel and I have to catch my breath before I can speak to him.  All my bodily functions still work.  I still get stimulated.  A friendly smile and some attention from a handsome man still gets my blood rushing.  But as far as doing anything about it, well, that probably isn't going to happen.  But no great regrets though.  I had my time and I do enjoy looking.  I'm just glad I'm not like a longtime acquaintance of mine who still haunts the beach in Rehoboth for the anonymous  sex. God am I glad I'm not a pitiful figure like him.

So when I get these reference "I was talking to the older gentleman last night", I am always bemused.  Hey, I'm glad I made it this far.  I love life and appreciate every day I am on this earth.  In fact, I appreciate and get more out of life at now than I ever did when I was just another pretty face in the bar.

Back when I was another pretty face in the bars - 1967

Longer Hair, Shorter Hair?

Ron - Screen Shot with iMac April 13, 2011 - longer hair

All my life I've had an abundance of hair (on my head that is - some chest hair but none on the shoulders-thank God).  Even as I got older my hair was still think even as my hairline began to recede.  I clearly have my father's hair pattern. I have the same 'widow's peak' receding hairline that he had.  The only difference is that he was blonde and always had thin, fine hair.  I get my dark, brown, thick hair from my Mom.  

Me- 1943 - My Mom loved my long hair so much she didn't want to cut it

About ten years ago I as my hairline started to recede I was having more problems keeping my "Howdy Doody" pompadour style hairdo because of the lack of hair my hair didn't have the weight to maintain that youthful style .  I cut it all off and adopted a 'buzz cut'.  

Me - 1951 - Howdy Doody 'Do' - same with the shirt too - I loved that shirt!

The Buzz Cut was easy to maintain.  I threw away my comb, I didn't need it.  I was a porcupine head.  It was great!  But then a funny thing happened on the way to Old Age (sorry Dr. Spo, here I go again referring to my old age), I noticed that almost all of the gay guys down here in Gayberry (aka Rehoboth Beach/Lewes/Milton area of coastal southern Delaware) went for the totally shaved look to mask their male pattern baldness which left the whole top of their plate bald.  

Me with my Buzz Cut days at First Financial Bank 2004

Now anyone who knows me knows that I don't go along with the crowd, especially the Gay Dictates crowd.  You know, that's the Crowd that dictated that NO MEN ARE TO EVER SHOW CHEST HAIRS AGAIN.  In fact, I hear this crowd even 'trims' their pubic hairs and shaves their balls.  WTF is that?  Somebody on display?  I'm out of that Social Whirl (thank goodness).  The only person who sees my naked body is me when I look in the mirror before I take a shower (and when I finish a shower- double checking to make sure nothing changed).  

Me - Fifth Grade - 1952 - hard to manage all that thick hair!

Well, Ron veers away from the Gay Fashion Dictates again.  I decided to let my hair grow out a few months ago. By the way, I shave no hair on any other parts of my body.  Deal with it Gay Fashion Police.

Me 1982 - the longest I've ever had my hair - yet I still didn't fall victim to the Fashion Police and have the 'Helmut Do' so popular in the 80's with the hair half over the ears - I always keep my ears exposed! My Mom loved my hair this way! Major Maintenance!

I bought a comb, preparing myself for the inevitable maintenance my long hair would entail.  Guess what!?!  My hair has naturally thinned out.  I don't know whether it is because of the medication I take (Terazosin for prostate) or just a natural occurrence of getting older.  My hair doesn't require much maintenance.  It all falls into place.  

Me at the Hampton Inn 2000 - my favorite short 'Buzz Cut' style - no maintenance!

When I was younger I always envied my classmates and who had naturally short hair that 'fell into place" and looked so movie star-like.  I hated my bushy hair that always had to be thinned out when I got a haircut at the barber and I still couldn't comb it right.  There was a period in the Eighties when I let my hair grow really long but that required a lot of maintenance.  I always had to have a comb at the ready.  I am very happy now because I finally have the kind of hair that naturally 'falls into place'.  

Me 1986 - semi-long style - it worked!  Long haired pooches.

So here I am today with my new look.  A little gray on the side, some gray in my beard, but a natural 'do.'  I don't need hair spray, I don't need a comb over, I don't need hair plugs.  While I don't have the hairline I had fifty years ago (or even ten years ago), at 69 years of age, I still have more hair that that new groom to be.   You know, THE MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR IN THE WORLD:  PRINCE WILLIAM.

Looking good Wills!

