A whole month dedicated to the celebration of all things LGBTQ+.
So by default, a month to celebrate me.
For you innocent bystanders it’s in June because of the infamous Stonewall Riots, that took place on the last weekend in June, in 1969. It was a few days after the death of Judy Garland, and a large number of queer folks had gathered at The Stonewall Inn to mourn. In the early morning hours, the police raided the bar, because two men dancing was illegal, and men dressed as women, was even more illegal.
What resulted was a pushback from the LGBTQ community. Bricks were thrown. Police cars overturned. The riots went on for several days, escalating again each night.
This is often considered the beginning of the gay right’s movement. Which is a OVER simplification as both men and women had been pushing for the overturn of anti-gay laws.
However, this was a big turning point, resulting in public marches and men and women openly fighting back. This is why June is Pride Month.
Not every city holds their pride march in June. They are spread throughout the year, so that people from all over can attend. NYC’s pride march is always the last Sunday in June. Maine’s celebration is the weekend prior.
This Saturday Portland held it’s annual Pride Parade. The weather was beautiful. For the first time in 17 weeks, it didn’t rain on Saturday. I always say it’s because God likes the Gays. The turn out was insane, the parade was a lot of fun, and I got to hang out with my friend all afternoon.
On Sunday, Adam and I went to the Peak’s Island Tea Dance. It’s the first time I’ve even gone, but it will not be my last. It’s a great opportunity to hang out with all the gays in southern Maine, day drink and see amazing entertainment by the drag community.
This year’s headliner was Detox, from Rupaul’s Drag Race, who really was not more stellar than our local queens.
Long story short, it was fucking fun weekend, and it was fun to spend it with my people, watching great live entertainment, and celebrate while we can the fact that we are free to live our lives out of the closet, openly.
I hope all of you have celebrated Pride Month this June in your own way. And remember, things are fucked up right now, so it’s important to make a lot of noise. Demand to be seen. And remember, if you are not part of the LGBTQ community, your kids are watching. They are deciding if it’s safe to share with you their own story. If they tell someone before you, you now know why.
Most of my younger friends, would never believe that I have not always been an overweight middle aged man.
In fact, at one time you might call me attractive.
Might.
If your glasses were foggy and you hadn’t had cataract surgery.
However, I did okay for myself.
When I lived in Atlanta, I never really had a boyfriend.
Well, I had one for about 5 minutes. But that’s a story for another day.
I did date a bit. Although not much. I was too busy living my best life.
There are a few men who stand out in Atlanta. Matt, the boyfriend. Chris who tried to get me to like red wine. Dave, the artist. The guy whose name I’ll remember later, who went on to make a huge fortune in designing chandeliers. Tony, who I stayed in contact with and of course.
And Shel the furniture distributor.
This story is about Shel.
I have no idea, how we met.
I do remember our first date.
We had lunch, in the spring, at a café that over looked Piedmont Park.
He picked me up in his baby blue Mercedes convertible, and was the perfect gentleman.
He was easily 45, with a weathered appearance, that gave the impression he’d grown up on a sailboat. His face was tanned, and his hair was blondish grey. His eyes, were crystal blue and he spoke with a slight Norwegian accent.
The only thing I know about his wealth, was that he and his Norwegian family, owned a European furniture company and distribution center.
I never asked. He didn’t offer up much information.
We were never exclusive. We’d go out to mostly lunches, and early dinners. He’d drive me around town in the convertible and I felt like royalty. He was wicked funny, and very sweet.
His apartment, was in a high rise, and it had beautiful views of Atlanta.
One of the memories that I remember clearly was going to Neiman Marcuss with him where he was picking up and paying for pants that had been altered for him. When he paid, the register said $750. In 1988. What the fucking fuck.
He was in excellent shape and looked as good out of clothes as he did in his $750 pants. He really was beautiful.
We dated casually throughout the summer, and then our summer romance kind of fizzled. I don’t remember a conversation. I don’t remember a break up. I just remember one day I had a friend with a powder blue Mercedes convertible and the next day I didn’t.
Truth be told, I probably have his old phone number written in an address book in a box in my closet. And for the life of my I can’t remember his last name, which was Norwegian.
