Hell's Kitchen Journal: I Can Still Dance

 

 

 

In my youth, there were no barriers that could possibly stop my dreams from coming true. There was this internal deeply held belief that only my fear of taking chances could hold me back from the realization of my life goals. There was this magnificent sensation of omnipotence that was my companion on a daily basis. Living life on the edge was exciting. Even though falling was inevitable and painful, lifting myself up and fighting on was an incredible feeling and needless to say filled with new knowledge of the possible.

When seeking relief from my weary journey, dancing become my refuge. I loved to dance. From my early years in high school, I wanted to be one of the best dancers. Woodstown High would have 'canteens' on Friday night. They were held in the gymnasium with all the African Americans on one side of the gym and the whites on the other.

Showing up in 1960 with my white bucks or cowboy boots with my tight blue jeans and a checkered shirt, I was ready to strut my stuff. This was the age when The Jitterbug was heading out the door and people would learn to dance with each other without touching. Chubby Checker started it with "The Twist." Despite high parental and teacher disapproval 'around and around' we would go. Dipping to the fly and slowly twisting back up. The Twist came easy to us and think maybe the hula hoop craze in 1958 might have trained us for the transition.

In the late 1960's and early 1970's - the age of Aquarius - one could get stoned and dance with oneself at concerts. Golden Gate Park in San Francisco provided the site for just such bliss. We added strobe lights, and psychedelic patterns to take us to 'new dimensions.' Strangers would suddenly be matching your moves right in front of you and big dopey grins would appear on our faces as this was the age of free love, peace and harmony!

Coming Out provided a freedom, an abandon that I had never known on the dance floor. Finally dancing with men, singing together, flagging and watching the brave hot young men dancing on top of speakers. Grinding together in the most erotic of ways provided a place of both naughtiness and total sexual freedom. Studio One in Los Angeles seemed huge at the time and it was the must stop every Friday night. Was totally confident of my dancing abilities until I walked into my first gay disco and realized the talent that was surrounding me. Not seeking to create new moves on my own that would solicit envy from others, I instead did my best to imitate the best dancers.

As I have gotten older, life has become less about possibilities and more about limitations because of physical health. Of course that does not mean you don't still push up against the edge but you chose to excel at those things that are possible instead of everything being possible.

In my youth, we used to marvel and love to watch 'older people' dance our dances. Now I am one of those older people who because of some limitations can no longer 'cut a rug.'

However, I still dance in my dreams. With the lights, music and all the essential ingredients reminding me of my youth, My knees are not bad and my legs are not sore and in those dreams at night I am young and dancing away. I love those dreams and count the nights they appear as some of my best nights of sleep. While listening to music at home, I wiggle this and that, shake my cane and laugh at loud the joy I feel with still moving my body to music.

Hell's Kitchen Journal: "Oh God, Do I Really Have To Get Up?"

 

 

A dream...or is it?

The wind is either driving snow or rain across my windows and the cold air manages to seep slowly into my bedroom making the old heaters inadequate in their assigned task. The dark clouds cover the sun and it might as well be night in any bedroom chamber. The cats lie perfectly in their chosen locations helping the big down comforter push against your body even more to save the heat inside. Where the spread out cats fail to close the spaces that allow the cold to invade underneath the covers, I wrap my feet and hands in the soft plush down. Looking like a present waiting to be unwrapped, I glance at the clock knowing it is my sworn enemy.

"Oh God, do I really have to get up? Don't you know this is your day of rest and I should be allowed to do just that?"

At those moments, being a single man, is when I want a lover, a partner or now even a husband. One that would squeeze out of his side of the bed in an act of love. Feed our little creatures so they can quickly return to my side. Bring me a hot coffee with The New York Times tucked under his muscled arm. He would smile, quite pleased with himself, as he unfolds the surprise of a hot Danish pastry. My man would slip back into bed and we would divide up the Times and chose our favorite sections. For hours we would read it and once in a while say "Listen to this..." and read an interesting fact from the paper of record.

Then the morning talk shows and being Super Bowl Sunday we would stay in bed and order that pizza and root for the Giants to kick some Patriots ass. At half time we would argue if Madonna or Lady Gaga was more current and then comment on the attractiveness of the players. Each of us would pick our favorite and attempt to solicit just a tinge of jealousy from the other. After victory is declared over the Patriots, the two of us would make mad passionate love. The day would have been conquered without ever leaving my sainted bed.