Prince William, here is my suggestion for you:  join the ranks of my gay brotherhood (or is it 'sisterhood'?) and go for the Shaved Head Look.  It is SO IN.  

OMG!

Ron on Roofdeck

Me on our Philadelphia roof deck - 1976

This morning I had all good intentions of writing the first installment of my autobiography.  But did I want to subject all my loyal readers to THAT story?  Well...maybe.  Actually the problem is that this morning I'm just not in the mood to go down THAT Memory Lane.  Some mornings I am, some mornings I am not.  

Reversed

So what I was doing this morning was going through my 45,364 photos I have on my computer, may of which are duplicate and merging them into single folders.  While going through those pictures I came across some that Bill took of my sunning myself in the sunroom he had built on the top of our Philadelphia row house when lived there in the Seventies.  

Foolishly trying to get a tan - can't get one through the glass..dummy

The Seventies were probably my peak years for youth and vigor and attractiveness and hair.  I've lost a lot of those desirable attributes now as I enter into my 70th year.  Yes folks, I am an OLD MAN, no getting around it.  

Me (last August) - aging gracefully (I hope)

Now this isn't going to be a post about he weeping and wailing that I am no longer a young, attractive gay man who can get just about any guy (or gal) he wants.  Those days are long gone and not without regret for me.  I had a good time while it lasted and believe me, I made the most of my opportunities.  There wasn't too much that I missed.  I'm not bragging but just stating a fact.  So why wasn't I one of the thousands caught up in the deadly AIDS epidemic?  Perhaps because I played 'nice.'  I wasn't one for the sexual acrobatics.  I liked to flirt and I liked the attention I got in return.  That's me, a BIG FLIRT.  Yeah, I was one of THOSE GUYS who teased....and then did nothing.  I loved it!  I thank my lucky stars guardian angel that I never got down in the mud and rutting around like all the other pigs.  Oh yes, I was a pig.  

Not a gray hair in my beard -ah, the good old days!

So, that's what I feel like today.  I'm not in the mood to show my baby pictures.  I'll leave that to another day when I'm in a more nostalgic mood for going back to the Forties (I was born in 1941.)  For now I'll wallow in my major Pig Days of the Seventies and share some of my Roof Pictures with you all.  I haven't seen these pictures myself for a long either.  Check out the hair and the nice dark beard.  This was way before Just For Men came into my life.

Me and our First Pom, Hamburger

Pen Pals

Mamie Van Doren - one of the perfect beautiful women of the Fifties

Back in my Previous Life, aka prehistoric times, I used to be a teenager.  Yes, I too was once young.  


Back in those teenage years I was one of many Lonely Teenagers of the Fifties.  And being gay (known as 'queer' or 'homo' in the Eisenhower Fifties) I was doubly lonely.  So where did I seek friendship?  It was through pen pals.


I was a newspaper boy.  I loved that job.  I will have to write about my paperboy days in another blog.  Every day after school I would pick up my 60 or so Philadelphia Evening Bulletin newspapers for my paper route from the Same Charles News Agency in downtown Downingtown (a suburban town of 5,000 thirty-seven miles west of Philadelphia).   I was 15 years old at the time.  The year was 1957, right smack dab in the Oh So Conservative Fifties.  


When I would pick up my allotment of Evening Bulletin newspapers I would also peruse the comic book and magazine display which was directly above where the newspapers were stacked.  I was a comic book whore.  I collected all the comic books.  In fact, most of the money I earned as a paperboy was spent on either comic books, candy or developing black and white pictures that I took with my $5.00 Kodak Brownie camera.  Yes sir ree, the Fifties were MY TIME.  I LOVED IT!


One day I spied a new teenage magazine.  It was called 'DIG.'  I flipped through it and was immediately drawn to the pen pal section.  Hey, here was something I could get into.  I always liked writing plus I liked to receive mail.  Hey, I would put my own ad in this magazine!  


I read over the other ads and tried to get the wording just right so I would catch the attention of the maximum number of potential pen pals.  I guess what I was hoping for was to find someone like myself.  Much like I'm doing now with this blog.  I was look for another me.  


I got my wording down and sent in my ad.  Then I anxiously awaited the publication of my ad.  For the next three months I would buy the new issue of Dig only to see that my ad wasn't in the magazine.  I remember how disappointed I was.  But then it happened.  The four month after I sent in my ad they published it!  

Oh excitement!  I still feel a rush of butterflies in my stomach to this day when I remember how thrilled I was when I saw my ad in print.  In the next week the letters started to pour in.  Wow!  How exciting.  I had my address as our family's post office box (P.O. Box 212, I still remember it to this day!)  