I’m pretty sure I’ve shared this post before but it’s always worth repeating.
From 1995 until 1998 I taught lighting design at the Cincinnati School for Creative and Performing Arts. SCPA.
Who knew that a high school could have a teacher dedicated to all things lighting. It was a life changing adventure and I’m proud to say that my past students are spread to the far reaches of the US, still doing amazing things.
I had been mostly out of the closet before I moved to Cincinnati and I wasn’t about to walk back in and start hiding again. One of the first things I did was put a rainbow sticker on my car.
I’ve never been a huge rainbow flag person, but at the time, I thought it was important to own who I was.
First semester of my second year there, I was teaching an intro class to a group of 7th graders. I was taking roll, going through my grade book (I still have them by the way, if any of my students want to know how they did back then).
I got to a young girl, who said she was here and then asked me if the red escort station wagon in the parking lot was mine.
I replied, yes it was. I called it my family car. When I bought it, I couldn’t afford a truck and I needed a way to cart students and lights around to projects I worked on.
The girl started to giggle and and hid her mouth behind her hand and said, so is that the one with the rainbow sticker on the back. Hehehehehe.
I said yes it is. Why do you ask?
Hehehehe, I was just curious, she said, still giggling.
She was trying to be passive aggressive, emphasis on the aggressive and I was having no part of it.
I said, Do you know what the rainbow flag stands for?
She really started to giggle then and wouldn’t answer.
I didn’t wait long before I continued, the rainbow symbol was adopted by the great Reverand Jesse Jackson as a symbol to celebrate and encourage diversity. I have the sticker on my car, because I teach in a very diverse school and I want all of my students to know that I appreciate who they are no matter what.
She stopped giggling and stared at me.
I looked at the whole class and said, does anyone else have a question about the rainbow sticker on my car?
One hot, humid evening, a car pulls up to the drive thru. I’m on the register, and take the order. I ask the car to pull around.
When the car pulls up to the window, I lean out and give the guy driving the car the price. He’s super cute, and has a huge smile. He pays me, but keeps looking at me, and smiling. I hand him back his change (I’m not even sure we took credit cards back then), and he’s still smiling.
After a bit, I hand him his order and he asks me what I’m doing later.
I look around to see if any of my co-workers are watching. They are cleaning, cooking, not paying me any attention.
Since no one is watching, I ask why he wants to know. He says, he might want to come back later and see me. I tell him I’ll be off around midnight.
He replies, “Don’t be surprised if I come back.”
I didn’t think anything of it, and went back to work.
Sure, enough though, when I walked out to my car 90 minutes later, there he was sitting in the parking lot, waiting.
As I write this, all I can think of is Jeffrey Dahmer, but in 1994, all I could think was impure thoughts. He asked if I wanted to grab a drink with him, but I confessed I wasn’t 21. He said, how about a drink at my place.
Innocent Jeff, followed him to his apartment. And may or may not have spent the night.
The next morning, we got up and had coffee. He introduced me to his roommate, and we sat and chatted.
I said that I needed to get home, but he asked if he could see me again.
I said, of course. I’d love that.
What followed next was a stupid, infatuation on my part, that had no chance of going anywhere.
I was too young. He was too old at 26.
For a few weeks, though, I’d meet him at the Video Library on New Circle Road, help him close up, then we’d go back to his place.
What I didn’t know, when I met his roommate over coffee the first morning, was that his roommate was a drag queen by night. Confession, she was the first drag queen I’d ever met. I’m not even sure I had a word for it at the time.
The affair lasted about 30 seconds, and one day he told me it wasn’t going to work out.
I was devastated. I spent the next week mourning, while I was spending time at my aunt’s house, watching Grease 2 every day on HBO. She’d ask what was up and I’d just say I don’t feel well.
I of course got over it.
School started a month or so later.
Fall of my sophomore year.
The year when students were allowed to pledge fraternities and sororities.
I went through pledge week. And at the end of the week, I accepted the bid from the Phi Kappa Taus.
My friend Kara’s father is a Phi Tau, which is kind of fun.
That fall I did all the fraternity stuff. Parties, events, etc.