Oh God, I just woke up from this dream/fantasy and I have to feed the damn cats, make the coffee, turn on the computer, write for my readers tomorrow and empty the cat box.  Just maybe I can sneak back in bed for the Super Bowl.  Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Have a great Super Bowl.

Hell's Kitchen Journal: On Becoming A Writer

 

 

My passionate love affair with writing began at a very early age and wasn't fulfilled until the latter part of my life. The years in between were spent overcoming the myths and justifications that danced in my head about why I could never be a writer.

Growing up, books were my great escape. With no television and minimal contact with the outside world, books were a magic carpet that transported me to far away places. My beloved mother, Mary, insisted that all three of her children not only be literate but also love books. We had shelves that dad had made and they were filled with books in the front room. Most of them were very old and out-dated since they had been picked up at penny sales or given to my mother by others.

Amidst those books was a set of encyclopedias that had blue covers with gold printing. They were published sometime in the 1930's and someone had given them to mom. Despite being decades out-of-date, we loved those books filled with knowledge. Often mom, with great pride, would say, "Go look it up in the encyclopedias." Most likely by the time we left home, I had read almost every volume.

Of course old knowledge can be a trap and in my freshman year in high school (we were transported from our small rural school by long bus rides to a more sophisticated high school) we had a science class project. Going home, I planned my outline and then took down the old blue cover books of knowledge and worked hard to prepare for my first high school science report. When I presented it, the information was so old that my teacher, Mr. Downey, made fun of me in front of the class as they all roared with laughter. My refuge of knowledge had betrayed me in the most humiliating way.

Quickly I learned the library had access to current information. At the same time I began to fall in love with Steinbeck, Capote, Williams and other great American writers. With a dictionary by my side I would look up words that I never encountered before reading their books. Amazed at their ability to make sentences flow with imagery that boggled the mind. I was in awe. Later in college I discovered the classics and current international writers.

I yearned so badly to be a writer but was convinced that my background, schooling and the little blue books of knowledge had left me in the dust of that possibility.

Sometimes we find our dreams come true out of necessity and that is how I became a writer. After being arrested in front of the White House over DADT in 1993 all my clients left me almost within a week. No one would hire me and quickly my debts became massive over the next three years. A literary agent named Todd Shuster approached me about writing what would become my first book -Stranger Among Friends. Desperate for funds, the fear, low self-esteem and barriers had to be discarded.

At first my attempts to duplicate the beauty of the sentences of my favorite writers had to be forever vanished from my writing. My strength was not the flow of my prose nor the structure of my sentences. Storytelling was my ticket to writing and I was an excellent story teller. With that, at the age of fifty, I published my first book.

After three books, two screenplays, a play and this blog, I have realized a lifelong dream. I have joined the pantheon of those before me who put pen to paper to hopefully, in some small measure, enlighten the human condition.

I am a writer

Hell's Kitchen Journal: My Naked Snow Dance

 

 

Finally yesterday we had some snow in New York City. Not a big storm but more than snow showers or flurries. All winter long I have waited to see them fall outside my window. The cats are finally happy as they attempt through the window to catch the flakes and stop them in their tracks. There is simply no one that loves snow more than me. Childhood was when I developed my love affair with snow. The bigger the better was my motto. The beauty of a light dusting of snow was never enough. Blizzards would put me into total spasms of joy.

When the weathermen would issue their first forecast over the radio I would live by the hour to see if it would materialize or be a false alarm. Before satellites and fancy named radar screens, they forecasted the weather the old fashion way...by the seat of their pants! Upon waking in my small rural bedroom I would run to the window hopefully to catch flakes mixed in with a howling northeast wind. The next stop would always be WSNJ radio to see if the endless listing of schools by the announcer would include Daretown Elementary.

Behind our house the fields were flat and extended for a mile or two. Our home would be the first barrier to the blowing snow. Huge six to eight foot drifts would wrap around the house and farm buildings. The road in front of the house with a raised embankment acted as a 'snow fence and the perfect place to build snow forts and tunnels. We knew the snowplows might take a day or two to work their way through to us in a really bad storm. Our complex of snow tunnels was impressive and any person serving time in prison attempting to escape would envy our tunnel system.