When my family and friends found out that I was receiving letters from pen pals they either mocked me or asked "Why? Don't you have any real friends?"  I remember very clearly my good friend Bill B. rarely missed a chance to make fun of me for having pen pals.  That hurt.  What really hurt was my great-aunt Grace asking my Mother "Why does Ronnie need pen pals?  Doesn't he have any friends?"  Well, actually I didn't have a whole lot of friends.  I always worked after school.  I was a paper boy from the time I was in the third grade.  At one time I had three jobs after school:  

1. Paperboy - every night including Sunday morning
2. Clean offices - every night
3. Butcher market - I worked the front counter at the farmer's market on the weekends

I was a busy teenager.  I didn't have time to hang out at Guinta's, the local soda fountain which is what most 'yon teens' did during my high school years.  Not that I'm complaining, I'm not.  It's just that any money I had I earned.  I never received an allowance. I wasn't one of the Fortunate Sons like my classmate who liked to make fun of me for having pen pals.  Yes, I know he reads this blog but that is what happened.  Sorry Bill, the facts are the facts.

Just a Lonely Boy and his Cat 1958

So my big excitement was pen pals.  At one time I had sixty-eight pen pals.  I faithfully answered all the letters that I received every day.  Most of my pen pals were young girls.  I guess I was the Justin Beiber of my day because I was very popular with the girls.  I was sort of cute in a dorky kind of way in those days just like Justin is today.  Plus I had a nice smile, even if I did have one small tooth right in the front which I was always self conscious about (I got that fixed when I was an adult hence the toothy smiles of my later years.)  

Every now and then I would get a male pen pal.  Two that I remember clearly was Wolfgang.  He was my pen pal from Germany.  Somewhere I have a picture of him that I haven't scanned into my computer.  He wasn't cute.  

Toshio Obo 1958

I had another male pen pal, his name was Toshio Obo.   He was from Japan and very cute (although I'm not into Asians).  Toshiba would write to me partially in Japanese and English.  He sent me a very nice devil's head pin with diamonds in the yes as a gift.  I still have it.  I don't remember what we wrote about.  Mostly what we did that week.  Nothing earth-shattering (no pun intended considering the situation in Japan this past week).  

I had another pen pal in Wisconsin.  I think he was gay because he always wrote about how he wanted to be a woman's hair stylist.  I missed my gay card on that one too.  I never wanted to be a hairdresser so we had nothing in common and I stopped writing to him.  

Nancyi Jo Stoker 1958

I enjoyed my 'girlfriends".  I had a favorite.  Her name was Nancy Jo Stoker and she lived in Council Bluffs, Iowa.  I wrote to her long after I discontinued writing to all my other pen pals when I left high school and joined the Army.  Sometime during my three years in the Army our correspondence dropped off too. I don't know who stopped writing first, the relationship just drifted apart.  Maybe someone will do a Google search and find her name in this blog posting and contact me.  That would be cool.  I always liked Nanci and wondered what she did with her life.

My last picture of Nancy - sent to me while I was in the Army

After I got out of the Army I looked for my stash of comic books and Dig magazines.  Much to my distress I discovered that my Mother had burned all my comic books (many of which were of the 'Crypt Keeper' variety) and Dig magazines.  That was my Mom, deciding what I should read and not read.  As much as I love her, that is one reason I left home as soon as I could and why, when I got out of the Army I didn't live at home.  I needed my freedom.  I vowed to never again have anyone censor me or make decisions for how I live my life.  

The picture of the Dig magazine pictured on this blog was supplied by my good friend (and former boss) from my working days at Girard/Mellon Bank in Philadelphia, Bill P.  This 'Bill' appreciates the value of collection.  He has an extensive collection of Do-Woop 45's from the Fifties.  This Bill does not mock my predilection for pen pals or any other type of collections. He understands.  He has never mocked me.

Thank you Bill, I will always value your friendship to the end of my days.  Through our twenty-two years working together and now our continuing friendship in retirement you have made my life so much richer.

By the way, I only intended this posting to be a few paragraphs but I do seem to run on and on don't I?  Well, that's me.  Now you see why I like to write and why I love to blog.  I will do this until my fingers no longer can tap out the letters on my keyboard.  

I love the new friends I have made through my blogging.  I may be an old geezer now who talks too much of my past but I still have a very active life and I plan to keep writing about it.  Thanks for stopping by for the visit and reading about my life.