Then came hell week.
During hell week, the first chore was to put newspaper over the windows to the lobbies. Then lots of top secret stuff that I’d be killed if I shared with you.
Part of hell week was a scavenger hunt.
It was silly things really.
But one item stood out.
Get a signature from the bartender at Johnny Angels. The gay bar. Still in business today.
I volunteered to go in. It’s funny, it never occurred to me till right this minute that we didn’t get carded, which means I could have gone back at anytime. Alas.
Myself and a pledge brother walk up to the bar and ask for the autograph.
While I’m standing there, I look to my right, and there is the drag queen friend of my summer fling. She winked at me. Watched the proceedings. And then turned back to her friend.
We ran out, and got on with our evening, but at the time I so grateful she didn’t say hello.
I spent the next three years terrified of being found out.
Now, all of the people from that time know me as Jeff. Who lives in Maine with his boyfriend. His five cats. And his slew of lesbian friends.
Seems silly to have worried about it all that time ago.
My ex-boyfriend Jim got me the job there, after I walked out of O’Charley’s when my manager was on maternity leave, and the replacement manager was a dick.
The concept included, black and white checked table cloths, with white craft paper on top. When you approached the table, you introduced yourself and wrote you name upside down in crayon. There was a small glass with crayons on the table for people to draw while they waited.
Fun fact, when someone who was artistically inclined we kept the drawings in the back on the walk-in.
We also were way ahead of our time, as we used pasta as straws, long before cities were banning plastic.
I worked there for two years, until I moved to Cincinnati to teach at the School for Creative and Performing Arts.
That was a long introduction to the meat of the story.
On a summer day, in 1994, I was at the restaurant for lunch.
Lunches were busy. Business was starting to wind down, when a table of four was seated in the back of the restaurant.
The server approached the table, we’ll call him Scott.
It’s funny. I can see his face, but for the life of me I can’t remember his name. He was an older gay man who didn’t even try to hide his gayness.
He walked up to the table, wrote his name upside down on the table, and before he could say more, a man at the table stopped him and asked for another server.
He responded, “Did I do something wrong?”
The man responded, “You are gay. We don’t want no gay server waiting on us.”
Scott said, “Of course, I’ll be right back.”
We were all hanging around in the front when Scott approached us, and told the three or four servers as well as Jay the manager what was said.
Jay said, “I’ve got this.”
He walked through the dining room and approached the table and said, “I’m sorry, is there a problem?”
The man at the table spoke up and said, “We don’t want no gay waiter. Give us somebody who ain’t gay.”
“Well sir, that’s going to be a problem. See that woman over there. She’s gay. See that man standing beside her, pointing at me, he’s gay too. See the guy with the beard making pizzas in the kitchen, he’s gay. In fact, I’m the manager, and I’d offer to wait on you, but I’m gay too. So if you don’t want no gay person waiting on you, then I guess you’ll have to just eat some place else.”
With that he walked away.
To be honest, I think they stayed, but I don’t remember.
The thing about Jay was, that if you’d asked me when I started, fuck if you’d asked me 24 hours earlier, I’d have sworn he was a little homophobic. But that day, he did the right thing. I’d never loved a manager more.
About six weeks ago, I stumbled across this Facebook page, called Gay New York 1970’s and 80’s.
Actually, Facebook pages have a been a great addition to my life. If you haven’t checked it out yet, the Dull Men and Women’s pages are the most brilliant thing to be on social media in years.
It’s posts about the dull things we do in our lives, like watching paint dry.
Seriously, a guy posted a week or so ago about working in a paint factory and his job was to make sure the paint matched the sample.
Brilliant.
However, the Gay New York in the 1970’s and 80’s is a very, very, very close second.
The page is a walk down memory lane for anyone who lived in NYC during the heyday of the 70’s and 80’s.
For some people, that might be considered the heyday of crime, prostitution, and drugs in Times Square.
For a lot of people who lived there, especially for gay men and women, it was a time of awakening.
Sexual freedom. Gay liberation. Life before AIDS.
The Stonewall Riots had occurred in 1969. Although, the gay rights movement had been around for decades prior, it WAS a turning point.