As I grew older I would love to say I outgrew this passionate love affair with winter. Alas it has only grown worse. With abated breath I follow every forecast of snow and still upon awakening run to the window. In my last year in Turkey Hollow, I was recovering from one of my surgeries and my dear friend Steven Guy had come to nurse me back to health. The doctor had ordered bed rest but I woke up to a raging snowstorm. Running from window to window in my rural hideaway I couldn't contain my excitement.

Steven did his best and kept ordering me back to bed. In total defiance and made delirious by the snowfall, I refused his requests and continued to stay up desperate not to miss the magnificent storm. With the authority of a prison guard, Steven once again demanded that I listen to the doc and get back in bed. Refusing I defiantly said I would go into the blizzard and do a naked snow dance. Challenging me he said go ahead and be a fool. Whipping off my clothes and with a bandaged neck from the surgery I dashed outdoors to do a "naked snow dance" singing here comes "Suzy Snow Flake" in front of the house!

Unfortunately for me I fell backwards into a huge snowdrift and couldn't get up. That damn Steven took his everlasting time before getting his coat and hat on to pull me shivering out of the drift. I learned my lesson....well, maybe I learned it. After all, there is always that next big storm isn't there? Hell's Kitchen should be on the alert for an older heavy man with a distinguished cane dancing naked in the streets.

Hell's Kitchen Journal: Nature As Weather Forecaster

 

 

In today's world you can have the weather at your fingertips 24/7 and even be warned by phone and computer of pending severe weather. There are channels on cable-TV dedicated to the weather, apps for your IPhones and IPABs and hundreds of web sites begging for your attention and dollars. If one would be interested in tomorrow's weather, it would take you about five seconds to get it by the minute for the next day.

Growing up in a very rural farming area where for years we didn't have television or even a good radio, we learned to rely on nature to give us that warning. For centuries nature has been the best forecaster and in many cases still outstrips technology. The fact that the weather is so damn stubborn, unpredictable and mysterious is what makes it so interesting.

My Grandpappy Grove was the first one to teach me the forecasting skills of nature. If the squirrels were collecting their nuts early and their nests were high in the tree expect a brutal winter. If the geese flew south later rather than earlier then expect a mild one. He taught me if there was a ring around the moon to count the stars inside the moon and that is how many days until there was rain. If the quarter moon or half moon was 'tipped' instead of upright, you could be sure rain was on the way.

Birds were also an important forecasting tool. If the seagulls were way inland then count on a tough coastal storm. If the sparrows suddenly roosted in the trees and became quiet, a thunderstorm was not far off. If the deer had their fawns early, spring was on the way. The geese heading back north was a sign that, even though there might be some more snow, basically the worst of winter was over.

Of course there was always human instinct that had been perfected over the generations that would guide your predictions. Sitting on the porch one August day, Grandpappy Grove looked at the sky, puffed on his cigar and said, "David, batten down the hatches. We are going to have a hurricane tomorrow." Being the age where I of course knew better and we now had access to weather forecasts, I resisted mightily the order to do more work since no storm was even on the map. Nevertheless, shear seniority and maybe a whack with his cane convinced me to get loose items fastened down. The next morning a sudden tropical storm formed off the Jersey coast and we had gale force winds.

Even in modern times we can be warned by nature. Animals become seriously agitated before major earthquakes are felt by humans. Remember all the elephants heading to the hills in Sri Lanka right before the great Christmas Tsunami? Or all the birds that suddenly fly at once into the sky moments before we could feel a quake. After the California, Northridge earthquake in 1994, my cats always would feel an upcoming major aftershock before me. Of course, scientists say there is no such thing as earthquake weather - warm and perfectly still - but when is the last time you heard of an earthquake in a pouring-down rainstorm?

Weather is, and always has been, a deep passion of mine and I follow the charts, the forecasters and approaching storms. Yet, no matter how much I love the technology I still miss the wailing of a hound dog's warning.

Hell's Kitchen Journal: When The Schools Closed For The Flu.......

 

 

In 1957 the world in our little rural farm country was pretty limited. The phones were still party lines (eight people on the same line) where you had to call the operator to make a call to another town. While television had invaded our lives, the massive news operations were almost non-existent. The Huntley-Brinkley Report (NBC's Prime time News Show) was on the air for just 15 minutes each night. Satellites had not even been thrust into space to bring you the latest earthquake or tsunami live from anywhere in the world.

Those living in the country especially didn't have many resources to plug into the latest on public health. Doc Shepard still made house calls with his 1940's type suave moustache and little black carrying case. The great discovery of the Polio vaccine by Jonas Salk had us all standing in lines in our schools waiting for our shot. The queue went around the basketball court and it was my first experience of mass public health projects.

In 1957, there were a few hints of a pandemic starting calling the Asian Flu. There really hadn't been a huge pandemic since the great Spanish Flu in 1918 that killed 30 to 50 million people around the world. The Asian Flu sort of creeped into our lives through the schools. This flu targeted young children more than older citizens. At first, about a quarter of the kids stopped showing up at our local schools and then quickly there were only three of us left in the entire class. The next days they shut down all the schools for a week. Total panic set in and people ceased going anywhere or visiting other families. Public events in the area were canceled.

The only really public announcements that reached us were through the schools and in local newspapers which had limited information about what was happening at the time. Like a wind quickly sweeping through a deserted town as suddenly as it appeared, it disappeared. In fact, the 1957 pandemic was over in the first two months of school but another wave hit the older folks February and March of 1958. In the United States, 70,000 people died from the Asian Flu and worldwide they estimated two million dead.

Can't help but imagine the massive media reaction and public hysteria that would exist today if a moderate pandemic hit the United States. Today we hear about one person dying almost as soon as it happens in Asia. The good news with such communications there is able today to be a quick response and a reasonable shot of getting preventive vaccines before all hell breaks lose.

Hell's Kitchen Journal: My Ten New Year's Wishes

 

 

Yea, yea, I have made my resolutions one more time this New Year Day and actually plan to keep some of them. At least I hope I do. Made the usual ones about world peace, people loving each other, a pray to end world hunger and for better health in 2012 . Even though I know some might be a little bit out of my power at least I am putting good thoughts out there.

What is really a good idea is to make wishes for 2012. Some here are my "My Top Ten New Year's Wishes" to share with you.

Number One: In 2012, I would love whoever wins the Republican nomination that they make Harman Cain their Vice-Presidential choice.

Number Two: That the Democrats hold on to the Presidency and take the Congress.

Number Three: That the chant "Yes, We Did" begins soon since we all know it is inevitable.

Number Four: That Ron Paul delegates take control of the Platform Committee at the Republican National Convention in Tampa.

Number Five: That Tea Party once again means some nice little sandwiches and scones at a four o'clock in the afternoon.

Number Six: That we defeat the Constitutional Amendments in Minnesota and North Carolina and pass marriage equality in Maine.

Number Seven: That the Federal Courts will overturn Proposition 8 in California.

Number Eight: That the Occupy Wall Street movement flourishes.

Number Nine: Hoping for a good old fashion snowstorm sometime this winter in New York City. Love storms.

Number Ten: That the Mets win the World Series and that the Yankees place last in their league!

Happy New Year and feel free to add your wishes!

Hell's Kitchen Journal: A Funny Christmas Video With Rudy The Dog

 

 

 

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas! And to make this Christmas morning a little more light and fun, here is a very video of "Rudy" a dog opening his Christmas present and is just not happy with what Santa brought down the chimney!

Hell's Kitchen Journal: Going To The White House...

 

 

One of my first meetings at the White House at 23

This week I was fortunate enough to be invited one more time to the White House. On the train ride down and back, there was time to reflect on my previous visits and interactions. What was so dramatically different this visit than any other was the ease and comfort level with the members of the LGBT community who were at the party. No censoring of the hugs, the kiss on the lips or having to prove we were good guests.

The simplest way to state the difference was that it was just no longer any big deal for LGBT Americans to be included in guest lists at the Executive Mansion. Besides, for the first time we had an openly gay White House Social Secretary (and dear friend...) in Jeremy Bernard. The event couldn't have been any more perfect.

That always hasn't been the case.

My first visit to the White House was when President Lyndon Johnson was in power. Author Doris Kearns Goodwin was working in the White House to organize the President's papers and she greeted me warmly. For a young man of just 23 it was the ultimate 'pinch me' moment. All you had to do back then was show your driver license, they would check the list and buzz you into the long driveway that leads to the West Wing. My memory is that I took tiny baby steps leading to the entrance for fear of missing any part of the experience. Never did it dawn on me that I would walk that same path in six other Presidential administrations

In the early Nixon years, there were numerous White House visits. The President's team had seen the power of the students in bringing down Johnson because of the Vietnam War and they were felt they could 'handle us' and diminish the possibility of more protests. Obviously, it didn't work. One of those visits they had about a dozen of us to a meeting in the West Wing and then we boarded Marine One helicopter for a flight to Airlie House in Virginia for an all day meeting with the likes of Haldeman, Erlichman, John Dean and crew. Remember sitting there and wondering if they knew I was a homosexual.