In the early morning hours of June 28, 1969, the gay bar Stonewall Inn was raided.
It was mafia owned, and therefore usually considered untouchable. They were typically warned of coming raids and appropriate steps were taken.
On June 28th that didn’t occur, the police arrived unannounced and started arresting folks.
Because of a breakdown in communication, the paddy wagons were slow to arrive, and a crowd began to gather outside. Soon, there were more than 500 people gathered on the street in front of the bar, the police were outnumbered 10 to 1.
The crowd was unruly from the get go.
Folklore has it, that a lot of the tension came from gay men, who’d attended the funeral and memorial of Judy Garland, who’d died only days before.
Some say it was the trans women and drag queens that started the fight.
Other say, it was years of mistreatment that started the push.
No matter who is right, the truth is, the crowd began to taunt the police.
The police were used to being paid off, so the crowd threw coins at them. Then a lesbian, was manhandled out of the bar. Stories of trans women being accosted inside the bar spread.
One thing led to another and the crowd became disruptive.
And violent.
Bricks were thrown.
Then, Garbage cans, garbage, bottles, rocks, and bricks were hurled at the building, breaking the windows. Witnesses attest that “flame queens”, hustlers, and gay “street kids”—the most outcast people in the gay community—were responsible for the first volley of projectiles, as well as the uprooting of a parking meter used as a battering ramon ton the doors of the Stonewall Inn.
The police barricaded themselves in the bar.
Then back up arrived.
“I had been in enough riots to know the fun was over … The cops were totally humiliated. This never, ever happened. They were angrier than I guess they had ever been because no one else had rioted … but the fairies were not supposed to riot … no group had ever forced cops to retreat before, so the anger was just enormous. I mean, they wanted to kill.”
The riot police formed a line to push the rioters back.
The rioters formed a kick-line and began to dance and sing further humiliating the cops.
The police became violet and began to beat the dancers with night sticks.
The riots continued for several days. With the crowds growing more each day.
When all was said and done. Things had changed.
The following year there was a gay rights march on the anniversary of the riots. Within two years of the Stonewall riots, there were gay rights groups in every major American city, as well as in Canada, Australia, and Western Europe
Many years later, on the anniversary of the Stonewall Riots the president of the United President Barack Obama declared June 2009 Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender Pride Month, citing the riots as a reason to “commit to achieving equal justice under law for LGBT America.”
This brings me to the gay flag. It was first flown after the creator Gilbert Baker met Harvey Milk. The original flags were flown first in 1978.
After the assassination of Harvey Milk, the first openly gay person to hold political office in California, the demand for the flags grew.
The flag has been flown during the month of pride for decades. It has also gone through transformations as it now includes the trans community making room for the entire queer population.
This is a long post about us hanging a gay pride flag outside of our home.
In 2020, in South Portland, a number of homes, displaying the flag got hate mail. The letters were insulting, threatening, and totally uncalled for. There were enough of these letters sent, that it made the local news.
I saw the report, and told Adam that we needed a flag.
Here’s the thing, I had a sticker on my car back in 1995, but that’s a whole other story.
But for the most part, we aren’t really rainbow people.
But suddenly the community is under attached.
And I wanted to be supportive.
So, Adam ordered a flag and we hung it on our home.
And we’ve flown it each summer for the past four seasons.
Then, last fall we had work done on our garage. And we had to take down the flag.
And we debated all winter about whether to put the flag back up.
Adam had been pushing back, as it doesn’t work in the old location, and we didn’t want it on the front of the house as it didn’t work with the aesthetic.
The gays are more about aesthetic than pride.
For me, it’s about the kids in the neighborhood.
To my knowledge we are the only gay couple in the area.
Statistically, I know that’s probably not true, but in our area, it’s all families, with two straight parents.
I want the 15 year-old that rides their bike by our house to know that queer people exist. We are proud. We live out loud. And they have nothing to fear.
So today, Adam was talking to our neighbor across the street about their American flag which they hung to push back from the coopting of the American flag by conservatives.
And he realized we need to fight back with our own flag.
When I got home today, our pride flag was flying proudly.
I'd Like to Speak to the Manager!!! 