Jumping head to Clinton there was no question when he was elected that I felt that I would have total access to the building. Not wanting an appointment, I looked forward with excitement to finally having a President that I personally knew in the Mansion. That ended quickly when I got arrested outside the edifice over the DADT policy.

Not until later years in the second term did I finally get invited to a Christmas Party and a State Dinner. The dinner was for the President of India. Afterwards the Marine Band played dance music in the East Room and for the first time for me there was dancing by LGBT couples. Looking on in amazement, there was Melissa Eltheridge cutting a mean rug with her then partner.

Yesterday was the first time I was invited for a social event in this administration. There was such comfort among us all. Couldn't help but reflect on all the times that were different. The times I went terrified and in the closet. When couples were not allowed to be invited. Then there were those times we couldn't acknowledge each other as LGBT citizens or touch in any way let alone dance in celebration.

An enormous amount has changed from that first walk up the driveway except one important factor: Over the years, I have been there dozens of times and never, ever has it become common place. Each and every time I walked into that building I took in its beauty and magnificent history and I was in awe and had chills.

I still am and I still do.

Hell's Kitchen Journal: So Let The Holidays Begin.....

 

 

Sipping my morning coffee in my PJs and being forever the vigilant neighbor, the activity across the street caught my eye. Just a few days ago the empty lot between an abandoned building and an older structure touting souvenirs had a few cars parked in it but not much more. The neighborhood speculation about the empty space centered on what would happen to it when the real estate bust ended.

Then one morning, almost burning my mouth with coffee too hot, someone had snuck into the lot and paved it! Were more parking spaces being created? The very next day the trucks started delivering little cubicles and lining them up in rows with tiny little streets going through them. Following quickly came the strings of color lights, huge lighted candy canes and people fixing up their spaces. In an instant, a holiday bazaar had magically appeared at 8th Ave and 47th Street. At night the lights twinkled and it took considerable restraint not to run down there and stroll up and down the little holiday streets singing carols. Most likely the image of shoppers dropping dollar bills into my song book served as a strong deterrent from that spontaneous behavior!

Yep, that time of year has arrived!

Thanksgiving is this Thursday and millions will descend on my neighborhood making their way one or two blocks up the street to witness "Ghostbuster" type balloons being carried carefully up the street watching out for those light posts, traffic lights or high wires lying in wait as the sworn enemy of all magical balloons. The crowds are so huge in the neighborhood that most of us hide in our apartments until it is over. The more talented cooks allow delicious smells to dominate our apartment building halls and defy anyone who attempts to open windows to dilute those rich aromas.

With the possible exception of Paris, New York is one of the best holidays cities in the world. Stretching far beyond that famous tree at 30 Rock are streets of trees covered with white lights, that magnificent display at TimeWarner Center and of course, the majestically decorated store window displays all over the city that leave even the adults in awe.

People bring out those wonderful scarves and attempt to wrap them around their necks in displays of perfectly fashioned knots that have eluded me all my life. The best I can muster is just sticking a very colorful scarf around my neck with constant fears of doing an Isadora Duncan and strangling myself with the wonderful knowledge that at least it didn't happen in black and white!

For years a goal of mine has been to rent one of those double-decked buses and have a New York City sleigh ride. Fill the top with friends in good winter fashion, a few professional singers and a perfect song book. Packed to the gills with holiday spirit, we would tour the city in our urban sleigh singing carols, dispensing good cheer and forcing even the scrooges to smile. Then we would return to the Glass House Tavern for holiday desserts and hot chocolate or hot toddys . Economics so far have made that just a pipe dream but it brings a smile to my face every time the vision jumps like little elfs in my head!

So get ready to take this one month of the year, learn to smile again in the colored lights, wish strangers "Happy Holidays" and even dare to think of peace on earth one more time. For me, I love this season and intend to absorb every second of it. Knowing that I am not supposed to play any carols until the day after Thanksgiving, I am cheating this morning and have Dave Koz's "White Christmas" playing.

Yep, it is that time of year again.